The Short Second Life of Mil Winchester - Book 2

I Bet Your Life (Original)

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I BET YOUR LIFE

I should've left. I should've left days ago. Now it was too late. It was too late, and Sam was dead. My eyes were locked on Dean, I could feel my shoulders trembling.

"What is it, Mil?" Dean demanded. "What's going on?"

"Sam, he's..." my voice sounded hollow. "He's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?" Dean asked harshly. He pushed past me and entered the otherwise deserted room. "Sam?! Sammy?"

"I mean, he's vanished," I said, sitting down on my bed inside the motel. My heart weighed a thousand pounds, and I couldn't stand any more.

"What do you mean?" Dean repeated crossly, staring wide eyed around the room. "Who did this? Demons?"

I shook my head grimly. I clenched my jaw and looked away. "It's a long story."

Dean's eyes flashed. "Well then you'd better start freaking telling it!"

I sighed, deliberating the best way to start the tale. Dean was not gonna be happy at all. In fact, I was bracing myself for yelling and screaming.

Grimacing, I began to unbutton my shirt and pulled it off my right shoulder, exposing scarred skin.

The pale-faced Dean gasped. "You have the same mark as me, Mil," he stated, staring at the imprinted shape of a handprint on my shoulder. Dean's fingers prodded his shoulder, where his own handprint was hidden.

Yeah, but that wasn't the point I wanted to make. I pulled my shirt down further, revealing the mark just below that. Seraphiel's flame was faded now, covered by what had been a skin graft that Castiel had since healed, but still pulsed angry and red.

"What is that?" Dean asked.

"It's the mark of the angel who brought me back," I replied quietly.

"But... I thought you said it was Cas," Dean spluttered. "You told me it was Cas. That's not Cas."

I shook my head grimly. "No." I wish.

Dean's expression was caught somewhere between confusion and anger. "I'm sorry, what does this have to do about getting Sam back?"

I gave him a bleak look. "Everything, Dean. Have you heard of an angel called Seraphiel?"

"No."

"Neither had I," I murmured. "Until he brought me back."

"Who is he?" Dean demanded. He was perched on the edge of a dining chair, leaning forward intently.

"Seraphiel was... is... a Lucifer loyalist," I explained darkly.

Dean glared, filling in the blanks on his own. "Son of a bitch."

"He brought me back because he wants Sam..." I hesitated, unwilling to spit out exactly why, though I knew I had to.

"Why?" Dean demanded.

I knew it was coming. I felt physically sick. "He wants Sam's... body to complete a ritual. To, basically, bring Lucifer back from the cage. So that he can... walk the earth again. Apocalypse II."

"He can do that?" Dean demanded. He looked almost scared at the thought of going through a second Apocalypse - a repeat of the event that almost broke him. "Son of a bitch."

"I suppose he can," I muttered, looking away. "That's why I didn't return to you guys immediately. Because I was running from him, trying to keep him away from Sam, so that that can't happen." And I'd failed. Because now he had Sam, and it was all my fault. If Sam was dead...