Forgive you? forget you. The end... chapter 1

[caz2y5]

I do not want to do this.

I want whoever reads this to know that I am writing this under duress. The visions come so frequently now that I haven’t slept or eaten in days. The pain is so bad that even alcohol doesn’t drown it out any more, and the only way I can get a moment’s peace is to write down what I see.

I do not plan on letting anyone read this. As far as the rest of the world knows the Winchesters and their gospel ended in that church in Ilchester. Even if my visions tell me otherwise I will not allow that to change. But apparently the angels are not done with me and with the pain of my visions they force my hand. I HAVE to write it.

Slipping the pen behind his ear, Chuck lifted the bottle of Jack to his glass, the two clinking against each other in a staccato rhythm as his unsteady hand poured yet another drink. A thin small man, he was hunched over a wooden table that was his makeshift desk.

His wiry hair stood out in every direction, in dire need of something other than his fingers run through it. A few strands of grey marred the scruff of his facial hair that hadn’t seen a trim in weeks. Behind his dark rimmed glasses, blood shot and tired eyes stared at the page of the yellow legal pad on the table in front of him.

Chuck took a sip of the amber liquid, his face scrunching slightly as it warmed its way down his throat. While he waited for the burn to pass, he held the glass to his forehead to ease the ache and to wait for his sight to focus enough so that he could actually see to write. He had a month’s worth of visions to get out and a landing pattern for about a million more things that were yet to happen and waiting to be written as well.

The pressure in his head was worse than it had ever been, not to mention what he was seeing in his nightmares that caused the pressure in the first place. Maybe Chuck had been under a false assurance when he had written Lucifer Rising. It was supposed to be the last book of the Winchesters, both boys saying yes and the world ending. That was what he had seen and committed to the hard drive of his computer before Castiel and Dean had suddenly been standing in his kitchen.

“We’re making it up as we go” Castiel had informed him gruffly and, to be honest, Chuck had been more than happy to help them. He’d hoped that going off script would save them from the horrible fate that awaited them. That Dean would save Sam and prevent him from breaking the final seal while Castiel held off the angels. It was nice to hope but what had finally happened turned out to be worse than the ending he’d written before.

In the end, Chuck had rewritten Lucifer Rising to show the new ending, the one after Castiel had changed things. He had written how Castiel had grabbed Dean and slammed him against the wall, his eyes hooded as his hand covered Dean’s lips asking a silent question. Dean, his eyes wide with surprise, had answered with a simple nod of his head. Castiel removed his hand only to replace it with his lips, covering Dean’s mouth in a gentle and chaste kiss. There hadn’t been time for more.

Chuck had written of the intricate trails of blood that the angel had smeared over the wall in the green room. Of the surprise in Zachariah’s voice when he’d questioned what Castiel was doing. He wrote of how when the sigil was completed, Zachariah had been banished giving Castiel enough time to bring Dean to Chuck’s kitchen so he could find Sam.

He wrote of how Castiel had stood tall against the archangel. How Chuck had cowered and watched as Castiel was broken and bloodied. The archangel ripped Castiel's wings from him, igniting a spark of fire that began to burn away the angel's grace. The scream that issued from the burning angel was the stuff of nightmares as Castiel grabbed Chuck. Then they weren’t in his kitchen anymore, they were in Bobby’s living room.

The angel had used the last of his burning grace to save them both. Bobby had been surprised at first but once Chuck had explained who they were the older hunter had let them stay, the three of them taking shelter in the safe room until Castiel regained consciousness and they could figure out what the hell had happened.

That was as far as he had written before in a fit of anger Chuck had sent the pages crumpled and torn to the floor. They still sat there around his feet with the empty bottles of Jack, Jim and José as Chuck paced the small round room. He put his hands to his face, pushing his glasses up as he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and sighed.

He wasn’t exactly sure where to start with the next instalment. Sam had said yes in that little chapel in Ilchester; that was ancient history now. Of course a month wasn’t that ancient but everyone knew about it. And even though Chuck was the only one who knew the real reason why Sam had said yes to Lucifer and why it had been so easy for the archangel to make him say it, Chuck felt that starting with Sam was probably not as important or as relevant to the rest of the story.

On the other hand, Dean had been in the church, the last place he was supposed to be. So ‘Where was Dean now?’ That was information that certain people wanted to know. Castiel and Bobby both thought that Dean had died when Lucifer’s arrival destroyed the Church in Illchester. Personally, Chuck knew differently but there wasn’t really anything that knowing it would change. So Chuck had decided to sit on that piece of information until one of them asked him outright.

That and Chuck didn’t exactly know where Sam and Dean were. Well, he knew what the room they occupied looked like. He could describe in great detail the Enochian sigils written in Dean’s blood that covered the walls, the floor, the ceiling. But Chuck had no idea where the room was. It could have been in Canada or Mexico or on the Moon for all he knew. There was nothing about it that told him where it was and since Sam and Dean hadn’t left the room in this whole time it was impossible for him figure it out yet.

Maybe when he had written enough of what had occurred in that room between the two Winchesters, and though to be honest, Chuck really wasn’t looking forward to having to write about that either. But his head was full of a month’s worth of unwritten visions and until he wrote them out they would remain a painful jumbled mess in his head. And maybe, once he had them out of his head, then the visions would be less obscure and he would be able to figure out the location of the room.

He lifted the glass to his lips and drained it. The bottle was almost empty and he still wasn’t sure if what he could see of the room swam from the alcohol or the headache.

As he sat back at the desk Chuck sighed and pulled the pen from behind his ear. Tapping the tip of it against his chin, he tried to decide exactly how the hell he was going to start writing this story that began with the downfall of the brothers Winchester and seemed to just go down from there. He glanced around the safe room which Castiel and Bobby had re-enforced with angel and demon proofing so that neither side could find him while he was in there. Chuck was glad of the extra security, especially if it meant he never ever saw that smug bastard Zachariah again.

Chuck figured he had to write something before he passed out from more visions and Dean was just as good a starting point as any. The visions had shown him, even if it was belatedly, that Dean had been hurt by the arrival of the angel and it was to save him that Sam had said yes. But then Lucifer had plans of his own for Dean and that was where things had descended into madness.



Dean grabbed at Sam’s jacket trying to pull him away from the blinding light that grew brighter with each passing moment. Sam didn’t move, his feet glued in place as he stared hypnotised at the light.

“He’s coming!” Sam seemed more surprised than Dean.

It was so bright that it hurt. It whipped around the room like a physical thing, shattering what was left of the stained glass windows in the chapel and throwing chunks of splintered pews around like straw in a tornado.

Dean dragged Sam to the doors, his brother was still staring dumbfounded at the light that had swallowed the floor and which heralded Lucifer’s arrival. He let go of Sam’s jacket and pushed and shoved and banged on the doors but, even though the light itself seemed to be tearing holes in the wood, he couldn’t get them to budge.

The noise, something that had started as distant whispering, was now a cacophonous thing that tore at his ears and threatened to render him permanently deaf Dance music made from fingernails on a chalkboard didn’t even begin to approach the level of pain this sound caused him.

Dean closed his eyes, trying to shield them from the burning radiance but it didn’t help, and he could see Sam standing there, his back clearly defined even through his closed eyelids.

This was bad. In fact, this was so far from good that it wasn’t just the pooch that was being screwed here, it was the whole damn kennel.

“SAM!” Dean had to scream to hear himself over the noise so he wasn’t sure Sam would be able to.

The sound built, higher, larger, more piercing. He winced, curling in on himself even as he moved, putting himself bodily between Sam and the source of the brightness. Using his body to shield Sam, he pushed his brother back, away from the light with his hands clamped as tight as he could get them over his own ears. Sam didn’t even seem to notice. His brother just kept staring at the blinding luminance over Dean’s shoulder.

“SAM!” Dean’s throat hurt with how loud he screamed to get Sam’s attention. As hazel eyes finally shifted and focused on his, Dean hoped Castiel was fairing better than they were. Then the world twisted around him, electricity bursting in his head, and Dean could feel the shift of fluid in his ears just before the sound cut out completely. The silence would have been welcome but for the torment that accompanied it, like daggers stabbing through his ears and into his brain He doubled over feet tripping from the pain. It made him lean heavier against Sam, who stumbled but caught him anyway

Dean could see Sam’s lips moving, but there was no sound. He couldn’t even make out the rasp of his own breathing in his throat as he panted. There was nothing but the pain. Sam’s hands clasped him and held him up and he couldn’t help thinking that he was supposed to be saving Sam not the other way round.

He still had his hands clamped to the side of his head and he could feel blood, damp against his fingers where it was leaking out. The pain raked through his brain like knives wielded by a five yr old, until it finally settled behind his eyes where it bloomed into heat and flame. Dean screamed as the world drowned in light, pain, silence, darkness and then… nothing.



Dean had kind of expected the end of the world to go differently. Instead, he found himself floating in darkness and pain. It’s not like he expected to get into heaven or anything. He really hadn’t done enough to earn that right and seriously doubted that if he lived a million years he could ever make up for what he had done.

So he was pretty sure this wasn’t heaven but, although his brain hurt like it had been cracked in half, this was nothing compared to what hell had been. It occurred to him that the reason he was shrouded in darkness was because his eyelids were shut. But then Dean remembered the flash of fire that had burnt his eyes from his sockets and he doubted he would see anything if he did open them so he just let himself float a little longer.

It was a good plan because it hurt to think, but, as he languished in the darkness, Dean eventually figured out he was wallowing in the mire of unconsciousness. He was okay with that. Sometimes, he drifted to the surface, but the pain in his head made his thoughts so disjointed and confusing that he couldn’t figure out where he was. He was okay with that too, because the pain of being awake was enough to send him sinking back down into the murky depths where it didn’t hurt. It was the thought of Sam and Cas, both on their own facing angels that were trying to kill them, forced Dean to stay lucid.

As the darkness receded from him more pain came to the surface and with that pain came more awareness of his surroundings. There was a wooden board that stretched across his bare back from one outstretched wrist to the other. Ropes bound his wrists and elbows to it and he was standing or, rather hanging, from the places he was secured.

Dean became aware that his shoulders ached and his wrists and hands throbbed in sync with his heart beat. That meant he had been tied for a while. Not a happy thought but he felt so groggy it took a while for him to realize it.

It was hard to raise his head from where it hung down with his chin resting on his chest. It was habit, more than anything, that had Dean opening his eyes. He wasn’t actually expecting to see anything, given that his eyes had pretty much been barbequed into non-existence. Only they weren’t… weren’t barbequed. His eyes were where they were supposed to be, doing what they were supposed to do. His vision was blurry like waking from a long sleep, but Dean could see.

“He is awake.” He didn’t recognise the voice, which spoke from somewhere out of the darkness.

Dean turned his head in its direction, however, the shape of the speaker remained indistinct and the voice sounded like it was travelling through water so Dean couldn’t even decide if the voice was male or female, let alone familiar.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean’s own voice was barely a rasp, as if he’d swallowed gravel and still had it lodged in his throat. It hurt enough that Dean choked, coughing helplessly. At least his vision cleared a little as a result, and he could see a bit more of his surroundings.

Seemed they were in a hotel room, one that even he and Sam at their most desperate would’ve hesitated to occupy. It was trashed, all of the fittings were ripped out. The walls, floor and ceiling were covered in filth and graffiti. Wooden boards were nailed over what was left of the glass in the windows.

“You know what to do.” another voice said. Female, Dean guessed from the smooth and tone although it was just as distorted as the first had been, leaving Dean thinking his ears must still be damaged. Quite frankly he was just glad he could hear at all.

A man in a bad Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and sandals stepped far enough into the light that Dean could see him. “I still think we should just kill him,” He was bald like Cojak except he had a nervous twitch in one of his eyebrows. The man sneered at Dean then turned to look over his shoulder into the darkness.

“We were told to keep him alive and entertained and that’s exactly what we are going to do until he gets here.” She spoke with a southern twang. And, as she stepped forward into the light, Dean could appreciate that she was definitely female. The dim light showed rich highlights in her long, blond hair and her short-skirted business suit showed off her long, long legs. Too bad she was probably one of the bad guys.

“Where is my brother?” Dean’s question sounded kinda hollow since he was tied up and couldn’t move but he gave it his best threatening sneer. The woman stepped closer. Her green eyes flicked black and back again as she trailed red manicured nails over Dean’s bare chest. She smiled, one of those baby eating smiles that made her look more creepy than pretty. Dean raised an eyebrow and stared directly at her.

“Oh don’t you worry your pretty little head none, he’ll be here soon enough.” As she spoke the demon leaned in and caught Dean’s bottom lip between her teeth. She curled her fingers so that her nails dug painfully into his skin.

Dean winced and hissed, as he scowled at her. “Bad kitty,”

“Oh sugar, you have no idea,” she said as she moved away from him. Dean licked his bottom lip where her teeth had cut him, tasting blood. Cojak handed Kitty Kat a knife. She took it from him and smiled as she held it up for Dean to see that it was Ruby’s knife. They had taken it from him while he was unconscious.

“If you laid one finger on my brother, I will kill you.” His mind raced with what was happening and worrying about where Sam could be as the blade was pressed to his skin, right by the protection tattoo above his heart.

The demon smiled another of those baby eating smiles as she began to slice at his chest. Dean gritted his teeth as the sharp, sliding pain hit him. He clenched his hands into fists, twisting his wrists against the bindings but he couldn’t get free, couldn’t get away. Dean writhed so hard that the ropes dug into his wrists and arms but the demon just kept running the knife back and forth through his skin.

Sweat beaded on his brow. He panted in jerks, trying to control the pain but, quite frankly, it hurt like fuck. Dean couldn’t help but cry out, once, twice, before he got himself back under control. . Finally there was a slight tug and the evil knife wielding Kitty Cat stood back. Where she had cut him burned with pain and he could feel the slow trickle of blood as it ran down over his chest.

She held up a chunk of Dean’s skin, revealing the black ink of his protection tattoo.

“Son of a bitch!” he bit out, leaning as far forward as he could wrenching his wrists in the rope as he tried uselessly to hurt her.

Kitty Cat stepped away and placed the knife along side his skin on the cheap table. Cojak stepped forward and smiled. Even as he wondered what the hell was up with all the smiling both the demons kept doing, Dean noticed that the guy was missing two of his front teeth. He’d never seen a demon with bad teeth before…weird.

It was only when Cojak punched him that Dean realized he’d made the comment aloud.

Dean was fairly certain that the asshole had broken his nose. The impact left him blinking tears and it burned to breathe through it. Dean shook his head before levelling his eyes at the demon. He stared right at the son of a bitch, his top lip curled back so his teeth were bared, threatening.

“I’m going to get out of this and I am going to kill you,” Dean snarled. He turned to include Kitty Cat. “I am going to kill both of you,”

“And just how are you planning on doing that, Dean?” The woman leaned on the edge of the table and crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t look scared by his threat. “We have your brother. Your angel is dead, No one else will come for you. No one else can.”

Dean’s eyes widened, “You’re lying.”... It had to be a demon lie. Castiel couldn’t be dead, he was an angel. Sure he had stayed behind to stop Chuck’s archangel but they wouldn’t have killed him.

“Am I?” She moved closer, her fingers closed on his jaw and twisted his face so her green eyes stared directly into his. “The way I hear it, Raphael crushed both him and the prophet into non-existence. The house isn’t even there any more.”

“Cas?” Dean felt sick as he glowered at the demon, fighting the numbness in his chest. it couldn’t be true, it couldn’t. He whispered Cas’ name and hoped for a response…any response. He hardly noticed when she moved away and the other demon stepped back in front of him. Dean whispered the angel’s name again, hoping that if Cas could hear him he would come and help him. That Cas was okay enough to come and help him. There was nothing. Except that Cojak began using him as a punching bag.

The hunter could tell that Hawaiian-Shirt, or the demon riding him, had had training at some point. There was a rhythm to his punches that reminded him of watching De Niro in Raging Bull or Stallone in Rocky. A hard jab to the ribs and Dean decided he’d have more sympathy for the bags from now on.

He tightened up, tried to absorb the force as best he could given that he was dangling from the roof. It didn’t help for long or much. After a while Dean stopped feeling the pain of each individual blow. The places where his skin split or his bones broke, all started to merge into one huge ball of hurt. His eyes swelled shut and blood and drool dripped from ragged lips. Sometimes a tear would smear its way down the blood on his face. He just wanted it to stop.

Dean was barely conscious again, drifting in that place between waking and sleeping. The blows were distant. Agony was far away. He could almost believe that it was all a dream; a horrible nightmare memory of hell, not his present or his future.

Water was thrown across his face, ice cold and smelly, and it jerked Dean out of his unhappy fantasy. He coughed, almost choking, as some of it went down his throat. It forced him to surface completely and his brain to switch back on. The pain that came with it was bad, hell bad or just about. Breathing hurt, he was pretty sure his cheek and most of his ribs were broken. Once again, he couldn’t see; his eyelids were so swollen that he couldn’t open them.

Hell Raiser, Part II. He forced himself to think mockingly. It didn’t cheer him up.

He was still tied to the cross in the middle of the room but now something had been strapped to his face. It was metal and it sat in his mouth, behind his teeth, forcing his mouth open and making his injured cheek throb even more insistently. He touched the metal tentatively with his tongue. Then tried to repress a shudder at the thought of what it was for.

Alistair hadn’t liked toys, and neither had Dean, but the master torturer had explained some of them and what they did. They were never fun for the tortured.

A hand tightened in his hair, forcing his head back. Pain gurgled at the back of Dean’s throat. He hurt so much that he didn’t try to pull his head free. He didn’t even try to tip his face away as something was poured into his mouth. It was warm and sticky, so thick it coated his tongue and pooled at the back of his throat. The coppery taste told Dean it was blood. Demon or human, he couldn’t tell with his busted up face. Didn’t matter; he didn’t want either of them. Now he twisted and jerked, trying to break free. He breathed in agonized little bursts through his broken nose; anything so he wouldn’t have to swallow.

They noticed of course.

Fingers pinched his nose, cutting off his shallow breathing. Dean held his breath, as the blood filled his mouth, filled it and over-filled it, until it spilt out the sides. It felt disgusting, made him to puke. Instead he held his breath and fought to spit the blood out.

It didn’t work. The demons just laughed. “C’mon, sugar, swallow like a good little boy.”

His chest began to burn with the need to breathe but the blood was still there, inside his mouth. With the gag in and no air in his lungs he couldn’t spit it out. He couldn’t’ do anything.

Time ticked slowly as he fought to get free, to lower his head so the blood would dribble out of his mouth and he would be able to breathe again. . It hurt to move but Dean twisted and squirmed, fought and struggled, until he couldn’t hold his breath any longer. There was a sputter and a gurgle as his throat opened and he tried to gasp around the mouthful of blood as it flowed down his aching throat.

He swallowed and choked and he wanted to puke even more than he had before. Dean had seen what the demon blood had done to Sam and he could only hope that this wouldn’t do the same to him. The fingers moved from his nose as they kept pouring. Some of it went into his lungs and he tried not to drown on it. The rest went into his stomach and made it lurch.

.More and more blood was being poured down his throat. There was so much that he could barely breath, let alone beg for them to stop which he might actually have done, if he’d been able to and if-big if-they’d have been willing to stop. The gag made it impossible. All he could do was swallow or choke and pray, desperately, for someone to come rescue him.

No one came.

Dean was lost and trapped in the dark with some sadistic fuck that wanted him to drink more demon blood than his stomach could even hold. And as much as that thought terrified him he was still more worried about what had happened to Sam and Castiel.

Castiel watched as Bobby poured more holy water down the throat of the demon as he attempted to get it to tell them where Sam was. He and Bobby had been working hard, trying to find the last remaining Winchester but it had been almost two months and none of the demons that they had come up against had any idea where Lucifer was, and wherever Lucifer was, there would be Sam. It was simple logic: Sam had to be alive because Lucifer was in his vessel.

And since Dean was dead there was no vessel for Michael to stop Lucifer. Castiel didn’t need to be an angel to know that the end of days was upon them. He had tried to stop it. He had failed.

The former angel ran his fingers over his bottom lip, remembering the kiss he had given Dean before he had sent the hunter to die at his brother’s side. A single kiss, a moment stolen from the end of the world.

So much had changed since then. Castiel had learned to drive, to eat, to sleep and shit. All the things that came natural to humans and had at times seemed frightening to him. They were now old hat: he was as human as everyone else now.

Not only that, now he was a hunter like Dean had been. A gun in his belt, a bottle of holy water and a bag of salt in his pockets, Castiel had even taken to drinking himself to sleep. If Dean was still alive he would probably be proud of just how much like him Castiel had become.

Right now Castiel was sitting on an old packing crate, watching Bobby try to convince the young man they had tied to a chair in the centre of a devil’s trap, how much better off it would be if it gave them the information they needed. Castiel hated this part the most. The way the demon would rather let its host scream in pain instead of answering a simple question. It’s not like the demon would be stuck in hell for long. Lucifer’s presence on earth kept most of the gates open between this world and the one below. It didn’t matter. It never mattered and it made Castiel weary.

“I ain’t telling you shit,” the demon hissed and spat at them, blood and steam pouring from its throat.

Castiel wondered why the fate of demons and their vessels had never concerned him before. Probably because the body he wore was his own body now and it could be possessed just like the body of the man that Bobby was leaning over, tormenting.

He should probably consider getting one of those tattoos that Sam and Dean had with maybe some Enochian warding worked into it. It would be a logical action.

Bobby looked up and nodded at Castiel. Obviously he’d come to the conclusion that they weren’t going to get anything from the demon. Castiel stood, stepping closer to the demon as he began the Latin litany of the exorcism. He knew it by rote and didn’t need to look at it written down like Bobby did which was why he did the exorcism and Bobby did the strong arm stuff.

“Crux sancta sit mihi lux, non draco sit mihi dux, vade retro satana, nunquam suade mihi vana, sunt mala quae libas, ipse venena bibas.”

“If you send me back you won’t ever find Michael’s vessel.” The words halted the incantation on Castiel’s lips. Castiel frowned before casting a glance at Bobby who stepped closer to the demon. As he leaned in, Bobby adjusted the brim of his cap so the demon could clearly see the storm that clouded the old hunter’s blue eyes. They promised death and untold torments.

“What makes you think we need your help to find that trumped up fart’s vessel?”

Bobby’s voice was low and grumbled, but he still managed to sound very threatening for a human, but Castiel knew the threat was a lie. Dean was dead, Michael had no vessel and all of it was Castiel’s fault. He waited for the signal from Bobby to continue with the exorcism.

Then the demon’s eyes inked out and the look it gave Bobby sent a chill up Castiel’s spine. Even more so when he realised the sound from the things mouth was half laughter and half ridicule.

“He is alive,” it sneered at them, blood on its teeth as its mocking eyes glanced back and forth between them. “What’s that old saying? Keep your friends close…”

“And your enemies closer,” Bobby finished the thing’s sentence. If the words had jolted him or caused the hunter concern then he hid it well. Castiel hoped he’d done as well. It was only when Bobby looked at Castiel, sad and tired, that the former angel knew how shaken the old hunter was. His look also told him to finish the incantation and Castiel knew it was to cover their surprise; they couldn’t afford to give their enemies any advantage.

“Crux sancta sit mihi lux, non draco sit mihi dux, vade retro satana, nunquam suade mihi vana, sunt mala quae libas, ipse venena bibas.”

“Wait!” it suddenly pleaded. Its breath was heavy and blood still dripped from its mouth. It struggled to catch its breath like it had run a marathon even though it was tied to a chair and had been for some time. “You have to believe me.”

Castiel paused and watched it expectantly.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” it said. Castiel’s brow went up.

With a quick glance at the former angel, Bobby moved back in. “Tell me where they are then,” he growled. This was the demon’s last chance to redeem itself and Bobby was making sure it knew that they wouldn’t take any bullshit; no games and no mercy. Castiel could see it trying to decide if it was more afraid of them or Lucifer.

“I don’t exactly know where…” It licked its lips and looked at them. “I don’t know where they are right now, usually Lucifer contacts us.” The demon frowned and looked first at Castiel and then at Bobby “But if you let me go I can arrange a meeting for you.”

Bobby took off his hat and wiped his brow before looking at Castiel who returned the look without expression-he didn’t believe this low level demon could do any such thing-until Bobby replaced his cap nodded .

Castiel let his gaze fall back to the demon.

“exorcizamus omnis immundus spiritus satanica incursion infernalis congregatio et secta diabolica."

Castiel stepped closer, his brows furrowing slightly in concentration as the demon thrashed against his bonds and fought to keep hold of the poor vessel. “Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare.”

Castiel finished the exorcism, watching as the demon’s head tilted back and it began spewing black smoke up at the ceiling. It coiled there a moment and then dissipated as though burning into nothing. The man slumped forward and Bobby moved closer, pressing his fingers against the artery in the man’s throat. He looked at Castiel and shook his head.

Castiel knew he should mourn the passing of one of his father’s creations but he didn’t. He was not his father’s son anymore and his only concern was saving the last remaining Winchester. All the demons in hell and all their pitiful hosts could die and be damned if it would bring him closer to his goal.

It’s what Dean would have done.


The only thing that kept Dean from going completely out of his fucking mind was his uncertainty as to whether this was really hell or just another one of his nightmares. It felt like hell most of the time: pain, hunger, isolation, more pain, the thought of saving Sam was the only thing that kept Dean from retreating completely into insanity. This had to be a nightmare. Except he’d never dreamed of some of the stuff he was seeing, so then he’d think he was in hell again. He decided that being insane would be better.

Sometimes he watched as Lucifer carved the flesh from his bones while, just a couple steps away, Sam did the same to Castiel. Sometimes it was Sam’s hands that tore at his guts. Sometimes the sound of Castiel screaming wrenched him from unconsciousness. But then maybe it was him dreaming of Castiel’s screams and none of it was real. Except for the pain, that was always real. . At least, he was pretty sure it was real. Dean couldn’t keep things right in his mind any more. Each fragmented moment of consciousness smeared with his dreams until he couldn’t tell the difference.

Things came to him in disjointed and dream-like sensations, which just made Dean think maybe he had been beaten so badly by the demon in the Hawaiian shirt that his head was broken. He kinda always figured he would go that way, beaten until he broke. Course it was hard to have lucid thoughts when fever dreams screwed you up so bad that they made you forget your name. That had only happened the one time, maybe twice, but it hadn’t happened often so he wasn’t doing that bad. He was sure he wasn’t doing that bad.

The fear was as bitter as the taste of the blood in his mouth that he was forced to drink; thick, acidic, coppery wrongness. The only sustenance he received.

Sometimes Lucifer whispered in his ear. “I know what the angels did to you.” Other times it was Sam’s voice, soft sweet and placating murmuring about “How the angels tricked us,” and how “They can’t hurt us any more, Dean. As long as you and I are together no one can hurt us.”

He preferred the dreams when Sam was there, his brother cradling him close to his chest and whispering soothing words in his ear. Sam’s lips brushing across his skin and making the pain go away. It was so much easier to give in when it was Sam, though sometimes he wasn’t sure if it was Sam or Lucifer. The fallen angel was very good at tricking him into believing he was Sam, but then the guy was the father of all demons right? The Prince of Lies? It meant he could see inside Dean’s head better than anyone else. Better than Dean had ever wanted to.

“The angels let you fall, Dean, let you rot in hell till you broke the first Seal. It’s their fault you suffered, Dean. Their fault you’re broken and Castiel knew the whole time.”

Lucifer was very good at knowing exactly what to say to Dean because that one hurt.

Still, the fallen angel’s words tempted him just as much as they hurt. “Let me fix you. Let me help you tell the angels where they can stick their destiny. All you have to do say yes and I’ll set you free. I’ll give you everything, Dean, all your dreams and desires.”

He forced himself to remember that Lucifer lied, like Zachariah had lied, like Cas...

So he’d say no and every time he said no they would beat him again and force blood down his throat until he choked on it. He lost count of the number of times the world slipped from him or danced around him, laughing and free, unlike him. He would have welcomed death, if only Lucifer would let him die. But he didn’t. Lucifer kept his soul tied to his damaged and dying body and, with just a touch to his brow, made it whole again so that the process could start from the beginning. Over and over and over...

He knew he was completely cracked when he found himself missing Alistair’s simple tortures. At least Dean had known what Alistair wanted him to do. He couldn’t figure out what Lucifer wanted. Nothing, maybe, just Dean in pain and confused and lost. The thought Lucifer wanted more than that was too horrifying to contemplate.

“Sam?” Dean wasn’t sure if the Sam holding him was really his brother. He couldn’t remember if it would be a bad thing if Sam was really here. If he was really here, did that mean Lucifer had caught him too? Was torturing Sam along with Dean? Yet Sam, didn’t seem tortured, so did that mean he wasn’t really here? He didn’t want Sam to be here but he didn’t want to be alone either. Alone with his pain and Lucifer dripping poison into his brain and the demons pouring poison down his throat. Why was he still here?

Castiel hadn’t come to save him. Not Castiel or Bobby or even Zachariah, who was a dick but a dick that had wanted something from him and should’ve wanted to save him. Lucifer enjoyed pointing that out to Dean; he did so repeatedly and Dean would curse him and try to punch his face but it his hands were always bound.

“Hush. Save your strength, Dean. I’m here,” Sam just smiled and ran his fingers over Dean’s brow. “I’m here. Nothing can hurt you when you’re with me, Dean.”

Dean was often astonished by how easy it was to discover what Sam really meant by those words, and how many different ways his brother had of being with him. Sam’s touch drowned out the pain, and hurt, and hopelessness. By the time that Dean realised he was falling, he realised that he didn’t care,

He had no sense of time. Days and nights bled into each other and he couldn’t keep track of how many passed.

An entire lifetime had passed since Castiel pressed him against the wall. He remembered, distantly, the angel’s hand covering his mouth only to be replaced by his lips. It hadn’t been enough but they’d been running out of time and would have to wait until they’d saved a world. Only they hadn’t saved the world, or Dean hadn’t. Maybe that’s why there never would be a next time. Castiel had never come back.

Or maybe it was because he let Sam coax the darkness out of him. The same black void that Alistair had trained and Uriel had used and Dean had tried to forget. Evil pleasure, sadistic joy that bubbled inside of him, brought back to the surface. It had only taken Sam three weeks to coax Dean into releasing the blackness. Now all Dean had left of the angel that had considered him worthy was the angry red handprint on his shoulder, where Castiel had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition.

It wasn’t untouched, of course. Marks from Sam’s mouth covered it, altering its shape, claiming it from the angel that had abandoned him. .

Dean wondered why he hadn’t given into this sooner. He no longer felt afraid of anything, because as he no longer cared about anything... except Sam.


Once, Castiel could’ve moved them back to Bobby’s with a thought. Now, it was a five hour drive in the cramped and noisy vehicle that Cas had decided was held together by little more than prayer.

It was ironic that a rusty car was the only proof of God that he had found.

Now, they were in the safe room in Bobby’s basement where Chuck had taken up semi-permanent residence. Bobby stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and a gruff look on his face, as he surveyed the wreckage of paper and empty bottles that Cyclone Chuck left in his wake. Bobby wasn’t the neatest freak in the universe but Chuck took untidy to cosmic levels. Castiel knew this because the hunter had said so...several times. Early on, the angel had offered to tidy up for the former prophet. His offer had been rejected by both parties.

He walked past the grumpy hunter and sat on the empty chair next to Chuck’s desk. Chuck had his head nestled in his arms and appeared to be sleeping. Castiel was willing to wait-he hadn’t forgotten patience-but Bobby cleared his throat, loudly.

Chuck sat up with a start. For a moment, the man looked bewildered and uncertain of where he was before his eyes cleared. Castiel smiled patiently at Chuck, who frowned and wiped the drool from his mouth.

“Uh hey, guys,” Chuck hesitated and Castiel wasn’t sure if it was the murkiness of sleep that made him hesitate or if it was something else.

“Did... did you want something, Castiel?” Chuck paused again and Castiel was certain now that Chuck was hiding something. He had been expecting Castiel or Bobby to confront him about what they’d found out and what, if anything, he had seen.

Cas glanced at Bobby before he looked back at Chuck. His face was always solemn, now he made it stern. “Where is he?"

It was simple and Castiel knew that it would not be confused with any other question. He kept his gaze on the prophet’s so that Chuck would have no place to hide. Sure enough, the gaunt, sometime writer’s, face darkened and he glanced across the room at Bobby as if for rescue.

Castiel tilted his head to the side and wondered what had made Chuck deliberately hide the fact that Dean was alive.

“Answer us, dammit!” Bobby ordered.

“I… I don’t know where he is,” Chuck stammered. He looked like he was going to have a panic attack. Castiel just stared. With another nervous look at the angel, Chuck grabbed his glass and drank the small amount of liquor from the bottom of it. “I’ve never seen it.”

“You mean you knew he was alive and you didn’t bother to tell us?” Bobby stepped closer anger flaring across his face. Castiel raised a hand to quiet him. They could not hit the prophet. Not yet.

“Where is he?” It was hard for Castiel to remain patient. Dean was alive and they had not heard from him. He hoped it meant he was a captive but Castiel’s mind reeled with the hundreds of things that could be keeping Dean, keeping him from contacting them. The list started with monsters out for revenge and went downhill from there.

“Well… I mean I don’t know the location. I would have told you if I’d known. ” Chuck swallowed uncomfortably, “Wait a minute,” he said before he began rummaging around in the papers on the desk and on the floor around it. He looked at a few before discarding them until he finally found the page he wanted. He held it out to Castiel, fingers trembling nervously.

“Um, it isn’t nice,” he said hesitantly, “Are you sure you want to know?” The look on Chuck’s face frightened Castiel and he almost didn’t reach out for the paper. Almost, but he had to know what had happened to Dean.

Castiel didn’t let himself lick his lips as humans often did when scared. He merely nodded silently and held out his hand. Chuck gave him the yellow paper then poured another drink before hunching in on himself. Cas ignored him. He looked at the page, scanning it quickly, until roughly four paragraphs down there was an asterisk scrawled in the margin. Castiel glanced at Chuck then back at the paper and slowly he began to read.



It was almost two months since Ilchester. Two months and Lucifer was tired of laying low. Sure he had a plan but it had nothing to do with the plan that his brothers had for him. He was still going to bring the world to ruin and destroy his father’s last, most loved, creation. The idea that he could make the mud monkey’s destroy themselves was just too delicious not to take advantage of. Then he would return the earth to its former, perfect, beauty.

Lucifer’s plans involved making sure that he did not have to face Michael at all, that the other angels couldn’t interfere and make the Apocalypse happen their way. He’d been handed a gift in Ilchester, one that would ensure that it wouldn’t happen like that. Before Michael could meet him on the field of battle his brother would need his vessel and right now that vessel was whimpering and moaning Lucifer's name.

Well okay, perhaps he was moaning the name of Lucifer’s vessel but Lucifer wasn’t going to quibble with the details. So long as Michael could not confront him Lucifer held all of the cards and Dean could moan any damned name he liked.

Lucifer rolled onto his back and Dean moved with him, resting his ear over Sam’s heart and letting his fingers trail over his vessel’s broad chest. Dean’s eyes were black as midnight as he smiled, snuggling closer. Sam’s arm closed around his brother’s shoulder and held him close.

Dean yawned but before he allowed himself to sleep he raised his head, a question on his tongue. Sam raised his other hand and pressed it to Dean’s full lips.

“Don’t ask,” Lucifer said, “the answer is still no.” There was a smile on Sam’s face as he said it.

He knew the former hunter was getting restless and the few trips he had allowed Dean to join him on had not been enough to sate his brother’s need to get out of the little room that was his home. . Lucifer felt it too even though he was able to get out, It was, after all, a very small room. It had made it impossible for the older hunter to hide from Lucifer, back when Dean was still trying to run away... a long time ago, Sam thought with a smirk.

Still, Dean had not yet been out of the room on his own. It wasn’t an issue of trust, only an idiot trusted a demon and Lucifer wasn’t an idiot-but Lucifer had to be sure Dean was wrapped so far around Sam’s cock that Dean would never betray his little brother. 


Castiel closed his eyes and crumpled the piece of paper in his fist before he gave into the temptation to tear it into a million microscopic pieces. Despite what logic had indicated, he had hoped that Dean had survived Ilchester; survived and escaped being pulled into Sam’s fate. He had fought his new human emotions when they told him he would feel it if Dean was dead. Wishful thinking, he’d told himself even as he knew in his gut if Dean wasn’t dead then he was in trouble. But this… it was too much. It hurt in ways he hadn’t known people could hurt.

“Promise me you won’t show that to anyone else.” It came out as more of a threat than a question but Castiel’s eyes implored Chuck to agree He felt like he was floating but didn’t realize that the colour had faded from his face leaving him looking haunted and ill. Even Bobby looked concerned and the old hunter had never worried about Castiel before.

“What is it, Cas?” Bobby’s words drew the other man from his thoughts. Castiel blinked, looking first from him then to Chuck, and Castiel understood why the prophet had not mentioned this sooner.

He said nothing, just gave Chuck a piercing look that implied pain and suffering if he mentioned one word of what he had written to Bobby. “Dean is alive but we can’t get to him. It’s too dangerous.”

Castiel hoped the older man would leave it at that but he doubted that he would. Bobby treated the two Winchester boys like his own sons and once the older man knew that Dean was alive it would be too much to expect him to not try and get him back. Castiel wouldn’t bother trying to talk him out of it. Instead he would try to figure out how they could do it safely so that the two of them could begin to plan Dean’s rescue.

However, Bobby had a different idea for the immediate future.

“Why you weaselly little…” Bobby grabbed Chuck by the scruff and slammed him hard against the table. The hunter’s face was twisted with anger and Chuck raised his arms to defend himself. “Tell me where the hell he is!” Bobby may have towered over the terrified writer but he still looked old and frail.

Castiel stood, his chair falling backwards and clattering to the ground, as he reached out and placed his hand on Bobby’s shoulder.

“Bobby, it is not Chuck’s fault.” Castiel kept his voice even as he tried to placate the older man. They didn’t need to be fighting like this when they had to figure out how to get Dean back.

Bobby was beyond upset and his voice was harsh and sharp as he yelled at them both. “Like Hell it’s not his fault! This idjit knew where Dean was this whole time and he never thought to tell us?” Bobby’s voice filled the small room as his anger flared His whole posture screamed that he was going to beat Chuck for withholding the information.

“It is pointless to argue over it now,” Castiel pointed out. “It won’t change what has happened and it won’t help us save Dean and surely that is what is important right now.”

He didn’t ask the obvious question: Was there anything left of Dean-the real Dean-to rescue?
< Go to part 2