Archive of Our Own

Dean leaned against the side of his car as his brother walked toward his apartment. Sam and the woman he was with were walking in such a way that suggested that they had been to a party. Dean smiled at the thought of his uptight little brother loosening up. The two kissed affectionately as he watched and he felt a pang of guilt for what he was going to do.

The couple was nearly to the car when Dean moved enough for Sam to notice. His brother stiffened and placed himself between the girl and Dean. “Hey Sammy.”

“Dean? What the hell?” he replied with incredulity.

“I need to talk to you.” Dean said.

“There is this invention, it's called a phone.” Sam said.

“Would you have picked up if I had called?” Dean asked. The silence that followed was enough of an answer for him.

“Sam, who is this?” the girl asked, she was pretty, and sexy as hell in that nurse costume. It made Dean wonder how his geek of a brother had landed such a babe.

“This is my brother, Dean,” Sam said flatly. “Dean, this is my fiance' Jessica.”

“Oh, um, nice to meet you, Dean,” Jessica said, offering her hand.

“Likewise,” Dean clasped her hand, feeling shocked. His eyes locked on the small engagement ring on her finger.

“Dean, what do you want?” Sam demanded breaking the awkward silence that followed.

Dean saw the blatant hostility in Sam's eyes and wondered how he ever thought that coming here was a good idea. “I can see that I've made a mistake. Never mind, forget I was ever here.”

Sam's stance changed abruptly. “What? You come here and now you're just going to go without any explanation?”

“No, look, I came to tell you that Dad went on a hunting trip.” Dean replied. “And he hasn't been home in a few days. I thought that maybe you could give me a hand looking for him.”

Concern flashed across Sam's face, but was quickly replaced with a look of disgust and indignation that was enough for Dean to know what was coming. “Dad can look after himself. I'm done dealing with the family drama that comes from his hunting.”

Dean nodded. “I can see that.” He glanced over at Jessica. “Looks like you've found everything you were looking for. ” He turned his attention to focus on Jessica and gave her a polite nod. “I'm sorry to have bothered you.” He pulled up as genuine a smile as he could, but it felt forced and wrong. “Have a good life, Sammy.” He walked away from the happy couple, a pit in his stomach. He knew he was being selfish, wanting his brother to come with him. He just hadn't known how much of a life his brother had created here at Stanford.

“Dean, wait,” Sam called, just as he reached the Impala. He turned as his brother approached, noting that Jessica was still on the sidewalk far out of hearing range. “Listen, I love you. I do, but I love Jess too and she is what is most important to me now.”

Dean did what he could to ignore the knife that seemed to stab his gut. “I get it. You want to protect your family.”

“I swore I was through with hunting, and I'll do what ever it takes to make sure that Jess never has to learn about my past.” Sam's voice held a level of threat that Dean had never heard directed at him personally.

Dean nodded and walked over to the trunk and opened it. “Alright. If that is the way you want it, I can deal.” He reached in and opened the false bottom exposing the cache of weapons and occult items. He rooted around for a a moment and pulled out a small leather pouch bound. “Take this then.”

“What is it?” Sam asked not touching the bag.

“It's a hex bag. It'll hide you from all sorts of supernatural creatures, including demons.”

“Why would I need this exactly?” Sam demanded still not touching it. “I still have the protective fetish Dad insisted I keep with me.”

Dean sighed, “Because that thing that killed Mom is still out there. No matter how much you might think you're out of this, it might decide to come after you again.”

“Fine,” Sam grimaced and took the bag, stuffing it in his pocket.

“This is the number of the voodoo priest that made it for me. If anything happens to it, call him up, tell him who you are and he'll make you a new one.” Dean handed him a slip of paper. “He owes me big time so he'll probably just charge you for the shipping.” He slammed the trunk shut and climbed into the car.

“Dean,” Sam called over the rumble of the engine as it purred to life.

“What?”

“Just... Take care of yourself.” Sam said, a mild hint of regret in his voice.

“I'll do my best.” Dean said and pulled away, not bothering to check the rear view mirrors until he was well away from the campus area.

** ** **

Dean stood on the front porch of the two story house that was the residence of one of the few people that he thought might be willing to help him. Yet he was hesitant to intrude on the life of someone that he hadn't seen in nearly a year. With a sigh he screwed up his courage and knocked. There was no sound for a few moments then he heard footsteps and the door opened.

"Hey Bobby," Dean said with a smile that he didn't really feel.

"Dean Winchester? What in the Sam-Hill are you doing here?" Bobby Singer asked in shock.

Dean looked down at the ground not wanting the emotions he was feeling to show on his face. "I can't find my dad."

"What?" Bobby stared.

"Dad went on a hunt and now I can't find him." Dean suddenly swayed on his feet and leaned hard against the door frame.

Bobby grabbed him and helped him into the house. After some careful maneuvering he had the younger man seated at the kitchen table. He pulled back and found his hands covered in blood. "Christ! What the hell happened to you?"

"Damn, the stitches must have torn." Dean said weakly and groaned when the older man lifted the edge of his shirt to reveal the four long claw marks along his ribs.

"Tell me you at least went to the hospital for these." Bobby demanded as he went for the first-aid kit in the bathroom.

“Yeah, didn't have much choice after the Rangers pulled me and the people I rescued from a Wendigo out of a national forest."

"You went after a Wendigo by yourself?"

"I was trying to find my dad," Dean winced at the feel of the antiseptic wash on raw flesh. "I found his journal after I figured out he was working on a Woman in White case, but the only clue was a set of coordinates in the middle of the woods."

"But still, going after a Wendigo?"

"Dude, I'm 26, I can handle a hunt on my own." Dean gasped when Bobby applied a bandage across the stitched flesh to staunch the bleeding. "Fried that son of a bitch extra crispy with a flare gun. It was a thing of beauty.

"Yeah, practically took yourself out at the same time." Bobby said with a grimace. "Okay now tell me what is going on with John?" He went to the fridge and pulled out a couple of beers, handing one to Dean.

"I don't know," Dean took a long pull on his bottle. "I was doing this job down in New Orleans and we were supposed to meet up two months ago. He never showed, hasn't sent me any kind of messages and his phone goes directly to voice mail."

Bobby winced at the lost look Deans green eyes. "You know this isn't the first time he has taken a long time to get back."

"Not like this, not since I started taking jobs on my own. He has always left contact information somewhere." Dean sighed.

"Here," Bobby offered his hand. "I've got a spare bed in the den. Go lie down and I'll see if I can dig up anything."

"I don't want to put you out," Dean protested.

"Shut up, ya idjit, and go get some sleep." Bobby helped him to the room and got him undressed enough for sleep. He left for a moment and came back with a small pill and a glass of water. "Tylenol with codeine. It'll help you sleep."

"Thanks, Bobby." Dean obediently took the pill and relaxed a little into the bed.

"Mind if I ask you something?" Dean shook his head even as his eyes drooped slightly, the obvious exhaustion finally catching up to him. "Not that I mind you coming, in fact I'm glad you trusted me enough to come, but why me?"

"No one else to turn to," Dean said in a soft voice.

"What about your brother?"

Dean let out a soft laugh that held way too much pain. "He's done with hunting. Got himself a normal life with a pretty girlfriend and a fast track to law school. Last time I talked to him, he said he wanted nothing more to do with hunting or with me." Dean pulled the blanket up a bit then continued. "I tried to get him to come with me when I first realized Dad was missing."

Bobby waited to see of Dean would say more, but the young man's eyes drifted shut and he began to breathe slowly drifting into sleep. After another minute he went back into the kitchen and grabbed his book full of hunters' contact numbers and flipped the pages until he found the one he was looking for. With quick fingers he dialed and waited for the connection.

“This is John Winchester, I can't answer the phone right now, please leave a message at the tone. If this is an emergency call my son Dean, he can help.” The message then rattled off Dean's cell phone number.

“John, you son of a bitch.” Bobby began. “This is Bobby Singer. I need you to call my back ASAP.”

He ended the call resisting the urge to hurl his own phone in frustration. After a few moments he dialed another number. “Ellen, its Bobby.”

“Hey Bobby, its been a while,” Ellen said with a smile in her voice. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to ask you a favor.” Bobby said. “And you probably aren't going to like it.”

“What's going on Bobby,” Ellen asked.

“I need you to put your feelers out,” Bobby explained. “Keep an ear to the ground if you hear anything about where Winchester is.”

“John?” Ellen was incredulous. “What's he done now?”

“Other than pulled a disappearing act? Beats me,” Bobby said. “I've got his oldest boy here and the kid looks like fifty miles of bad road.”

“You don't think he's dead do you?”

“I don't know what to think,” Bobby admitted. “Dean is asleep and it might be the first time he has had any decent sleep in days, if not weeks.”

Ellen cursed, “Yeah, I'll keep an ear out. Did he say what happened?”

“Tangled with a Wendigo.”

“Christ! Alone?”

“Yep,” Bobby replied, having to pull the phone away from his ear to avoid the expletives. “Don't yell at me, Ellen.”

“You know, John had better be doing something really important because if it's something stupid, I'm going to shoot him myself.”

“Only if I don't get to him first.” Bobby promised. “For now I'm gonna offer the kid a place to stay while he recovers.”

“Offer him what ever you can, Bobby,” Ellen suggested. “Odds are if John is off on his own, he thinks what ever he's into is too dangerous to involve his son.”

“Yeah,” Bobby sighed. “That's what I figured. I've got a couple more people I'm going to try. See if they've heard anything. I'll talk to you later.”

“You take care, Bobby.”

The next morning after Bobby had cooked Dean a large breakfast he cleared his throat. “You know, this is a big house. You ever feel you need a place to crash, I wouldn't object to the company.”

Dean froze with a fork full of egg half way to his mouth. “You offering me a place to stay?”

“Sure, especially if you're gonna be looking for your dad between hunts. I can keep an ear out for any information.” Bobby extemporized. “And you can help me with research or whatever.”

Dean was quiet for a long time, slowly chewing his food. “That's- Thanks Bobby.”

That was how it started. Dean Winchester, one of the youngest hunters on the road, once he'd healed from his injuries, went out hunting but he always came back to Singer Salvage. He saved people and hunted things, carried on the family business. And encountered supernatural forces like the hooked man spirit and the pagan scarecrow god. Of course he had to run into rumors of a shape-shifter so he investigated and was damn near taken out by it. Unfortunately, he only managed to kill it after the thing had used his face to kill two people. And now, despite the fact that the police thought he was dead, there was a file with his face in it saying he was a serial killer. He reunited with an old flame and helped save her and her mother from a racist ghost driving a phantom truck.

Bobby Singer was a good friend and a great researcher. While Dean was often reluctant to call, he never hesitated when his own research hit a brick wall. Like with the fake haunted house that turned out to be inhabited by a Tibetan thought form. Stupid ghost chasing idiots by the names of Harry Spangler and Edward Zeddmore damn near got him killed, though he figured it'd be a few days before they found the dead fish he put under the back seat of their car. Payback was a bitch.

** ** ** **

Agent Victor Henriksen pulled out The File. It was the one case he had yet to close. In all his years as an FBI agent. He had never had anything like it before. Oh sure, he'd dealt with the crazy, he'd dealt with the obsessed, but never had the subject of his investigations ever managed to elude him for so long.

It had started several years ago, a simple report of a man going around impersonating a federal agent. A quick background check had provided him with some odd tidbits of information. His original subject was a man in his late 40's named John Winchester, a former Marine Private and Vietnam veteran. There was a police report from the early 1980s that talked about how his wife of 10 years had died in a fire in there house. Winchester and his two sons, Dean age 4 and Samuel 6 months, had managed to escape with only minor burns.

Less than six months after the fire, John Winchester had sold his half the garage he owned to his partner and had disappeared with his sons. Occasionally they would appear back on the radar, the kids enrolled at one school or another, but for the most part they were like ghosts.

There was a trail of small crimes that followed the family. Petty theft, breaking and entering and one minor gun charge but nothing to suggest the level of madness that would erupt from the oldest son.

Despite the report that suspect, Dean Winchester, had been killed during a string of assaults and murders in St. Louis, Missouri, a report that came complete with autopsy photos. The man had turned up alive and well in Baltimore, Maryland as a suspect in another set of murders for which he had later been exonerated.

Maybe if social services had taken the boys away when they were young there might have been a chance to save them. Now though, Dean Winchester was Victor's problem and he was determined to find him and bring him to justice.

** ** ** **

Dean spent a few days investigating the death of a hunter named Daniel Elkins. The veteran hunter had been one of the first people to teach his father the ins and outs of their dangerous life style. He had found Elkins' cabin completely trashed, with blood everywhere. It looked like everything of value had been broken. However, Dean knew that any hunter that stayed in one place long enough to own property always hid the really important stuff. After a slow search of the cabin, he found a safe hidden in the floor under an antique writing desk. It took him nearly an hour, but he was able to open it.

There were half a dozen journals written by Elkins and an antique box, the honey golden wood had no decoration. He opened it and let out a low whistle of appreciation. Nestled in the custom cut box was a Colt revolver, but it was like no gun he had ever seen before. It practically radiated power and with the gun were seven bullets each one a work of art.

Conscious of the fact that this was a crime scene, Dean took the journals and the gun out to the car. He then wiped any prints he might have left behind and placed everything back as close to the way he'd found it as he could. With no EMP readings and very little in the way of evidence pointing to what or who might have killed Elkins, he decided to take what he had found back to Bobby's, as it was just over two days drive away. He figured it would be a better place to stash the journals and investigate the gun further than to have them lying around in a motel.

Dean stared in shock as he pulled into the salvage yard. Sitting around the corner of the house, close to where Bobby's dog Rumsfeld was sleeping, was his father's truck. His heart rose at the thought of finally seeing his father again, but he stopped himself from rushing into the house. It had been months with no direct contact. Just text messages with map coordinates and news articles sending him on hunt after hunt in the hopes that he would finally meet up with him. He took a deep breath to calm himself and made his way to the front door, his pearl handled .9 mil pistol warming from the heat of his skin at the small of his back.

He slowed when he saw the door was still opened slightly. He listened and was unsurprised to hear Bobby, sounding pissed. “Now just a damn minute, John. I don't know who you think you are making demands here, but this is my home, you can keep a civil tongue or you can get the hell out.”

“God dammit, Bobby.” John's voice was strained and angry. “I know you are the emergency contact for a lot of hunters, I just need to know if Elkins was one of them.”

“Even if I was I don't see how it's any concern of yours.” Bobby replied. “I've called you several times in the past year and not once did you call back. Now you just waltz in here? Do I look like an idjit to you?”

Dean knocked twice on the opened door before opening it and stepping into the house. “Hey Bobby.” he called. “You know you left the door open.” Despite himself he couldn't help the rush of warmth at seeing his father alive and healthy looking. There was an air of fatigue about the man and there were more gray hairs in this beard, but otherwise he looked good.

“Dean?” His father looked surprised, then he smiled. “It's good to see you, son.” He took a step forward and Dean allowed himself to be pulled into a hug.

“It's good to see you too, Sir.” For a long moment Dean let himself be surrounded by the feel of safety that he had always associated with being held by his only living parent before pulling away. “What brings you here?”

“Daniel Elkins, a hunter was killed about a week ago.” John began, he leaned back against the kitchen counter. “I received a posthumous letter from him, where he confessed to having a weapon in his possession that was incredibly powerful and dangerous. I tracked the nest of vampires that killed him, but there was no sign of the weapon.”

“Weapon?” Dean asked, with caution. The rest of his brain was going 'Vampires? What the hell?' “What kind of weapon?”

“There is a legend that Samuel Colt made a special gun for a hunter.” John replied, his gaze going from Bobby then to Dean and back. “It's said that this gun can kill anything.”

Dean felt a frission of fear and excitement run through his body. “Anything? As in supernatural anything?”

“Yeah, I thought it was just a legend.” John replied. “But Elkins had it the whole time.”

“And that's why you're here?” Bobby asked. “Because you think I might have it?”

“I searched his cabin from one end to the other. I couldn't even find any notes on it in his journal.” John shrugged. “I figured if he sent it to anyone, it would have been you.”

“Well you thought wrong.” Bobby replied. “I haven't talked to Elkins in ten years.”

“You want it to kill the demon,” Dean realized. “That's what this whole year has been about? The yellow-eyed demon?”

“Yes, I've been tracking it. Mysterious fires, livestock deaths and other demonic omens like the kind that happened before your mother died. They've been occurring around the country, around the world in fact, but I can't investigate things happening overseas.” John said. “If I can get close enough to it, with that gun, we can end this once and for all.”

“So that's it?” Bobby demanded. “You see your son for the first time in over a year and that's all you have to say?”

“Bobby,” Dean stopped him. “It's alright.”

“Like hell it is,” Bobby growled.

“Bobby, please.” Dean had a grim look about him. One that Bobby only saw when he was really hurting inside.

“Fine, I'll be down the the basement, seeing if there is anything decent in the freezer to cook.”

“Thanks,” Dean forced a smile. He waited for Bobby to leave the room before he turned to his father. “So, were you ever going to tell me what you were doing?”

“Excuse me?” John said.

“No I'm serious, Dad,” Dean demanded. “I want to know if you actually had any intention of telling me about this. Because I'm beginning to think you didn't. Especially after the way you ditched me.”

“Oh don't get so melodramatic,” John replied. “I left you out of this because it was too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous?” Dean pressed his lips together in a grimace. “Right, so the Wendigo and the scarecrow god were easy hunts?”

“I knew you and Sam could handle them,” John replied, then he looked around. “Where is he anyway?”

His father's words were like a punch in the gut. “Me and Sam? Sam is in school at Stanford, Dad.”

“What?”

“I'm a solo gig here, Dad,” Dean said with a flippant tone. “Have been for a while now. Sammy has a life. One where he has a full ride scholarship, friends, and a bride to be. Can't be giving up all that for the dangers of the road, now can he? ”

John reacted fast as his temper had always been and shoved Dean up against the nearest wall. “You left your brother unprotected?”

Dean winced at the pain and gritted his teeth. “He's a big boy now, he can take care of himself.” The punch to his jaw was a complete shock. His father had never struck him in all his life, and at this close quarters, he couldn't even bring his arms up to block another blow.

“What the fuck?” Suddenly Bobby was there pulling them apart physically. “John Winchester, you get out of my house.”

“No, wait,” John said quickly, looking as shocked by his own actions as everyone else. “Look, I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry?” Bobby growled. “You just assaulted your own son in my kitchen.” Bobby glanced at Dean as he wiped a stream of blood away from the corner of his mouth. “You okay kid?”

“I'm cool.” Dean replied and wiggled his jaw. “I think you should do what Bobby says here, Dad.”

“Dean, please, I'm sorry.” John pleaded.

“You know what? I don't care.” Dean expression grew dark. He reached behind his back and pulled his gun out, the barrel pointed at the floor. “I've been on the road for days. I came here for a break in the action, not a broken jaw.”

“Put that thing down before you hurt someone.” John was using his drill sergeant voice. It had always commanded immediate obedience from Dean in the past and it almost worked this time. But Dean's anger was too raw.

“You leave now, or you leave on a stretcher.” Dean replied. “I can shoot to wound as easily as I can shoot to kill, remember?”

John backed away slowly, his steps taking him to the front door. Bobby shadowed him all the way out to the front porch and down to his truck. Bobby watched as he leaned against the truck's side. “I don't... Oh god, what did I just do?”

“Fucked up big time, ya idjit.” Bobby replied. “This obsession of yours has gone too far. You just hurt the one person in your sorry life that deserves it the least.”

“I know, I know.” John straightened. “I'll find a way to make it up to him. But I need that gun, Bobby. If I can destroy that demon, I can fix this.”

“John that gun is a pipe dream,” Bobby ground out. “Do you really think, even if it does exist that the demons would tolerate a hunter like you getting their hands on it?”

“What are you talking about?” John asked.

“Right now ninety-nine percent of all hunters are an annoyance to demons. You go in guns blazing and prove you can kill one, they won't stop until you and everyone that might have ever heard of the Colt is dead.” Bobby continued relentlessly. “That means your friends, allies, and your family. Are you really willing to put them all as risk?”

“This has to end, Bobby.” John replied. “I have to end it. For everyone's sake.”

“You just don't get it do you. Even if you managed to kill that demon right now, you will never be able to take back that punch.” Bobby shook his head. “You leave now, and don't come back here until you get your head on straight. You want to talk to Dean, you call me first. Got it?”

“He's my son.” John protested.

“You should have thought of that a long time ago.” Bobby pointed toward the road. “Now get out of here.”

“I'm going. Just tell Dean, I said, I'm sorry.” John requested. “I'm- I'm going to check on Sam. Make sure he is okay.”

“You do that.”

** **

The noise of the truck leaving covered the sound of Dean coming out of the house and walking to his car. Bobby did a double take as the young man opened the trunk and pulled out a worn duffel bag with protective sigils drawn on it. Dean turned to watch the truck disappear in the distance. His hand rubbed absently at his swelling jaw.

“Let's get your stuff inside and we'll put some ice on that.” Bobby offered.

“It's fine, he didn't hit me that hard,” Dean replied with a shrug and reached into the back seat for his luggage. “I've got something you need to see.”

Back in the house, Bobby made up an ice pack and glared at Dean until he placed it on his jaw. “Now what have you got?”

Dean reached into the bag and pulled out the journals, the box was still within the confines of the bag. “Remember Dad was talking about Elkins' death and how the guy left him a letter about this special gun?”

“The Colt is not something to be bandied about in casual conversation, Dean.” Bobby warned him. “People have died trying to find that thing.”

“I figured as much,” Dean said. “I read about Elkins death and went to investigate. I don't know if I beat Dad to the cabin or if he just missed it.”

“Missed what?” Bobby came over to stand next to Dean as he opened the lid to the box and exposed the gun.

“Good Christ.” Bobby exclaimed breathlessly. “Is that what I think it is?”

“I think so. I brought it here to see if you could make heads of tales of it, since I'd never even heard of something like this before.” Dean's smile was bitter. “Also, you need to tell me everything you know about vampires, because I seem to have some serious gaps in my hunting lore.”

“Not surprising since most believe that vampires are extinct, thanks to hunters like Elkins.” Bobby said, his eyes never leaving the Colt. “I'll give you the basics over dinner tonight.”

“There are only seven bullets,” Dean said. “If this gun is as powerful as Dad said. Why would Samuel Colt only make a dozen bullets?”

“Yah got me there. But let's just keep in mind that maybe what he used to make the bullets was very rare.”

“I was thinking, maybe we could take one of the bullets apart and see if they are made in a special way. Maybe its something we could duplicate.” Dean suggested as he held up the bullet marked with a 7 to the light.

“Something we could duplicate?” Bobby's eyes lit up. “You're a genius Dean.”

“Nah, that's Sammy.” Dean replied. “I just get a decent idea from time to time.”

“Don't sell yourself short, boy.” Bobby said quietly. “You're a hell of a lot smarter than you pretend to be.”

Dean ducked his head and turned away. “No chick flick moments.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Fine, instead, why don't you go take a shower and get some sleep. You look like you haven't had either in days.”

“Yeah.” Dean signed. “I can do that.” He grabbed his clothes bag and headed for the stairs. “You know anybody that can do metallurgy around here?”

“The local county college has a chemistry lab, they can probably do the job for us.” Bobby said. “We're might to have to sacrifice more than one bullet for this.”

“I know, but I figure it'll be worth it in the end.” Dean trotted up the stairs and out of sight.

Bobby picked up one of the bullets and looked at it closely. He thought about what they would need to examine. The gunpowder would have to be tested as well as the jacket and the composition of the slug.

There was no way they would give the Colt to be tested, but they could examine it themselves.

“Hey Bobby,” Dean called down about an hour later.

“Yeah?”

“Did you buy out an estate sale or something?”

“What are you talking about?” Bobby called back.

“There's all this furniture up here.” Dean made his way down toweling his hair. He was dressed in a sleeveless t-shirt and a pair of sweats.

“Oh that,” Bobby waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, one of the neighbors died last month. Nothing supernatural about it, just old age. The kids were selling the contents of the house. I figured the bedroom furniture and almost never used mattress would work up in the spare room.”

Dean stared at him. “Seriously? You bought me a bedroom set?”

“Who said I bought it for you,” Bobby said gruffly and looked embarrassed.

The smile that spread across Dean's face was almost shy. “Thanks.”

“Go get some sleep ya idjit. We'll work on the Colt in the morning.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Dean watched as the ventilator breathed for his father. The doctor had said it wouldn't be much longer before his father died, there was just too much damage. The eighteen wheeler that had T-boned his father's truck as he watched, from the Impala only a few car lengths behind had been controlled by a demon and it had vacated the body of the trucker the moment it realized that it had not managed to take out both of them. Bobby was on his way, but there was very little time left.

John's obsession with secrecy had finally come around to bite him on the ass. If he has simply told Dean what had been going on, if he had opened up and let him know about how the omens and signs were all pointing at the demon getting ready to strike at another infant's home, then maybe, just maybe, Dean would have been able to back him up.

He felt the yellow eyed demon come up from behind him in the hallway as he looked in on his father's room. “What do you want?” Dean asked, seeing that the demon was inhabiting one of the hospital janitors.

“I'd like a word with you in private.”

Dean nodded and lead the way to an empty room a few doors down. “I'm listening.”

“I have a deal for you, Dean,” he said with a cold smile. “I'll save your Daddy's life in exchange, you give me the Colt. It's no used to you without bullets anyway.”

“What's the catch?” Dean demanded his hand came up to grip the amulet around his neck.

“The catch is, in five years, you get the trip downstairs that normally wouldn't happen for ten.”

“Why?” Dean didn't want to show any fear, but he was visibly shaken. “Why not just kill me and Dad and take the Colt?”

“You Winchesters have been a thorn in the side of a lot of demons. We're all looking for a little payback.” He sidled up closer and whispered, “Your Daddy knowing you made a deal with me? Would be a sweet treat, knowing his obsessive need for vengeance ended up sending his first born straight to Hell.”

“If I say yes, I want a guarantee that you and your demon buddies will leave my family and the rest of the Winchester line alone.” Dean replied.

“Excuse me?” Yellow-eyes' smile slipped off his borrowed face.

“You heard me,” Dean said, taking a step closer. “The Winchester family line, that's Sam, Dad and me, along with anyone related to us by marriage or blood. Whatever your plans were, they no longer include them, you understand?”

“That will cost you a bit more than I think you're willing to lose at this point,” the demon said. “I had high hopes for your brother, but seeing as I can't locate him...” he looked at Dean more closely. “Oh, that is very clever. Some kind of protective fetish I suppose, keeping Sammy-boy off the radar. But you're right, I don't actually need him. Okay, so long as said family members are not actively hunting, they are off the playing field. Which means you and Daddy are still fair game.” His grin was truly evil. “And the price, we come for you in one year, instead of five, and no trying to weasel your way out of it. Otherwise Daddy drops dead and Sammy is back in the game. Also, even if you somehow managed to kill me, the deal would still be valid, since, as much as I would love to drag you down to Hell myself, I won't be holding your contract.”

Dean closed his eyes. “One year...”

“So do we have a deal?” the demon asked.

“Yes.” Dean replied and looked up into the slickly yellow eyes, only inches away from his own. “We have a deal.”

Azazel reached up, grabbed Dean firmly by the back of his neck and pulled him into an open mouthed kiss. Dean didn't resist, knowing that this was how deals were sealed. He shuddered as cold fear ran through his body, the full knowledge of what he had done racing through his mind. The demon held him close in a parody of intimacy, their foreheads touching.

“Wonder if your family knows just how much you love them?”

Dean pulled away violently. “I'll go get the Colt.”

“I'll be waiting.”

** ** **

“I don't understand it. The damage is gone.” the doctor said, as he talked to Dean, Bobby and John, who was sitting up in the hospital bed. “Some kind of miraculous event brought you back from the brink.”

“When do you think I can get out of here?” John asked.

“I'd like to do a few more tests, but I don't see any reason why you can't leave tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Dean said and shook his hand. He could feel the eyes of both his father and his mentor boring into him.

The next morning John checked out of the hospital and they drove the long miles to Bobby's house. The Impala was quiet as they drove, they'd hit a line of storms that just would not let up, making driving treacherous at best. John kept asking questions and Dean kept ignoring them, concentrating on the road and the pouring rain. Dean felt the weight of the unanswered questions hanging between them.“Dean, pull over.” John demanded. Visibility was down to only a few yards, so he relented and pulled into the next rest area. There was a small picnic pavilion off to the right side and a gas station on the left. Dean chose to park near the pavilion, got out of the car and jogged under the shelter. He found a dry table to sit on as he father followed him.

“Okay, so you wanted to talk, let's talk.” Dean said, arms open wide. “I'm all ears.”

“I want to know what happened back there?” John said.

“Which 'back there' are you referring to?” Dean asked. “The one where you managed to get captured by demons? Because I have to say Dad for all the years you've hunted not once were you ever that reckless.”

“I want to know how it is that you managed to rescue me against three demons.” John demanded. “I want to know how it is I'm even alive.”

“Do you really want to know, Dad?” Dean asked.

“What did you do?”

“I did what I've always done.” Dean said. “I saved your life. I protected this family.”

John grabbed Dean by the shoulders and shook him. “What did you do?!”

“I made a deal.” Dean spat out and shoved his father away.

John released him and staggered back several steps. “No.”

“Yes!” Dean said. “You live, Sam and his new family are safe. All the Winchesters from our bloodline are to be left alone.”

“What did you give him in return?” John demanded. “Was it just your soul or was there something else.”

“I gave him the Colt,” Dean replied. His gaze never wavering, though tears started to form in his eyes. John stared at him, his head slowly shaking back in forth as though not understanding his son's words.

“The Colt.” John's voice was flat. “You had the Colt all this time. You knew I was looking for it and you said nothing. Why would you do that?”

“Why?” Dean retorted. “Because I knew that if you had the Colt, the first thing you would do is try to hunt down the demon and kill it. You wouldn't even think about what a gun like that would mean long term.”

“Long term?” John still in shock echoed. “There is no long term, all that I want is for that demon to be dead.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean said. “But this doesn't end with one demon's death. Bobby's got research and hunters reports telling us there are more demons walking the earth than there has been in hundreds of years. There is a war coming and the best weapon ever created to fight demons had only five bullets left.”

“A war? I don't give a damn about a war.” John shook his head. “All I ever wanted was to make sure you and your brother were safe. To give you a home. Now we've lost the one chance to end this because of your selfishness.”

“Selfish? That's funny,” Dean barked out a bitter chuckle, and punched John in the face hard enough to send him back several feet. “All these years, I've done everything you ever asked of me. I've given you everything I ever had. So don't you dare call me selfish.”

“Dean...” Bobby who had heard most of the last few comments looked just as stricken as is father. “How long did he give you?”

“One year.” There was a noise of protest from John, but otherwise the man stayed silent.

“God, Dean,” Bobby he pulled the young man into a hug. “How screwed up do you have to be to think that this was an acceptable trade off?”

“This family, Dad and Sam,” Dean said brokenly. “It's all I have. It's all I've ever had. Even with Sam ignoring me and Dad ditching me, at least I knew they were alive. I just couldn't- I couldn't let him die.”

“Family don't end with blood, boy,” Bobby whispered harshly.

“I know,” Dean replied. “I'm sorry for hurting you.”

“So now what?” Bobby asked feeling lost. “You're just going to keep hunting until time runs out?”

“No, we're going to be smart about this.” Dean said with determination. “No more lone wolf hunters keeping their little secrets from each other. We get organized, find as many willing as we can, convince them what's going on is real and start networking. The demon was always one step ahead of Dad because he refused to tell anyone what he was doing.”

Bobby gave him a 'you're crazy' look but kept listening. “If you and Ellen are willing, we use the Roadhouse and Singer Salvage as points of contact. We do research on all of the protection charms and any anti-possession and anti-demonic lore out there. We put devils traps in the trunks of the cars, in front of all the doors, 24-7 salt lines. Hell put holy water in everything you can think of.”

Dean turned to his father, who was listening without comment. “And you will tell us everything you know. I'm sick and tired of the secrets you've kept. You should have let me in on this from the start. Then maybe I wouldn't have had to use almost all the Colt's original bullets to save your sorry ass.”

“Almost?” John said with a sudden intensity. “I heard five shots.”

“Yeah well that is the difference between you and me,” Dean went to the car, the rain had stopped some time during their argument, and opened the trunk. He pulled out a box with protective symbols on it and brought it under the shelter. He opened it and revealed over three dozen bullets all nestled in foam packing a small hex bag sat in its own slot next to them. “The gun is just a hunk of useless, if very pretty, metal without bullets. Bobby and I figured out how to make more.”

“But we don't have the Colt anymore, those bullets are no good to us without it.” John reminded him.

“Not true.” Bobby said. “We tested them out. They won't kill demons, but they will kill just about anything else when used in a regular antique colt revolver.”

“We're trying to see if the mix of metals and gun powder will work in other guns as well.” Dean added.

John looked at his son as though he didn't recognize him. “I guess you've been working on this a long time. Why didn't you ever say anything?”

Dean stared at his father dumbfounded for a good minute, grabbed the box of bullets, and stowed them back in the trunk. He turned and walked away to the edge of the tree line where he sat down in the wet grass and laughed until tears ran down his cheeks.

** ** **

Life went on as a hunter, despite the looming deadline in Dean's future. Whether it be the ghost of a child that died long ago or a disgruntled Hollywood writer conjuring spirits to get revenge on the production company for destroying his script. There was always something to hunt.

John eventually agreed that he would explain what he knew and how he was tracking the demon's movements. The omens were subtle, but detectible if you knew what to look for. Lightning strikes, livestock deaths, and other unnatural occurrences that by themselves would have gone unnoticed.

They used the Roadhouse as their meeting place. Ellen was reluctant at first, her grief over her husband's death colored her interactions with John Winchester. But once they started compiling the data from John's notes, they started to see a pattern, one that had been repeating itself every five years for nearly 20 years now.

“So let me get this straight.” Ellen said. “This demon with the yellow eyes goes around making deals with people, but they aren't losing their souls.”

“Not as far as I can tell.” John replied. “There are a dozens of towns that he targeted back in the 70s. Things happened back then, evidence that deals were struck. But as far as I can tell, only people in their late teens and early twenties were approached.”

Ash looked at the dates and frowned hard. “Dude, I think... hang on.” He ran into the back where he slept and came back out with his laptop. It was a Frankenstein's monster of a computer, with wires exposed and extra bits attached. “Okay last time he was here Dean gave me some stuff to look up. This,” he pointed to the open pages of John's new journal, “when complied with your old notes add up to something huge.”

“If you take in the number of house fires like yours and then add to that the time frame in which those deals were made. Each one of those deal makers had a baby six months old at the time of the fire.” Ash looked away from the screen.

“Wait, that doesn't make any sense,” Dean said. “There are a lot more of these sightings than there are corresponding house fires.”

“So what is the connection?” Ellen asked.

“Witnesses.” Dean said suddenly. “Walking in on the demon in the nursery. Maybe he was doing something to the babies.”

“Which means there could be a hell of a lot more children out there than we originally thought.” Ash started typing furiously into the laptop. Most of what went across the screen seemed to be utter gibberish, but when he finished he hit two keys and data started streaming across in record time. “Holy crap.”

“What is that?” John demanded as the screen lit up with several old newspaper reports, the pictures of obituaries.

“You never said your wife was Mary Campbell,” Ash looked at him accusingly.

“Yes, Campbell was her Maiden name.” John said. “So what?”

“You never heard of the Campbells?” Ash demanded. “One of the oldest hunter families in the entire country. They can boast having been here since the Mayflower and have been hunters even before that.”

“That is not possible. Mary never said anything,” John shook his head in denial. “She never even hinted.”

“That means that if she made a deal with the yellow eyed demon,” Dean began. “Then she knew what she was doing. If her father was a hunter, there is no way she couldn't have known. No hunter would leave their children ignorant.”

“And your house fire happened ten years after her parents died in an apparent murder-suicide that you were nearly a victim of.” Ash added.

John's face crumpled as he buried his face in his hands. “Oh, god. Mary.”

Dean sat up and nearly reached for the computer. Ash saw the move and gave the stink eye for the aborted move. “What do you need Dean?”

“Can that thing compile information that might not seem important?”

“What do you mean?” Ash asked, intrigued.

“Okay so say you have these towns all over the country where these demonic omens were happening back in '73. Can you match the omens to strange or seemingly miraculous occurrences?”

“Possibly.” Ash started typing like a maniac. “Are we talking mysterious deaths strange or won the lottery strange?”

“All the above, I think.” Dean said. Ellen came over with a plate of hot wings, and set them in front of him. “Ellen, you are a queen amongst women.”

“Don't get used to it,” she said sternly. “This is only because you got hurt on the Rakshasa case.”

“Nothing like stopping an evil clown apocalypse to win a sympathy vote.” Dean said with a sweet smile.

“Okay, so, taking into account the demonic omens that you know point to a powerful demon, coupled with mysterious deaths, miraculous cures or the sudden turning of fortunes for families with young adults you get a list of people that probably made deals with your yellow eyed monster.” The list was daunting, as it scrolled down. There had to be at least a hundred possible names. Ash hit several more keys and hit enter again. “Of those, cut it down to those that had children at the ten year mark.” The list dropped down a little. “From there, we see how many of those babies survived to the present day.” The number reduced dramatically.”

“Whoa. All those kids have died?” Dean asked. “That's dozens.”

“It gets weirder,” Ash said. “Now, watch what happens when you take the list of known survivors and match them to recent missing persons' reports.”

“What the hell?” Ellen stared at the list. “That's almost all of them.”

“So the demon is gathering his human army.” John stated flatly.

“That is what it looks like,” Ash agreed. “There is maybe dozen or so deal maker's kids still around walking around free.”

“Hey, Ash,” Dean said. “Do me a favor and check that list of missing person dates with John and Jane Doe deaths.”

“Give me a couple minutes.”

“Not like I'm going anywhere.” Dean said waving down to the air-cast on his foot.

“Why bother with something like that.” John demanded. “We need to move on this list, find those remaining before the demon does.”

Dean grabbed his beer off the bar counter and took a drink. “Right and do what exactly? Follow them around? Stake out there houses like a bunch of FBI agents? You do realize that if the demon wants to take them, we won't be able to follow them.”

“We can't just let the demon take them.” John stated, eyes glittering with anger.

“So what?” Dean asked. “Are you going to go all vigilante on me now? Kill people that have done nothing? All because of something that was done to them?”

“If it saves lives in the long run.” John said. “It's an option.”

“You know what, you are unbelievable.” Dean laughed hollowly. “I actually know one of those guys. Andy Gallagher, good kid, bit of a pot head and likes to mess with people on occasion. But he is, for the most part, harmless.”

“Fuck me.” Ash said suddenly. “They're all dead.”

“What?” John demanded. “Who is dead?”

“The missing persons,” Ash said. “With one exceptions, every one of the missing has been found dead in some remote part of the country. Turning up randomly like they were scattered to the four winds.”

“Who is the exception?” Dean asked.

“Some chick named Ava Wilson.” Ash said. “She went missing the same night her husband was sliced and diced in their honeymoon suite.”

“How long ago was that?” Dean asked.

“About two months ago.”

Dean nodded thoughtfully and stood, careful not to put too much pressure on his left foot. He grabbed his jacket where he'd hung it on the coat rack and pulled out his cell phone. It took him several minutes of searching the list, but he quickly hit send, dialing a number he had only used once. “Andy? Hey, listen, it's me, Dean Winchester.”

“Dean, dude,” Andy said with the slurring of someone under the influence of a controlled substance. “I just had the best weed ever.”

“I'm really happy for you, Andy.” Dean rolled his eyes heavenward. “But listen, I need you to remember this.”

“Remember what?”

“If anything happens, anything weird. Weird as in scary, not weird as in drug induced, I want you to call me.”

“Call weird if Dean happens.” Andy giggled.

“Oh my god, you are totally baked.”

“Yes, I really am.”

“I'm going to call you back in three hours, you better be coming down by then.” Dean said with a sigh.

“Okay, Dean. You're such a nice guy. I'd kiss you if you weren't hiding in that closet of yours.”

“Andy.” Dean warned. The call cut off when Andy ended from his side. Dean felt like beating his head against the wall. Of course Andy had seen inside his head when they had been dealing with the guy's insane twin brother. With a deep breath he walked back to the bar and got off his foot. “Okay, Andy should let me know if something weird happens.”

“Should?” his father asked.

“He was really baked when he answered the phone.” Dean replied. “I'll call him back later. But that isn't what is important. What is important is that if this is supposed to be an army of humans fighting with on Hell's side, why kill them? There has to be a reason.”

“Maybe they are given a choice of joining or dying.”

“Even if that were the case, not everyone is going to say no,” Dean said. “And demons can be very persuasive not to mention self-preservation tends to kick in.”

“So maybe it isn't an army,” Ash said taking a look at the data again. “Maybe they're doing a cage match or something. Making these kids fight until only the strongest is left.”

“Sam.” John said, is eye wide, standing as though to leave. “We have to warn him.”

“No. Sam is not part of the equation,” Dean growled, physically pushing his father down into the seat nearest them. “If you bring him in on this, you'll destroy any chance he had for a normal life.”

“He's not safe alone.” John said.

“He's a fuck lot safer at Stanford then he is running with us.” Dean said. “As long as he keeps the hex bags close to hand, he will never have to worry about it.” He eyed his father and leaned in close. “You know what I did, you know what my deal entails. If you even think of bringing Sam back into hunting despite what I did for you and him, then we're done.”

“Dean,” John protested.

“I mean it Dad.” Dean turned away and limped over to the bar. “Hey Ellen, mind if I crash in the back room. I think those pain killers are catching up to me.”

Ellen looked him over with a knowing eye and glanced at John before she spoke. “Knock yourself out kid.”

Right after getting the cast off, Dean had to deal with two things at once. The first, was a sudden need to visit his mother's grave. He didn't know why the sudden impulse hit him, but he found himself in the cemetery staring at her grave. He had never visited before, he honestly didn't see the point. As he looked down at it, his heart clenched. “We both did the same thing, Mom. Made deals with that yellow-eyed bastard to save the ones we love. You know, when I was little, you used to say that angels were watching over me. When I was growing up, I tried not to think about the fire, how you died. I hoped that if there is a heaven, that you are resting and that you're happy.” His eyes began to sting and he blinked away tears. “I'm sorry, Mom. My only regret in this whole thing, is I'm not going to get to see you when I die.” Dean turned away from the headstone, wiping his eyes. When he opened them he saw a perfectly circular patch of dead grass around a freshly dug grave.

The case had sucked. He managed to nail the zombie back into her grave, but not before the undead bitch had managed to kill not only her former boyfriend, but also her best friend and the guy that brought her back to life. He was starting to want a vacation. If he knew how to have a vacation he would have taken it. Instead he drove to Bobby's house and worked the phones for a while attempting to get hunters to join the new network.

** ** ** **

Months later:

Dean parked the Impala in front of the address of a guy named Ronald Resnick. He was, so far, the only surviving witness in a string of robberies that the police in Milwaukee, Wisconsin had yet to connect. The trail was such that only someone with experience with the paranormal would even com close to noticing it.

Dean had had used his FBI identity in order to interview several different businesses in the city over the past two days. All of them told the same story; a trusted employee had come to work as usual and had stolen what ever was most valuable in the building often in front of a witness. They would kill the witness, if there was one, and leave. The next day the body of the thief would be found, usually in their own home , having apparently killed themselves. The stolen merchandise was never recovered in any of the cases.

Resnick, had been lucky. Having been beaten unconscious and left for dead, he was found by the police soon after when the silent alarm had been tripped. He'd been in a coma for two days and had spend a week in the hospital after that. He was currently on medical leave, though his employers didn't appear as though they expected him to return.

Dean checked his appearance and walked up to the apartment door and knocked. A spotlight turned on illuminating the entire front step, and nearly blinding him. “Ronald Resnick?” Dean asked as an average height, overweight man with shoulder length curly brown hair came to the door.

“Who's asking?” the guy demanded through the glass storm door.

Dean pulled is fake ID out and pressed it against the glass. “FBI,” he replied. “I wanted to talk to you about the statement you gave the to police.”

The man gave him a disbelieving look. “You read my statement, and you still want to talk to me?”

“It's why I'm here.” Dean kept his expression serious. “I'd like to hear it from you, in your own words. If you don't mind.”

Ronald hesitated, then opened the door and let him in. After listening to the man for the next ten minutes Dean was beginning to regret coming here. All his talk about alien robots and laser eyes was giving him a headache. It was one thing to want one more hunt before his time ran out, it was another to waste his time on a nothing case. But then Ronald pulled out a copy of the video tape he said came from his bank's security cameras. The footage was of the man that was supposed to be Ronald's friend and fellow employee, but it turned out to be something completely unexpected.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean muttered.

“I know. I was shocked too.” Ronald said. “This thing, it copied Juan nearly perfectly. I didn't even question it. I kept trying to explain it to the cops, but they won't take me seriously because I was injured. They said the blow to the head made me see things.”

Dean snorted, “That is a pretty typical response of local law enforcement.”

“Here is the thing.” Ronald said. “I don't think this thing is done yet. There is one more bank less than two blocks down the street from the one I work at that hasn't been hit.” He pulled out a city map with all the targets that had been hit so far, there was an obvious pattern if you simply looked for it.

“So you think its going to hit that bank?” Dean asked.

“Yes, I do.” Ronald almost looked desperate. “If it holds to its pattern, it'll strike either tonight or tomorrow night. You believe me, don't you?”

Dean gave Ronald a penetrating look and decided to do something he almost never does. “Here is the thing, Ronald. I do believe you but the reason I do is because I'm not actually with the FBI.”

Ronald backed up and hit the wall. “Are you working with the mandriod?

Dean held up his hands. “I'm not working with that thing. I'm here to stop it.”

“A-are you with the Men is Black?”

Dean grinned, he couldn't help it. “No I'm not, and I'm not with any agency nor am I part of any government conspiracy. I'm a hunter.”

“A hunter?” Ronald parroted.

“That's right. My job is to make sure evil things, like what killed your friend, are stopped before they hurt anyone else.”

“So you know about the mandriods.”

“What you saw wasn't any robot. It's a creature, a living breathing life form. Probably a shape-shifter.” Dean shrugged. “As far as I know, there are no space aliens out there. God, I hope not.”

“Shape-shifter?” Ronald looked at all this research on UFOs. “So, I guess I was way off base.”

“Don't sell yourself too short,” Dean said pointing to the newspaper clippings. “You figured out there was a pattern. Even the cops haven't gotten that far. You just focused a little to close on science fiction rather than horror.”

Ronald sagged onto the paper strewn couch. “You have no idea how relieved I am. I mean it. Seriously, I thought I was going crazy half the time.” He looked at Dean. “But I was actually right. Okay not about the mandroid thing but the rest... Wow.”

Dean watched him for the freakout that normally happened at this point and was surprised that it didn't come. “You're handling this pretty well.”

“Are you kidding? I'm scared out of my mind,” he replied. “But I'm just so relieved. So, what do we do now?”

“We don't do anything.” Dean stated, standing. “You get to go back to your life, knowing that you were right. I am going to find this thing and gank it before it can hurt anyone else.”

“But I can help.” Ronald said. “Me and Juan, we used to go target shooting on our days off.” He went to his closet and pulled out an AK-47 rifle.

Dean was kind of jealous that a guy like Ronald had an automatic assault rifle. “You went target shooting with that?”

“Well, no, we used .22s.” he admitted. “But I got this and a box of armor piercing rounds last week.” At Dean's look of disbelief he said. “What? It was supposed to be a robot.”

“At least you know your gun safety.” Dean muttered. “Okay, here is the thing. When you go after a creature like a shape-shifter, you have to be subtle about it. If it knows you're gunning for it, it'll just choose someone else to look like.” He pointed at the rifle. “That is not subtle. That will have the cops on you in ten seconds flat.”

“The cops? But I'm trying to help.” Ronald said, bewildered.

“I know this, you know this.” Dean explained. “But all they will see is some guy with an AK-47. Which is a great way to get dead, by the way.” At the wounded puppy look he received, Dean added. “Besides, silver is the only thing I've ever found that will hurt a shape-shifter.”

“So they're like werewolves?”

“Similar in some ways.” Dean felt like he was talking to an overly enthusiastic kid rather than an adult. “Nearly every culture has shape-shifters in their legends. These things are fast, deadly and kill without remorse or conscience. It's damn dangerous and I don't want you to get hurt.”

“That thing killed my best friend.” Ronald said with a touch of defiance. “It made it seem like Juan snapped and tried to kill me. Hell, part of the reason I'm still on medical leave is because the psychologist I was sent to said I was in denial. I want-”

“Revenge?” Dean offered.

“No! Well, maybe I did at first,” Ronald admitted. “Now I just want it stopped before it hurts someone else.”

Dean weighed his options. Dealing with a shifter was always risky, and doing it in a public setting just made it twice as hard. It was cases like this one that made him wish that Sam was there to back him up. “Okay, here is what we are going to do...”

The next afternoon, just after the lunch shifts ended, Dean and Ronald entered the bank dressed as members of the security company that protected the bank. The one on duty guard, a man in his late 60s was more than happy to show them to the small room where the monitors were for all the cameras.

Ronald explained to the guard that it would take a few hours to work through the system, checking for bugs and the guard nodded and left them to it. “Same thing happened six months ago at my bank,” he told Dean. “Some glitch in the recording system was making the computer delete all the footage after a hour of recording.”

“How long were they working on the problem?” Dean asked as they sat down in front of the monitors.

“Twelve hours. I don't know if they got paid by the hour or what. I came in at one point to find they had the main computer tower in several pieces all over the floor.” He shook his head. “I'm no genius, but that much hardware all over the floor is never good.” He looked form the door to the monitors nervously.

“Dude, stay calm.” Dean cautioned as he settled into his seat. “You've kept your cool so far. Now we get to work.”

Ronald ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “Okay these controls are just like the ones from my job.” He grabbed a knob and turned it to focus more tightly on one face and then another.

Dean watched him for a minute and started messing with the controls on his side. One of the female bank tellers bent down to pick something up off the floor. Dean couldn't help zooming in on one of the nicest asses he'd seen in a while. The smile faded and he moved the camera away when he realized it was probably the last ass he would ever ogle.

Time ticked by as they worked their way through all of the employees one by one. They were down to the pretty blonde teller and the bank manager, who had been in his office away from the camera's best angles. The guy turned and smiled at one of the other employees and his eyes flashed white on the monitor. “Gotcha, you son of a bitch.” Dean grinned pointing.

Ronald stared for a long moment and swallowed hard. “Now what?”

“Now we do this like we talked about. You keep the cameras on him.” Dean opened the tool box and pulled out his pearl handled .9mm pistol. He checked the clip in the magazine and chambered a round. “If he moves before I reach him, you call me.” He indicated their two way radios. “You do not move from this room until I tell you. Got it?”

“Got it.” Ronald gripped his radio in one hand and kept his eyes on the monitors.

Dean waited until the bulk of the employees had already left before quietly slipping out of the room. There was just the guard, the blonde teller and the manager left when he reached the main room of the bank. He checked the corners and he entered, not seeing anyone at the moment.

“Dean, they are moving to the vault area. Second door on the left.” Ronald whispered.

Dean gave a thumbs up at the cameras and moved in that direction. “Oh, no, he just attacked the guard!”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean muttered and moved faster. He turned as the blonde woman screamed, he saw her get slapped across the face hard enough to draw blood and she fell to the floor. The shape-shifter leered down at her, his grin far less human than it should have been. “Hey!” Dean shouted.

The thing turned, startled into immobility. Dean didn't waste time with words, he just aimed and fired three shots in quick succession. Trying to make it a tight grouping in the chest. The creature fell to the floor, eyes wide with shock.

Dean lowered the gun, but didn't put it away. He leaned over to check its pulse; to be sure it was dead. Then he checked on the guard, who was alive but not conscious. Finally he looked at the woman. “Are you okay?”

“I-I think so.” She said trying to stand again. “You saved us.”

“Call 911 for your friend. He needs medical attention.” He tucked his gun away and left. Ron met him at the back door. All the stuff they had brought with them slung over his shoulders.

“Is it dead?” he asked.

“Yep. Now let's get out of here before the cops arrive.”

“I destroyed the security footage,” Ronald said as he exited the building. “And I wiped down all the surfaces I could think of.”

“Good work, Ron.” Dean praised him. “You're still going to have to lay low for a while.”

“About that.” Ronald swallowed his nervousness. “Is there any chance you could tell me more, about what is out there?”

“Ronald...” Dean sighed. “Look, you don't want to do this. Seriously. Stay in your normal life, with your normal job, you'll be happier that way.”

“Dean, how am I supposed to just go back to my normal life when I know that there are these things out there?” Ronald asked. “How can I pretend it never happened? I know there is evil, real tangible evil out there and the authorities don't see it. I want to help.”

“I've got to be out of my mind.” Dean muttered to himself. “Okay, fine. I get you back to your place and you pack your bags, enough for at least a week on the road.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

* ** * **

Dean was calmly leaning on the trunk of the Impala when he received a frantic call. “Dean! It's Andy, I think I'm in trouble.”

“Andy? What's wrong?”

“I'm getting these flashes in my head. This yellow-eyed guy. He says he's coming for me.”

“Okay, listen to me closely.” Dean said trying to calm him. “I need you to find some salt.”

“Salt?”

“Road salt will work, but not the stuff with iodine in it. I want you to pour salt across any doorways and windows. It'll keep this thing from reaching you.”

“Will you come?”

“I'm already on my way,” Dean promised.

“Thank you, Dean. I can't tell you- Oh my god! How did you get in here?”

“Andy? Andy!”

“Too late, Dean,” a new voice said, laughing. “I'll be seeing you real soon.” The call cut off abruptly.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean screamed his frustration into the night air.

“Dean? What the hell?” Ronald said, as he came out his apartment, bags packed and ready to go.

“Change in plans. I was going to take you to Bobby's but we've got an emergency.” Dean climbed into the Impala. Ronald dumped his bags into the back seat and climbed in as well. “I just want you to promise me, you will do exactly as I say. If I tell you to stay in the car, you stay, if I tell you to run, you will head straight for Bobby's place. I'll mark it on the map for you.”

Dean started speed dialing even as he took off down the road. “Ellen, let me talk to Ash.”

“What's going on Dean?” she asked.

“My friend Andy,” Dean said. “I think the demon just grabbed him.”

“Shit,” Ellen replied. “Hang on one second.”

“Yo, Dean. What do you need?”

“Give me all the demonic omens and signs you can find from the last forty-eight hours.” Dean said.

“You got it,” Ash promise. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, call every hunter you know that we've networked into this thing and get them to drop what ever they are doing, short of life threatening hunts. What ever is going on it'll be soon. The last of the psychic kids that we know about are getting taken.”

“We're making this an All Call?” Ash asked.

“Yes, we are.” Dean went cold suddenly. “Ash, stay safe. Make sure there are no demons hiding in plane sight. Spike the beers with holy water if you have to.” He ended the call and dialed again, but as usual he only got the voice mail. “Dad, it's starting. You know what works best on demons get what you can and meet me at Ellen's.” Dialing again his hands started to shake a little. “Bobby it's going down. You need to get with Ash and find us a location pronto. I'm going to check on something then I'll meet you there.” He glanced over at Ronald, who looked scared and curious at the same time. He tried to give him a reassuring smile even as he dialed one last time, again all he got was voice mail, but this time he was grateful. “Hey Sammy. Listen, I know we've had our differences over the years, but I want you to know that I respect you're choice to leave the family business. I've always just wanted to protect you and keep you safe. If that made you feel uncomfortable or smothered, then I'm sorry. Just remember, no matter what might happen in the future, you're my brother, and I've always loved you.”

“That last call.” Ronald said. “You sounded like you were saying goodbye, like forever kind of goodbye.”

“Like I said before, Ron,” Dean said. “You're very perceptive, even if you're focus tends to be a little off center.”

“Do you think this thing is that dangerous?” Ronald asked.

“I know this thing is more dangerous than anything else I've ever faced. I was lucky the first time.” Dean grimaced. “But Dad wasn't. To save him I made a deal and now my time is nearly up.”

“A deal?” Ronald looked devastated. “But I thought you were going to teach me.”

“Man, I wish I could. I'd like nothing better than to bring you into this world and give you everything you need to survive, but I can't. This job was going to be my swan song. Going out with a bang. But you complicated things by figuring out the truth on your own.”

“So now what?”

“Now I give you over to Bobby Singer, he's the best hunter, best researcher, and best teacher you could ever want.”

“When...?”

“I've got about a week.” Dean said. “If I'm lucky.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Stay alive,” Dean said. “Hunting is a deadly profession. If you decide you can't actually hunt, there are plenty out there that can use a full time researcher.”

Ronald looked afraid and curious at the same time. “I'll try my best, Dean.”

“Oh, one more thing.” Dean slowed the car as he unbuttoned the top of his shirt and exposed the star and flames tattoo on his chest. “This tattoo? Is not just decorative. Its an anti-possession symbol. Either get a charm with this design and never and I do mean never take it off or get a tattoo of it.”

“Seriously?” Ronald asked.

“Again, deadly serious. This thing has saved my ass half a dozen times over the past year. Every hunter in the network has one.” Dean let go of his shirt and sped up again. “We're taking no chances, one demon finds a way in, we could all be dead before we knew what hit us.”

Dean was just grateful that was only a few hour away from where Andy lived. He pulled into the parking lot of the small apartment complex and found an opened space. He opened the trunk and rummaged around for a minute, pulling out one of the anti-possession charms from a small bag. “Ronald, put this on.”

He did as he was told and looked around nervously. “What do you want me to do?”

“Follow me and stay close.” Dean pulled out a bottle of holy water and his EMF meter. The apartment door was closed but unlocked when he turned the knob. “Andy?” he called quietly as he entered.

The place was messy, but no worse that he would have expected from his burn-out friend. The EMF meter started howling as they made it to the bedroom. “Son of a bitch.”

“What does that mean?”

“The demons was definitely here.” Dean said, then bent down and touched a trace of yellowish powder on the rug. “Traces of sulfur too.”

“Does that mean he's dead?” Ronald asked with a hard swallow of nerves.

“Not yet.” Dean turned and left the apartment heading back to the car, not quite running. “We need to get to Ellen's.”

They were back on the road in minutes, Dean tapping out his frustration on the steering wheel he glanced at Ronald who looked scared. “I know this is like throwing you into the front lines without even basic training. I can take you back home, and you don't ever have to think about this again.”

“No.” Ronald said firmly. “How could I just go back to my normal life after finding out there are things out there. That you and all these people I've never met are fighting a war that no one knows about.”

“Reach into the back, there is a journal in the satchel. It's got some good information in it. Just try not to read the personal stuff, okay.” Dean squirmed in his seat as Ronald dug it out and opened the leather bound journal.

“Is this yours?”

“It was my dads. He has a new one, but he gave this to me,” Dean sighed. He reached into this music box and pulled out Led Zeppelin, threw in the tape and kept the volume at a comfortable level to fill in the silence as they continued to drive.

** ** **

Dean pulled up to the Roadhouse bar and saw over a dozen hunters milling around the smoldering, but mostly intact structure. “Holy shit. Ronald, stay with the car.” He jumped out and started yelling. “Ellen! Bobby! Ash!”

“Dean!” Ellen called back. There was a parting of people and Ellen came through, she was dirty with soot and ash but alive and well.

Dean hugged her tightly. “What happened?”

“You were right,” she said pulling back. “There were a couple demons that had infiltrated by possessing unaffiliated hunters.”

“They set the place on fire?”

Ellen nodded. “We'd set the sprinkler system to use holy water, they went off and almost everyone was able to get out.”

“Almost?” Dean asked.

“We lost Ash.” Ellen shook her head. “Damn fool tried to save his computer.”

“Dammit, Ash.” Dean hugged her again. “Did he say anything?”

“He told me to get the stuff from the safe if he didn't make it out. He said it was very important.”

“Is the safe intact?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, he left this for you.” Ellen reached into her jacket and pulled out a neatly folded map. “Not sure what it means though.”

“Okay everyone, take a look at this map and tell me if you know anything about this area and what might be significant about it.” The other hunters gathered around the hood of the Impala, the markings were around an area of Wyoming that wasn't much more than scrub forests and abandoned towns.

The possibilities were being discussed as John Winchester pulled up in his black pickup, followed closely by Bobby Singer in his beat up rusty muscle car. Dean had taken time to introduce Ronald around the group hoping one of the other hunters would be kind to the newbie and take him off his hands, even if only for a few minutes. He turned to greet his father when a blinding pain shot through his head. He closed his eyes hard against the pain just as it stopped

“Dean?” Ellen called.

“I don't know. I just had this pain shoot through my head.” Dean said. “It stopped but that was wei-”

He stopped as more pain slammed into him. Distorted images flashed before his eyes, he thought he saw the face of the missing woman Ava Wilson. “Dean, wake up, others here, demon wants us to fight each other. Help.” Suddenly there was a very clear image of a well in the middle of what looked like a ghost town. On the bell was a symbol of a tree.

“Dean?!” John was holding him in his arms. Dean was limp on the ground, with Bobby right next to them.

“I'm okay, I'm okay,” he said trying to pull himself up. “It was Andy.”

“The druggy?” Bobby asked incredulously.

“He can project thoughts into other people's heads.” Dean rubbed his temples. “I didn't know he could do it over long distances though. God, that hurt.”

“What did he tell you?” John asked.

“Old Yellow-eyes wants them to fight each other. He saw that chick Ava Wilson, she's apparently still alive.” Ronald appeared out of no where with a bottle of water, which Dean drank happily.

“Did you see anything else?”

“A ghost town, with a well in the middle of it. There was this bell with an oak tree on it.”

“Cold Oaks, North Dakota,” one of the other hunters said. “Most haunted town in the whole country.”

“Okay,” Dean pulled himself back onto his feet. “I want everyone on research. Fine out what Ash was trying to tell us. I need volunteers to come with me to Cold Oaks. The minute you think you've figured this shit out, you call me.” Dean stated. “No running off on your own on this. We need strength in numbers if we're going to fight this.”

“I'll come with you Dean,” John said. Rufus Turner and Steve Wandell also chose to come with them, both were expert hunters and Rufus had the distinction of having taught Bobby how to be a hunter.

“This is going to be a long ride, Dean. Let me drive, you get some sleep.”

Dean looked at him suspiciously but after the previous drive and having his brain invaded by visions, he really was worn out. “Fine, just let me grab some gear.”

The drive was hard, it took two days to get to the area that the town was known to be in. Dean slept for a lot of it. He started dreaming of being chased by black dogs.

“Dean,” John said quietly after the third time he'd jerked awake. “It's been nearly a year.”

“Tell me something I don't know.” Dean grumbled and tried to shift into a more comfortable position in the unfamiliar vehicle.

“Have the hallucinations started yet?” John asked. “You know they'll start soon if they haven't already.”

“I'm fine, Dad.” Dean replied testily. “I've got enough time to finish this.”

“I'm sorry.” John said suddenly. “Dean, I am so sorry for everything that's happened.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked confused.

“I've been so obsessed with finding this thing that killed your mother, that I lost focus on what was really important.” John said quietly. “I don't think you can understand how much I loved your mother. How her death and how she died affected me. She was everything to me. My greatest love and she gave me these two perfect gifts. And when she was taken away, all I could feel was this burning need for vengeance. It drove everything I did and any time I thought about pulling back, or finding a place to settle down, for the sake of you boys, something would happen and I'd take us back out on the road.”

Dean was sitting up now staring at his father like he had never seen the man before. “What are you saying, Dad?”

“I'm saying, I wish I could have given you that normal life. With the little league games and the science fairs and going trick or treating. Instead I taught you to look after your brother and made you look after me too half the time.” John looked at him. “I made you grow up too damn quick and I know that you'll never have the things I did. I know there won't be a happy ending for you, because you took so much responsibility on yourself, that you damned your soul to save this family.”

“I did what I had to.”

“I know that you think that.” John swallowed hard. “But you should never have even considered it. The weight I put on you for so long made that decision so easy for you. And I can never take that back.”

“I'll tell you what, Dad,” Dean began, his voice even and calm. “You feel you owe me for past sins? Then you can do me one thing, this one favor. You swear to me, on Mom's soul, that you will never tell Sam about that happened to me.”

“I- Dean, no.”

“I mean it.” Dean demanded. “He never learns about how I died from you. Not the truth. You can tell him I was hit by a bus for all I care, but you will not tell him I died from a Devil's deal to save your sorry ass.”

There was a long silence in which they both just stared at the road ahead of them. Finally John spoke. “I swear, Dean. Sam will never learn about what really happened from me.”

“Okay, then.” Dean settled more comfortably in his seat and tried to get more sleep.

A few hours later, they made it to the outskirts of the abandoned town. Large fallen trees and other debris blocked the main access road.

“Looks like we're going to have to walk the rest of the way,” Rufus said and grabbed a bag and his favorite shotgun from his car.

Steve followed suit and stood by waiting for Dean and John to grab their gear as well. “What should we expect?”

“If any of them are still alive?” Dean said. “Pretty much anything is possible. Keep on your toes and stay frosty.” Rufus took point and they moved in military style through the thick forest. They made it into the center of town just in time to see a tall African American man in Army issue BDUs throw a knife that slammed into the back of Andy, who had been trying to run away.

“Andy!” Dean ran up to his friends prone body as John, Rufus and Steve took off after Andy's attacker.

“Oh man.” Dean rolled him over, trying not to jostle the blade. “I'm sorry, kid.”

“Dean,” Andy breathed. “you found me.” He reached up and touched Dean's temple. Dean inhaled sharply and his eyes rolled upward with the shock of unfamiliar power coursing through his brain.

“Hey Dean,” Andy said with a sad smile.

“Andy? Are we in my head?”

“Well, since I'm almost dead doing this in my head was a bad idea,” Andy shrugged. “I needed to let you know about the demon.”

“What can you tell me?”

“His name is Azazel, he made deals with all our parents so that he could have permission to get into our bedrooms and force us to drink his blood. Not a lot, only a few drops, but for a baby that like drinking a pint of stout.”

“Why? What the hell for?”

“I don't know much, but he wanted us to fight to the last so that he could have only the strongest one left. He said he didn't need an army because he had one waiting in the wings. What he needed was a General. Someone strong enough to control the forces of Hell. He pretty much said I was lucky to have lived this long. Oh and that guy that just killed me? His name is Jake Talley, he was in Afghanistan before old yellow-eyes grabbed him. Apparently he can bench press 800 pounds or something sick like that, so don't underestimate him.”

“Thank you, Andy.” Dean said sincerely. “I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner.”

“Hey, its okay.” Andy said, his image fading away. “I figure, in the long run, I won, because I didn't do what he wanted.”

Dean blinked as the power faded, he was holding Andy's still body in his arms. “You did good kid.” He closed the kid's eyes and gently laid him down on the ground. He turned when he heard the others approach him. “Anything?”

“Bastard runs faster than anything I've ever seen.” Rufus said, out of breath.

“How is he?” Steve asked.

“He's gone.” Dean said flatly. “But he managed to tell me a few things.” He relayed what Andy had said and who the guy was they had just chased.

“Christ, this is starting to sound like a freaking comic book.” Steve said.

“I want to give him a hunter's funeral.” Dean said suddenly. “I don't want him to turn into a lost soul like all the others floating around here.” His eyes started tracking along the houses following shapes in the windows.

“Dean, there's nothing moving right now.” John said cautiously.

“Oh.” Dean looked at him, mouth set in a grim line. “I see.”

They took an hour to gather enough wood and wrapped Andy in some old drapes they found. Rufus said a blessing in Hebrew and doused the body in salt and gasoline before setting it alight. Dean stood watching it burn, for a moment he thought he saw Andy's smiling shade standing near the pyre before it flared and faded.

“We need to go before any of the locals notice the smoke.” Rufus said.

Dean nodded and followed the other hunters out of the ghost town.

They were miles away from Cold Oaks when all their phones went off at the same time stating they had a message. Dean opened his phone, but the numbers squiggled and squirmed before his eyes. He gave up and put it away waiting for his father to listen to his voice mail. “What is it?”

“We have a location. Ash's research coupled with demonic omens, and that friend of yours, Reginald?”

“Ronald.” Dean corrected.

“Found something huge.” John said. “The areas marked on the map are all abandoned churches that were built by Samuel Colt and they are all connected by private rail lines. When you connect the dots it makes the worlds largest devil's trap.”

“We need to go there. Now.” Dean said.

“Dean, you're not well.” John replied.

“Well I sure as hell am not going to get any better. Lets do this thing and then I can die.”

John said nothing to that, but the pained look in his face spoke volumes.

* * * * * *

The team of ten hunters made it to the center of the Colt Devil's trap 30 seconds too late. Jake had pushed the muzzle of the Colt pistol into the center ring of the lock. The mechanisms inside turned for the first time in over an century, and the doors swung open releasing a hoard of demons unto the Earth.

Dean ran forward and grabbed the Colt out of the lock, only to be hurled across the old graveyard by a demonic hand. He landed with a painful impact against a headstone, he rolled onto his stomach and fumbled in his pocket for the most important thing in his existence at that moment.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” Azazel said with a gloating laugh as the demons poured out of the devil's gate. “I have to admit, I didn't think you would make it this far. But by-golly you did, just in time to watch the army of hell rise.”

Dean rolled onto his back, the Colt firmly in his hand. “It's not over yet.”

“Oh it is for you,” Azazel grinned. “And here you sit with an empty gun in your hand. Sorry kiddo, times up.”

Dean grinned as he pulled himself up into a sitting position, his back against a headstone. “Times up for you too. I had one bullet left.” He pointed the gun at Azazel and fired. The bullet flew true and straight into the heart of the demon, who stared at Dean in shock. “That was for my family, you son of a bitch.”

The hunters not chasing after the escaping Jake Talley, turned at the shot and cheered as the demon fell. The doors to the devil's gate were being pushed shut and Dean turned to see his father fall to his knees in relief. Dean had one moment to feel satisfaction before he heard the growl near his left ear. He heard laughter in the air and a voice say, “Sick him, boy.” He threw the Colt at his father moments before he felt the first razor sharp claws rip into his flesh. He spun on the ground trying to escape, even knowing there was no place to go. More teeth and claws ripped through his clothes and deep into his back. He could feel claws tear along his ribs and legs. He rolled again, all instinct and fear backfiring to leave him open to more attacks. He felt teeth at his throat even as claws tore through his sternum and reached his heart. He never heard the heart breaking screams of his father as his soul was ripped away from the reaper and dragged into Hell.

**** **** ****

Hell was like nothing he had ever imagined. Some of the things were like the descriptions he'd read. Fire that lit the ever present darkness. The screams of souls in never ending torment, the demons that roamed the fetid halls some small and ghost like that would giggle as the larger demons ripped human souls apart.

Dean's portion of hell was a torture chamber with a rack made from the remnants of souls that had sold themselves. He could feel their fragmented thoughts of anger, pain, and regret. But he knew inside himself, that he could not regret what he had done. His father was alive, his brother was safe, and best of all the Yellow Eyed Demon, the one called Azazel was dead. Dean had killed that son of a bitch with the Colt. It had been his last action on Earth, and it was worth all the pain he suffered now.

At least that satisfaction had helped him hold on for that first ten years of torture. Death by Hellhound may have been one of the worst ways do die, ever. But it had in no way prepared him for the pain in hell. He endured it, and watched as other souls around him blackened and became corrupted, all of them becoming demons under the sick guidance of the master torturer Alistair.

The arch-demon took great pleasure in making souls suffer, he was a master, an artist. And after ten years of his students working Dean over under his instruction, with his soul still more or less intact, Alistair picked up a knife and turned all his attention on him.

For another twenty years, Dean held on. Trying desperately to remember that there was a reason why he endured this pain. That his father was alive, that his brother was safe, but with each cut, with each slice he found himself starting to believe that he deserved his fate. That he must have done something horrible in his life to warrant this amount of attention. Slowly, the darkness around him started to seep into his soul.

Alistair began to offer him respite, with gentle tones after each day was over. It was another devil's bargain, his torment would end, if he would climb down off the rack and pick up a knife. He would be freed of his never ending pain, if he would bring pain down upon others.

Dean refused, he spat in Alistair's face, and each day, his pain would begin anew. Slowly, he began to crave the chance the arch-demon offered, the opportunity to lash out at something, to take out his anger at the pain he was suffering on something else. On the day he finally broke, the day he said yes was the day of his salvation. Alistair, who had just cut him down and repaired the damage from the last session, was leading him to a wall of weapons to use on his first victim when it happened. The room made of ectoplasm and blood and bone dissolved in a flash of burning light so bright and pure that the lesser demons around them were completely destroyed by its touch. The creature that emerged from the light was like nothing Dean had ever seen before. It was light and song melded with fire, but he could see eyes and a nearly humanoid form and wings that flared like a fighting eagle. Alistair screamed in rage as the creature spoke and the arch-demon fled, diving into the darker reaches of hell.

“Dean Winchester.” The voice like music proclaimed. “I have come for you.”

Dean crouched down afraid of this beautiful, terrible thing that towered before him. There was a moment as the creature reached for him that Dean thought he was going to die. That his soul would be destroyed and existence would end. The part of him that had been fighting for so long, the part that just couldn't take one more day of pain, welcomed it. He wanted to rest, he wanted finally to have peace, even if that peace was nothingness.

Then it was as though the whole of the universe folded in on itself when the creature gripped his left shoulder tightly with its right hand. It seemed too large of a thing to just be touching him there, yet at the same moment, this bright being was no taller than he was. It's other arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him into an embrace that burned even as it was gentle. The ground beneath their feet seemed to melt away and they were floating together surrounded by the fires of hell, but completely protected within a sphere of light. Dean felt the darkness that had been seeping into his soul for so long begin to burn away as the light purified him.

They rose then, through the many layers of hell, through the maze of chains that tried to catch them with hooks, passed the screaming walls of tormented souls toward something that also shown with light and fire. It was a line of creatures, similar to the one that held him now. Some were larger or had more sets of wings, but none shone as brightly as the living star that held him.

They flew at the speed of a comet, a bright streak of light that broke through the line of demons that held the rest of these creatures back. There was a roar of outrage from the demons as they saw what was happening. Some tried to grab at Dean, tried to wrestle him away, and drag him back into the darkness, but the grip was too tight and they bridged the gap to the fighting line. They flew past the line, a chorus of what sounded like triumph erupted from those they passed, to what looked like a portal. Dean clung tightly as they went into it and out of Hell.

The creature sang high and bright for all the universe to hear with pride and exaltation.

“Dean Winchester is saved.”

** ** ** **

End part 1