Slowly cracking his eyes open, Dean’s whole body tensed as he felt the coarse rope wrapped tightly around his wrists. It refused to give, and neither would the rope around his ankles and the gag in his mouth. He had no idea where he was or how he’d come to be in this strange room. All he remembered was a slight stinging sensation on the back of his neck, and then… lights out.

Nothing smelled right either. Since his resurrection, Dean had discovered most hotel rooms carried a universal scent of cleaning products and Febreze– and this one did not hold the extra scent of his brother, or Bobby, who had come to visit. The blanket beneath him was rougher, and instead of the rumbling of cars and trucks along the interstate, all Dean could hear was the low hum of wildlife. The room itself was painted off-white with the standard dresser and TV sitting before the bed. A table and two chairs were off to Dean’s right, close to the door. A heavy curtain blocked his view of the outside world.

He could still feel the sluggish sensation of the drugs pumping through his system, along with the headache that must have come from his spectacular passing-out-on-cement moment. His arms tingled a bit, letting Dean know he must have been out for a while. He could also hear someone snoring softly near him. When he heard the jingle of a key in the door, Dean closed his eyes, and kept his breathing even. There was no reason to let these bozos know he was awake, and the more he knew... well, he wasn’t sure yet what he could do with what he found out. Dean just knew he didn’t want them to figure out he’d regained all of his marbles.

Light from outside flared across his closed eyelids, and Dean could smell the sweet scent of woods, dirt, and a rain-washed afternoon. The breeze that hit his face brought a hint of winter frost with it, and Dean knew he was nowhere near his hotel.

“Wake up, dumbass.” The man’s voice was harsh, rusty, almost as if the guy had a permanent case of laryngitis. “The little freak should be waking up soon.”

“Fuck off, Carlos.” Another guy and this one sounded like he’d just crawled out of the Deep South. “The little demon shit ain’t going nowhere.”

“Don’t know what the demon-freak can do.” Carlos again, and Dean could hear the distinct sound of rustling bags as they were set down on the table.

“Fucker can see the future,” the other guy grumbled. “We know that much.”

“Not the point, Steve,” Carlos growled. “Or did you forget who raised him?”

“No,” Steve muttered in a sullen voice, sounding cowed. “I didn’t forget. But it ain’t like ol’ Daddy Winchester’s around to do somethin’ about it!”

“Still has some pretty powerful friends though,” Carlos cautioned. “We need to keep that fanged menace and his Slayer bitch off the trail.”

The sudden blow to the side of his head jarred Dean, causing a muffled curse to tear its way from his throat.

“Wake up, freak.” Carlos again, and Dean peeled open his eyes. The man before him was in his mid-forties with several days worth of stubble coating his chin. His eyes were as dark as his skin, while his hair carried specks of gray mixed in with sleek black. Briefly darting his eyes to his left, Dean saw Steve looked as redneck as he sounded, all flannel shirt, tattered ball cap, and dirty boots and jeans. A beer belly as wide as it was round only added to the walking stereotype.

Bringing his gaze back to Carlos, Dean allowed his anger to show through his narrowed eyes and clenched jaw. He really wished he wasn’t gagged. He would have liked spitting in the guy’s face.

“Now I’ve got your attention,” Carlos said, reaching out to draw Dean into a sitting position. “We need to go over a few basic rules.”

The fingers digging into his shoulder caused Dean to wince, and the smell of onions and garlic did little to help Dean’s mood. The guy smelt like he’d bathed in their juices.

“Listen up,” Carlos said, the lilting tone of his accent catching Dean’s attention. He didn’t get a chance to try and place it before Carlos shook him hard enough to cause whiplash.

Carlos brought his face in close to Dean’s, and he had to stop himself from flinching back. “I’m gonna take this gag off, and I don’t want you trying anything, you hear me? You do, and I’ve got a nice cool drink of holy water to give you.”

Dean nodded slowly. He knew a bull-shitter when he saw one, and this guy wasn’t playing around. Carlos nodded at Dean’s assent and Steve got up and settled on the bed behind him. Dean wished he had Spike’s ability to stop breathing. Steve smelled of stale beer and a pungent odor he refused to identify. Dean knew hunting meant days when ones rank B.O could possibly knock out even demons, but there was no excuse to smell that bad.

When the gag came off, Dean stretched his sore jaw, trying to get some moisture in his dry mouth, and almost heaved. His mouth tasted almost as bad as Steve smelt.

“You’re going to help us,” Carlos said once Steve had moved back to the other bed. “See, we’ve been at this gig longer than you’ve been breathing, and Steve and I figure it’s time we cashed in on all our good deeds.”

“Help…you?” Dean hated how rough and weak his voice sounded, but his throat was as dry as his mouth and his jaw hurt when he talked.

“See, you’ve got these vision things and that makes you a valuable commodity.” Steve’s voice carried across the room, low and slow, and hiding intelligence most people didn’t realize he possessed. Remembering Ash, Dean reevaluated his initial perception of the man. “So that means you get to stay with us, for a few days anyway.”

Swallowing, Dean tried to speak again, but his voice came out just as rough as before. “Don‘t…”

“Don‘t, what, freak?” Carlos growled, grabbing Dean by the shoulders and shaking him so hard it caused his headache to flare from a dull roar to blinding agony. “You saying you won’t help us?”

“Don’t –” Swallowing again, Dean pushed the words passed dry lips. “– fucking touch me, you honky cocksucker.” The minute he realized he’d been kidnapped--of all of the fucking humiliating things that could have happened to him--Dean figured there was no point in playing nice since he was screwed already. He knew Spike was never going to let him live it down. So he spit in Carlos’ face.

Carlos grit his teeth, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut, wincing when the man’s fist met his cheek. It was only a glancing blow to show him who had the power. Dean had received worse than this, and he knew any real injury to his body would have healed over by the end of the day, but a punch was a punch, and it still fucking hurt. Carlos shoved Dean back onto the bed, forcing his bound hands to dig into his lower back. Wiping his face clean, Carlos let a wide grin spread across his face. “We’ll see about that. Steve?”

Steve looked up and nodded. Dean watched as he reached over and pulled open the nightstand drawer. Reaching one hand inside, he pulled out a small black crystal amulet, flecked with blue and gold. Carlos snatched it from Steve’s hand, before jerking it down over Dean’s head. It tingled and caused Dean to flinch back, his skull hitting the headboard behind him. Pain flared inside his mind as images of the last people to use the room flashed before his eyes. His heartbeat ratcheted up to heart attack levels, and his breathing turned shallow.

“W-What…?” Dean couldn’t help it. He recoiled again as more violent, stronger, fiercer images flew across his vision, making his stomach roll. A large, warm hand on his chest cause another series of images to spring forth, and Dean got the dubious pleasure of witnessing Carlos kill the man who had given him the amulet. One muffled word later and the images stopped. Dean sagged in relief, gasping for air. His head was pounding worse than anytime he could remember, the room was spinning around him, and he knew if he so much as moved an inch, the bile in his throat would end up decorating the floor. When he was finally able to open his eyes, Dean looked from one smug grin to the next.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Steve drawled. “Fucker worked.”

“That little gem is going to raise the price on your head quite a bit,” Carlos said. His voice was full of smug satisfaction. “And Steve and I plan on collecting soon.”

Dean closed his eyes, letting his aching head fall back onto the pillow. Once again... he was so screwed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam stretched then glanced at his watch. It was 4:45 p.m. He’d been researching their latest case for over four hours after kicking Dean out of their room. His brother had grumbled a bit then promised to bring back food. Dean should have been back an hour ago. Checking his phone, Sam sighed, then hit speed dial. Dean’s phone rang, and rang until voice mail picked up.

Cursing, Sam pushed the button to hang up, and tried again. He got voice mail again. Remembering the bar they’d passed on the way into town, and the way Dean had commented on the possibility of checking it out later, Sam rolled his eyes and went back to researching. It was nearing eight o’clock when Sam looked up again. Frowning, Sam called Dean again and got voice mail again. Lead started growing in his stomach and Sam stood, grabbing his jacket, and heading out of the room. The night was cool with a hint of winter lingering in the air. Street lights glowed, a steady mist rained down causing the ground to glimmer where the light hit it.

Dean wasn’t at the bar, so Sam headed back towards the diner. Once he reached the parking lot, Sam spotted the Impala easily. It was sitting a few rows back, facing the road. Sam tried to see if he could spot Dean inside, but the evening crowd was too heavy.

Groaning, Sam trudged into the dinner, scanning the room. His brother was nowhere to be seen.

Forcing a large smile on his face, Sam walked up to the register. The tiny waitress grinned back, pushing a stray lock of red hair behind her ear.

“Can I help you?” she asked, leaning forward and giving him a good view down her top.

“Yeah,” Sam said. He pulled his wallet out, and opened it. Taking the small picture in hand, he showed it to the girl. “Have you seen this guy?” Sam’s index finger tapped his brother’s smiling face.

The girl frowned, looking at the picture. “He was leaving when I came in. Why, did he do something?”

“No,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I was supposed to meet him here, but I got lost.”

“Oh,” the girl said. Then her eyes widened. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Have you tried calling him?”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, but he’s probably just busy. Thanks anyway.”

Giving her a wane smile, Sam left the diner, the lead in his stomach now crawling up his throat. Reaching the Impala, he slowly walked around the car. Nothing seemed to be missing from inside; the doors were still locked. Bending Sam scanned underneath. His heart dropped to the pavement as he reached forward and dragged the keys into his hand. Standing, Sam scanned the area. Nothing appeared to jump out at him, no flashing neon sign with an arrow proclaiming: Dean: this way.

Opening his phone, Sam hit the speed dial. He heard ringing coming from his right. Following the sound, Sam found his brother’s phone in the ditch. It was cold and slick in his hand, and cut off abruptly as the battery died. Sucking in a deep breath, he made another call, this time a grumpy British voice answered him.

“Yeah, what?”

“Dean’s missing.”

“What?!” There was a scrambling nose heard over the line, then the click of the phone being placed on speaker. “Repeat that.”

“Dean’s missing.”

Silence reigned for a few seconds. “What the bloody hell happened?”

Sam swallowed, trying to get his throat to open up. It stubbornly remained closed. Gritting his teeth, Sam forced out the rest of his words. Spike was silent then Sam heard a loud crash before the noise was cut off.

“Sam.” Buffy sounded strangely calm and Sam knew she was already picture how to kill whatever was behind Dean’s disappearance. “Where are you?”

“I’m at a hotel about three hours north of L.A,” Sam said. “We were looking to a suspected haunting.”

“Okay,” Buffy said. “We’ll be there in a few hours.”

Sam hung up, and put his phone in his pocket. Pushing his worry aside, Sam climbed into the Impala and drove it back to the hotel. He parked it right in front of their room. As he got out, he rummaged through the car, making sure everything was exactly where Dean had put it. He checked the trunk as well, but the only thing missing from the Impala was Dean.

Once he was back inside Sam carefully sat the keys on the table. His phone was out a second later and a snide female voice answered.

“Sam,” Ruby said. “I was wondering when you’d call. I take it dear old Dean isn’t hovering at the moment?”

“He’s missing,” Sam growled. “Have you heard anything?”

“No,” Ruby said, serious now. “I haven’t heard a peep, which is strange when you think about it.”

“Why is that?”

“It usually means something big is about to go down,” Ruby replied. Sam could see her rolling her eyes in his head.

“Start looking,” Sam ordered. “If you hear anything, you tell me right away.”

“Sam—“

“I don’t care, Ruby!” Sam snarled. “Until I find Dean, I just don’t care.”

“Okay,” Ruby replied. “I’ll look around, see if I hear anything.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, his words coming out on a sigh.

“Don’t mention it.” Ruby hung up right after, leaving Sam with nothing to do but wait.

When there was a knock at the door, Sam snatched up Ruby’s knife and peaked out the window. Seeing Buffy, Willow, and Spike nearly had Sam dropping to the ground. His legs wobbled as he lurched towards the door, quickly jerking it open. Before he could blink he was being crushed in a hug that left his ribs screaming.

“We’ll find him,” Buffy said. Her voice was muffled by his chest. Words failed him then and all he could do was nod as Willow and Spike came in.

“I need something of his,” Willow said, helping Spike spread a map over the rickety table. Sam disappeared briefly into the bathroom. He came out holding a few strands of hair. Willow gave him a wane smile. “Thanks.”

Closing her eyes, hand wrapped around the hairs, Willow chanted softly. Static filled the air and when she let the hair fall towards the map, sparks lit and fell, blinking out when they touched the map. Willow opened her eyes, and sighed.

“Something is blocking me.”

“Do it again,” Sam said. Willow gave him a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry,” Willow said. “But I can’t get through right now. I need to get in touch with the coven, see if they can help me get around the block.”

“Fine,” Sam growled. He began packing his and Dean’s things. An iron grip halted his movements. “Spike, let go.”

“You are not running off half cocked,” Spike said. His eyes flashed golden and his grip tightened. “Your brother would have my bloody hide if I let you.”

“I have to find him!”

“And we will!” Spike yelled, pinning Sam with his gaze. Spike’s demonic features rippled forth briefly, the promise of vengeance clear in his gaze. Sam felt himself calming. He could work with vengeance.

“Okay,” Sam said. “We’ll do it your way for now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean shifted, the scratchy comforter beneath him wrinkling with his movements. His arms hurt and his legs were stiff. The gag had dried out his mouth hours ago. His head felt like a sledge hammer was attempting to crack it open, and from the looks he had been getting, Dean was willing to bet his eyes were unnaturally dark. At least they’d left the television on this time, even though Dean couldn’t change the channel. It was better than sitting and listening to the sounds from outside and not being able to alert anyone to his presence. The phone sat on the night table next to him, tauntingly out of reach.

Fucking phone. It was mocking him.

Sighing, Dean shifted again. The rope around his wrist and arms caused the spindly rails of the headboard to dig into his back. The rope around his ankles kept his feet numb. Another rope leading from the one around his ankles was attached to the bed frame. Overall, it allowed for very little movement, and made for an awkward position. Not to mention the fact he really had to use the john. And why did they call it the john, anyway? Did some poor bastard with that name invent the thing, or was it like in that Mel Brooks movie, the Robin Hood spoof, where every single toilet in the kingdom was renamed after Prince John?

Well, that successfully distracted him for about five minutes. Spike’s goddamn ADHD wasn’t rubbing off enough.

Keys rattling in the door alerted Dean to his kidnapper’s return, and he tried to slump down as much as possible, feigning boredom. When the door opened, Dean was surprised to see a tall, stunning woman enter with Carlos and Steve. Dark hair, styled in the latest trendy fashion fell to her shoulders. Her eyes scanned the room and a smirk graced her face. Her heels made no sound on the shag carpet, and one hand played with a scarf tied around her neck. Dean noted that even in the dingy surroundings she managed to appear as if she belonged, despite the thousand dollar suit.

“Well, you two have certainly managed to out do yourselves.” Her voice was smooth, rich, and the very definition of smug.

“Well, Ma’am,” Carlos said, rubbing his hands together. The gleeful look on his face had Dean mentally adding in a long curly mustache for the bastard to twirl. “Now that you’ve seen the goods, why don’t we go back outside and negotiate that deal.”

“Not before I get a demonstration,” she said, dark eyes lingering on Dean before turning her attention to the two men. “My bosses will want to know if your little gem works.”

Carlos grinned, teeth bright in his dark complexion. “Steve?”

Steven nodded, ambling over to Dean. He slapped his hand onto his chest, muttered the activation spell, and Dean arched back, eyes squeezed shut. The image pounded into his head, showing him Steve shaking the woman’s hand. Another image sprang up afterwards, this one of the woman, talking to, and seducing, a dark haired man with glasses. Dean didn’t hear when the amulet was shut off, but he sagged in relief when the images stopped spinning in his head.

When Dean finally pried his eyes open, she was looking at him like he was priceless treasure one would put on display so others could gawk at it. “My bosses will be more than happy to pay any price.”

She cast one last smug grin at Dean, before turning and leaving the room. Not even the lovely sway of her shapely ass could lift the dread currently settling in his stomach. The click of the door latching sounded like the ringing of a death knoll.

Spike sat with his forehead resting on the cool counter in the hotel’s lobby, both arms curled up around his head. So far nothing had worked, not spells, not threats... not even the contacts available to the Watchers Council had shown up with anything. It was like Dean had disappeared off the face of the planet. The only thing they knew was that he was alive – Willow had been able to tell them that much. But after two weeks of searching, not even that was a comfort.

“Spike.” Buffy’s voice sounded from above him, and he reluctantly raised his head. She was looking at him with eyes as tired and weary as his own. She also had a mug of blood in her right hand, a bag of food in the other, and a stubborn look on her face letting Spike know she meant business. “You need to eat.” Her eyes skimmed to his left where he knew Sam was sitting. “Both of you.”

“I’m not hungry,” came Sam’s new favorite response, and Spike had to agree.

“When Dean finds out that you two haven’t been eating, he’s going to be pissed! You know he wouldn’t like this, for either of you!” It was a low blow, and Spike noticed Sam winced as well.

“Well, we need to find him first,” Sam growled out, eyes not leaving the computer screen.

“And you won’t find him if you keel over because you‘re hell-bent on starving yourselves!” Buffy slammed the bag down before Sam, and forcefully placed the mug in Spike’s hands. “Now eat, damn it!”

It was the slight cracking in her voice, the barely heard hiccup at the end of her sentence, which finally forced Spike to drink the warm liquid. And from what he saw, it had reached Sam too. He glanced up at Buffy sadly and with more than a little guilt in his eyes before demonstratively taking a large bite out of the burger she’d bought him. When Buffy slumped into the chair across from him, Spike’s eyebrow rose.

“Don’t start,” Buffy said. “I have been eating.”

“I know, luv,” Spike said, voice soft. “But you’ve also been looking after the two of us, and that can’t be easy.”

Spike heard the soft sigh that escaped Buffy’s lips. He followed her gaze as it traveled towards Sam again, noting he had only eaten maybe a third of his burger and was already beginning to waver. Poor bugger looked like he was about to fall asleep at his computer, again.

“Someone has to make sure you two remember to take care of yourselves,” she whispered.

“We haven’t found a bloody thing.”

“I know.” Buffy spoke softly, clearly hoping to hide their conversation from Sam, but he could hear the quivering in her tone despite it. Dean’s disappearance had shaken her severely, but she was still trying to hide it. That was his girl – putting on the brave front and trying to hide her emotions so she could be strong for everyone else. “But we’ve got every resource we have working on finding him. And we will.”

“Maybe if those bloody useless angels would get up off their asses and help, we’d find him sooner.” Spike growled out the words. He could feel his frustration and fear rising.

“Spike,” Buffy said. Reaching out, she cupped his cheek in her hand, stroking his jaw gently. “They’re fighting this war too.”

“I just-”

“I know.”

Spike shut his eyes, turning his face into her palm as he placed one of his hands over hers. He lightly kissed the inside of her wrist, linking his fingers with hers. He ran his other hand wearily through his hair. “So how have the Mini-Slayers patrols been going?”

Buffy eyed him, knowing full well he was changing the subject. “Dawn’s been keeping me updated. It’s kinda wigsome, thought, since it has been so quiet.”

“Think all the Big Bads are laying low?”

“Possibly.” Buffy shrugged. “Or they’re all gearing up for the apocalypse.”

Spike snorted in disgust. “Knowin’ our luck, that’s exactly what’s happening.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. Spike was more than likely right. Opening her mouth to reply, a shrill ringing cut her off. Three pairs of eyes jerked towards the phone, all looking at it as if it was a demonic entity in need of slaying. Taking a deep breath as Sam came to stand at his shoulder, and with Buffy now hovering at his elbow, Spike reached out an unsteady hand and picked up the phone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bobby slammed the phone down; he was furious at the person he’d been talking to, and even more annoyed at himself for getting his hopes up. Missouri didn’t know anything, and neither did Pamela, or any other psychic he’d called. Most of the hunters he’d talked to had been truly baffled. Some were cagey, having heard the rumors circulating about Sam and Dean. It didn’t help that Bobby wasn’t about to confirm or deny those rumors. Others, Bobby was pleased to hear, were outraged. Hunters did have a tendency to keep to themselves, but some had an us-verses-them mentality; pick on one Hunter, and you piss off the rest. It also helped that most of the old timers respected John Winchester, even if they hadn’t met him, or even liked him all that much if they had. It was too bad that attitude didn’t extend towards all because some of the damn bastards had outright lied about their ignorance.

Sighing, Bobby leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face. Two weeks was a long time to be missing for anybody, and with some of the rumblings Bobby had been hearing, his fear of ever finding Dean grew. He was just about to pick up the phone and give another contact a try when several knocks that sounded like the pat-pat-pat of an assault rifle being fired resonated. Grabbing his gun, Bobby stood and edged his way forward. Peeking through the peephole, Bobby jerked back in surprise and quickly opened the door. Ellen Harvelle stood on his porch with a bag hiked up on one shoulder and an impatient and tired expression on her face.

“Please tell me those boys didn’t do what I’ve been hearing.”

“Depends on what you’ve heard,” Bobby said, placing the gun down and bringing out a silver flask. Ellen eyed it, and then glared at him before making a big production of taking a quick swig of the flask and swallowing the liquid inside. Satisfied, Bobby stood back and let her enter.

“I’ve heard Dean made a deal to save his brother,” Ellen said, turning to face Bobby, hands on her hips. “I’ve heard the crossroads demon collected and almost four months later a half-demon, who looks a helluva lot like Dean by the way, turned up in Los Angeles in that vampire’s territory. I’ve also heard there’s now a young man who pretty much matches Sam’s description to a tee hanging around the area too!”

Bobby growled, turned, and slammed his fist into the wall behind him. “Damn it!”

Ellen raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “So how much of that was true?”

“All of it.”

“Shit,” Ellen swore, slumping back onto Bobby’s couch, her bag settling on the floor at her feet. “What the hell were those two thinking? Half of Los Angeles is off limits to hunters for a reason!”

“Well, Sam was mainly thinking there was a chance his brother was somehow back from the damn dead,” Bobby said, leveling a glare Ellen’s way. She sighed, putting her head in her hands before brushing them back through her hair.

“I figured as much,” Ellen said. “So, how in the hell did he manage to get Dean back?”

“He didn’t,” Bobby answered. It was his turn to sigh.

“But-”

“It was angels,” Bobby said. He took some pleasure in her open mouthed stare.

“Bobby,” Ellen said, her look telling him she thought he was out-and-out crazy.

“Don’t start, Ellen,” Bobby said. “You weren’t there.”

“And these angels?” Ellen said, her tone carrying her disbelief. “Did they say why they did it?”

“Castiel claimed God commanded it,” Bobby said with a grumble.

“And the half demon part?”

Bobby sighed, cursing gossipy hunters and fate under his breath. Some of them were worse than high school girls with a secret. “Comes with the job description apparently. The angels made a deal with Spike’s bosses, these Powers That Be, and Dean wound up being his seer.”

“Spike?” Ellen said her eyebrows raised. “You’re on a first name basis with that... that thing?”

“How is that any concern of yours?”

“It’s a vampire,” Ellen said, speaking as if Bobby were a small obtuse child.

“Who does the same damn thing we do, only on a larger scale,” Bobby ground out. “I spent time with him, and that slayer of his. They’re good people, and they’ve got the Watcher’s Council backing ‘em up.”

Ellen was still staring at him in disbelief. “A vampire and a slayer?” She shook her head rapidly, trying to get back on track. “What about Sam and Dean?”

Bobby snorted. “Spike seems to have gone and adopted them. Worries over those two idjit just like John did, but he can be just as stubborn as Dean, so those two can get into a world of trouble without even really trying. Buffy, she’s the head slayer, likes ‘em just fine, as do most of her other slayers.”

Ellen's lips slowly curled up in a grin, her lips twitching at the thought of Sam and Dean's reaction to being essentially surrounded. “All those super powered little girls have crushes on them, don’t they?” she asked, the look in her eyes matching her grin.

“Let’s just say Dean and Sam both run for cover when one of the little ones wanna to work on their technique. Spike does too, for that matter.” Bobby smiled briefly before falling serious again. “They ain't too happy someone managed to nab Dean. Spike's furious, Sam's sounding more and more like his Daddy everyday, and Buffy's angrier than a cat that got its tail ran over. Rupert Giles, he’s the head of the Council, has everyone he can spare looking for Dean, so if you know something, fess up.”

“I don’t know anything solid,” Ellen said, giving Bobby a pointed look. “But I heard two hunters bragging about the killing they made selling that vampire’s demon seer to a pretty lawyer they met.”

“Damn it!” Bobby jumped up, startling Ellen as he raced for his phone. Hitting speed dial he paced back and forth, Ellen’s eyes tracking his movements. “Spike, one of my contacts just came through!”

Bobby had to hold the phone away from his ear, and Ellen understood why when she heard the loud cacophony of voices carrying over the small speaker. “Spike! Would you listen for a goddamn second! I’m gonna put you on speaker phone.”

Bobby sat the phone on the coffee table, narrowing his eyes at Ellen as he pressed the speaker button on the phone. Heaving a loud sigh, he sat down next to her, his hands folded and his eyes narrowed on the phone. He could almost see Spike’s agitated pacing, Sam’s frenetic bouncing and Buffy’s worried, narrowed eyes and the claw-like grip she was sure to have on Spike’s arm.

“Speak to me, Robert.” Spike’s voice was clipped, full of worry, fear, and excitement.

“My friend here overheard two hunters bragging about selling your demon seer to some lawyer.”

Ellen’s eyes widened at the string of colorful curses and exclamations coming over the line. Some of which sounded like they were coming from Sam.

“Can this friend of yours tell us who these hunters are?” Spike growled out.

“Carlos Sanchez, and Steve Remmel,” Ellen replied clearly over the line, and Bobby’s eyes shot towards her, anger causing them to burn brightly.

“Those bastards!” Bobby growled, jumping up and pacing the room. “Those no good sons of bitches!”

“Bobby?” Sam’s voice flowed over the line, sounding more tired and grief stricken than anyone had a right to. “Ellen?”

Ellen’s eyes softened and her heart about broke at the sound of Sam’s voice. She pushed the hunter in her aside and let the lonely, comforting mother take over. “Hey, Sam, honey,” Ellen said. “I wish I could say it was good to talk to ya.”

Spike’s rumbling growl of annoyance was heard. “You know this woman? And who the bloody hell are Carlos and Steve?”

“They’re hunters who aren’t above making deals with the other side if they think it will help their cause,” Ellen answered, sourly. “Or if it’ll help ‘em make a quick buck.”

“Your Daddy knew them,” Bobby said once his pacing had stopped. “Of course he threatened to skin them alive and fill them with lead if he ever caught wind of them snooping around you two boys again.”

“But Bobby, why would they go after Dean? What could…” Sam‘s words trailed off, a heavy pause carrying over the line. When he spoke again, his tone held a dark and chilling edge as realization dawned. “They were trying to get to me and Dad knew… Now Dean’s a seer. Dammit, Bobby, I’ll kill them if they’ve hurt Dean!”

“I’ll help,” Spike’s lowered voice snarled, and Ellen’s eyes went to her hairline. It sent chills up her spine and reinforced her desire to stay far away from the vampire’s territory.

“Nobody’s killing anybody.” A woman’s voice shot out over the line, just as hard and adamant as the vampire’s.

“Buffy‘s right,” Bobby said. “I know how you two feel. Believe me I’d love nothing more than to skin both these bastards for what they’ve done, but they’re human.”

“Then what the bloody hell do you expect us to do?” Spike growled. “Sit ‘em down and give ‘em a stern warning?”

“Spike, they’re human.” Buffy’s voice was like steel.

“Doesn’t mean they deserve to be treated as such,” Sam said, sounding an awful lot like his father in that moment.

“Still-”

There was a low snarl of rage over the phone line. “Warren.”

Silence came over the line, cold and furious. Bobby and Ellen both leaned back from the phone as if to protect themselves from the coming storm.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“Why?” Spike again, his voice tempered steel. “Because he was human? Because he had a soul? Bloody hell, Slayer! I am not going to let Dean get killed because of your misguided sense of right and wrong.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Go ahead.” Spike’s voice was low, his intent clear. “It’s what you’re bloody good at! Somethin’ happens or someone says somethin’ that you don’t like, an’ Miss Prim ‘n Proper takes a nice long ride down an Egyptian river!”

“Guys!” Sam’s voice, laced with panic carried over the line. “Stop it!”

“Sam’s right,” Bobby growled out. “We need to find Dean first. Then you can hash out whatever issues you two idjits just brought up.”

“Fine,” Spike said, though the fury in his words couldn’t be masked. “Got any idea where these two wankers can be found?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Ellen said. “But those two know how to fall off the grid just like any other hunter. If they don’t want to be found, you won’t find them.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam said. “Now we’ve got a solid lead thanks to you, Ellen.”

“You’re welcome, sugar.”

The phone went dead, and Bobby and Ellen both looked at each other. Dread settled in their bones. Ellen sighed, running a tired hand through her hair. “I’ll book the tickets.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Right, so Wolfram and Hart it is then,” Sam said, turning back to his computer. “I wonder which branch they’ve got him at.”

“Knowing those arrogant bastards,” Spike growled as he came to stand behind Sam. “He’s probably at the L.A branch right under our soddin' noses.”

“They wouldn’t…” Sam couldn’t finish. Spike and Angel had briefly talked about some of Wolfram and Hart’s holding dimensions, and the thought of what his brother could be suffering was something he’d be having nightmares about. He already had enough concerning Dean’s time in hell. Sam swallowed and tried to push the thoughts from his mind. His brother had survived forty years in hell, he would survive this too.

“Nah,” Spike said, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “He’s too valuable to them.”

“Okay, so we go and see if anyone is willing to talk,” Sam said, eyes focused on his hands. Watching the slight tremors running through them, Sam tried to figure out when his hands stopped working.

“Spike.” Buffy’s tone was soft, her eyes blank. Spike turned his gaze her way, and the two stood silent for a few minutes before Spike nodded.

“I’ll be back in a few then we’ll start figuring out what to do.” Spike patted Sam on the shoulder before turning to follow Buffy out to the garden. When he walked outside, she was standing before the bench, arms crossed over her chest, posture rigid.

“I would never, never do anything to hurt Dean. I know how much he means to you and to Sam, and you should damn well know by now he means just as much to me and Dawn too,” she whispered, though her tone was fierce.

Spike sighed as he slumped down onto the bench, all his anger draining, leaving him exhausted. “I know.”

“Then why-”

“What if it was Dawn?” Spike asked, his gaze focusing on Buffy’s angry, but bewildered eyes.

“What does this have to do with earlier?”

“Think about it, Slayer,” Spike said. “If someone, a human someone, had sold Dawn to Wolfram and Hart, what would you do?”

“I…” Buffy started to answer, only to snap her mouth shut. She well remembered when Glory had taken Dawn, how once Willow had gotten Buffy back from her mental vacation she had gone off, hell bent to kill the bitch, or die trying. But most of all, she had wanted Glory to hurt the way she was, to be scared the way she was, to know that the one thing she valued most was being taken away, and there was nothing Glory could do to stop it. Buffy had wanted vengeance, and if Dawn’s life hadn’t been in jeopardy, Buffy would have killed Ben without a second thought.

It was in that moment she understood without a fault why Willow had so clearly gone off the deep end two years in a row – the pure blast of black magic following Glory’s attack on Tara, and the spiral downward into near madness when Warren had attacked them all a year later.

She couldn’t say what Willow, or Spike, or Sam felt was wrong – she’d been there, too.

Spike was watching her carefully, and when he saw the realization and understanding dawn on her face, he nodded slowly. “See what I mean?”

She ducked her head, closing her eyes. To Spike, she looked exhausted. “That still doesn’t make it right.”

“Never said it did,” Spike said with a sigh. “But…we’ll try to find another way.”

Buffy looked up, eyes wide and confused. “What?”

“We’ll try to find another way to stop those wankers,” Spike said. “If we can’t, then they die. If that’s what it comes to, then you need to be okay with it. But it will be a last resort.”

She tilted her head and gazed at him, then smiled appreciatively. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Spike said. Standing he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “For what it’s worth, luv, I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

She snuggled into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist, burying her face against his chest, and closing her eyes as she inhaled his comforting scent.

“Me too,” she whispered.

Dean lay on his bed, eyes on the ceiling. The moment he’d arrived at Wolfram and Hart, Lilah had stuck him in this room with a smirk and a promise to see him soon The room itself was nicer than any Dean had ever stayed in. The bed was queen sized with soft down filled blankets and cotton sheets. The bathroom held the largest shower Dean had ever laid eyes on with seemingly limitless hot water. A plasma t.v was mounted on the wall opposite the bed. He even had an assistant for crying out loud.

For now, he was allowed almost any frivolity he wanted, right down to a twenty-four hour porn channel. Not that Dean was watching it with those asshole lawyers running in and out of his fancy cell every hour of each day; he’d only asked to see if they’d really get it for him. But while he was no longer held in a dingy hotel with two greedy hunters, Dean’s luck had not changed for the better. Wolfram and Hart felt they owned him. He was theirs to use as they pleased, and then he was just locked away in a gilded cage. The Senior Partners’ own personal nightingale, and one that had to sing on demand.

That was the worst part. The amulet those bastards had placed around his neck seemed to burn against his chest, the weight a constant reminder the lawyers could turn his visions on anytime they pleased and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop them.

The knock on the door pulled Dean from his thoughts. He stood quickly, turning to face the door with a sinking feeling in his chest. Lilah entered like she owned the joint – which, Dean admitted to himself, she probably did – her smirk firmly in place, and the freaky dude with the top of his skull cut off came walking in behind her. A shudder ran up Dean’s spine knowing that hidden under the tall red hat the demon wore the top of its brain showed for all to see. Two more men, belonging to the Wolfram and Hart security team, came in and closed the door behind them.

“You’re going on a bit of a field trip, today,” Lilah grinned, all sharp teeth and malicious intent.

“Excellent,” Dean said with a nod. “Do I get to go out for pizza and free recess after?”

Lilah ignored him, instead turning towards the two bruisers like Dean had never spoken. “Get him ready for transportation. We don’t want to leave our client waiting.”

The two men came forward, and Dean clenched his jaw. His arms were roughly jerked behind his back, a reinforced zip tie quickly cinched around his wrists. A gag was quickly tied in place and soon a dark hood fell over his head. Dean felt a nauseating lurch as he was lifted and slung over one of the guard’s shoulders. Another tie was quickly cinched around his ankles.

“Come, on,” Lilah said. “The van’s ready.”

He was carried through the winding halls of Wolfram and Hart and onto an elevator from the sounds he could hear through the hood. Even with the blackness enveloping him, Dean still had to close his eyes as his stomach rolled again at the elevator’s movements. When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, the smell of exhaust hit him, and Dean was pretty sure he’d just turned a lovely shade of puke green. The rough landing in the back of what he presumed was the van didn’t help.

When the doors closed and the van started up, Dean managed to wriggle the hood off of his head. The doors were bolted and there were no windows in the van, not even one that allowed the morons up front to see into the back, so his vision was barely improved -- not that light mattered much when one was half-demon. Testing the ties, Dean found he couldn’t break them, so he lay back with a weary sigh and closed his eyes. The sway of the van and the smell of exhaust fumes kept his nausea front and center, and Dean prayed the trip wasn’t a long one.

Eh. He never really did have the best of luck.

Four right turns, one left, and a quick merge onto the freeway later, they were coasting along. Dean could hear the severity of traffic decreasing the farther away they got from the city. Scooting around he managed to get himself in an upright position, leaning against the side of the van. Three hours later, by Dean’s calculations anyway, the van finally came to a stop. He could hear the doors opening and closing, the crunch of gravel beneath shoes, and soon the backdoors were opened and sunlight streamed in, blinding him. He missed getting a look at the owner of the rough hands who grabbed him and slung him over another broad shoulder. The stench rising from the person carrying him caused him to dry heave. His eyes watered, and he tried to breathe through his mouth as best he could. Definitely a demon this time, and one that was in desperate need of a good scouring, preferably with a flamethrower.

From his position, Dean could only hear a metal door being pulled open. Inside the building stained concrete floor greeted his eyes. Angling his head, Dean took in the various boxes and crates stacked against the walls. There were creatures – humans and demons – milling about, sorting through boxes; the beasts were moving the crates easily. More than a few demonic eyes glanced his way, malicious glee obvious for any to see. When he was finally placed on his feet, Dean saw that his escort’s skin was a mottled gray color, with dark eyes and a red tinted mouth filled with jagged teeth -- a Rugaru. Dean shuddered. He didn’t even want to know how Wolfram and Hart had gotten one of those things to cooperate.

A new pair of hands shoved him into a chair and a length of rope was wound around his arms and chest, securing him in place. After that, demons and humans alike went back to work, ignoring his presence. Lilah Morgan sat in a chair next to him, cell phone held to one ear, her laptop resting on a table before her. Dean couldn’t see what she was typing, but he could hear the conversation she was having all too clearly. So if the bitch was stupid enough to talk about him while he was right next to her, then she shouldn’t be surprised at his eavesdropping.

“Yes, everything is secure,” Lilah said with a nod.

“Have you set up what is needed for the ritual yet?” a gruff voice on the other end asked.

“We’re moving the final pieces into place now,” Lilah answered. “When will your boss be here?”

“Soon.” The phone call ended, and Dean cursed – that had been all but freaking worthless. It hadn’t told him anything. Roughly an hour later the door opened, and a group of black-eyed demons walked in. Dean tensed as the feeling of dread that had taken up residence in his stomach turning into ice-cold terror. Lilith was at the center of the group, a bright smile on the innocent face she had “borrowed.”

“Dean!” Lilith’s voice was full of childish glee as she skipped over to him. Placing her small hands on his knees, she deftly crawled into his lap and grabbed the sides of his face, bringing his gaze forcibly to hers. “It is so good to see you again! I’ve missed all the fun we used to have together.”

Dean tried to shrink back away from her, but Lilith held tight. “But no worries. We’ll have fun and play again really soon. Right, Lilah?”

“Of course, Lilith,” Lilah said her fake, placating smile firmly in place. “The Senior Partners are looking forward to helping you in this endeavor.”

“Goodie!” Lilith nodded, climbing down from Dean’s lap; she dusted her hands off, then primly smoothed out nonexistent wrinkles on her pink frilly dress. “Is the altar ready?”

Dean felt his heart just about stop. His eyes widened as he glanced over his shoulder at the stone alter being moved into the center of the room. Soon a white powered ring encircled the altar, and symbols were diligently drawn on the sides and the floor in what Dean was sure was human blood. A smaller stone table sat near the altar. On its surface several instruments were all laid out in a specific order. Two ornate bowls were placed on either side of the altar. A familiar pitcher was then placed on the table. Dean’s breathing became heavy and quick, and he frantically pulled at the ties around his wrist. They refused to break and only cut into his flesh, but he had to try. He already knew what the alternative was, he’d already seen it in a vision a few months back, as for the angels, well... they weren’t required to help him. He’d be on his own.

“Dean, stop it!” Lilith said, slapping his knee. It hurt more than it should have for someone her size. “We can’t have you all icky! The ritual works better if you’re clean.” She paused. “But if you wanna be all bloody, then I guess we can let you have your way.” The demon within the child’s body turned an eerie smile his way, her eyes becoming just the tiniest bit brighter. “It’s your call, though.”

Dean froze as terror infused every fiber of his being. He couldn’t let Lilith get her way, he just couldn’t – he couldn’t abandon Sammy again, and Spike would be useless without him, and he may have had disagreements with her, but he just couldn’t foist those two hopeless dimwits on Buffy like that, she was the only one besides him who could handle the idiots.

Because when push came to shove, they were family, and Dean had always believed in family.

Dean drew a deep, shaking breath, and then did something he hadn’t done since he was a child.

He prayed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bobby and Ellen stood before the Hyperion, duffle bags resting on shoulders. The flight had been agonizingly long, and frightfully short at the same time. Both were eager to reach L.A, and help find Dean, but both were reluctant to step into the storm they’d heard brewing during the short phone call.

Sighing, Bobby trudged up the steps, and pushed open one of the heavy doors. Ellen was right behind him. They stopped short at the sight before them. It was seemingly organized chaos. Young girls rifled through bags, checking weapons and supplies. Sam was seated at the counter, computer in front of him, Willow at his side. Spike was cleaning one of the many swords they owned and Buffy was twirling her scythe, anxious to get going. It was Buffy’s sister who noticed them first.

“Bobby!” Dawn called out joyfully, starting forward at the sight of the older man and gaining everyone’s attention. The lobby went still as all heads turned in their direction. “And... friend?” She concluded curiously, pausing at the sight of Ellen.

“Ellen?” Sam said, voice uncertain, but hopeful. “Why--How did you guys get here so fast?”

“Gave the airlines the family emergency spiel,” Bobby answered.

“We also figured you guys could use the extra help,” Ellen said as she stepped around Bobby and into the main part of the lobby. Sam was quickly at her side, arms wrapped around her. There was desperation in his grip, and Ellen held on tighter. “We’ll get him back, honey.”

“You didn’t have to come, Robert,” Spike said, shaking Bobby’s hand.

“Like I was gonna sit this one out,” Bobby said with a snort. “Spike, this is Ellen Harvelle.”

The two eyed each other, Spike with his head cocked to the side, an odd look in his eyes. “You didn’t happen to own a Harvelle Roadhouse 'coupla years ago, did ya?"

“I did, why?” Ellen said, arms crossing over her chest. Spike let loose a sad grin, shaking his head.

“Dean mentioned it one night,” Spike said with a shrug. “Of course he was pretty pissed at the time, so I’m not sure how much of what he said was true.”

Sam winced at the memory. “I am never getting into a drinking contest with you two again.”

“Knowing, Dean,” Ellen said affection in her words. “Most of it was pure bull.”

“Don’t we know it,” Buffy added fondly as she came to stand beside Spike. She extended her hand towards Ellen, and gave the other woman a firm handshake. “Hi, Ellen, I’m Buffy Summers. The girl that hollered at you when you walked in is my sister, Dawn. The redhead is Willow, our resident Wicca and the head of the coven here in Los Angeles. The rest of the girls are my Slayers."

Ellen nodded towards everyone in acknowledgement eyes following the groups’ movements. “Looks like ya’ll are planning a siege.”

Spike’s face clouded over. Sam’s eyes narrowed. Both were so perfectly still, reminding Bobby of the eerie silence before a tornado hits. It was Buffy who spoke though.

“We’re getting ready to hit Wolfram and Hart.” Buffy cast a worried glance Spike and Sam’s way before turning her gaze back towards Ellen and Bobby. “From what Spike’s told us, they close down around six o’clock, so we’re hitting them at about eight.”

“Limit collareral damage.” Bobby nodded.

“And less people to try and stop us,” Buffy added. “So, what can you do?” Her question was directed towards Ellen. Buffy had already seen Bobby on a hunt.

“I can shoot just as well as anybody here,” Ellen said, eyes focused on Buffy. “I know how to track an oponant, and lay traps. Know how to knock a man out, and I know how to keep ’em out too. Just ‘cause I was married to a hunter doesn’t mean I always stayed behind like a good little wife.”

“We’ll give her the tranquilizer gun,” Buffy said to Spike, looking back at Ellen when he nodded his assent.. “If it’s human, tranq it, leave the demon killing to the rest of us.”

“Sounds good.” Ellen nodded.

Soon bags were placed near the lobby doors. Some were filled with weapons, some with ropes, while others held unique smelling herbs and old books. A group of slayers were off to one side, getting last minute instructions from Buffy. Spike was swinging a sword, first in wide arcs, then in small tight ones, switching hands each time. Willow was sitting in the middle of all the chaos, back straight, eyes closed. Streaks of white and black kept alternately appearing and disappearing in her red hair. Sighing, Sam went back to staring at his phone. Ruby hadn’t called him back yet and he was growing impatient. He needed to be strong if they were going to get Dean back safe.

A moment later, the lights flickered, causing Sam to glance around the lobby. No one seemed to notice, so he went back to his task. When the lights flickered again, Sam stood. The lobby fell silent. Buffy and the other slayers were standing on guard, Spike’s eyes scanned the lobby, and Willow stood, hands held out at her sides. Bobby and Ellen held their guns at ready, Dawn standing just behind them. When the doors banged opened, everyone tensed, ready to fight. The figures standing in the doorway had Sam bolting across the lobby.

“Don’t!” His words rang out, startling everyone. One of the slayers had already charged, and it was only due to Spike’s vampire reflexes that he was able to stop her in time.

“Sam?” Ellen asked, gun raised, fury rising in her words and eyes.

“That’s Castiel,” Sam said, breathless from his fright as he pointed first towards the brown-haired man in the trench coat, then again at the taller black man with him. “And that’s Uriel."

Buffy’s eyes widened and her head darted towards Uriel. “Oh.” The others hadn't had the distinct pleasure of being confronted by the notorious angel -- they had only heard of him through the stories Sam and Dean had related to them after coming back from their disasterous hunt against Samhain and the confrontation over Anna.

For the others to suddenly have this bizarrely huge, intimidating man standing in their lobby was awe-inspiring and downright terrifying, all at once. Sam was beyond that. For him, a slow burning rage rose. To the angels he was just the boy with the demon blood and Dean their puppet. He would save Dean, and show them he was more than just what flowed through his veins.

In a panic Buffy turned to her still agitated slayers, she barked out, “Stand down! They’re the angels.” Bobby and Ellen lowered their guns, and the slayer in Spike’s arm’s stopped struggling, instead edging away until she was hiding behind him, her eyes wide. Willow relaxed her stance slightly.

“What the bloody hell is going on here!” Spike demanded as he came to stand by Sam’s side. He let his narrowed eyes scan over the two angels. He could feel his demon quivering in rage and fear, intuitively knowing the two beings before him were not to be trifled with.

“Sam,” Castiel said, as he came to stand before the group. “You’re targeting the wrong location.”

“What?” Sam’s knees nearly gave out as he grabbed onto Spike’s arm. ““No! But… no! How could --"

“You better start explaining yourselves.” Spike’s growl was low, and deep as his eyes flashed yellow.

Uriel, with a disgusted sneer on his face, pushed forward, heading toward Spike with murder in his eyes. "You think you are in the position to demand answers from us, Demon?" the large man rumbled, his brow clouding with thunder as he advanced.

"No!" Buffy gasped as vaulted quickly in front of Spike. She shook, terror and defiance in her eyes when the angel kept coming, but she held her ground. Sam stepped up beside her, his own hands shaking with something other than fear.

“Uriel!” Castiel didn’t even turn around, a simple raised hand stopping the angry angel from reaching his target as Spike pulled Buffy back against him protectively. Castiel gazed at them kindly when Buffy slumped backwards into Spike’s arms, shaking in relief. “We know where Dean is."

“Dean’s alive?” Sam said, hope warring with dread. Castiel simply nodded his head, eyes looking over the group before him. Sam tensed up, noting the solom look on Castiel‘s face. “Then why haven‘t you brought him here?”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?” Buffy snapped. The way she spoke, crossed her arms over her chest, and narrowed her eyes belied how shaken she truly was when she huddled herself between Spike and Sam.

Castiel sighed, taking a few steps forward. “The building is protected. We can not enter.”

“Right,” Spike said with a nod. “So what do we do?”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stone was cold against his back, and the chains wrapped around his wrist and ankles hurt. More chains were fastened around his chest, pelvis, thighs, and knees. He tried shifting to relieve the pressure, but it didn’t help. He could barely move. A demon in a dark robe slowly walked towards him, stopping just before the altar. Dean watched its movements with weary eyes as it examined each instrument carefully laid out. Seemingly satisfied, it turned towards Dean, and pushed its hood back. The face the demon wore was that of a thin man with even thinner hair and a gray speckled beard. It leaned over, wide smile in place and gently patted Dean’s chest.

“Hello, Dean. It‘s so good to see you again.” Dean’s eyes widened, and his heart nearly froze in his chest. With a vicious tug, Dean tried to free himself, but the chains held firm. The demon only laughed as its eyes seemed to roll up into its head, turning a glowing white.

“Dean, Dean, Dean.” Alastair bent down, his spidery fingers wrapping around Dean’s throat. “I am so disappointed in you. I taught you everything I know, and this is how you repay me?”

“You…bastard…” Dean choked out, before Alastair increased the pressure.

“I shouldn’t be surprised, though,” Alastair said with a chuckled. “After all, you are Daddy’s little girl.” Leaning forward Alastair whispered into Dean’s ear. “Did you know I had your Papa on my rack for close to a century?” Another laugh, then, “I gave him the same deal I gave you, but he said no each and every time. But you, Dean, you broke after thirty years. You just aren‘t the man your Daddy wanted you to be, huh, Dean?”

Dean’s eyes slid closed, his lungs burned for air, and he tried desperately to ignore Alastair’s words, to ignore the truth he could hear in them.

“And it is written, that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man spills blood in Hell... as he breaks, so shall it break,” Alastair recited, poisonous words twisting their way into Dean‘s mind.

“Alastair.” Lilith’s voice echoed through the warehouse, and Alastair straightened up, gaze going towards Lilith.

“Lilith,” Alastair said his smile still firmly in place. “I just wanted to get reacquainted with Dean here. He was such a promising student.” Turning back to Dean, Alastair leaned forward, whispering softly. “Can‘t keep Lilith waiting, can we?”

All Dean could do was lie there, panting anxiously and trying to push back his panic as he listened to Alastair start chanting above him. The blade gleamed in the overhead light as Alastair lowered it towards Dean’s chest. The cold stone of the altar seeped into Dean’s back, and he pulled frantically at his bindings as the first slice was made. He could feel the blade digging into his skin as blood pooled on his chest. It soon began to trickle down his sides in steady streams as more cuts were made. A deep slice across his stomach had Dean forcing back a pain filled cry. Two more along his forearms caused the room to spin. Alastair continued chanting as he carefully placed the knife down and lifted the chalice. He slowly dipped his fingers into the cup, and then sprinkled herb-scented blood across Dean’s carved up chest and arms.

White hot pain spiked through Dean, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. His back arched up from the stone, and then he couldn’t stop the agonized scream from escaping his throat. He could feel his body start to tremble as the pain kept growing with each word Alastair spoke. Dean fought to stay conscious. He remembered pain like this -- remembered thirty years of suffering it, and of ten more dealing it out. It ate at his soul, spreading through his body and bringing back the reminder of sharp hooks and tortured screams.

He could feel the magic building in the air. It prickled along his skin, causing his hair to stand on end. A cold breeze drifted across his chest, a sharp contrast to the burning inside. A loud banging noise started up, and Dean tensed, waiting for the final act, but nothing came. The wind picked up, lights flickered then sparked, and a rumbling thunder sounded in the distance.

The burning inside his body started to fade. Alastair’s chanting stopped.

Dean pried his eyes open, rolling them around wildly as he tried to see what was going on. Demons and humans stood around, eyes scanning the building. He heard the shuffling of feet and robes as one of the hooded figures suddenly stepped forward. There was a metallic clang as the figure knocked over the chalice and spilled blood across the intricately drawn symbols. Lilith’s shriek of outrage was followed by an unlikely voice with a heavy Bronx accent and the hint of a smirk saying a very insincere, “Oops.”

Dean tried to look up again, but from his position he couldn’t seem much. The wind howled once more before it swiftly increased to gale force, knocking boxes, people, demons, and instruments over. Then doors to the warehouse blew from their hinges.

The warehouse looked plain. Brick sides, flat roof, dirty glass windows. Stereotypical. Sam wouldn’t have even known there was anything different about it, if Castiel hadn’t told them about the angel-proofing the demons had participated in.




“Okay,” Buffy piped up from behind Sam, gazing at the building in confusion. “I thought you said this place was protected.”



“It is,” Castiel replied softly, his eyes focused on the dilapidated structure.



“Doesn’t look protected to me,” Spike murmured, his own eyes narrowing as he gave the warehouse a closer look.



“There’s something wrong here.” Willow held out her hand, eyes closed. A few minutes later she opened them, and began studying the building with a far off look in her eyes. “Oh, wow.”



“Willow.” Buffy walked over to stand at Willow’s side. “What is it?”



“Symbols,” Willow replied. “And lots of them. I’ve never seen anything like it.”



“Those symbols keep us from entering,” Castiel told them, a faint frown forcing the creasing of his brow.



“Then how do we get rid of them?” Buffy asked. She was looking at the building like it was some demon she needed to slay, and in away, Sam figured it was.



“Break the lines, right?” Sam said, looking from Castiel to Uriel. “It works with Devil’s Traps, so it should work with this too.”



“Too many,” Willow replied, eyes still on the building’s walls. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t go bye-bye.” With a flick of her wrist, Willow sent out a burst of power. The walls seemed to glow briefly, and then Willow was turning with a large grin on her face. “Ta-da! One angel friendly building!”



“You rock, Will,” Buffy said, a fierce grin lighting up her face. She lifted her scythe. “Now let’s go kick some demony ass.”



“We’d better hurry,” Spike said, hefting his broadsword. “Not like they won’t notice their protections just bit the dust.”



“Let me,” Castiel said, coming to stand before the group. Sam watched as he seemed to grow larger than his frame, his face turning hard, eyes cold. It sent a shiver up Sam’s spine.



Wind seemed to pick up from out of nowhere, the street lights flickered, a few popping and sending sparks flying. Raising one hand, Castiel narrowed his gaze, and blasted the doors off their hinges.



“Step away from, Dean Winchester.” The voice was calm, but carried an authority that was impossible to miss. There was anger in that oh-so calm voice, something Sam had only ever heard from Uriel. Demons and humans were scattered around the room, while a small group stood in the center. Sam darted his eyes over the room, searching for his brother, and got the sinking feeling he was behind the demon grinning at them.



“Well, well, look who decided to show up,” the demon said as he casually twirled a bloodied knife in one hand. “Two angels and their merry little band of do-gooders. How quaint.”



“Alastair, I told you to step away from Dean,” Castiel repeated, eyes focused on the pair in the center of the broken circle.



Another demon lifted its arm, pointing his gun at Castiel. The angel merely tilted his head to one side, observing the demons and other humans as if they were something foul he’d stepped in.



Buffy moved to Castiel's side and lifted her scythe, the shine of the blade matching the hard glint in her eyes. “You might want to rethink that.”



“You have bargained your souls with Wolfram and Hart for false prestige and power,” Castiel said, his voice a low rumble. “You disgust me.”



Sam stepped forward, Ruby’s knife clenched tightly in his hand. “Alastair, get the hell away from my brother.”



Alastair chuckled. “Make me.”



Willow smiled at the challenge. "Gladly," she retorted as she lifted her hands, eyes white as her magic flowed forth. Before she could take aim at Alastair, though, a wave of demons surged upon the group, forcing her to begin taking out any fiend she set her sights on. The ones who didn’t get hit with her magic rushed forward, meeting Castiel and the others with a clash of claw and fist. Spike dove in, Sam and Buffy at his side as they tried to fight their way towards Dean. Bobby and Ellen took care of the humans in their midst, while the cadre of young slayers took care of the remaining demons.



Bobby and Ellen took care of the humans in the midst, while the other slayers took care of the remaining demons.



To the group’s surprise, one of the robed demons picked up the pedestal and cracked Alastair over the head with it, laughing mockingly when the demon staggered forward. When Sam could finally see Dean, it was to his absolute horror that his older brother wasn't moving, and he tried to push his way toward the altar, only to be distracted when, with a roar, Spike leapt at the demon, catching Alastair by his head. With a hard jerk, Spike brought his knee up into Alastair’s face. The crunch of his nose did little to quell Spike’s rage. Alastair only laughed as he reared up, knocking Spike back. Sam took the opening offered and slammed Ruby’s knife home. Shock stilled his hand as Alastair merely smiled, pulled the blade free, and backhanded him. His victory was short lived though as he was soon occupied with trying to keep Buffy from using her scythe to cleave him in half.



Getting back on his feet, Spike rushed to the altar with Sam following close behind, making quick work of the chains binding Dean. Checking his pulse, Spike gently tapped the side of Dean’s face.



“Dean…” Spike said voice shaky while Sam watched his back. “Dean! Come on mate, open your eyes.”



Dean groaned his head rolling to the side before tired eyes peeled themselves open. His eyes were tinged black.



“Dean?” Spike asked.



“Sammy…” Dean gasped weakly, his arm wavering as he attempted to reach out for his brother with it.



“Right here, man,” Sam said, his voice shaking and his hand gripping his brother's searching arm and clinging to it.



“Come on,” Spike said as he quickly pulled Dean into a sitting position. Dean swayed a bit, before grabbing a hold of Sam.



Suddenly, Willow's horrified voice streaked across the room. “Buffy!”



Spike spun around, instantly alarmed at Willow‘s cry, his eyes immediately finding Alastair holding a bruised and bloodied Buffy up by her neck. The Slayer's small feet kicked helplessly in midair, her hands clutching desperately at the ones trying to strangle her, and to his terror, Spike saw her eyes flutter shut as her kicking became weaker. For a split second, there was only the sound of air rushing through his ears, and then Spike’s vision became tinged with red. He vaulted forward with the howl of rage, tackling Alastair and freeing Buffy from his grip. She hit the floor, rolling away, coughing and gasping as she dragged in deep breaths.



When Spike was easily tossed aside, Sam pulled Dean flush against him and angrily raised his hand, rallying his strength and reaching for the power running through his veins, his furious eyes trained on the demon that had tortured his brother and tried to kill his friend.



“I don’t think so, Sammy,” Alastair said. He struck before Sam could strike forcing him to loose his grip on his brother. Dean slid down to the floor feebly as Sam hit the wall of the building with a loud bang. Stars danced before his eyes while he tried to regain his breath. Raising his head, Sam watched as a blast of magic sent Alastair stumbling. Willow stood, feet a few inches from the ground, her normally bright eyes pitch black.



“You hurt my best friend,” Willow snarled, her fury manifesting, swirling around her body as her power lifted her higher.



Alastair stood, laughing. “Oh, is the little witch angry?”



“You’re going to regret what you did,” Willow said an eerie smile on her pale face. Dark veins began to spread out along her skin, and streaks of black permeated her hair.



“Oh, no, my dear,” Alastair said. “You will."



Magic, dark and twisting, raced towards Alastair exploding against his chest. Skin peeled away exposing raw muscle underneath. What was left hung like tattered ribbons. One eye was singed black. Alastair laughed again and raised his hand. He made a fist, and then seemingly pulled back on unseen strings. Willow’s eyes turned white then black, and then back to their natural green before she slumped to the ground.



“I heard you tore the skin from a man’s body,” Alastair said, laughter carried along with his words. “And all for the sake of a dead lover.” Alastair clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Such a waste of talent.” She gazed up at him in alarm, unable to do anything but watch as he advanced. She gave a small cry as he kicked the side of her head, knocking her unconscious.



Sam struggled to his feet, head ringing from when it had struck the wall. He could feel warm sticky blood trickling down his face. Anger rose inside him, swelling with each breath. The world narrowed, the sound from the fighting dimmed, and all that matter was Alastair. Sam raised his hand, feeling the power surging through him, out of him once more, and pushing against Alastair. He caught him off guard, tossing him into the wall. Sam stalked forward, dark gaze focused solely on his target. Alastair grinned.



“You can’t hurt me,” Alastair said. “You don’t have it in you.”



“That’s what you think,” Sam growled out, pushing more of his power out through his hand. His vision swam, blood started to ooze from his nose, but he kept on. Soon his head started to throb, but Alastair was groaning in pain and Sam kept pushing passed his limits. Suddenly something felt like it snapped, and a massive force flew from Sam. Ava had been right it was just like flipping switches.



Alastair screamed as he died.



Everything seemed muted after that. Sam could see demons being felled all around him, but it held little interest. All he could do was stand and stare. The demon that had tormented his brother for thirty years, the same demon Dean had spent ten years working for, was now dead. Despite the woozy feeling, a surge of triumph filled Sam. He’d killed Alastair. He was strong enough. Dean didn’t have to fight anymore-- Sam could do it for him.



Looking up, Sam’s eyes eagerly sought out his brother. Dean was lying still, cradled in Castiel’s arms. Sam’s triumph turned to bitter guilt as he watched Dean’s breathing hitch.



“Dean!” Reaching Castiel’s side, Sam placed his hand on Dean’s face. His skin was cold, his eyes closed. Blood covered most of Dean’s body, causing Sam to flash back to that horrible day when the hellhounds had torn Dean to shreds.



“I’ll take him to the hospital,” Castiel said. Both disappeared with a soft rustling of wings.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Dean lay in bed, bandages covering most of his body. Machines beeped and pinged regularly around him. The morphine floating through his system made sure he didn’t care. Only a dim light shone in the room, creating a soft glow. With the door closed he couldn’t hear anything beyond his room. It was one small thing Dean was grateful for. This way he wouldn’t have to hear the others soft worried words drift in from the hallway. He wouldn’t have to hear their speculation on how he was doing, how they could help him deal, how they all now knew exactly how fucked up he really was.



A soft whisper of wings alerted Dean to the fact he was no longer alone. He didn’t turn his head, keeping his eyes focused on the curtained window. He already knew who was there.



“Dean.” Castiel’s voice was soft, gentle though it still sent spikes of pain through his skull.



“Is it true?” Dean asked voice hoarse. “Did I…”



“When we discovered Lilith’s plan for you, we laid siege to Hell…” Castiel let his voice trail off.



“But you were too late,” Dean said.



“We were.”



“Why didn’t you just leave me there?”



“The righteous man who begins it, is the only one who can finish it. You have to stop it.”



Dean felt his throat tighten at Castiel’s words, his vision blurred. “I can’t do it, Cas. Find someone else, it’s not me.”



“For what it’s worth, I would do anything to not have this burden placed on you,” Castiel said, placing his hand on Dean’s arm. Both men pretended not to notice the tears trickling down Dean's bruised cheeks.



Dean preferred it that way.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



“Here.” Sam startled, looking up to see Willow holding out a cup of real coffee. He took it, giving her a weary smile. She nodded back and settled into the chair next to him. The lights in the waiting room were dim, most of the hospital visitors having left once visiting hours had ended. A few nurses were gathered at the nurse’s station talking quietly. The phone rang every few minutes disrupting the flow of murmured words. Across from them, Spike and Buffy were passed out, both pale enough to blend with the walls.



“How is he?” Willow asked, drawing Sam’s attention.



“He’s doped up and looking like a horror movie mummy,” Sam said his voice soft enough not to carry. “There are two slayers outside his room at the moment,” Sam paused and took a drink of his coffee, finishing it in one go. “He was sleeping when I left.”



Willow nodded and took a sip of her own coffee. “Where are the others?”



“Bobby and Ellen went back to the hotel,” Sam replied. “Dawn went back with them.” Sam turned his head, looking over Willow’s own pale face. She had a dark bruise spreading along her temple. “How are you feeling?”



“Sore and headachy,” Willow said, shoulders sagging.



“I’m going to kill Lilith.”



Willow jumped at his words. “Sam, the angels said—“



He stood placing his cup on the coffee table before them. “I know what they’ve said.” He pulled on his jacket with short jerky movements. “But look what happened. Dean was nearly killed because of them.”



“Sam,” Willow said, standing and placing her hand on his arm. “It wasn’t their fault.”



“They know about Wolfram and Hart,” Sam snapped, jerking his arm out of her grip. “And they know about Lilith. They could stop this all, but all they do is throw more crap at Dean. Well I’m done listening to them. I’m doing things my way from now on.”



Turning, Sam stalked towards the elevator. If he hurried he might be able to catch Ruby before she took off.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



A sun warmed breeze blew through the window carrying a hint of salt with it. Curtains drifted gently back and forth with the coming and going of the wind. The sun was slowly setting over the sparkling blue waters they could see outside their window. Steve was stretched out on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. Carlos lounged in one of the cushioned love seats, sharpening one of his hunting knives.



A knock at the door herald the entrance of a tall blonde woman. Her long hair swayed gently as she walked. She wore a bikini top, a hibiscus print wrap around skirt, and flip flops. She held a tray with two drinks balanced on it.



“Gentlemen,” she said with a sweet smile, placing the drinks on the table. She then leaned back, holding the tray to her chest. “I’m very disappointed in you. Your bragging cost me my ritual. It would have been so much easier to just open one big seal instead of sixty six little ones.”



Carlos and Steve both stumbled from their seats, reaching for weapons as the woman’s eyes turned a brilliant white. They didn’t get very far before they were both pinned down in the seats they had tried to escape.



“I’m gonna kill you, you filthy bitch!” Carlos said trying in vain to reach the knife he’d dropped.



“Now, now,” the woman said. “That’s no way to speak to a lady.”



“You ain’t no lady,” Steve growled out.



“You’re right,” the woman said. She smiled again, wide and bright. Her right hand casually lifted into the air, palm facing forward. The room quickly filled with terrified screams and searing white light. “I’m not.”