cado en nasquam (mactatu venia) Part Three, Supernatural, NC-17

[phantisma]

Fandom: Supernatural
Title: cado en nasquam (mactatu venia) (Part Three of this story, other chapters can be found here)
Pairing/Characters: John/Dean, John/Sam, psuedo-Sam/Dean, implied Alistair/Dean, implied Alistair/John, Castiel
Rating: A very serious NC-17
Summary: This picks up at the begining of "Family Remains" and runs through "On the Head of a Pin", where it finally diverges completely from canon. John Winchester never was very good at following someone else's plan when he has other ideas, and his boys are still his boys, even though he's not quite himself.

Warnings: For eboniorchid who is an amazing woman and for varkelton as a belated happy birthday. This is maybe the darkest thing I've ever written, and those of you who have read my work know I don't say these things lightly. This at the very least rivals the "P!Verse"...in some ways it goes darker places than that. There is rape/non-con, dub-con, there is torture, both physical and mental. All three Winchesters go to very dark places in this. This began as a Dean in hell piece, and then followed very loosely through season 4, until it went its own way.



Dean shivers, seeking relief even though he knows there won't be any…there never is…not until it's almost too much, not until he's sure he can't stand it, sure he'll break…then suddenly there's a small reprieve…an hour or two of silence, a moment or two with no pain…a stretch of time when he isn't being touched, fucked, slowly broken open and pulled apart.

"You know I had your Daddy right here…on this rack…naked and chained here…just like you are now…"

Dean's eyes squeeze shut, because he doesn't want to hear…doesn't want to feel that hand close around his cock, doesn't want his head filled with the images of his father where he is now, enduring this…but Alistair's voice slithers into his head, the same way his hands and lips slither over his skin.

"He begged for mercy…" His forked tongue laps at Dean's chin as he presses his body against Dean's. "He begged me to let him come…"

Dean screams as Alistair fucks into him, but there is no sound, none but Alistair's voice. "He was mine, just like you will be…I fucked him, bled him, made him cry, made him scream…and when I let him come…when he gave himself to me, when he asked to serve me, I licked his tears and watched the black fill his eyes as I set him free."

Everything swirls around him, demons, Alistair's face, blood, come.

"You have to know this was your fault Dean. The whole bloody thing…all the way back to Daddy leaving to hunt Azazel. You know why he left you."

Like a kaleidoscope. A perverse, twisted kaleidoscope spitting out an endless parade of images, and moments in a disconcerting regurgitation of torment.

Dean shakes his head to quell the buzzing and dizzying spin until Sam holds out his hand, and Dean moves to him, like he can't not go to Sam when he calls for him. Sam's mouth is hot and tastes like smoke as he kisses Dean. "Sam?" He's breathless and uncertain…dreaming…he must be dreaming.

"I told you he'd come." Sam says softly. His hands curl around Dean's hip possessively, guiding him between Sam and his father. Lips press to his, a tongue sliding over them until he opens his mouth, distracted by the scruff of his father's beard on his neck as his lips touch Dean's skin too.

"Sam?"

"Shh…Dean." Sam kisses his eyes closed. His father's hands slide over his skin, pull him back against his naked chest, and Dean can feel that his chest isn't all that's naked.

"Dean." His father's voice is deep, comforting and it lulls him. "My boy. My good soldier. You take care of your brother."

"Yes sir." Dean murmurs reflexively, not even realizing his father is guiding him to his knees. John's finger pushes into Dean's mouth, opening it as Sam steps closer.

"Take your brother."

Dean pulls back as Sam's cock touches his lip, but his head only goes as far as his brother's cock. "Anything for me Dean, right?" Sam asks as he flexes his hips, his cock sliding into Dean's open mouth alongside their father's finger.

Dean gags, but doesn't fight…can't hurt Sam. Bodies close around him as they kiss above him. This can't be real…Dean tries to remember…but there's nothing…just the falling, falling…dying…burning…

"That's good Dean." Sam murmurs as they pull apart. His long fingers stroke the side of Dean's face. "I knew you'd come for me…knew you'd give yourself, sacrifice yourself…it's what you do…"

"No…Sam…" Dean reaches for him, but he's gone and only his father remains.

John Winchester smiles at him softly. "Shh…let me…" Tenderly he cleans Dean until he can no longer feel the wounds, the blood gone. John helps him sit, lifts him, carries him to a soft bed. "Easy, Dean."

They lay together in the softness, his father's body curled around his protectively. "How much more can you take?" His father's voice is small, hurt. "I hate watching you go through this."

Dean holds his father's hand to his chest, reveling in how safe it feels, though that too is an illusion. "What else can I do?"

His father kisses over his shoulders and sighs. "I held out Dean…for years…I fought like you are now…endured the unthinkable."

Dean can feel his father's arousal against his ass. His mouth was close to Dean's ear. "No one survives, Dean. No one outlasts him. Even now he owns you, like he owns me. He can make it hurt in ways you can't imagine, or he can make it feel so very good."

John shifts, rolling them enough that his cock slipped into Dean and Dean is partly on his stomach. His father's hand slips over his hip, circling around his cock. "You've never felt the kind of orgasm that comes when you surrender Dean."

He rocks them together. "Surrender…he'll give you to me, Dean…we can be together…we can have this…" His hand strokes Dean while his words sooth him.

Dean closes his eyes and lets the feeling build, need, arousal, craving for this…for the respite, for the reward. "Please…Dad…"

"Please…" Blood drips from his lips as he pulls himself to his knees, reaching out to them, to Alistair and his father.

Alistair turns, his fist in John's hair, pulling him off Alistair's cock and they both look at Dean. "Please…"

No more…he can't take any more. He drags his reaching hand back to hold the intestines spilling out of him. "Please…"

"Please?" Alistair stops in front of him, his cock right in Dean's face. John slides to his knees, his hands cupping to Dean's face.

"You have to say the words, boy."

Dean tries to focus his eyes on his father's face, tries to force the words out of him, shame and fear and agony warring inside him until he could barely form thought. "No more."

John's smile starts small, but grows. He nods encouragement.

"Please, no more." Dean's face burns with his shame. "I…I'll…do whatever you want."

Alistair raises an eyebrow as he considers Dean's words, then he offers his cock to Dean. It is forced, it's just there, waiting. Dean looks to his father, then back at Alistair. Slowly, he licks his lips, opens his mouth.

In a blink there's a blade in his hand, a woman on the rack before him. The first cut is shaky and shallow, but his father nuzzles his ear and whispers to him. Alistair hovers and Dean tries again, opening her stomach with one long, slow stroke.

"When we win, when we bring on the apocalypse and burn this earth down, we'll owe it all to you, Dean Winchester."



Dean became aware he was yelling at about the same time he realized he was awake. He opened his eyes slowly and the room that came into focus was gray and cool. He licked his lips and turned his head, the only thing that seemed to be working.

There was an IV feeding liquids into his arm, drugs too judging by the warm, woozy feeling. He blinked and tried to make out details, but it didn't seem to be a hospital room. He was alone, for the moment.

He was mostly sitting up, propped up on piles of pillows. He shifted and groaned with the pain. His left leg was splinted and propped up on pillows too. His right hand was bandaged. His face felt swollen and tender, his left eye swollen shut.

He swallowed around the raw feeling in his throat. He remembered Uriel and Castiel grabbing him…asking him to do the unthinkable. He remembered giving in to Castiel's desperation.

He remembered only pieces after wheeling his cart of tools into the room though. He remembered how it felt when Alistair howled in pain. He remembered the blame. He remembered Alistair getting free.

Nothing else after that was more than a blur of bloody memory. He should be dead. He should be in hell. For all he knew he was. Hell could be like this some times. He remembered that.

The door opened and bright light streamed into the room. Dean winced and turned his face away.

"Oh, sorry." Sam's voice. Sam.

Dean blinked away the spots and turned to find Sam putting food bags on the other bed. "Sorry. I didn't know you were awake."

"Sam?"

He came to the end of the bed, still more silhouette than anything. "You had me scared there, Dean."

"What happened?"

"Well…ah…" He went and grabbed a chair and pulled it up between the beds. He sat, rubbing his hands down his thighs. "I ah, I showed up about the time Alistair and Castiel were beating the shit out of each other."

Dean tried to focus on him, but he seemed off somehow, almost not real. "I pulled you out of there and we high tailed it out of town. You were unconscious a long time. Probably should have taken you to a hospital, but I wanted to get us off the grid."

"Off…" Dean squinted at him. There was something dark about him. "Where?"

"Middle of nowhere." He put a hand under the mattress and pulled out a hex bag. "Hiding. Neither side can find us here."

"Castiel…"

Sam looked away. "Last I saw he was holding his own." Sam patted his hand. "You need to worry about you, okay? Not him. We need to get you on your feet." He stood and went to the bags he'd put on the other bed. "I picked up some more pain meds for you. They should help."

"Sam, no…I want to…" But really, he wasn't sure what he wanted. Sam smiled at him, but something about the smile looked more like their father…but that didn't make sense. Their father was dead.

Sam lifted a syringe and injected something into the IV. "There, Dean. Sleep. Everything will be better when you wake up."





"Please…help me…"

Dean wonders for a moment if he had sounded so scared, so terribly frail and alone and small. This man's eyes are blue. Or they were. The body is nothing but an illusion, a means to cause pain to a soul already lost, even if it hasn't figured that out yet. He steps even closer and the ramble of words and noises quiets as Dean lets the hand not holding the meat hook glide over the man's skin, painting it with sticky red. "Shh…" Dean slides the hand up to the man's lips, letting the red cover them like make up. "Shh…What's your name?"

His eyes dart, from Dean to John and back, his body shudders and he knows the pain is coming, knows the wracked voice that tries to sooth him is only hours from its own screaming, knows that Dean will rip this illusion into shreds, but he stills, swallows, focuses on Dean as if somehow, some way Dean might save him, free him.

"R-roger."

Dean nods. "Roger." He tests the name in his mouth. It feels strange, meaningless. He may have been Roger once, before he came to be here, but now he is just another soul in hell, whether he sold himself or lost himself it doesn't matter.

"Roger, I'm not going to play games with you. I'm going to hurt you." Dean holds up the hook, looking at it until he feels Roger's eyes leave his and focus on the hook. "With this." Dean looks back at Roger. "I'm going to use it to pull the skin off your bones, rupture your organs, I may use it to fuck your ass. When I am done there will be nothing left of you but your voice and the illusion that you have a body, one that has been shredded and fucked." Dean leans in close. "And then, he'll make the illusion whole again and someone else will start over."

Dean brings the point of the hook down onto Roger's chest, traces it around his nipple. He smiles when Roger hisses and his cock fills. "You're going to like this, Roger."

He presses in, down, the point of the hook breaking skin just under his right nipple. Dean concentrates, drags it down, not too deep, not yet. Blood wells up, spills. He cuts down to the navel while Roger screams.

Behind him, John's closing in, the illusion of his body pressing against Dean's. It makes the air that much hotter, as if the oppressive heat of eternal damnation isn't enough. Dean's illusion of a body responds, his cock hardening, his heart beating faster. Hands ease over his naked skin, lips traverse over his spine, up onto his neck.

"Feels good."

Dean can only nod in agreement, lifting the hook to draw another bloody line over the pale, white skin. Roger screams, shaking. John reaches around Dean, his hands grasping the flaps of skin and yanking Roger open. His hands are all the hotter when they return to Dean's skin, flushed with the illusion of blood.

Roger screams endlessly and the sound is wearing on Dean's ability to concentrate. He lifts the hook, dripping blood and gore and when Roger's mouth opens again, Dean shoves the hook in, digging it into his tongue and yanking.

The scream grows louder, then falls away into a gurgle as the tongue rips loose and Dean drops it to the side, cocking his head to look at the bloody mess before him.

"Not bad." John says, his mouth against the back of Dean's neck. "You're learning."


The feeling of his father's presence was strong as he woke again. He could tell somehow that days had passed. The IV is gone and only the flat metal taste at the back of his mouth betrayed the drugs still burning off inside him.

He seemed incredibly improved for merely days, the splint gone, the bandages missing. He looked up to find Sam watching him. There was a smile, almost predatory, but it was gone fast. "Hey."

"Hey." Dean looked around them, almost expecting someone else to appear, Castiel or Alistair or someone who could explain the improvement of his wounds. There was just Sam though, hands in his pockets looking sheepish.

"How you feeling?" Sam asked, pacing the small distance across the end of the bed.

"Better, I guess. What'd you do."

Sam shook his head. "Me, nothing. Just. Nothing. Been waiting for you to wake up. We need to move."

"Thought you said we were off the grid." Dean mumbled, shifting. He was no where near ready for moving. He wasn't even sure he could stand.

"No, no. We are. Just….been in one place too long."

Dean sat up and Sam stopped pacing. "What are you doing?"

Dean sighed. "I gotta pee, Sam."

"Oh, yeah, right. Here." Sam pulled back the blankets and helped him onto his feet.

"Christ, Sam." Dean looked down to discover himself in adult diapers and not much else.

"What did you want me to do, let you pee the bed?" Sam replied, kicking the chair out of the way and helping Dean into the bathroom.

"Yeah, well, get me some real clothes, would ya? I got this." Dean grabbed the sink and held himself upright while dropping the diapers. "There's something you never expect to wake up to." He shuffled to the toilet and relieved himself, leaning in to flush. He looked up into the mirror and started. His eyes were black, sunken, hollow and black. He panted and closed his eyes.

No. No. No.

It wasn't real.

He opened his eyes and his reflection was normal. He was pale and thin, but himself. He exhaled slowly. It was okay. He was okay. He wasn't in hell. He wasn't a demon. He was okay. Everything was okay.

Alistair didn't kill him, didn't break him again. There was still a chance.

"Your father was no righteous man. If he was, we wouldn't have needed you. To break the first seal."

"Here." Sam stepped into the bathroom, setting down a pile of clothes. "You need help?"

Dean looked up and recoiled. "No." He put up both hands and turned, shaking his head.

"Dean?"

It was Sam's voice, Sam's hands, but the face in the mirror was the demonic face of their father. "No." Dean closed his eyes. It was a delusion. A product of the drugs. It wasn't real, and when he opened his eyes, his brother would be his brother.

Hands grabbed his shoulders. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean opened his eyes. Sam was blocking him from seeing the mirror. "Are you okay?"

"I thought…." Dean shook his head. "I'm seeing things."

"You had quite a concussion Dean. Maybe you should get back into bed."

Sam turned him and started him back into the room, but Dean stopped and gestured at the clothes. "Dude, at least the boxers." Sam turned and in the mirror Dean saw it again. He shoved Sam away and got as far as the end of the bed before he fell. "You're not Sam."

He could smell it now, demon. He panted and backed onto the bed as Sam turned around. His smile was dark, his eyes black. "Well, I was hoping it would be a while before you figured it out. I was looking forward to seducing you."

"Get out of him, you fucking bastard." Dean growled, crawling backward until he hit the headboard.

"Now, Dean is that anyway to talk to your father?" He tilted his head. "Or your brother for that matter."

"You are not my father." Dean insisted. "My father was a good man."

He kept coming, crawling up onto the bed and reaching up to grab Dean's ankle. He pulled and Dean slid down the bed. "I own you Boy."

Dean struggled, but he was still weak, still broken enough that a few well placed fingers pressing into his skin had him rendered him unable to move, winded and afraid.

Sam's hands were hot and big as they slid up his legs and spread him open. "I was going to wait, but you smell so good, I can't wait to have some of you…it's been a while." He nuzzled the groove of Dean's hip, letting his cheek brush against Dean's cock. "Did you miss me, Dean?"

He licked a strip up Dean's stomach, one hand letting go of Dean long enough to open his jeans. He bent Dean's hips back and shoved himself into Dean's ass, no prep at all. Dean bit off the yell, closed his eyes and panted through the rush of pain, the burn in his ass, the ache in his stomach muscles. "One big happy family." Sam's voice filled his ear, but that wasn't Sam.

Dean fisted his hands in the sheets and grunted with each stroke, hoping the pain would be too much and it would push him over the edge into unconsciousness. Instead, his ass flushed with heat and his father slapped his hip as he pulled out. He dropped Dean's legs to the bed and left him there, tucking himself in and zipping up his pants. He went back to pacing almost immediately. He almost looked like he was nervous.

No, that wasn't right.

Like he needed something. He looked like a junky in need of a fix.

He went to the door and back again. Dean looked around the room for some sort of clue. There were the remnants of some sort of ritual on the table.

"What did you do?" Dean asked.

He shook his head. "You mind your own business."

"What did you do? Castiel?"

Sam-John turned to look at him. "I told you he was holding his own when I left him."

"You summoned something." Dean stood on shaking legs and pointed at the evidence. "What did you do? Alistair…"

"We killed him." John said. "Okay? Sam and I, we killed him."

"You what?"

John grinned. "Didn't know little brother had it in him? I told you Dean, Sammy's destined to go bad. Ruby showed him the way, but she was too slow, taking him slowly, leading him with her slutty seduction…the first time she bled for him she made it seem like an accident…but she knew what she was doing. It just wasn't enough."

"Bled for him?" Dean shook his head. "What does that even mean?"

"You didn't know? Sammy's been drinking from the vine…I mean, the vein. Demon blood, it's how he was juicing his powers, Dean. Makes sense, right? Demon blood is how he got them in the first place."

"Sam…Sam told me he wasn't using them anymore."

"Why do you think I had to kill Ruby? She couldn't seal the deal, couldn't get the job done. I had to do it myself. Get him to drink from the right demon, the one who could take his powers to the next level. How else was he going to kill Alistair? How else were we going to stop this fucking apocalypse shit?"

Dean sat down hard on the bed. "Wait, what?"

His father laughed. "You think I want Lucifer rising? Fuck, I know better. That asshole gets free and I'm low man on the totem pole again, instead of Alistair's right hand man. No. I'm not ready to go back to being a squashed bug. I want something more."

Dean couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. "You? You're just going to stop it. Just like that."

"I already have, Son. Once we drained her, I stashed Lilith away. No Lilith, no final seal, no Lucifer."

"Final seal?"

"Those fucking angels don't tell you two much do they?" John shook his head and opened a whiskey bottle that was on the table. "Lilith is the final seal. When Sam killed her, it was supposed to open the door and let Lucifer walk the earth once more."

He took a long drink from the bottle. "And the puzzle box we put Lilith in isn't opening anytime too soon. All we gotta do now is wait out the storm."




"You can't give in." Sam says, laying next to him on the bed.

"I'm tired Sam." Dean replies, his eyes closed.

"I know you are. I know. But I'm fighting, I just need you to fight with me."

"He's too strong."

"He's getting weaker." Sam argues. "He didn't realize how the blood works. He didn't realize he'd need more. And there is no more."

Dean turns his head, looks at his brother's face. "I can't anymore. I can't."

"You can, Dean. You can. It's just a little longer. Just a little longer."

Sam is fading and Dean can do nothing but blink until he is gone.


His father was spooned up behind him, his cock still inside him from the last round of fucking. Dean opened his eyes in the gloom of the room. Behind him his father is moving now, his cock hard again, his hips thrusting forward.

Dean didn't move or make a sound. It was easier to just let him do it. He would anyway, and at least this way it didn't hurt as much.

Dead eyes stare back at him from the other bed. His father had summoned some demon and bled him dry, left the lifeless body on the other bed. It was the third in three days. It wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

John came inside him, then rolled onto his back. "Castiel."

He said the name like he was testing how it would sound. "I'll bet he's looking for you."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Dean said.

"I wonder what kind of power angel blood would have."

Dean rolled onto his back and looked at his father. "What? You can't be serious."

"Deadly." John sat up, though it was Sam's expression as he looked at Dean. "You should shower."

"Why, are we going somewhere?"

John's smile was frightening. "To find us an angel."




"You're out of your mind." Dean said. He was barely standing, his leg throbbing, his hands trembling.

"Just call him." John said from the shadows of the alley beside him.

"He won't come." Dean argued. "He has to know it's you in there."

"He'll come. I saw how he looked at you. He would do anything for you."

Dean leaned back on the brick wall for support. "There was a time you would have done anything for me."

His father's hand grabbed his shoulder. "I did. I died for you. What have you done for me?"

"Even if he shows, he's just going to kick your ass." Dean said, head falling back. He was so tired.

"If he hurts me, he hurts Sam." John taunted. "Bring him, Dean."

"Castiel!" Dean called out, his father's hand digging into his arm. "Cas!"

Dean closed his eyes. His father let go and Dean turned his head away, starting to find Castiel there on his other side. Castiel held a finger to his lips and reached for Dean. Two fingers touched his forehead and they were spun away.

Dean's knees gave out as they hit pavement. Castiel caught him and held him up. "What did you do." He craned his neck to see where they were. It was clear they hadn't gone far.

"I took you from harm's way." Castiel replied with a confused look.

"You have to put me back." Dean clutched at his arm. "Cas, now."

"I do not understand. I saved you from the demon that took you."

"That's…that demon…" he swallowed and shook his head. "He has Sam."

"I know." Castiel bowed his head. "I am sorry Dean."

"Sorry?" Dean shoved him away and started walking back toward his father and Sam. "Sorry doesn't cut it anymore, Cas."

Castiel appeared in front of him. "I was betrayed. We all were." That at least made Dean stop. "Uriel…" His face took on a distant look. "Uriel and others were working to free Lucifer. They have been dealt with."

"Dealt with?" Dean shook his head. "Never mind. I don't want to know. I want my brother back."

"Are you sure there is anything of Sam to get back?" Castiel asked softly, his eyes lifting to meet Dean's.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Your bother has been walking the edge of the cliff for a long time, Dean. He was bound to fall eventually."

"No." Dean pushed him out of the way.

"He killed Alistair." Castiel was in front of him again.

"I know." Dean responded. "It wasn't Sam though. It was the demon. He used Sam's hoodoo, juiced him up by drinking high octane demon blood so he could kill Alistair and rescue me."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "And now he's jonesing for more and he can't get it."

Castiel nodded. "And so he sent you to call for me so that he might try mine."

Dean frowned at him. "You knew?"

"Just because I do not tell you something does not mean that I do not have that knowledge." Castiel said. "The demon that was your father desires power. His single minded devotion to the two of you and that desire has actually accomplished what garrisons of angels could not." Castiel looked him in the eye. "Not a seal has broken since he took you. Four weeks, Dean. Four weeks and the balance is already being restored."

"That son of a bitch." Dean didn't know whether to be dismayed or proud. "Do we know where Lilith is?"

Castiel shook his head. "She has not been found."

"Good. Keep it that way." Dean's strength was waning and he reached for the angel to keep from going down. "She's the last seal. She dies, Lucifer rises. Now, we gotta go get Sam."

"My orders are to bring you away." Castiel countered, lifting his fingers to send Dean fluttering off to who knew where.

Dean caught his hand. "I'm not going without my brother."

"He will kill you."

"Maybe." Dean stepped around him again and again Castiel appeared in front of him.

"I can't let you."

"You can't stop me." Dean countered.

"Dean."

"Cas."

They stared at each other for a minute. Then Castiel closed his eyes, nodding slowly. "I will come with you."

This time Dean stopped them. "He means to kill you, you know that, right?"

"It is my life to offer, Dean. I go willingly."

Castiel clearly had something up his sleeve, but Dean couldn't read his face. He had that idiotic, love face thing he did when talking about his father or heaven. Dean pointed away, to the alley where his father still lurked in Sam's body.

His eyes were black as they stepped into the alley. "You betray me, boy?"

"I just want Sam back." Dean said. "I brought you the angel."

John cocked Sam's head and turned his eyes to Castiel. "Come to save them, have you?"

Castiel shook his head. "No, John. I came to save you."

Castiel took off the trench coat and handed it to Dean, then rolled up one sleeve. "You want my blood?"

Sam's eyes were filled with greed and lust as he took a step forward. "Cas…" Dean reached for him, but he was already out of reach.

"I offer it to you, John Winchester." Dean didn't see where Castiel got the knife, but suddenly, he was cutting his arm, deep. Thick, red blood flowed down his arm. "Take it."

Something wasn't right. Castiel shouldn't be offering something like this. Not unless it was a trap. Dean took a step closer. "Sam…Sam…if you can hear me…don't…"

"Stay out of it, Dean," his father snapped, his eyes never leaving Castiel. He licked his lips and grabbed the arm, dragging the angel closer. Castiel looked at Dean as John licked up the blood that had spilled over skin, savoring it for a moment before closing his mouth over the wound.

Dean jumped at them, but Castiel held up his other hand, stopping him…stopping everything but Sam's mouth on his arm. Light began to pour out of the wound, out of Castiel's mouth and eyes.

"Cas…what…"

The light flowed into Sam with the blood, but he didn't stop drinking. Castiel's knees buckled and John followed him to the ground, until he was straddling the fallen angel, drinking deep.

Light flooded the alley. The ground shook. Dean fell to his knees beside them. Castiel looked at him, a small smile on his face as if everything was okay as he lay dying in a dirty alley.

Sam's head lifted, blood smeared across his face, light dancing over his skin. He roared, the sound bouncing and echoing off the walls, growing in volume until Dean had to cover his ears, curling forward over Castiel's body.

There was a blast from beneath him, a shockwave that blew him backward and dropped him into the dark.




Sam sat up slowly, trying to identify the aches in his joints and back, the ringing in his ears. He was in a field, surrounded by wheat. He was alone inside his body. His father's presence gone. He did a quick check to make sure he wasn't injured, then climbed to his feet.

Over the wheat, he could see a house.

With nothing better in mind, he headed down the row toward the house.

He remembered bits of what his father had done while inside him. Other parts were a blur. He remembered Dean. He remembered what he'd done to Dean. He closed his eyes and pushed the thought away.

He vaguely remembered something to do with Castiel.

He emerged from the field to find Dean laying in the grass. "Dean?"

Sam knelt beside him and checked his pulse. He was alive. Sam felt over him for injuries, and as he reached Dean's legs, Dean coughed and sat up. "Sam?"

He looked at his brother and nodded. "Yeah, it's me."

"Christo." Dean growled.

Sam nodded. "Fair enough. It's me."

"Dad?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"Cas?"

Sam shook his head, looking around them. "I don't know that either."

"Where the hell are we?"

"I don't know…Kansas maybe?" He hitched his thumb back at the wheat field.

"I'm fucking tired of this shit." Dean held up his hand and Sam took it, helping him up. They both stood and surveyed their surroundings.

"How you feel?" Sam asked, pointedly not looking at him.

"I'll live. You?"

"Like I got run over with a tractor." Sam said. "What happened?"

Dean rubbed at his face and moved to the picnic table, easing himself down onto the bench. "You don't remember?"

Sam shrugged. "Not really. I was fighting like hell to get control back. I…" He shook his head.

"How did he…" Dean gestured at him.

"He tricked me. Came to me with an idea to get you back." Sam exhaled. "I should have known." He looked around them. "Anyway, once he was in, it was all I could de to keep fighting to push him out. Then there was this kind of pain and bright light…the next thing I know I'm waking up out there in the field.

"He was…" Dean looked away. "Fucking insane. He couldn't drink enough demon blood to keep from shaking. Decided he needed to drink an angel instead."

"Castiel?"

Dean nodded and scratched at his head. "I tried to talk him out of it, but you know Castiel once he has an idea."

"Wait. Castiel gave himself up?"

"Damnedest thing I ever saw." Dean said. "Although how we end up here is beyond me."

"Well, maybe whoever lives here knows more?" It was a long shot, but the angel seldom sent them somewhere for no reason. Dean stood and shrugged.

"What else we got to do?"

They headed for the house, rounding the side yard and stopping. The impala sat in the driveway, shiny and clean. "What the…" Dean crossed to her, running a reverent hand over her hood. "Now tell me why he sends us to fucking Kansas while he's dying and remembers to send the car too?"

"Maybe he wasn't dying?" Sam asked, looking up at the house. "Maybe…" He sighed and shook his head yet again. "I don't know. I've got nothing."




John stood in the window, looking down at the car and his sons. Tears streamed down his face unchecked. His stomach clenched around the memories of the things he'd done.

Behind him, the angel put a hand on his shoulder. "John."

He turned, wiping his face. "No…I can't."

Castiel offered him a benevolent smile. "The memory will fade with time, for all of you."

"There is nothing I can do…" It was too big, too much…and he knew it. He glanced back out the window. "I don't deserve this."

Castiel's hand was gentle as it touched his cheek. "That is the way of grace, John. It is undeserved, unearned. It is a gift that is given."

John shook his head, crossing his arms over his stomach to hold himself. "After all that I did, what I became….how…?"

Castiel moved toward the window. "Already Sam has begun to forget. Dean will take a little longer. The memories of hell are difficult to expunge completely. They will linger for you both…but one day you will wake to find that you are only the man who belongs here, with his two sons. Just as they will be the sons who belong here, in this life."

"I tried to kill you." John said, his eyes skimming over the angel's face.

"It is not so easy to kill an angel of the lord, John." He put a hand on John's shoulder and nodded. "This is your second chance. Use it wisely."

He was gone before John could form words, leaving him alone with his two boys. Two boys he had done horrific things to…and now, somehow, had to make it right.




Dean caught movement in the window above and smacked Sam's shoulder, pointing. It was gone just as fast. "Still think we're going to find answers inside?" he asked Sam.

"More than standing here." Sam replied, leading the way.

They headed up the porch steps and knocked on the door. When no one answered, Sam tried the knob. The door opened and Sam stepped in. Sam turned to look at him, smiling. "Hey, you hungry?"

"What?" Sam looked at him like he was crazy. Dean stepped in the door and froze. Something changed. Everything changed, but he couldn't place how or what exactly. He closed the door. "Yeah, I could eat."

He turned to the living room, the shelves lined with books and pictures. "See if there's any more beer in the fridge too, would ya?" He frowned. He shouldn't know that there was beer in the fridge. Or that the door next to the stairs went to the basement. Or that this house used to belong to his grandfather.

"Sam?" Sam came from the kitchen with two bottles of beer and a plate of leftovers. "Something weird going on?"

Sam handed him a beer and shook his head. "Game's on in five, we watching?"

Dean took a sip and nodded, sinking onto the couch.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs made them both look up. "Hey, Dad. Game's on." Sam called.

Dean stood up, his eyes meeting his father's. There was pain in the dark depths, shame. It was an echo of something he was feeling too and he put his beer down, stepping closer.

"I'll be there in a minute, Sam." John said, nodding at the question on Dean's face.

Dean followed him into the kitchen. "What the fuck is going on?" Dean asked, dizzy with the conflicting memories in his head.

"Castiel…" John's voice choked and he exhaled. "He said it was our…second chance."

"Our what?" Dean didn't believe that.

John stared out the window over the sink. "I'm starting to remember things that never happened, Dean. A life I never had."

"Yeah, I get that. It's a fucking mess in my head too."

"He said we'd forget. Eventually."

"Forget? I'm supposed to forget going to hell? I'm supposed to forget what happened to me, what I did?"

His father pinned him with his eyes. "You aren't alone there Dean, and I promise you, in comparison, you're a saint." He looked away. "I can't even imagine making amends for the things I did to you…let alone all of the others."

Dean watched his father's shoulders slump. "And yet, that field out there is mine. And your brother is graduating from law school this year."

"Guys! Game's starting."

Dean looked to his father. "What are we supposed to do now?" Dean asked.

"Live, I suppose." John responded.

Dean blinked and nodded. "Live." Like it was just that easy. "How?"

John sighed and went to the refrigerator to pull out a beer. "One day at a time?"

It was too much to ask for. Dean turned away. A voice in his head told him he hadn't asked for anything. He half expected to see Castiel appear, but it was just Sam, coming up the hall. "You hear me?"

Dean turned to Sam, a smile on his face. "Dude, be right there."

Sam grinned and slapped his shoulder. "You're the one with money riding on it, not me."

He nodded, he had a two hundred dollar bet on the game with Mikey down at the shop. Where he worked.

"Save me a seat." John said as he and Sam headed for the living room again.

As Dean settled onto the couch and picked up his beer, he exhaled and let go a little. Even if this was just an illusion, it felt good. It felt right. Sam grinned at him and Dean grinned back.

This was their life. It was normal. It was safe. The only hunting they did was deer and other game. The only demons were the ones that would haunt their dreams in the months to come.

John joined them, sitting in the old armchair. His eyes met Dean's, then skipped away to the television. The message was clear. Let go.

Dean sent a silent prayer of thanks after the angel whose name was a whisper he couldn't capture. Sam and his father yelled and pulled his attention back to the game. Dean smiled and lifted his beer. It was good to be home.