NOTES: The idea for this story came about as I was flipping through an anthology book. And in all actuality, I had planned to use what I had learned about these supernatural beings in another story -- a work of fiction I hoped to write over my deployment to the Persian Gulf. But then, on our way to the Middle East, I bought the fourth season of Supernatural in Singapore and watched it as we sailed on, and I began writing this fan fiction. The first five chapters were completed in a blur, the next few as we lingered in the seas just outside Iran, and after that once we were safely home again. I hope you enjoy it, and I would appreciate any thoughts or criticisms you may have after reading each chapter.

IMPORTANT: this is an AU story, mostly because I wrote a lot of it before I'd seen any of the fifth season. That means this story veers wildly from the direction the show actually took in Season 5. Keep your eyes open for similar notes as the story progresses in order to keep confusion down to a minimum.

Please enjoy and review, and thank you!

THE LAST DANCE
PART ONE: POSSESSION

CHAPTER ONE

THEN

Flashback to the semi truck smashing into the side of the 1967 Impala, the Winchester family is inside the car battered from the crash, Sam is calling his brother's name. Next, John Winchester is in his hospital bed, making a deal for Dean's life with the yellow-eyed demon Azazel. We see the Devil's Gate opening and John Winchester wrestling with Azazel, and then Dean shoots the demon with the Colt. Lastly, we see a ghostly John Winchester smiling proudly at his sons, perhaps for the last time…

NOW
FREDRICKTOWN, OHIO

"I've got a bad, bad reputation -- !"

"Dean."

"Ever hear the story, 'bout a travelin man, could have any woman, palm of his hand--"

"Dean."

Dean Winchester stopped singing along to the radio and drumming on the steering wheel of his Chevy Impala, although under extreme duress. He might have pointed out that no one, not even Sam, interrupted the Damn Yankees, and especially not Bad Reputation -- not in his car -- but Sam was giving him that look again. Dean sighed. He'd been getting it a lot lately. He returned his gaze to the road after giving his younger sibling a thoroughly bored look, and he waited for the familiar criticism to start. He'd been getting that a lot lately, too.

"You do remember that we're on the brink of the apocalypse, right?"

Dean expression was sourly amused. "So they tell me."

"And we're headed to nowhere, Ohio."

"Presently? Yes."

"Why, again?"

"Because there's some bad mojo going down, Sammy. Serious bad. And because this is what we do. Remember? Driving around, saving people?" Dean glanced Sam's way. "People are dying. Nasty, nightmare deaths. You really wanna sit around and let that happen while we wait for an angel gram?"

"I'm just…I'm just trying to remember that there's a bigger picture here. Lilith is still out there, Dean. She's still breaking those seals, faster than ever."

"Yeah, well, I haven't heard from Cass in nearly two weeks, and it's been longer since we've had another pleasant visit from your demon girlfriend--"

"Ruby's not my girlfriend, Dean."

"Whatever." Dean's mouth had twisted with distaste at the mention of her. "Point is, they're MIA and this is all we got right now. And who's to say this isn't another one of those seals you're so crazy about?"

"Yeah." Sam sighed, clearly unconvinced. "Yeah, okay."

The brothers lapsed into silence, and Dean felt again that something very fundamental had changed while he had been in hell. Sam was not comfortable with him anymore. He played his cards close to his chest now, preferring to keep his thoughts and insights to himself. Dean felt at times that his brother was planning something. Something big. Something unpleasant. But he didn't ask, and Sam didn't volunteer, and the silence remained unmolested. Eventually, Sam dug out his laptop and began searching for clues as to what they were up against. But he did not speak and, brooding, Dean didn't either. In this fashion, the brothers entered Fredricktown, Ohio.

"Geez," said Dean as they made their way down main street. "This place is the size of my thumbnail."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Any idea what we're up against?"

Sam, whose attention was still focused on his laptop, shook his head. "From the details we have, mostly from the local newspapers, it could be almost anything. Vengeful spirit, shape shifter. Hell, one of the deaths even sounds like a standard werewolf attack." Sam glanced up and caught the glimmer of excitement in Dean's eyes. He frowned at the older Winchester, but Dean only grinned back. "Guess we won't know for sure until we see it ourselves."

"Feels like the old days." Dean hammered out a drumbeat on the steering wheel again. "I miss the old days." Then he cranked up the song and resumed singing along, oblivious to Sam's wince. He was in a helluva mood all of a sudden. Maybe this case would help him find the old Sammy again. Maybe this case would be straightforward. Simple. Like the ones they used to work, before yellow-eyes.

He would be disappointed.

The building was old, and abandoned, and used to be a schoolhouse. To Dean, it appeared like it hadn't been touched in 100 years. Sam thought, more realistically, that it had been empty for more like thirty. He had wanted to do a little more research and find out for sure, but Dean had insisted they get a look as soon as possible, and here they were -- with no idea of the history of the building. This made Sam uncomfortable. Presently, they were standing in a classroom, and that ill-at-ease feeling Sam had was increasing. But whatever it was didn't seem to be bugging Dean, who was all but humming as he wandered through the aisles of dusty desks. Sam followed more cautiously, but the room stayed quiet.

"How many people got ganked here?"

Sam wrinkled his nose at the term. "Six so far, all within a couple miles of this school."

"So that makes you think this is the origin?"

"Well, there's nothing else out here, for one. And it's been abandoned for a while -- a nice, out of the way place to camp out if you're staging some of that bad mojo. It's perfect."

Dean opened his mouth to reply just as all hell broke loose. The floor just in front of him erupted, ragged planks of hardwood flying through the air, and one or two struck Dean in the chest as he threw his arms up to protect his face.

"Jesus," Dean snapped, and he was flung across the room by a beautiful, angry female form. Sam squinted, trying to observe any details that might help him identify what they were up against, but the specifics seemed to slip right out of his mind. She turned to him while he was distracted and lifted her hand, and Sam began to feel a burning pain rising in him, choking him --

And then, just as it got to be too white-hot to bear, a form stepped before him and there was relief and a blinding light.

"Cass," he heard Dean groan.

The angel Castiel lifted his hand and with a shriek, the woman-thing disappeared, retreating from the pure, white light that had accompanied the angel's appearance. When she was gone, the angel turned to the brothers, his face a familiar mask, both stern and blank.

"Been awhile. But I suppose you do get a ten for the fashionably late entrance." Dean was dragging himself to his feet. "You here to tell us that getting our asses kicked by a chick is another seal?"

Castiel only stared. He didn't even attempt a reply. Dean dusted off his jacket and said, mostly to himself, "Yeesh, tough crowd."

"You're in over your heads here," Castiel said. Dean spit blood.

"Oh yeah? She didn't seem so tough."

"She," Castiel replied, his tone implying that he lacked a better word for the creature, "is not alone."

"What is she?" Sam asked.

Castiel shook his head. "Old. And nasty. That's all I know."

"Well." Dean picked up his shotgun and managed a bloody parody of a smile. "We're not just gonna leave the people here in this town to die. So I guess we'll find out on our own."

"Dean--" said Castiel, a warning, and Dean's smile evaporated.

"It's not up for discussion, Cass. We're staying until we kill it. Or them."

Sam looked like he wanted to protest, but he recognized the set of Dean's jaw and said nothing. Wisely. When dealing with angels, it was best to present a united front. Castiel looked at them both and then he turned away. He was familiar with the formidable will of the Winchesters. It was not the first time they'd butted heads.

"Why are you here, Cass?" Dean asked, wiping the last of the blood from his face.

"Something's going on here. Not even Zachariah knows much. But the demons won't come here, except for Lilith."

Sam perked up. "Lilith's been here?"

Castiel nodded. "Zachariah was under the impression that she came here to make some sort of deal with these creatures. We're looking into it."

"Looking into it." Dean snorted. He smiled, but there was no humor in it, just the old, familiar anger. "Right, well. While you're doing your homework, Sam and I will be doing your job, huh? We'll handle that bitch and her friends, and then there won't be a deal to make."

Castiel's gaze had returned to Dean, and Sam could tell that the angel was frustrated. He almost smiled -- only Dean could manage to frustrate an angel of God. There was a long moment of silence as the elder Winchester and heaven's warrior stared each other down, and then Castiel nodded.

"Don't go in half-cocked, Dean. Let me find out what we're up against here, bring reinforcements." Dean opened his mouth to protest and Castiel held up his hand. "Dean. I'm here to help. Let me."

Sam watched his brother, for once, back down. It was in that moment that he realized how much Dean actually respected Castiel. The trust he had lost in Sam had been transferred, at least partially, to the angel, probably without his brother realizing it. But Sam could tell -- he knew that, in spite of himself -- Dean liked Cass. He looked down at his feet and wondered, again, how they had gotten here. How they had become like strangers to each other.

"I'm not gonna sit back and let more people die, Cass, so you'd better hurry."

Castiel held Dean's gaze and then he was gone, leaving behind him the faint impression of beating wings. Dean's shoulders sagged and he grasped his bruised rib, his bravado fleeing with the angel. His eyes turned to Sam and Sam could see he was in pain. He went to his brother, his fingers probing Dean's ribcage, making sure nothing was broken. Dean winced but he allowed his brother to play field medic. They looked at each other and Sam saw the grimness in those familiar green eyes.

"Cass is worried," he said. Sam dropped his eyes to where his fingers were probing. He nodded after a moment. "That makes me a little worried."

"It's a job, Dean. Remember?"

Dean's smile was wry and cold as he realized his argument was being used against him. "Sure, yeah. I remember."

"Maybe it's time for us to do our homework." He and Dean began walking out of the building toward the Impala. "I think I saw a motel a couple miles back."

"A couple." Dean snorted. "More like fifteen. But you're right. The Persian Prince."

"Come on, I'll drive."

Dean shot Sam a look and said, "You think so, huh?"

Sam smiled, and his brother caught a familiar silver flash in his hand. He groaned.

"I already lifted your keys, Dean."

"Any luck?" Dean was pacing. Sam glanced at him from his position on the bed, annoyed, and then he refocused on his laptop.

"Not really. If Castiel had been a little more specific about her buddies, this might be easier."

Dean threw a wad of paper at the motel room wall. "Yeah, well, I'm sure you've noticed he's not one for specifics."

"Maybe I should call Bobby." Sam dug through his discarded jacket for his cell phone. "He might be able to find out. He usually knows."

"A lifetime of huntin'll do that to ya." Dean balled up another piece of motel stationary. "I'm just wondering what has enough juice to worry an angel."

"Well, Cass isn't exactly high up on the food chain."

Dean shook his head. "I dunno, man. There are times I feel like he's not telling us everything. But not this time. This time I think he really doesn't know. And neither do his big, bad bosses."

Sam paused in his digital search. He almost, almost suggested leaving town until they had more information. Until they were better prepared. But he knew Dean would never agree. And something else held him back, something more sinister. Something in his blood was reacting to this place, to a powerful presence in the area. Sam wasn't even sure he could leave, now that they were here. And that wasn't something he could share with his brother, either. Dean would only assume it was the demon blood in him, the disease, and Sam just wasn't in the mood for another fight. Frankly, he had long grown tired of his brother questioning his loyalties.

"Anything in the town's history?"

Sam came back from his musings and resumed skimming websites. Then he shook his head. "Not much. Nothing outside the normal rash of car accidents and domestic disputes. Couple of rowdy kids. But over the past few weeks…I dunno. Something's changed here, Dean, and it started very recently."

Dean stopped pacing. "So…any new additions to town?"

Sam shook his head again. "Not even any births, not since this place started to heat up. Something just…changed."

"Yeah, well…not so hard to believe, not these days." Dean sat on the opposite bed. "I guess you're right, time to call Bobby. But you make sure he doesn't get in his car and come rushing up here. No sense in all of us sitting here trussed up like Christmas geese. If something goes bad, I'd rather have him ready to raise the alarm."

"You know we'll probably be dead at that point."

Dean grinned and shrugged. "Gotta die sometime. Again."

"I hope you're not trusting Castiel to come to any last-minute rescues," Sam said, serious. Dean shot him a look, his grin long gone. He narrowed his eyes at his brother.

"I hope we're a long way from talking about last-minute rescues," he countered. "But I doubt Cass would pass up the opportunity to save my ass. He still needs me."

"Yeah, he keeps saying that, but--" Sam clamped his mouth shut around the words that came next. But you're just human, Dean, and not as strong as you used to be.

"But?" Dean asked, eyebrow raised.

"But we've already had some pretty close calls. He may not be able to save us, when the time comes."

Dean was still for a long moment, processing. And then he shrugged and flopped back on the bed. "Maybe not. But we're not leaving. So we may as well expect anything. We'll unload the car in the morning."

"Yeah. Sure." Sam closed his laptop. "I'll call Bobby, I guess."

Dean grunted and closed his eyes, and in a moment was asleep. Sam sat and stared at his brother for a long time. Lying there quietly, unsuspicious, trusting his brother. Or maybe it was just his own instincts Dean had such blind faith in. Then, with suddenly reluctant fingers, he picked up his phone and called Bobby Singer.

Dean woke suddenly in the middle of the night. He'd been having a dream, a fighting dream. A dream where a great and terrible beast writhed under his feet as he lifted a pure, shining silver spear over his head and brought it down, hard, and the thing beneath him had his brother's face at the moment of impact, his brother's tortured face--

"Dean."

He sat up. Sam was already awake. He was bathed in the cold light of his computer screen, and his expression was grim. Still shaking off the afterimages of his nightmare, Dean dragged a hand over his face and almost didn't need to ask. But he did.

"What's wrong?"

"Someone else died."

Dean was, unfortunately, not surprised. "When?"

"Tonight. Just a few hours ago. The preliminary police report says the victim appeared to be crushed, but there isn't anything at the scene that would've caused that kind of damage to the body."

"Sorry?" Dean said, coming more fully awake very quickly. "Crushed? What the hell does that?"

"I dunno." Sam glanced up over the top of his laptop. "Neither does Bobby, not in conjunction with the other deaths so far."

"Crushed," Dean repeated. He didn't say anything else.

"I've been digging into lore ever since I heard." Sam nailed Dean with a very serious look. "Do you have Dad's journal?"

Dean frowned back at him. "Wasn't it in the knapsack?"

Sam's lips firmed and he shook his head.

"What the he--?"

A crimson flash cut Dean off. A thick, sulfurous smell filled the room. Sam struggled for and flung his flask of holy water at the figure that had appeared in between the two motel beds. It didn't seem to bother the thing, and it grabbed for him, its nails like claws. They cut deep into the skin of his arm, and to Sam it felt as though the whole room was filled with something thunderous, something wrathful and ancient. He could hear Dean shouting as he slipped free of the thing's grasp, but it lunged for him again, pulling hard: it wanted to take his whole arm, and it was making a concentrated effort. Dean shot at it, he feel more than heard the explosion of the rock salt shells, but they hit the thing without seeming to even attract its attention. Sam dragged himself free, earning more claw marks in the process, and Dean swung at it, using the full weight of the weapons-heavy knapsack, hoping to distract it from Sam long enough to prevent it from grabbing him again.

Sam scrabbled for his knife as the thing turned on Dean, ripping its claws across his chest. Dean recoiled, swinging a silver blade at it. It took a swipe across its forearm and didn't even pause in its assault. Then Sam sunk Ruby's knife into its back. It jerked away, and the knife clattered to the floor. The thing, which had taken a male, human form, hissed something at Sam and then disappeared, leaving both Winchesters bloody.

Dean was sprawled out on his back on the floor, and he let his head drop back to the carpet, panting. "What the hell are these things?"

"I dunno." Sam rolled onto his knees. "But the only thing that it even flinched from was the knife."

Dean looked at his brother, disbelieving. "You think it was a demon?"

Sam looked at the knife and shook his head slowly. "I -- I don't know.'

"Great. Just great. If it is a demon, and if it is somehow immune to the knife -- not to mention holy water -- then what do we fight it with?"

And then they just looked at each other, afraid there wasn't an answer. This lasted for one long, long moment before the door opened itself. Dean rolled onto his feet and stood straight, still bleeding from the gashes on his chest.

"Cass," he said. "About time you showed up."

Castiel walked in, his eyes drinking in the trashed motel room, the strewn knapsack and its assortment of weaponry, the bruised and beaten Winchesters. He said nothing for a very long time, and Sam wondered if he had shown up late on purpose. But he supposed it was a sin to doubt God's warrior, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

"I'm not asking you this time, Dean. You need to leave here. This is too big, even for God's chosen." He did not miss Sam's miniscule finch, and he stared at the younger brother with fathomless eyes for one very long moment. Castiel reached for him; Dean, however, stayed out of the angel's reach.

"Might have gone easier with a little angelic help," he snapped. "And anyway, not happenin." He shrugged out of his jacket and tattered shirt. "So, you wanna tell me where you were while we were getting torn to bits by our new pal? Since you so conveniently showed up right after all the action."

Castiel's mouth tightened at the implied accusation. "I'm not your babysitter. I did warn you."

Dean shrugged that off. "Well?"

"I was…temporarily prevented, you could say, from returning here. And I had a…a mission."

"He took Dad's journal." Sam stopped dressing his arm long enough to send the angel a penetrating glance, the details coming clear in his mind.

"Yes," Castiel said, without shame. "I took it to someone who may become quite a help to us."

Dean stared at him, trying to remember how useless it was to be angry with an angel. He said, carefully, "You might have tried asking."

Castiel only stared back.

"Who'd you give it to, Cass? What did you give it to?'

Castiel didn't respond in any way, and, temper flaring, Dean stepped into the angel's space. His face was furious, but Castiel didn't seem in any way intimidated. And Sam supposed he shouldn't be. They had nothing in their formidable arsenal that could harm an angel.

"Did you give it to an angel? Hm? A hunter?" Dean's teeth were bared. "A demon?"

"Don't be stupid, Dean." Castiel's face twisted slightly, and he was obviously beginning to get angry. But he did not back away from Dean. "Of course I didn't turn it over to the demons."

"Well you gotta give me something, buddy. Cuz you're being awful vague about what's going on here."

"It's safe. It will be returned," Castiel said. "That's all you need to know at this junction."

"Right, right. Well, I'm sure you had your holy reasons or whatever. When's the cavalry arrive in that case, hm?"

"I don't think you understand, Dean--"

"Just stop, Cass," Sam said, remembering again how disappointed the angels always made him feel. He had prayed for so long -- and yet the warriors and messengers of God were cold and distant. And even though it was Sam, Sam who had looked to heaven for guidance and help, for answers, it was Dean that was God's chosen one. Castiel only served to remind Sam that he was unclean. Tainted with demon blood, maybe even spinning out of control. Azazel was the only one who thought him worth choosing -- Azazel and Ruby. The demons.

Castiel turned to Dean who, with a pained expression, broke the gaze. The angel paused a moment longer, as if trying to impart some understanding between them, and then he was just gone, the space he had occupied only a moment before suddenly empty. Sam breathed out slowly and Dean rummaged through his strewn possessions for a fresh shirt to wear after tearing his previous one into bandages for his chest. We're thrifty, us Winchesters, thought Sam, bitterly, and he tied off his own makeshift bandage.

"Dick," he said. Dean pulled a shirt out from under a chair.

"Holy pain in my ass," he agreed. "We gotta find out who he gave Dad's journal to."

"You think it has something in it about what's happening in this town?"

Dean shrugged. "Was there anything Dad hadn't heard of? If it's evil and it really exists, it's in that journal."

Sam took a breath and nodded. And he had no idea where an angel might go for help.

FURTHER NOTES:

I hope you'll forgive me for the lapse continuity. I wanted to set this story toward the end of season four, just before Lucifer rises, mostly because -- though it tore my heart -- I love the disintegrating relationship between Sam and Dean, and the dynamic between Dean and Castiel. Like it or not, Castiel almost became a replacement for Sam, at least in as much as a companion, someone Dean could rely on. And Castiel's growing crisis of faith also compelled me. But I didn't want duality in Castiel -- I wanted to write him after we know about Jimmy and his family, after Jimmy seemed to bow out and let Castiel take the reins. And that's where things got a little messy. In this story, clearly Castiel has not been dragged back to heaven for a spanking ( or whatever it was that happened there in 4x19 ), nor have Bobby and Dean tried to wean Sam off of the demon's blood. So you'll have to forgive me for the inconsistencies. I like to think of this story as taking place somewhere between the backlash of Jimmy Novack's story, and before the total destruction of Sam and Dean's relationship in episodes 20 and 21.

I have taken some liberties here with the town of my father, which does exist. I spent my summers in Fredricktown's country outskirts as a child, before my grandparents moved to Virginia. I hope anyone familiar with the area will forgive me the liberties.

Also, you will see a lot of Castiel in the coming chapters, which is a little out of context for season four, but I like him, I like his cool-customer attitude. I like the way he and Dean butt heads. And anyway, it's my story, and it can't be changed, too much Castiel or not ( which, I think, is impossible, but that may just be me ).