Author: Furyan Goddess
Title: The Holy Cursed
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Warning: M/F sexual relations/content, oral sex I'm sure at some point, drinking, harsh language, supernatural content and all that goes with that. Hell, heaven, demons and angels. Spoilers from Season's 1-4, up until eppie 4-7
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Supernatural, Dean or Sam Winchester or Castiel or Uriel. If anything is similar, it's either accidental or on propose. This was started before the eppie with the woman that talks to angels so if you seen any similarities with that, it's again accidental. I make no money by writing this or with any use of photos that might appear in this story. Some of my ideas do mirror the shows a bit and I can claim all I want that I had them first, but you believe as you wish, I just hope you enjoy the story.
Paring: Dean/OFC-Claire Montgomery
Summery: A woman is Dean's salvation. Can she help him deal with the horrors he witnessed in Hell? Can she save him from himself?
Feedback: Yes please. I would love feedback and would like to know what you think. This is my first major Supernatural undertaking. Any major gripes, PM , NO FLAMES. If you don't like, don't read.
Archive: VX, all others ask first.
Author's Note: This is 1st Person OFC POV. There are journal entries quoted and one major flashback at the beginning of the story in italic. Thank you to Muddie for beta and Princess_Silence.

** This will run the show up until, and including, 4-7, "It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester", then it will go AU. It will also deal with the horrors of Dean's decent in Hell that were spoken about in 4-10 Heaven and Hell, but it will remain AU **

*if you would like a list of sources I used, you can PM me. I can't seem to figure out how to post web addresses here.

Thanks


Prologue

May 15, 2008-September 18, 2008

I found myself, standing in front of a light blue house. There was a bicycle in the front yard and flowers growing along the path. The sun was shinning and birds were singing and I could hear the musical sound of a child's laughter, drifting toward me from somewhere inside.

It was home. Not mine, but the pure image of the word. Complete with trim grass, a tire swing and kids toys tossed haphazardly about. The only thing missing was the white picket fence, but that would somehow feel intrusive here.

I found that I couldn't turn away from the sound of the child's laughter. It was sweet, innocent and warm. The front door burst open and a boy about the age of four ran out, squealing and laughing as a man ran after him with a huge grin on his face.

"Dean, don't forget your helmet." The man said in a stern but loving voice. One that left no room for argument.

The boy stopped and his small face fell, only a little bit, as he kicked at the lush green grass.

"Ok, Dad." He said and put his helmet on before he jumped on his little blue bike and started peddling as hard and fast as his little, skinned and bruised legs would allow.

I stood, frozen, watching the love and joy on their faces. The boy wanted to go onto the street and after repeated nagging, Dad finally relented. As the boy streaked by me, he smiled up at me, but all I saw where how green his eyes were. Green eyes and dirty blond hair. Freckles.

Beautiful.

The man walked over and stood at my side and smiled as he watched his boy ride. Dean asked if he could have his training wheels taken off but his father held steady and refused, time and again.

"Oh man, training wheels are for squares, Dad!" The kid groaned and I laughed and shook my head.

"He's a pistol." I said to the man and he just nodded, his chest swelling with pride.

In the background, I heard the lusty cry of a baby, followed closely by a woman sweet singing.

"Sammy's up!" Dean said, all grown up like, as he stopped his bike in front of us.

"Your Mom's got him. You can ride for a few more minutes." The man said to his son who nodded solemnly and promptly peddled off. He turned toward me and held out his hand, "My name is John Winchester. That's my boy, Dean."

I shook his hand with a smile but my eyes shifted to back to Dean once more. "I'm Claire Montgomery."

John gave my hand a squeeze as he smiled an odd, knowing smile. "It's nice to meet you, Claire." He looked toward the house where a beautiful blond woman stood, holding a small baby. She gave us both a wave and John replied to her with a nod. "That's my wife, Mary, and our youngest, Sammy. She wants to know if you'd like to stay for dinner."

"Dinner?" I was shocked by the offer. I had just met him, but this was heaven, right? If you can't trust people in heaven then who could you trust. I looked at the little boy who was trying to pop wheelies, training wheels and all and knew I couldn't refuse. "I'd like that."

John smiled and nodded a few times, "Good. That's good." With a sigh, he motioned for Dean to come on, "Let's go, Dean. Dinner time."

Dean came over to us and looked up at me, "Are you eating here too?"

I smiled down at him, "Yes." I watched as his seemingly innocent smiled turned a bit, mischievous. Dean hopped off his bike and pushed it along beside us but the moment the front wheel touched the grass, he dumped it and ran over to his mother and brother, chatting happily for a bit before he darted inside.

"He's beautiful." I told John softly as I gazed at the door Dean had disappeared behind. I'd never had a chance to have children. I was too sick and I died too young, but I always wanted a few of them for myself.

"He's a handful."

I laughed, "I can see that."

As we walked, John told me a bit about his son, "He's strong willed and smart, scary smart and does he love. He's a light, really." As we reached John's wife Mary, he kissed her lips and then the brow of the boy she was holding in her arms, "This is my Sam, and my Mary."

I couldn't stop myself from touching the boy's cheek. He had an angels face with blue eyes and dark hair. "He's gorgeous."

Both parents beamed at me and then we all went inside. Mary laid Sam down in his little bassinet and Dean went over to make funny faces at him. I watched at those innocent blue eyes stared up in rapture as Sam even attempted a laugh.

Dean buzzed around the house, chatting, making noise, pushing little matchbox cars around and then leaving them where they lie. He stopped and pulled a car out if his pants pocket before he brought it over to me and held it out.

"This one's just like Dad's car. He said I can have it when I get older."

I crouched down in front of him an picked up the small, black car. "Humm," I said, "looks like a '67 Chevy Impala!"

"Yep!" Dean said, "She's a beauty."

I choked back a laugh and nodded in agreement. She sure was and oddly fitting his attitude, it would seem.

When I stood up, I looked around the kitchen and frowned. It was... dated. The colors and the appliances. Not the new, sparkly kind that did almost everything for you. Simple, mid-grade ones. I glanced at the calender on the wall, July 1983.

I looked over and John and he just smiled. "It is what you make it."

I thought about that for a while. It didn't make sense. If they could have their reality, this perfect life, then what was I doing here? I had never met these people and I was Dean's age in '82.

Before I manged to work any answers out, it was dinner time. We all sat at the kitchen table, John at the head, Mary opposite with Sam's bassinet beside her in reaching distance. Dean sat across the table from me and I had a perfect view of his shaggy mop and green eyes.

I had to force myself to not stare at him. I couldn't figure out what the deal was, why I was so drawn to the boy. I felt, protective of him and all I wanted to do was pull him in my arms and tell him that everything would be alright. I would make it alright for him. Which of course, didn't make any sense because nothing was wrong. Everything was perfect.

Dinner was nice, really. Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary. Roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy. Green beans, which little Dean refused to eat because he wanted more beef. The kid put it away the food, I'll give him that.

I helped Mary clean up and was ready to take my leave when Sam started to get fussy. She was having a hard time calming him down and Dean started grumbling about a bed time story. Life, it seemed was the same everywhere. Nights were always hectic after dinner. Everyone scrambling to settle in and get ready for the next day.

Night was falling as the crickets began to sing their nights song. The baby wailed and Dean whined and pouted for his own attention. As much as he loved his little brother, he was still hardly more than a baby himself. He needed to be held and comforted, sung and read to.

"Why don't I read Dean his story and the two of you can deal with the baby?" I told the couple, who in this reality weren't much older than me. They both offered me a tired smile, each looking more than a little bit relieved, before they went off into the living room to sit and rock Sammy to sleep.

Dean reached up and took my hand, trust and innocence shinning in is eyes. I smiled down at him and allowed him to lead the way to his bedroom. I insisted he brush his teeth, knowing that his parents would also and then I tucked him in tight.

I checked under the bed for monsters and in the closet and assured him that there was no such thing as monsters. Even as I said it, I felt a chill go up my spine, but I was sure, in heaven, there were no monsters.

"So, what book to you want to hear?" I asked quietly and he handed me Green Eggs and Ham, by Dr. Seuss.

I giggled and shook my head. I opened the book and started to read.

"I would not, could not, in a box.
I could not, would not, with a fox.
I will not eat them with a mouse.
I will not eat them in a house.
I will not eat them here or there.
I will not eat them anywhere.
I do not eat green eggs and ham.
I do not like them, Sam-I-am."

Dean giggled every time I said his brother's name and by the end of the book, I was in hopelessly in love with the little guy. The sharp, piercing sadness that filled my heart must have shown in my eyes because he reached out and touched my face.

"Don't cry, Claire. You're too pretty to cry."

I gave him a wobbly smile and stood. He was a charmer alright. "Thank you, Dean. Now, you go to sleep and have beautiful dreams."

By the time I came down the steps, the house was quite and John was sitting alone, nursing a beer. It was kind of shocked that they had beer in heaven but hey, why not, right?

It should have felt awkward, standing in the living room with a man I didn't know. A married man, while his wife and children slept upstairs, but somehow it wasn't. There wasn't any oddness in the air. I felt almost as if I belonged there, like I could have been his daughter or a trusted family friend.

He smiled at me and motioned toward the couch. "Mary took Sam up. He's teething so he's extra fussy." He handed me a beer and I took a long pull from it and truth be told, it was the best beer I had ever had. Cold, crisp and smooth.

We sat in silence and listened to the clock tick for a few minutes before he cleared his throat.

"I guess you know where you are?" He asked and I nodded. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Brain tumor." I told him and he grunted.

"See, most people don't remember, not really. Mary kind of remembers how she got here, but we don't talk about it. There is so much more pleasant things to talk about."

He didn't go into details of her death, but from the sound of his voice and the look in his face, it didn't seem like it was very comforting.

"This," he gestured around the house, "this is all illusion. Heaven is what you make it to be. What you want. That perfect day, year or hour. Here, you get to chose that perfect moment and live inside it forever." He pinned me with his eyes and continued, "Heaven is different for everyone, but there are a few, like yourself, that ... wander."

"Wander? I just got here. I haven't had a chance to decided what moment I want to live in for eternity." I looked around and sighed, "Truth is, I can't think of the perfect time or place. Life was... ok. Weird and almost random at times. I can't remember what it felt like to be truly free and happy, except for when I was a child. I don't want to spend my eternity as a child."

John chuckled, "You didn't just get here, you stood outside the house for a human month, and have been inside for two."

I snorted in disbelief, "What?"

John let out a breath and picked at the label of his bottle, "Time has no real meaning here. A few moments here is really months there, but in hell, it's different. Ten minutes in hell feels like ten years."

Hell? Why would he be talking about hell, here of all places? "And you know this how?"

His eyes were sharp and hot, "Because I've been there."

Been to hell and back to heaven? How? Before I could ask my question, he answered it. "I clawed my way out, to help my boys, to save Dean's life. Same way I ended up there in the first place."

I frowned, trying to understand what he was saying, "You went to hell to save Dean's life?"

"Yes and Dean's there now because he made a deal for Sam's."

"Dean's in hell?" I gasped softly and looked up. That sweet boy was in hell? "This doesn't make any sense."

"To most people, no, it doesn't make a lick of sense, but you know it, don't you? You feel that somethings off. You're drawn to Dean, right?"

I smiled, "Yeah, he's a sweet boy."

John shook his head, "Not any more. Now he's a sharp, bitter man. One that doesn't remember how to really smile and hides all his feelings inside until they turn toxic and poison him. He loves his brother and gave up his life so he could live. Dean doesn't think that he deserves to live."

I felt tears running down my face, "Why? What happened. Tell me, why am I here? I don't understand why you're telling me all of this."

"Sam is still alive, in reality, and he's got something bad inside of him, something evil. Dean's gone, sold his soul to a demon so Sam could live. He had one year to think about it. One year to live before he was sent, bloody and broken down to the pit."

"One year." I closed my eyes as I heard the words that were spoken to me. You have one year to live. Inoperable. Nothing we can do. We're very sorry. Here are some pamphlets for support groups.

"My dreams?"

John shook his head, "They weren't dreams, Claire. Images maybe? A link you have with Dean, I'm not sure. I've known you were coming for a while now and I've tried to prepare myself for this talk but I just can't find the right words." He looked at me, his dark eyes burning, "You need to go back, you need to help him."

"I don't want to go to hell, John."

He shook his head, "Not hell. When Dean gets out of hell, they'll pull you out of here too. That's why you'll never find the peace you seek here, not yet. Not without him. You have to go back and save him from himself."

"I don't know what you mean... how can I save him when I don't understand? I don't know Dean, we've never met."

There was a knock at the door but John didn't bother to get up and answer it. The door swung open and a the brightest light I had ever seen glowed there. I heard the flutter of wings and the the most beautiful voice speaking.

John stood and hugged me tight, "Save my boy, Claire. His life is now in your hands."

I blinked as tears ran unchecked down my face, nothing made sense here. I turned to look at the light, making out the shape of what only could be an angel with wings. He was painfully beautiful and I wept when he spoke.

"My name is Castiel and I am an angel of the Lord, sent to do his bidding. It's time, Claire." Castiel whispered and reached out to grab my arm. "You'll have everything you need, but don't approach him until I tell you it's time."

I screamed as his hand touched my arm and then everything was a wash of blinding white light before there was nothing but blackness.