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Purgatory was hot, filthy and soaked in blood. Dean Winchester knew this was a pretty good description not just for himself, but the ground too. Except he found himself not particularly caring about it that much as he cleared a section of rotted leaves in front of an equally rotted tree. While he might have lost the ability to care about cleanliness, he hadn't been able to shake fatigue. It was as constant as the blade in his hand, the stiffness in his arm and shoulder from having to behead monster after monster, the aches in his legs when he had been forced to outrun them.

Damn he was tired.

He'd resisted sleeping at first; not only was it stupid to let your guard down in this place, it was also the last thing he wanted to do. Just about the only thing strong enough to overcome his exhaustion was his singular desire to find Castiel. Cas, whom he had watched transform from trusted friend to questionable enemy to arrogant god, only to ultimately sink into the depths of that reservoir after Leviathan took over his body. When they had been reunited at last, and they had overcome Cas's reluctance to engage in a conflict he had begun, Dean dared believe it was a new beginning. They could move past the mistakes, the lies, the secrecy.

Only Cas was gone again. Whether he had been chased off by a monster or not did not concern Dean. He just wanted to find him. Needed to find him. That was why he had fought off sleep, off hunger, off fear. None of it mattered.

Benny, on the other hand, had succeeded in redirecting Dean's thoughts with one, simple observation.

"You ain't gonna find the angel if you die from exhaustion, brother."

Dean grunted as he laid on the patch of hard ground. He could see the vampire standing guard a short distance away, blade at his shoulder, hand in his pocket. He tapped the weapon against his shoulder for some moments, as if in tune to a song, then glanced over his shoulder.

"Go on now, Dean. I'm watching out for you."

"I'll watch over you."

That familiar, painful twisting in his chest surfaced, and Dean rolled onto his side, his back to Benny. He brought his blade to his chest, felt the grooves of the handle dig into his hand. For several long moments he stared into the darkness, a muscle working in his cheek.

"You watching over me now, Cas?" he began, very softly. "Because if you are, do me a favor and get your ass down here."

Silence.

He drew in a breath, exhaled slowly. His throat tightened.

"Cas," he said again, his voice thick with emotion. "I need to know that you're alive. Please..."

Silence, and disappointment, followed this heartfelt plea.

Dean bowed his head, his hands tightening on the hilt. It had been like this every night since he got to this place. But despite his unanswered prayers, he refused to give up on the angel. So until Cas showed up one of these nights or Dean came across his body during his search, he'd keep praying. It was his only solace.

Sighing, Dean closed his eyes; already he could feel his exhaustion catching up to him. Just as he was about to fall asleep, a flash forced his eyes open. The instant he saw a faint shimmering in the distance he sat upright, his body tensing. He knew that light. Benny had explained that when two particularly powerful monsters clashed and died, the energy they released was like a shock wave cutting through the whole place. It was also very much like the wave Dick Roman gave off just before he exploded.

Seeing it now, the speed of the wave, Dean wanted to get as far from it as possible.

However, the moment he shot to his feet, he was swallowed by its glow. There was a burst of white brilliance, stinging his face and eyes, and everything went black.

Dean let out a surprised cry as he was dropped to the ground. Disoriented and still somewhat blinded from the flash, he staggered to his feet and took a step, only to find himself rolling down an incline. Rocks, twigs and leaves were kicked up in his wake, settling around him as he came to a stop. Dizzy now, and more than a little nauseated, he pushed himself to his hands and knees. It was then he heard something moving in the brush and froze.

Slowly, one wary eye on the line of bushes ahead of him, Dean took up the blade that had fallen nearby. He had no idea if that wavelength sent him clear across Purgatory or not, and he was fairly certain whatever was headed his way did.

A twig snapped, followed by the rustle of leaves. Dean drew in a breath, exhaled. The footsteps were close now. The moment he saw a shadowed figure emerge from the bushes he sprang into action.

The figure gave a startled exclamation as Dean pinned him to a tree and brought the blade to his throat. "Talk," he threatened in a low voice. "Or I start cutting. Understand?"

There was a moment's pause before the monster said, in rather nonchalant tones: "Hey, Dean."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell are you?"

"That's what I'd like to know," declared another voice behind him.

When Dean glanced over his shoulder he was treated to the sight of a double barreled shotgun. He didn't see who was pointing it at him, for the next instant he saw stars. He was already out by the time he hit the ground.

As soon as Dean collapsed, his former captive leaned away from the tree to peer down at the unconscious body, head titled, hand rubbing at his chin before he looked up at his savior.

"Hey, Rufus."

"What the hell's the matter with you, Garth?" Rufus demanded irritably. "You were supposed to keep a look out for Sam."

"I was." Garth reached into his pocket to withdraw a small plastic baggie. Candy wrappers and a receipt tumbled free. "He said he'd call me and well...he hasn't yet."

Rufus scowled as Garth lit up the joint he took from the bag. "I don't know what the hell Bobby was thinking by sending you of all people out here."

Garth gave him a dead stare, then smiled. "Because I'm awesome," he answered with a little chuckle and took a drag.

Rufus rolled his eyes, in no mood to discuss Garth's obvious attachment to his drugs, or Bobby's obviously ill-placed judgment on job assignments. He turned his attention to Dean Winchester's body, nudged his shoulder with the toe of his boot. "Looks like hell," he observed. "So much for them taking care of him, huh? I'll bring him back to base. You stay out here and...do whatever the hell it is that makes you good at this," he remarked as Garth settled onto the ground, cross-legged, and leaned against the tree.

The skinny hunter saluted him, smiled as smoke filtered from his nostrils. "You got it."

Shaking his head, Rufus shoved his gun into the holster at his back, grabbed hold of Dean's arm and leg before throwing him over his shoulders. He grunted from the strain and started for his truck, all the while wondering how he was going to explain that the man responsible for stopping the Apocalypse suddenly reappeared, and how they'd prevent the angels from smiting them all.

Sound and sense made a slow return, bringing with it a musty scent. Dean grimaced, forced his eyes open. The first thing he noticed he was in a basement; the next, he was tied to a chair. Immediately he started pulling at the ropes, teeth clenching in frustration.

"Hey!" he shouted, the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls. As it faded he heard the click of a door unlocking and looked toward the stairwell. "I see you up there," he went on, still pulling at his bonds. "Because I'm giving you exactly ten seconds to untie me before I make you regret it."

The figure descended the stairs, a slow, careful plod. Dean continued to twist his hands this way and that, wincing at feeling the ropes cut into him. The single overhead light caught on the edge of a silver blade, giving Dean pause.

He knew what kind of blade that was.

"So you think you can just pop back here after all this time," the man began, his voice a low but familiar growl.

All attempts at escape ceased. Dean felt his throat go dry, and he swallowed. Disbelief warred with the survival instinct that had sustained him in Purgatory.

"...Bobby? Is that you?"

Bobby stepped off the bottom stair, an angel blade in hand. "Oh so you remember who I am. I'm touched," came the drawling retort. "Been waiting a long time to see you again, Michael. Especially after that stunt you pulled."

"Michael? Stunt?" Dean repeated, incredulous. "What the hell are you talking about? Where's-"

His words were lost in a surprised cry when Bobby suddenly slashed across his forearm with the angel blade. "Dammit, Bobby!" he rasped angrily. Blood splattered onto the floor. "What's gotten into you? It's me! Dean!"

"Sure it is," Bobby replied, and slashed him again. "You see," he went on after Dean's pained grunt died away. "I know Dean's dead cause you killed him, you son of a bitch. I'm going to pay you back for that. Oh, and don't even think about zapping out of here. I've got this place locked down against your kind. So what do you say we get started?"

Dean met Bobby's eyes, saw the blood lust beneath the contempt. He knew that look. He'd seen it during hunts, and when Bobby had gone vengeful. Whatever this place was, dream, nightmare, another world, Dean wasn't about to see it end this way.

His foot shot out, kicked the blade from Bobby's hands just as he advanced. While the older man recoiled from the unexpected blow, Dean pulled free from his bonds and shot to his feet. The chair tipped over from the violence behind his movement. At glimpsing a knife on the cluttered table at his elbow he snatched it up, had it pointed at Bobby.

In response he swiftly withdrew a Zippo, had it lit and threw it on the ground. In seconds Dean found himself surrounded by a ring of fire. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, then cast a disbelieving glance Bobby's way. The smug gleam in his eye faded once Dean jumped over the flames.

Bobby stood there, slack-jawed. "What the hell?"

"Listen to me," Dean growled. "I don't know why you think I'm Michael but I sure as hell didn't say yes to him! He got a hold of Adam and used him for the big showdown. You know, you were there! Sam jumped into the hole with Michael." He stopped short, for Bobby's eyes just got wider and wider. Dean blew out a breath, and he lowered the knife.

"You have no clue what I'm talking about, do you?"

Bobby said nothing for some moments. When he spoke again it was with a note of incredulity. "You're saying you're not Michael."

"Yes."

"And that you don't know what's happened since the Apocalypse?"

"Yes!" Dean was exasperated now.

Slowly, Bobby moved closer to him. When he suddenly splashed holy water into his face Dean staggered back with a cry of, "Dammit! I'm not a demon! Or a shifter!" he added, taking the knife in hand- silver- and slicing his arm. He lifted his gaze to Bobby's, challenging him.

Long moments passed. Dean's grip tightened on the knife handle, but he did not raise it. There was something in Bobby's eyes that stilled his movements, even though everything in him said things around here weren't right. But when the older hunter pulled him into a fierce embrace, heedless of the knife, all Dean's reservations fled. It was in this instant that he realized just how much he missed this cranky old drunk, and held fast to him.

Bobby was laughing as he drew back, his hands on Dean's shoulders. "By God, boy, it's good to see you again!" He took in Dean's ragged appearance and grimaced. "What the hell happened to you? You look like you've been in a war zone."

"That's one way of putting it," Dean replied, tossing the knife onto the table. He nodded his thanks when Bobby presented him with a cloth to wipe at his wounds. "What's going on here, Bobby? Where's Sam?"

"Sam's out on a job. We're waiting to hear back from him."

Before Dean could question him further the door was wrenched open, and a gruff, familiar voice called out, "Bobby! Garth just called me. He's heard from Sam and the angel. We're in."

At this Dean quickly looked over at Bobby. He'd save reflecting on Rufus also being alive for later. There were more important things to worry about. There was also the chance that when he found Cas, they could figure out where the hell they were. He still needed to get back to Benny, too.

"Sam's with him? Where?"

Rufus, having appeared at the bottom of the steps, checked at the sight of Dean. "You didn't kill him yet? Aw, hell, Bobby. I knew I should have done it."

"Oh shut up, Rufus," Bobby said, waving his concerns off. "He's not Michael. It's my boy, and you're gonna take him to my other boy. He could use the backup."

Rufus didn't look at all pleased to be pressed into service as chaperone. "You better be right about this, Bobby. Bringing Dean Winchester to Purgatory might not be the best idea."

"Purgatory?" Dean echoed, incredulous. He shot Bobby a sharp glance. "What are you talking about? Bobby, what's happened to Sam? What's he doing in Purgatory?"

The look Rufus and Bobby exchanged only served to aggravate Dean further. He could feel his temper rising, bit it back. "Who sent my brother to that place, and why?" he demanded in a low growl.

Bobby turned to Dean. "For the- wait. Not that Purgatory, ya idjit," he explained, scowling. "Crowley's place."

It was Dean's turn to be puzzled. "Wait wait wait. Crowley's got a place called Purgatory?"

Rufus smiled, looking thoroughly amused. "Better give the man a drink, Bobby. He's about to find out he's not in Kansas anymore."