Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.

E/O Challenge: Stone. 3 x 200/250 word drabbles that seal the Winchester's fate. 1#: Dean doesn't see what Sam and Castiel find so horrifying. 2#: Sam turns to desperate measures to stop the unstoppable. 3#: They're where everyone said they belonged. Set in my dark idea for season 10. Spoilers for season 9 finale!

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These Stones, Their Fate

Sinks whoever raises the great stones;
I've raised these stones as long as I was able
I've loved these stones as long as I was able
these stones, my fate.
Wounded by my own soil
tortured by my own shirt
condemned by my own gods,
these stones.

George Seferi, "Mycenae"

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A/N: Dean doesn't see what Sam and Castiel find so horrifying. 200 words.

Turned to Stone

"Well there's a change in the wind, you know the signs don't lie, such a strange feeling and I don't know why" – 'Turn to Stone', Joe Walsh

A flicker of lightning lit up the early evening gloom, for just the fraction of a second revealing the stark truth of the man now emerging through the doorway of the bunker.

"Dean!?" cried Sam, overjoyed as he stepped from the homely comfort of the Impala and rushed towards his brother.

Castiel reached out and grabbed the younger Winchester by the arm. "Wait," he said, his voice grim and features set like stone.

Sam looked from man to angel, his face twisted in confusion. "You mean, you didn't do this?"

Castiel pulled a flask from his pocket, unscrewed the lid and sloshed the contents in Dean's general direction.

Dean's hiss of pain matched the sizzling burn of the holy water eating into his skin and his eyes were transformed into deep pits of black despair.

"No," moaned Sam, his knees going out from under him.

"Don't cry for me, Sammy," Dean smirked, wetting his lips with his tongue in that old, familiar mannerism. He raised the accursed, ever-present knife in a salute-like gesture and gazed at its jagged edge as if it held all the secrets and wisdom of the universe. "I'd almost forgotten how freeing it is," he whispered.

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A/N: Sam turns to desperate measures to stop the unstoppable. 200 words.

Stone Cold

"Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it" - Michelangelo

Sam winced as the alcohol stung the deep cuts on his torso.

"Sorry," said Castiel, without releasing Sam's shoulder, as he methodically cleaned the injuries.

"Well, when you're slashed up by a ten-thousand-year-old donkey jaw, I guess it's probably safe to assume it's gonna get infected," Sam groaned.

"I'm afraid this is going to need stitches," sighed Castiel.

Gritting his teeth, Sam just nodded.

"I'm only sorry I don't have enough grace left to be able to heal you," said Castiel absently, as he started sewing. He looked up in irritation when Sam jolted back, as though struck by a sudden thought. Castiel could almost see the light bulb.

"Cas, you still have your other powers, yeah?"

Narrowing his eyes, Castiel nodded.

"So, you could still do that soul-touching thing?" Sam spoke quickly when Castiel's eyes widened in realization. "Someone's got to stop him, and we're gonna need the best..."

Sam shushed over Castiel's protestations. "Who else is there? Garth? Kristie? No, we need someone as relentless as he is." Eyes damp, he continued. "A stone cold killer not swayed by feelings of family or friendship..."

Castiel huffed, but pulled his sleeve up. "Okay, this is going to really hurt..."

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A/N: They're where everyone said they belonged. 250 words.

Casting no Stones

"When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, "Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone..." - John 8:7

Dean frowned. "I'm sorry, Sammy. You never wanted this life, but I was selfish and kept dragging you back in. Now it looks like I've dragged you down."

Sam shrugged, unperturbed. "If there's one thing we should've learned it's that you can't keep a Winchester out of Hell."

Dean snorted. "True, even if you do have to pull 'em out of Heaven first," he smiled, ruffling the hair of the other brother he kept chained at the foot of his throne. "Isn't that right, Michael?"

"It's not so bad... on my own terms," said Sam. Casting a quick look around, he almost seemed nervous. "Talking of which, where's..."

"The big, bad ball of celestial energy with no vessel? I use him to keep the lights on," Dean chuckled, gesturing at the jury-rigged generator that brought electricity to the underworld realm. "Somehow seemed appropriate. Plus, it's like recycling; look at me, saving the world," he grinned.

Sam relaxed. "I bought you something."

"Oh?" Dean noticed the large wooden crate for the first time. Opening it revealed an unconscious, bound Castiel. "You shouldn't have."

"It was nothing," said Sam, his smile thoroughly predatory.

"No, I meant you shouldn't have hurt him," Dean scowled, untying the angel.

"Well, he was reluctant to attend our little reunion," said Sam, pulling an exaggerated, false smile in response to Castiel's offended glare.

"Look at us!" Dean howled, throwing his arms wide to encompass his kingdom. "The three of us together again, where everyone said we belonged!"

(;,;)