Author's Note:

Rated T for language and gore. Sorry, couldn't fit any sex in this one. I promise it'll be in the next story I write.

Tried to keep the summary spoiler-free. Didn't want to give away the end of s4 to those who haven't seen it and were trying to avoid reading post-4x22 stories.

.

.

ONE:

Life Is Like A Carousel

.

.

The swirling light picked up, casting ugly shadows over the dead body once inhabited by Ruby. The convent, the crypt, was bathed in freakish white light.

It occurred to Sam that he had some purpose, now. Something good will come of this. Something good must come of this, he realised.

Dean tore his horrified stare from the opening pit in the floor to snatch a look at his brother. Instead of the matching look of creeping terror he had expected, he saw determination.

"Sammy - let's go!" Dean urged, grabbing his jacket.

But his baby brother would not be pulled. He grabbed at his elder brother in turn, anchoring them both to the spot.

"He's coming!" Sam breathed. An eager streak of vengeance, of mortality surged through him and he hauled against his brother's well-meaning pull. He turned to look at him, to ignore the painfully bright light even as it swept over the stones around them. "This is it!" he called over the sound of swirling, screeching wind. "This is where you stop him!"

"How?" Dean roared back. "How the hell am I supposed to do that!"

Sam blinked into his brother's orbs of desperation, despair. "You'll know when you see it. You always do. You always have!" he urged.

"You're talking crazy, Sam! We gotta get out of here!" he snarled. He yanked but Sam countered his weight.

"No! This is it, Dean! We don't come back from this! We can't!"

And then the wind died. The light switched itself off. All was darkness and stillness.

Something held perfectly still in the pitch. Something that made no sound, made no movement. But watched.

The feeling sent a chill through them both, a horrifyingly electrical wake-up call that told them they were most definitely not alone in the crypt.

They turned slowly, dreading the sight.

Their human eyes dragged themselves toward the small, shiny object somewhere in front of them in the darkness. It moved slightly, as if from side to side. As their eyes slowly acclimatised to the Stygian envelope around them their ears registered the slow, wheezed breathing of something directly in front of them.

The light rose. Or the darkness simply moved back from the thing in the pocket of non-light, it was hard to tell.

The heavy sound of air drawn in and expelled moved toward them. They tightened their grip on each other's jackets, stepping back in unison.

The shiny object suddenly twitched upwards, and they realised with mortifying terror that they were looking at the top edge of a pair of four-foot polished horns. They watched the form in front of them unbend from one knee, lifting itself to stretch twice their height.

Their mouths fell open. They hurried back but Sam's boots encountered the corpse that had, until recently, held Ruby. He stumbled, his brother's grip insufficient to stop the inevitable. He went down hard, landing on his back, his head colliding with the stone wall.

"Sam!" Dean cursed. He turned and crouched, grabbing at his jacket. "C'mon, man, get up!" he urged through gritted teeth. "This is not what we signed up for!"

"Sam," came a thrumming, callous noise. Dean froze long enough to see his younger brother's eyes blink open in bleary recognition. "You shall be destroyed first."

Dean's eyes fell to his baby brother's. Sam's anguished face tilted in fearful realisation of his brother's vengeance about to strike. He put a hand up but Dean brushed it aside as he looked over his shoulder.

The sight that greeted him should have struck terror into his heart. It should have weakened his spirit, diminished his resolve.

But instead, it poked the angry beast within the human in a really, really unwise manoeuvre.

"And just who the hell do you think you are?" Dean accused.

The mass, the form of roiling, shifting shapes, drew itself up. It clenched mighty fists nearly as big as Dean's head. It widened its stance to match the barely recognisable chunks of flesh that described formidable shoulders. Blood-matted, thickened hair - or perhaps fur - covered the lower half of the body. It was almost against the laws of Sod to see a long, evil whip of a tail spring from behind, lashing from side to side in abject indignation.

"You are Dean," the beast grinned, its teeth projecting a foot from the slick head. The features were mostly arranged as if human, but for some reason, nothing made sense. Watching the head mould and adjust, continuously slide to new formations and reapply itself, Dean Winchester realised something.

He don't even look dangerous. No wait, he does… But I'm just not feeling it.

He had a moment to wonder why, before something else tumbled from his mouth.

"And you're just about the worst piss-poor excuse for a fallen angel I've ever seen," he sneered.

The beast growled something deep within the cavernous ribcage, its fists opening and closing in furious anger. It paused for only a second before stomping up mere feet from the lone standing human. Its maw dropped open and it bayed with all its fury, all its vengeful will and intent.

Dean let his head tilt against the blast of pure sound, agony to his ears. He let his eyes squirm half closed at the air rushing over him, the feelings of pain and rage.

Abruptly it was gone. Silence vacuumed everything from the room for a whole minute.

Dean swung his head round, his relatively tiny green orbs of disgust boring into the upright demonic presence.

"Enough," he breathed, apparently to himself. His chin began to stick out in barely contained indignation. "You know what? I'm tired of this!" he snarled. His hands came up and shoved with all his strength.

The creature actually stumbled back, taken by surprise at the touch and the audacity.

Dean didn't notice. What he felt was a yank on the hem of his jeans. But he shook off what he knew to be Sam's hand without even a backward glance.

"I am sick of all this bullcrap," he growled, taking a step toward the being. Lucifer didn't move. So Dean reached out and pushed hard again with both hands.

The creature stumbled back, too surprise to comprehend what was happening.

"What gives you the right to screw us around like this!" Dean took another step, then another, not registering that Lucifer himself was backing up in caution. Dean's boots kept going and he finally realised he was closing on the monstrosity. But his feet wouldn't stop. "You pathetic, worthless, useless excuse for an angel!"

A low hiss began from the form, but Dean put a hand up, waving it angrily. "Oh, you got issues? You got issues?" he demanded with real fire. "You got eff-all, you aggravating piece of shit! You want to hear issues?"

The being lashed out with a tail. It hammered square into Dean's chest, sending him flying to his right. He walloped into the stone wall, crashing down into a wooden pew.

Sam struggled to his feet, his head kept upright by a bloodied hand. But something stronger than protection, more potent than any devil's trap, was making it possible for Dean to put his hands to the floor and wrench himself upright.

Fury.

He hurled the wooden seat aside as if it weighed nothing, advancing again on the creature.

"You got nothing! You hear me? Nothing!" Dean bellowed. The creature hissed, unexpectedly silenced by the resilience of the human maggot in front of him. "You dare think you got anything on us? I've spent my life having the crap beaten out of me by things rougher than you, you brainless bastard! You think you're special? You couldn't even cut it as an angel!"

The tail came round again. But this time, Dean was quicker. His hands slammed into the meaty rope. He curled it around himself.

Sam put a hand up to stop him.

But Dean was already moving his feet. The tail trapped, the attached creature a prisoner of his own momentum. The owner was propelled into the stone wall.

The crypt shook. The walls groaned in protest. But Dean simply stomped over.

"I finally found the boss in all this - you know what those sons of bitches did to me down there? Your little minions in your neck of the woods? Know why?" he shouted thickly. "To get you out! To start all this! You know what? I'm glad you got out - I'm glad you been lookin' for us!" he raged, jabbing an incensed finger at the shocked creature. "Cos you wanna know what's gonna stop you from your little apocalypse shindig? Me! So come on, give it your best shot, you needy asshole! Here I am!"

The creature scrambled to its feet. It lunged.

Dean simply dropped. The creature found itself in the air, rolling into a target that wasn't there. It slammed into the floor, springing to its soft feet with startling agility.

"Here I am - to finally get some payback!" Dean roared.

Sam gasped and jumped back. He found himself against the wall. He could only watch in fear as his elder brother ran full-tilt into the beast readying itself for him.

He stared, horrified, as Dean collided with the creature. His weight knocked it off its feet and they went down in a tangled mass of human and beast. There was a howling, angry sound, joined by a guttural cry of vengeance.

Sam pushed himself back against the wall.

This isn't right. This isn't how it's supposed to go. Dean's supposed to get us to leave - we're supposed to back off, think about a gameplan, come back with the cavalry. What the hell's he doing?

But in his heart, he knew. The nights Dean had spent shivering and grunting at nightmares, the days he had wasted drinking himself into dreamless sleep, the times he had sweated and twitched and cried out in mortifying fear at the memories that had tormented him - all these moments stood out in Sam's mind's eye. All these times justified what his elder brother was attempting to do. All these times were making it easy for the creature to exploit his blood, his family.

His brother.

Sam pushed himself up off the wall. He cast around for a something to use as a weapon. His eyes fell upon the demon blade, lying by Ruby's once borrowed corpse.

He bent slowly, picking it up. He looked it over, eyeing the demonic shade of human blood still clinging to it. An almost overwhelming urge to lick the blade clean made his hand twitch. But then he looked at it again - looked hard. And Ruby's words came back to him:

"You didn't need the magic feather, it was in you all along, Dumbo."

But then it was his brother's words that rang clearly in his head: "Look what she's done to you!"

Sam's face slid into an evil smile. He turned the blade in his hand, wiping it slowly on his jacket sleeve. He turned himself around, wiping the smile from his face, the conscience from his mind. He took a deep breath and centred himself on the sounds of struggling.

Abruptly, Dean was shoved up and into the air. He flew clear and landed on the stone blocks of the floor. He was already getting up and readying himself for the next assault when he paused. He saw Sam on his feet. He saw the demon knife in his hand.

Sam lunged for Lucifer, still pushing itself to its feet.

"SAAAAUUUM!" Dean raged.

The fury, the rage, the feeling of being cheated out of doing it himself - Dean flung himself forward, aiming for Sam. Their shoulders collided. Sam was knocked to one side, to safety. The knife spun out of his hand. It landed with a clatter on the stone floor. Dean lost his balance, barrelled down into the creature.

There was a roar of retribution. Sam scrabbled back across the floor, found himself leaning against the stone wall. Dean twisted up and slammed his elbow down into whatever was underneath him. Something flashed in Lucifer's hand. Dean gave a grunt, his free right hand shooting up and grabbing the wrist of the beast.

It snarled and lashed with its tail, unprepared for a human having such strength. Dean held the wrist tightly and twisted.

The beast squealed in pain. The knife dropped from his grip. Sam pushed himself to his hands and knees. He reached for the blade, snatched it up. He looked up.

Dean still had hold of the wrist with one hand. His other was plunging into the thick neck. His fingers crunched down like a vice. The beast roared and struggled.

"Dean!" Sam tossed the knife at him.

His brother didn't even look away from the mess he was in. His right hand left the beast and simply caught the blade, somewhat clumsily. But he flipped it round with a deftness born of practice and necessity. He slammed it down into the neck.

There was an almighty scream.

Dean lifted the knife and stabbed relentlessly, hacking and cutting at that which had poisoned and wounded him through so many nights of torture.

He felt the anger, the adrenaline, the heat. He knew his face was dripping, knew his t-shirt was soaked, knew he was passing the point of no return. But there was nothing, nothing except the need to hurt the beast under him in as many ways as possible.

And Sam understood. A part of him enjoyed the show of vengeance.

He rushed over and appeared next to his brother, his hands grabbing for the moving beast's limbs. He held them steady, and in a startling display of silent lucidity, the brothers Winchester applied more pain and blade.

The peels of racking torture echoed around the crypt, but whether it was louder from the lone figure on its back or the two assaulters pinning it to the floor was impossible to tell. All that was heard was matching cries of effort and pain, three lifetimes of incarceration and injustice battling it out for the upper hand.

The scream began to lose strength. The creature ceased to thrash. It lay back, letting the human carve with the knife with impunity. It simply lay back, closed its huge eyes, and gave up.

Dean noticed first.

Son of a bitch! He realised dully that he was more affronted by losing his target for quenching his thirst for vengeance, rather than being glad they had won.

He sat back, pulling his hands from the mess of a ribcage, shaking them free of bloody juices and organic matter. He looked to his left, finding his younger brother similarly regaining a sense of humanity from the bestial need to rip and shred that they had just shared.

They panted their breath back, content to swallow and exchange a shallow, knowing glance that was disquieting in its tacit acknowledgement of the situation.

"What now?" Sam breathed, swallowing for something to lubricate his throat.

"We carve him into real - small - pieces," Dean snarled.

Something hitched in Sam's chest. He's not coming down from this, he realised in horror. He's never going to come down from this. He's snapped. Lost it.

He backed away from the fallen angel and the fallen human. He tasted his own fear as he took another step behind him with trepidation.

Dean lifted the blade in his hand and slammed it down through the open ribcage. He plunged the tip into the spine, attempting to crack it. His mouth was set into a grim line, his face impassive. But his eyes burned with purpose as he wedged the knife between vertebrae.

"Whut's the matter, Sammy?" Dean grunted, not brave enough to look at him. "You afraid of me, now?"

Sam's mouth ran dry. He shook his head lamely as Dean twisted the knife with an abrupt crack of bones giving way.

"Kind of ironic, when you think about it," Dean allowed, but there was an evil presence to his words now, a menacing lilt Sam had never heard before. Dean slipped the knife free and dropped it to the stone floor. He reached in with his bare hands and grasped parts of bone, yanking it apart, apparently pleased by the snapping sounds. "The thought of you going Dark Side always scared the crap outta me - even when I thought about it and thought about it till it made me hurl."

Sam backed up a step as his brother turned to look at him. But he saw no malice, no intent.

"But all along it was me." Dean shrugged helplessly, his eyes pained and sore. He pushed himself off the fallen Lucifer, getting to his feet laboriously.

Sam's gaze, glued to his brother's anguish, missed the way Dean's hand came to the front of his t-shirt in pain. He also missed the blood that had soaked across his chest in thin lines, starting to seep through and form thin rivulets down him in its quest to be free.

"It was the hunt," Sam whispered, trying to be supportive as Dean backed up to the far wall. "It was being tortured down in the Pit. It was Lucifer. He did this to you - and you got h--"

He stopped, some instinct making him turn his attention back to the stricken creature. It was still, inert. But something was making the hair on the back of Sam's neck stand on end. And it was no longer Dean.

Dean eyed him, grunting in pain and letting his foot shift to take his weight. He stretched a hand to the stone wall alongside him, fearing he would stumble. Sam looked at him quickly, uncomprehending, then back at Lucifer.

And its mouth, opening slowly. Instead of a breath, a gasp at life, the brothers Winchester saw something else.

Thick tendrils of black, billowing smoke.

Flooding out.

.

.

So I'm a Bad Company wh*re. I make no apologies. :) Needs another chapter? Well obviously - another chapter!