(A/N: This chapter turned out to be longer than the last one, but I think it did everything it needed to. In case it isn't clear, this is set in the first few weeks after the season 9 finale. Enjoy! Feel free to drop me a review if the fancy takes you.

Chapter Summary: Struggling with his newly demonic nature and the Mark of Cain, Dean heads out on his own to learn control. The best way to do that is with his dormant human side that is only brought out by memories. Not Dean's favorite thing to do, but if it means the difference between protecting Sam and killing him . . .

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Also, while I have visited UFO's, I cannot help anyone navigate through area 51. That thing's a maze.)

Dean's thoughts were whirling around in his head, making it impossible to think of anything. There was so much going on, that Dean needed to sift through, so Dean made himself stop. Stop moving and just sit down and breakdown all of his thoughts into smaller, more manageable chunks. He would deny until his next dying day that he was willingly submitting himself to an introspective chick-flick moment. (He had picked up his scorn for public displays of emotion from Bobby, and cultivated it into his personality like he had Dad's hunting and attitude, Mom's care of Sammy, Pastor Jim's hard-as-nails stare, and Caleb's coolness. Some days Dean was sure that he was just made up of borrowed things from his family.)

Dean was different now. He had left the bunker soon after he woke up. Sam and Cas were looking for him. Crowley told him about their exploits every now and then, when the king of hell could find him. At first, Dean was a little worried that the King, his apparent new boss would try to send him somewhere on a mission. If that happened, he would have to kill him, and it would just be trouble. The last thing Dean needed right now was a promotion from hunter, to demon (maybe he was technically a knight of hell), to king of hell. He had no idea how to explain that one to Sammy. But Crowley didn't; in fact the former tailor had never even asked him to harm anyone.

(Thank any deity who was listening, because Dean wasn't sure he wanted to explore just how low his newly demonic soul was willing to sink. Dean knew intellectually that hurting and killing civilians was what monsters did, and even if Dean was one now, he wasn't going to act like it and end up on Sam's radar. But emotionally, when Dean thought of it, all he would imagine was how fun it would be to practice his technique with the First Blade. In a corner of his mind, Dean wondered if this was the kind of thing Sam went through when he had returned from hell without a soul and with no explanation. Had Soulless Sam been capable of worrying? He had to have known that something was wrong, but they had no idea what until Castiel had done the soulonoscopy.)

If Dean didn't know better, he would think that Crowley felt guilty for putting Dean into this situation. Once Crowley had even gently suggested that Dean return to the Bunker. Apparently he had dropped in to explain the situation to Moose and Cas, so they wouldn't try to exorcise him or anything.

Dean had just laughed, then kicked his ass and left the condemned house he had been squatting in. Now Dean was in an abandoned motel off of the main highway. No one ever seemed to drive down this road anymore, so the eldest Winchester decided it was safe enough. He took care to snap the lock to room eight and take the bed closest to the door.

(That was the rule. Dean slept closest to the door in case something burst through the wards before Dad got home. It was one of the many rules Dean had come up with to keep Sam safe while Dad was away fighting monsters in the night. There were rules for everything, some taught by the adults on how to make money last and avoid attention, and other fun made-up-on-the-spot rules to try and liven things up, like the time that Dean declared that they could only speak in movie quotes from five to six on Fridays.)

Dean had no intention of going anywhere near Sam until he could be sure that he wouldn't hurt him. He could feel the blade in his mind, chanting a soft kill, kill, kill, and even when Dean was human he refused to use the blade when Sam was nearby, just in case something terrible happened.

Dean may be a demon now, but he had all of his memories. It was important to sit for a while in the quiet where no one would bother him to sort them out and figure out just who he was now. Because Dean had lost his little brother four and a half times, and he would be damned (wait. . .) if he would be the cause of making his little brother's death stick. (God, he almost felt bad for whichever shmuck of a Reaper had been assigned their case after Tessa killed herself. There was a stab of almost-regret that Dean didn't allow himself to dwell on.)

The half count was the most recent. Dean still counted the aftermath of the Trials to be Sam dying, and he would let that angel in again if it kept Sam and Dean in the same world. It was a hard thought, that he would be willing to let Kevin die so Sam could live, but that's all Dean was anymore. Hard thoughts and rough edges. He could still see the doctor standing in front of Dean, camped out by Sammy's bedside, telling him that Sam's life was in god's hands now. Dean felt a familiar surge of anger at those words. It was indistinguishable from the effects of the Mark for a moment, but then settled into the old familiar anger that had once set Dean aside as the Righteous Man. Despite what any feather-heads tried to tell him, Dean was surer than ever that his judgment was not absolute, rather it was his bull-shit detector when it came to anyone who wanted to screw with Sammy that was absolute. He had a lifetime of practice looking after Sammy, and he had perfected the art.

Dean remembered his father's last words to him. That he would either have to save Sam or kill him, and for a moment was glad that his dad was dead. With the Mark burning on his arm and his new demonic disposition, Dean would gladly kill his father for ever uttering those words and putting Dean in that position. In fact, maybe Dean could track down that ghost summoning ritual thing Bobby had used once to summon John Winchester and vent his mounting frustration on him . . . because if there was one thing Dean could never do it was hurt Sam. (Even before he knew that it was Meg wearing his brother, Dean knew something had to be off. There was no way that kind, empathetic Sam could kill a hunter in cold blood. Let alone be drunk in public or smoke or attack Jo. And no matter how many promises Dad and Sam tried to drag out of him, Dean would never be able to hurt Sammy.) He would literally rip the lungs out of anyone who tried. Hell, now with his new demonic powers he could do that without laying a finger on the mook.

The first time Sam had died was Cold Oak. Dean had let Sam out of his sight for five minutes, and then the next thing Dean knew the Road House was burnt down, and he couldn't find Sam. There had been a bit of hope when Bobby and Andy had helped him find Sam, but then he couldn't get to Sam fast enough, and Jake was looming behind Sam with a knife. Even if Dean died a thousand times, he would always remember the smile on Sam's face when he saw Dean coming for him, how his expression was starting to change to confusion when Dean called out his warning. It was too late, and the next thing he knew, he was holding Sam in his arms, trying to stop the blood, and reassuring Sam but mostly himself that they could fix this.

There was no way Sam could die, right? Dean would do anything to keep his geeky huge little brother safe. (Dean had seen other people who had grown up in similar situations as him and Sam, on the move with little or no money for food. They were malnourished scrawny people, and Dean counted it as one of his few pluses that Sam had grown into his tallest potential.) And Dean was well aware of the irony of his decisions. He had been the one to get upset over Dad selling his soul to save Dean. ("What's dead should stay dead!" Sam was the exception to every rule.) That year that Dean was living on borrowed time and Sam was killing himself trying to find a way out of the deal was hard. Why couldn't Sam let it be? The demon had said that if they tried to welch out of their end of the deal, Sam would drop dead. The whole point of this thing was that Dean would rather go to hell for all eternity than live without Sam. But Sam was different. He was stronger than Dean. Sam had proved with the Stanford thing that he could live and thrive without his family.

Dean remembered one of Crowley's recent visits. The King of Hell loved the sound of his own voice, and he just wouldn't shut up, even when Dean was very pointedly cleaning The Colt in front of him, and shooting looks at the older demon. He was soliloquizing about Sam, and apparently suicidal since he just wouldn't shut up about the bond between the brothers. God, Dean knew demons were stupid, but this idiot had to take the cake.

"I suppose little Sammy doesn't feel quite as devoted as you do, though." Crowley continued, either not knowing or not caring that Dean hadn't been paying attention. "I mean, do you remember that time you and Cas went to purgatory, and Sam moved to Texas and got a dog? I remember his face when he showed up in the lab, and you two were gone." Crowley chuckled.

"It was priceless, mate. Anyway, he asks me where you two are, so I tell him that you're gone, and he's all on his own now. I made it sound like you two were dead, see I was planning on conning Moose into making a deal to bring you back. I decided to let him stew for a while and come crawling back to me to beg for it, then I'd be able to access Purgatory the way I'd been planning for more than a year at that point. As a bonus, I'd hold Sam's soul over the two of you and start up your indentured servitude again, but does the little wanker play ball?" he didn't pause for an answer, or notice that all of Dean's movements had stopped. "No! He just goes off and mopes for a year until you come back." He shook his head. "Pathetic. Probably he thought you were in heaven or his soul wasn't whole enough to trade, or some tosh like that." He snorted before Dean threw him into the wall with his developing telekinetic powers.

"It was your fault?" Apparently Crowley's self-preservation instincts were still around, because he finally seemed to notice that Dean was working himself up for a nice bloody murder and he vanished before Dean could swing the blade. The only Knight of Hell half-heartedly looked for him before giving it up and coming back to the abandoned house he had been squatting in. It was the one he and Sammy had been staying in the second time they saw Bela.

Dean shook his head ruefully when he wandered the room. He was stupid for thinking that Sam would ever abandon him. Sam had never done any evil he hadn't been manipulated into. If Sam had any flaw, it was that he was too determined to see the good in people. Only Sammy could accidentally let Lucifer free when he thought he was saving the world from the mess Dean had made by breaking the first seal. He thought back to the time when Sam had flat out told Ellen and Jo who had been lurking about his budding psychic powers. (Hadn't Gordon Walker proven to them that they couldn't trust hunters that they met, even if they had been friends of John?) The idiot had even told Bobby immediately that he had been the one to release Lucifer when even Dean (who had been spitting mad at him and disappointed) would have kept mum and told absolutely no one. Thankfully Bobby (once he was in his right mind again) had 'forgiven' Sam for falling for that demon bitch's long con.

Then there were the times with the demon blood detoxing. Sam was so naïve, he had willingly let himself be led into the panic room. The look of betrayal he had shot Bobby and Dean made his gut twitch with a shadow of guilt even years later. The second time after Famine, Sam had hit his first withdrawal ten minutes out from Bobby's, and Dean was still so proud of the way his kid brother had managed to keep it together, then just walk into the room under his own power.

The second time Sam died was on that case years ago with the wish giving coin. The real kicker was that Dean never even learned about the lightening that brain-washed chick had wished for until they were in the car, fifty miles out of the town on their way to the next job. They were going over the case, verbally deciding which pertinent details to add to the pages of John Winchester's journal. Dean had nearly run the Impala off the road, and for a moment he was a kid again, watching that Striga suck the life out of his sleeping little brother. He had learned that night that he was the only thing standing in between Sam and Death, and today Dean realized how dangerous it was for Sam to be out of Dean's sight.

(He refused to imagine what Sam was doing now on his own. Regardless, the thoughts still popped in Dean's head from time to time. Was Sam still trying to track him down? Or worse, had he partnered up with some other hunter who wouldn't be able to look out for Sam the way Dean could? He made a mental note to make a quick trip to hell to visit Samuel Campbell and repay him for everything that had happened with Soulless Sam and Crowley. He couldn't wait to see the look on his grandfather's face when he realized as John had realized that they pegged the wrong brother to go dark side . . .)

Dean had still wanted to turn the car around and head back to give that girl a piece of his mind when Sam reminded him that once the coin was destroyed the girl didn't remember anything that she had done, and what about the girl Ruby had warned them Alistair was after? Dean halfway wished he had his powers in that moment so he could go ahead and rip Ruby to pieces. If only there was a way to revive demons. . .

The Mark throbbed, and Dean was reminded that he had been angry with Sam plenty of times. He had lived his life revolved around Sam since he was four years old, for Pete's sake! What had Dean ever gotten out of it? In fact, why shouldn't Dean pick up the blade and track Sammy down . . .

He made himself take a deep breath and thought of Sammy when he was only five or six. He had just finished off the last of the cereal before Dean got a taste, and then offered Dean the prize. If he remembered right, it was still buried in a time capsule in the gravel parking lot of a certain dead-end motel. Maybe Dean should head over there to look at the collection of cereal box prizes, drawings, and even a few baby teeth that Sam had given him over the years. . . No, maybe tomorrow. Dean felt like he was testing his rage threshold, seeing how far he could give in to the darkness without having to act on it. For now he would make do with the memories of driving down the empty road with Sammy, both of them singing their hearts out to the radio, of digging up graves and having to redo it because Sam's OCD couldn't tolerate the sloppy corners. One side of his mouth twitched up whenever he remembered as a kid Sam would whip out his straight edge and compass . . . in one high school Sam had taken an archeology course, and the teacher ended up complaining to Dean about Sam having to redo most of his digs. . . (Tell me about it, Dean thought. He had nearly died once or twice because Sam couldn't stand a sloppy hole . . . this wasn't helping Dean's anger issues.)

Even when Dean was disappointed with Sam, it seemed like most of the time it could all be traced back to a misunderstanding on Dean's part. Like that Voicemail Debacle. . . Dean had been so torn up that even him bearing his soul like a girl and apologizing to Sam wasn't enough to stop him from his path. If anything it just made him more twitchy and awkward with his older brother. It was just another confirmation that family didn't mean the same thing to Sam that it did to Dean. His suspicions hadn't been peaked until a late night conversation with Castiel. He had wanted to talk about the steps that led to Lucifer rising, and had shuffled nervously and looked away when Dean mentioned the Voicemail.

"I just- I guess I just thought that if Sam heard that, I could stop him." Dean shrugged looking helpless. (Let's see if he rises to the bait. . .)

"It affected Sam more than you know." Castiel said with a guilty look at Sam before leaving with a quick excuse. Dean's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he hastily smoothed his face when Sam stretched and yawned, waking up. At least he wasn't having nightmares at the moment. Dean knew that it was hard for Sam to get a full night's sleep at the moment. All day in the car, Dean thought it out, remembering how uncomfortable Castiel had seemed with keeping the brothers separated culminating in his rebellion from heaven. What if there was something else to cause the angel to feel guilt? Zachariah had mentioned giving Sam the nudge he needed . . . and hadn't it been odd that Dean was only able to get cell service for just long enough to send that voicemail? He had a terrible idea, and that afternoon he sent Sam on a wild goose chase to the library for some lore so he could have privacy for this conversation.

"Castiel!" Dean yelled to Castiel's voicemail impatiently. "Get your feathery ass over here now! I'm in the Greenville motel parking lot!" A few moments later, the fallen angel of Thursday appeared.

"What's wrong, Dean?" his voice was gravelly, and he looked around, as if expecting to see attacking demons.

"I'm going to tell you a theory, and then you're going to tell me if I got it right." Dean's tone let Castiel know that he wasn't making a request. The angel blade subtly peeking out of his jacket probably helped make his point at how serious this was.

"When I was in the Green Room I sent Sammy a voicemail. I didn't think of it at the time, but it was weird that I suddenly got signal for a few minutes, just when Zach was telling me about giving Sammy a nudge. So I can't help thinking, Cas, that someone messed with the message on his end. That's not the case, is it?"

Dean felt a fleeting moment of pride, looking back on the spasm of emotion that flitted across Castiel's face. It wasn't just anyone who could honestly say that they had intimidated an angel of the lord. "It is true that Zachariah changed the voicemail. Sam heard words of condemnation and hate instead of love and support. He believed that it was the only way to make Sam despair enough to go through with what he believed to be a suicidal plan to stop the demon Lilith."

"Jeez, Cas." Dean didn't have words for a moment. "Wait! Does Sam still think I hate him or anything?"

"No." Castiel seemed relieved to be able to offer some comfort. "Sam woke up during our conversation last night. He is aware of the deception."

"Dean, I couldn't find what you were looking for- hey Cas, what are you doing here?" Sam came jogging up, interrupting their conversation. Dean turned to his brother, making sure to tuck the blade out of sight.

"I called him. I figure we should keep better tabs on each other. So Cas, wanna join us for food?" his eyes held a warning that the angel shouldn't reveal their true conversation to Sam. The angel apparently took it the wrong way, because he begged off and they couldn't get a hold of him for a couple of weeks after that. Dean let the issue go, content that they had managed to sort everything out for once without having to resort to a dreaded chick flick moment.

Unfortunately Dean never questioned that Sam knew what message he had meant to leave for him.

That thought trailed into the third time Sam had died. To be fair, at least that time Dean had followed soon after. (Come to think of it, Dean never did track down Roy and Walt to pay them back for shooting his brother . . . if only he wasn't trying to avoid hunters in general and Sam in particular. It would definitely get back to Sam that their one-time murderers had been dealt with, and that would only enable him to track Dean down. No matter how satisfying it would be to give those bastards their just desserts.) It had been half a minute too long though, of seeing his brother's corpse laying on the next bed, seeing the shocked look on his face. Sam had never believed that they would actually be shot by people they knew.

Their heavens that been . . . different. For a couple of years, Dean had blamed Sam's independent streak, but after a confusing conversation involving Celtic Woman, Jess, and Sam's increasing mental distress Dean realized the truth. It made him want to sing. The angels were cheating manipulative bastards and neither of them had seen Sam's true heaven. Unfortunately he was never sure if he was able to convince Sam of that until a few years later when he had seen a protected file on Sam's computer and called Charlie to talk him through hacking into it.

He had found a bullet list working through the memories of heaven, Sam's calm, organized way of processing and working through the deception. God Dean loved this kid.

(Dean had made it a point to try and give Sam more positive reinforcement until Sam had been creeped out and sure that Dean was planning some kind of prank against him. It wouldn't seem like it, but Dean really did try to give Sam personal space every now and then, but he kept obsessively checking in on him. But no more, Dean refused to ask Crowley how Sam was doing, or pray to Castiel. The angel would only try to get him to see Sam, and at the moment that could only end in disaster. A pet was out of the question . . . probably. Maybe if Dean could just drop off some mutt at the bunker, Sam would take the bait. As far as reassuring Sam that Dean did still love him even after all of this shit had gone down, it wouldn't really work out what with Dean being a demon and all. Sam and Dean had both been told over and over again since they were children that demons lied. Sam had been burned by numerous demons before.)

Dean was sure that there had to be something that drew all of the monsters and demons to Sam. Maybe it was his beautiful, flawed, still damaged soul? Dean had gotten a good look at it before he left the bunker, repulsed at his ability to sense and see human souls. He had a good idea at what the monsters had seen in Sam. Imagine being the one who was able to corrupt that bright thing? (Dean could still remember when he had first started working with Sam again, how young he was, and how he tried to do the right thing. It was funny how scared Sammy had been of turning Dark side and becoming something he wasn't. That, it seemed, was Dean's role.)

But Dean's job was always to look out for his pain in the ass younger brother, and he would let no one- including himself hurt Sam. (But wouldn't it be easier to watch over Sam and rip the lungs out of anything that tried to hurt him if he kept close? A distant memory chimed, and Dean remembered the time he had sworn to Sam that he wouldn't let anything bad happen to him. But right now Dean was basically the definition of 'anything bad' and until he could be sure of his control, he would not go near Sm.)

Probably the worst time was when Sam died the fourth time in Stull Cemetery and saved the world. A year and a half later, Dean was able to get Sam drunk and his younger brother had explained that seeing the army man wedged into the ashtray and remembering all of the love he had for his brother had enabled him to throw off Lucifer long enough to jump in the cage. It made sense, since Bobby had thrown off the demon possessing him when the alternative was stabbing Dean. (Maybe love worked against the hate that embodied demons? Dean felt more like his old self remembering these things, after all.) For a horrible half minute that lasted years in Dean's mind, he had been the only one left standing in the cemetery, unable to look away from the last spot Sam had ever stood on earth.

With a terrible lurch, Dean realized that that must have been how Sam had felt for the year that Dean was gone and Sam thought he was dead. Sam hadn't had a miracle revival of Castiel, or a healing of Bobby, or even a last promise to fall back on and tell him how to live. Sam only had a demon whispering poison in his ear. How could Sam have stood it? Especially considering he had only just recovered from his hallucinations shortly before.

Speaking of, Dean felt someone approaching the house he was staying in. At first he thought it must be Crowley again, and he was preparing to finally gut the King of Hell the way he should have years ago when he felt the familiar angel grace slipping in. His eyes slid over to the First Blade still in his hand when there was a polite knock on the door.

"Who would have thought it would take me turning into a demon to make you finally learn manners?" Dean asked, opening the door for Castiel. Standing face to face with an angel, Dean was finally aware of how Ruby and Alistair must have felt when confronted with angels for the first time in millennia. The being in front of him was pure power, burning as bright as Dean's but in the opposite direction. Dean wondered which of them would win in a fight. He figured it would be him, since he fought dirty and Castiel still seemed to think he would eventually come back.

"It was unclear to me for a long time how you chose your new living arrangements." Cas commented, ignoring the barb and letting himself in once Dean stood to the side. "It wasn't until the Day-Z inn in Washington State that I realized you were revisiting the rooms you have stayed in with Sam during your years hunting together." Damn it. Dean was hoping that no one would pick up on that. After all, he and Sam had stayed in thousands of hotels over the last few years. "Is there a story with this residence?"

Dean shrugged. "Sam and I worked a case involving a ghost ship. There was a woman. . . I saw her in hell. We should have picked up on it when we learned that she made a deal with a demon to kill her parents. Funny thing, she once told me that Hunters were nothing but revenge driven sociopaths a step away from being serial killers. Guess I proved her right." He really didn't feel like remembering Bela Talbot right now. Cas seemed to pick up on that.

"If you felt the need to stay in familiar places, it probably would have been better to stay in the towns you visited by yourself during the years that Sam was at college, since he had no knowledge of your whereabouts, and everyone who did is dead." Castiel continued lightly.

Dean had thought of that, but it was too lonely. Besides, the memories of Sam helped keep the Mark at bay. If he was going to be stuck as a demon, he was going to do it on his own terms. He shrugged carelessly at Cas and offered him some whiskey. Maybe if they finished the bottle they could go to a bar together. Aside from sounding like the start of a joke, it would be hilarious and probably cathartic to try and get the angel drunk again.

"Why are you here, Castiel?" he asked coldly. The angel accepted the bottle with a nod of thanks, taking a drink.

"Crowley revealed himself to Sam and me and explained that you had tried to kill him. Is it your intention to become the next King of Hell?"

Dean scoffed. "It's my 'intention' to gut him. I don't care about Hell's management." Castiel nodded and offered the bottle back to Dean.

"Sam was worried. I also came to ask advice with how to help him deal with your situation. It is my understanding that you helped him cope with the loss of your father and Bobby Singer." Dean wondered if Castiel always sounded this formal when asking for help, or if it was Dean's black eyes that were putting him off. He switched back to the green color he had had while still alive, and it seemed like Castiel relaxed minutely.

"If this is you trying to guilt me into seeing Sam, you're even worse at it than Crowley." Dean took a long gulp of the alcohol and crossed his arms. "If you really are having trouble, just get him drunk, or send him on a hunt or something."

"I had heard that a demon was mysteriously wiping monsters out of the eastern seaboard. And you do seem to have an abundant supply of alcohol." Cas said, as though they were talking about Dean. The new demon felt his blood pulse for a second with anger before he pushed it back with the memory of that one night in the den of iniquity.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time. And before you ask, I am NOT going back to Sam." Castiel did the weird head tilt thing that reminded Dean of a bird before replying,

"Is it because you are afraid of hurting your brother?" Dean had a low tolerance for annoyance on his better days, and this was definitely not one.

"Get out." He slammed the door open with his mind for emphasis, and Castiel obligingly walked out. He stopped in the doorway, though.

"One more thing. Is Sam allergic to any medications or antibiotics? I let him be admitted to the hospital because I felt it would force Sam to rest, but the nurses were asking many questions, and they insisted I find the answer to them."

A cold claw gripped the place where Dean's heart should have been. Castiel wasn't low enough to lie about Sam being injured. Or at least he better not be.

"What happened?"

"A few of Crowley's dissenters laid a trap for Sam with the intention of burning his anti-possession tattoo off and then using him against you or Crowley. I was able to find him in time, though he initially refused treatment, eventually resulting in an infection." The angel was definitely gaging his reaction and judging him, but at the moment Dean didn't care.

Anger roared through Dean, though the First Blade was oddly silent. If he had to characterize it, he would say that he was feeling the old righteous anger against any who would dare lay a finger on his little brother.

"Do you know where they are now?" Castiel frowned, and for a moment Dean felt like he had failed a test.

"We can easily track them down together."

A few hours later, Dean and Castiel were standing in an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by the corpses of the demons responsible. Dean was grinning widely, catching his breath. It had been a nice work out.

"So what's with the stick up your ass again?" he casually asked the angel while he wiped the blood off of the Blade.

"My new position in heaven requires me to be always ready for action, with limited time to relax. I will come to check on Sam as often as I am able, however."

"So what, you're heaven's sheriff again? Or are they still calling you commander?" Dean felt a little spite leak into his tone. Between himself and Cas they should be able to look after Sam.

"I am in the process of setting up a more democratic hierarchy, though a group of angels continue to rebel."

Dean grinned wickedly. "If you ever need a demonic helper, I'm free. I bet I could put the fear of God into any factions you've got. . ." he trailed off, and Castiel kept his face purposefully blank.

"No, thank you. There has been enough angel death already." He paused for a moment, tilting his head as if to hear something better. "If you'll excuse me, I should return to Sam's side. He will be waking up soon."

"Don't tell him you saw me." Dean demanded. ("Naturally," Cas murmured, disappointed) "Which hospital is he at, anyway?" something in his tone kept the angel from voicing what should have been the natural follow up question. Dean wouldn't hurt Sam, even if he was a demon at the moment, and any interest shown in something other than killing had to be a good thing, right?

"The Sioux Falls General Hospital. I felt it might bring him some comfort to be in a familiar town. Jodi Mills has already been by several times to visit, along with her ward." Dean nodded, tucking the information away. He turned from the angel, ready to vanish again when something made him pause hesitantly.

"Sam isn't allergic to anything, by the way." He swallowed, and continued "I'm not saying I'll visit for sure, but I've got to take care of some things, first." He said before vanishing. It was a tiny step, but Castiel had to feel hope that it was the first tiny step in Dean's recovery.

The angel made it back in time to fill out the forms for the irate nurses. They were complimentary to Castiel for bringing his friend in when signs of infection appeared, though apparently the nursing staff had limited patience for people who were afraid of the hospital. The thought made Castiel pause for a moment. Was Sam afraid of hospitals? It would make sense. Most of the traumatic experiences in Sam's life had occurred in hospitals, graveyards, or abandoned buildings. It would be reasonable for him to hold a certain amount to trepidation towards any of them.

But it seemed to be the Winchester way to conquer fear the way they had conquered monsters and demons. An intern helpfully let Castiel know that Sam had woken up (approximately half a minute after the fact, but still better than most hospital times), and offered to let the angel join Sheriff Mills in his room.

Sam was angry with Castiel after he explained why he refused to heal him, but he only had time to lay protections on the room before he was called back to heaven. It was a few days before he was able to find the time to visit his hospital bound friend, but when he returned, Sam was in a much better mood than before.

Sam grinned tiredly while he explained to Castiel about the concept of the comfort dogs occasionally allowed into the pediatrics and terminal care wards to cheer up patients. Apparently there had been some kind of mix up with the handler's roster, because two of the dogs were let into Sam's room where they were kept for an hour and a half while they tried to find the correct room list. Castiel took note of the fact that the friendly furry animals seemed to have cheered up Sam greatly, and once he fell asleep (the antibiotics apparently had that as a side effect in some cases), Castiel went to check on the paperwork himself. He kept invisible to human eyes, and nodded congenially at the Reaper working the building, allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction when he felt a familiar demonic miasma around the clipboard. In case he needed more proof, Castiel also saw the familiar handwriting authorizing the new room to the added to the list under the name of D. Osbourne.

Dean never visited Sam while he was in the hospital. Soon after he was discharged, Dean learned from Cas that Sam was doing a salt-and-burn in Boston. Dean made himself swallow down the lump in his throat and think past the blade calling to him. He was able to almost mute the thing when he remembered their prank war in Texas those years ago, and the first time they met Gabriel.

Dean stood in front of Albert's Motor Inn (the first one in the phone book) and found a tired looking college kid manning the check in desk.

"Hey man, can you tell me which room my friend Jim Rothford is staying in?" he slid a fifty over to sweeten the deal, and the kid pointed him in the direction of room two forty. Sam was still using their old method of finding each other when they were separated.

There was nobody in the room, so Dean drove to the only bar close enough to walk back from (Sam was always a cautious drinker) and sat in the parking lot, thinking. If he was going to do this, he had better be sure that he would be able to keep a hold of himself. Dean was more than just a ball of rage and the Mark of Cain. Dean was made up of lots of things.

He was John Winchester's oldest son and the first Legacy of the Men of Letters. He was a damn good hunter and the chosen vessel of the first archangel Michael. Dean had been to Hell, Purgatory, Heaven, The Garden, and in every one of the lower forty-eight states of America. He was a decent dad to Ben, when he was still around, he was a big brother, and Dean knew every word to every Black Sabbath song ever. He could fight off this thing on his arm.

A couple of neighborhood kids were being annoying with their pansy skate tricks across the street, so Dean moved inside the bar. He sat in the corner and watched a group of coeds playing pool until a waitress came to take his drink order. There was a clump of noisy football fans by the jukebox, and Dean ignored them until one of them started a song that earned him jeers and snickers from his friends. It was an REO Speed Wagon song. One that reminded him of the Road House, and a girl with long blonde hair who wanted to hunt to be close to her dead father. If only she could see how far off the reservation he was now. . .

Come to think of it, Dean remembered the last time he had done something truly impossible. He had been more than ready to say yes to Michael, and had needed an intervention from Castiel. Then Sam had taken him along to confront Zachariah and rescue Adam. The only thing that had stopped Dean from giving up was looking over and realizing that he couldn't disappoint Sam anymore. And maybe Sam and Cas were the only ones Dean had now, but he still could remember the other people who had formed Dean's life, messed up though it had been. He didn't even like some of them, had been betrayed by more than one, but they were all part of the human side of Dean that he needed to remember and act on.

He reached down deep inside and pulled up John's determination, Mary's hope for the future, Bobby's gruff assurances of family, Castiel's desperation to do the right thing, even if he had no idea what it was, Ellen's motherly concern, Ash's frankness, Pamela's spunk, Rufus' loyalty, Caleb's sometimes spooky ability to pick up any weapon and master it, Andy's code of honor, Pastor Jim's goodness, Chuck's support no matter what the odds, Garth's off the wall humor, Charlie's quirky joy, Jodi's ability to keep her heart even in the darkness, Jo's spirit, Lisa's acceptance, Ben's wide eyed wonder and ability to bounce back, even Anna's love for humanity, Bela's snark, Hendrickson's sense of justice, Kevin's adaptability, and Sam's soul. He reached deep inside and pulled them each up to the surface, because if he was going to fight back this thing constantly trying to warp his soul, Dean was going to need everything he had to fight it off.

He needed all of them to be his armor. Once all of his walls were in place, Dean ordered his usual cheeseburger with onions, making sure to taste every bite. Sam came in about half an hour later. He was still a little disheveled, but it was obvious he had cleaned up the worst of the dirt and blood in the car. Sam kept his head down, not paying very much attention to his surroundings.

Once Sam seemed settled down with his bottle of beer, Dean stood silently and prowled behind his little brother. Then without warning, he projected his demonic aura, making Sam jump and swing around leading with a right hook to buy time to pull out the demon killing knife. Dean caught the fist before it made contact.

Dean's thoughts were whirling around in his head, but they didn't matter. Dean was different now, but that didn't matter either. All that mattered was that he was back where he belonged, and he remembered what made him who he was.

"Whoa, easy tiger."