It's like landing. That's not exactly accurate, but I don't know any other way to describe the sensation of angel-travel. First, you're wherever you are, then you aren't, then you feel the weight of yourself on your feet. Disconcerting, scary, a little exciting. It could come in handy in a pinch, but I'm not sure I like it. Especially when I see where we are. At this moment, I hate everything about the angels.

I've seen Dean afraid before. I've seen his eyes watch me be jumped from behind by a vampire. That was fear. I've seen his panicked energy to find Sam when his little brother disappeared with no explanation. That was fear. I saw his face when he heard the Hounds come for him. That was fear. The look he wears now, the rigidity with which he is suddenly holding himself, the light tremble I would never have noticed was I not already holding onto him - this is a new fear. This is totally unlike anything I have seen in him before.

"Stay here," he says low and husky, squeezing my hand, whether to assure me or himself I'm not sure. "Please, Jay. I mean it. Don't move."

"Okay," I agree, if only to relieve even a little bit of the anxiety in his eyes.

Dropping my hand, he walks slowly forward to look through a dirty wired window set in a dirty steel door. He changes immediately. No longer simply rigid, he is now fully alert, ready to defend himself from whatever lies beyond that door. And I know instantly what he sees.

"It's Alistair? It is, isn't it." Turning to Castiel without moving my feet an inch, I yell, "You brought him to Alistair? He said no. He said NO!"

"You will quiet yourself, girl," Uriel commands. Before I can tell him exactly what he can do with that tone of voice, Castiel speaks to Dean.

"This devil's trap is old Enochian," he explains, as if knowing the spell was written by angels makes any difference at all. "He is bound completely."

Dean continues to stare, still, silent. Taking a deep breath as if to steady himself, he finally turns away. "Fascinating. Where's the door?"

"Where are you going?" Castiel demands.

Striding purposefully back to me, he takes my arm. "I'm getting her the hell out of here. We're hitching back to Cheyenne, thank you very much."

"Angels are dying, boy," Uriel says, appearing in front of us.

"Everybody's dying these days. And, hey I get it. You're all powerful. You can make me do whatever you want. But you can't make me do this." Dean seeks out Cas, looking askance toward the only angel in the room that he trusts.

"This is too much to ask. I know. But we have to ask it." There is sadness in Castiel's words, though it is nearly covered by determination.

Frustrated, Dean says to Uriel, "I want to talk to Cas alone."

"Shall I take her with me?" he asks, slowly extending his hand to me.

Dean instantly pulls me behind him. Once I'm safely out of reach, he steps to the surly angel, stopping him with just the anger in his blazing green eyes. He speaks not a word; he doesn't have to.

"I'll go seek revelation. You're defiant, but brave. I think I'm beginning to like you, boy," he chuckles before disapparating, or whatever the hell that's called outside of Hogwarts.

"What's going on, Cas?" Dean questions the celestial being he was beginning to consider a friend, or at least a being he could trust. It's not like him to be subservient to Uriel. He has been the one in control in the past. Turns out, the Powers That Be are displeased with his display of human weakness. He had begun to feel protective toward Dean, and he was demoted for it.

While Dean is distracted with Castiel, I move closer to the door by inches. I feel... compelled. Like I can't control the pull. I HAVE to see through that window, I HAVE to look, to see him. Alistair. I don't feel called, not really. I just know that the greatest danger to Dean we have ever faced is beyond that steel barrier and I have to face it. I have to-

"Jane! Damn it, Jane, I told you not to move!"

He's grabbed me around the waist, heaving chest against my back, pulling air into panicked lungs. Dragging me back to where Castiel stands unmoving, he roughly spins me to face him, anger and fear shaping his actions.

"What the hell? I told you, damn it, I told you not to move. I can't get us out of here if I spend my time worrying that you're doing something stupid. Stand here. Right here. And do not move." His harsh words are tempered by now gentle hands framing my face. The worry in his expression pleading with me to understand. And I do.

Some women need to be convinced of every decision made in a relationship. Every choice has to be examined and debated. They want the long conversations and heart-to-heart discussions, complete with lists of pros and cons for any given situation. They need the outward expression of relationship equality. If I was that kind of woman, if I needed that, I could not be with Dean. It's just a fact. I understand that Dean is not ever going to be that guy. He just isn't, and I accepted that a long time ago.

I'm not setting feminism back because of that. He neither views me nor treats me as a damsel in distress, a modern-day Penelope Pitstop. Nor would I allow it. I hunt monsters with my man, for God's sake. He trusts me in a hunt, he trusts me to have his back, and, more significant to Dean, he trusts me to have Sammy's back. I pull my weight, and he expects me to. His life has always been dictated by outside forces, though, and he craves that feeling of control.

Some women need to be told what to do at every turn. They want a big, strong man to take the responsibility of making decisions from them. That's not me, either. If I needed that, Dean couldn't be with me. The kind of life we live does not allow for that kind of weakness. I have a big, strong man; but I have a big, strong mind, too, and we both expect me to use it.

I'm not emasculating Dean by being headstrong. I don't think it's possible to do that, quite frankly. He is very secure in who he is in that respect, and very proud of who I am. We play well off each other. He listens to my instincts on the road, counts on me to catch and complete any holes in Sam and Bobby's research, and when we're alone, he looks forward to the excitement we can always generate together.

But no matter how much he sees me as a strong, smart, tough, capable woman, when I am in real danger, he takes control. I can accept it or go home. He set his terms, and I agreed. And right now, I am in great danger and he can't send me home. He can't get to Sammy. He can't fight angels. And the cause of all of his worst nightmares is in the next room. Now is not the time to give him more to worry about.

"Okay, baby. I'm sorry. I'll stay right here with Cas."

He kisses me hard, connecting us. This closeness is just for us, a statement of his love, asking for my trust. He has it. He always has it.

"I don't have a choice, Jay," he tells me, begging me to understand. Asking for my blessing.

When he finally told Sam and me what was done to him in Hell, what it was really like, my heart broke all over again. The total devastation I felt when he was gone could not compete with the horrors he faced for forty years. Forty years. For longer than he'd drawn breath on this earth, he suffered in the darkest reaches of pain.

When he revealed what he had done to others, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't in any way equate my badass hero with the sadistic actions he described. His confession left me reeling. I'll admit it took me longer to accept the news than it did Sam. The little brother took in the news, digested it almost immediately, and moved on. But I had a hard time letting him touch me.

I'm not proud of that. I'm not proud of the fact that he needed me and I couldn't be what he needed, if even for the shortest time. I processed it within days, found my way back to the fact that this was Dean, that he was home, that he'd really had no other way to survive… Hell. He was in Hell, and no decision would have been good or easy or without consequence. It didn't change who he is, who he's always been. He's Dean, and that's enough. But he saw my struggle, and it hurt him. I can never make up for that.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, "I'm sorry."

"Dean, you do what you have to. Remember who you are, baby, and do what you have to do to get through it."

"I will try, so hard. I can't promise. This is, this is…" he's struggling so with his fear. Of what he has to do, what it will do to him.

"I'll be right here waiting for you." I kiss him, again and again. I'm trying to be strong for him now, like I couldn't be before. Like he always is for me. "I love you."

"I know. I love you."

He releases me and addresses Cas, who has been trying to be invisible.

"You do not want me doing this. Trust me."

"Want it? No. But I've been told we need it."

"You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out."

"For what its worth, I would give anything not to ask you to do this."

It isn't worth much.

Dean squares his shoulders, gives me one more look, and becomes someone I don't know.

A/N: Okay, don't hate Jane. Or me. In reality, I think it might take me a minute to deal with the whole torture revelation.

I feel like I might be walking down a well-worn path with the premise of this story, but I think my spin is worth exploring. Anyway, it won't leave me alone, so I don't have a choice. Let me know. Love it? Like it? Hate it? Share it!