There was light inside, so bright it hurt his eyes. Dean stood in place, struck blind, blinking wildly as his eyes tried to adjust to the sudden shock of light after hours spent in perpetual darkness.

Once his eyes adjusted, he found himself at the edge of a massive room. The ceiling stretched out above him, its curvature joining in the center around a massive skylight, painted in an intricate geometric pattern. The room was circled by dozens of arched doorways, the door Dean had stepped through just one of many. Sunlight poured in from them in bright streams, but Dean had no shadow, the floor marked only by the bright white tiles which spiralled inward toward the center without a sign that they'd ever been walked on, pure and immaculate. He glanced behind himself at the door he'd just come through and had to shield his eyes against the strength of the light, too bright to see through to the other side.

A throat cleared behind him, and Dean snapped his neck back to front and center. On the other side of the room was the creature. The sound it had made echoed in the massive space, though its feet made no noise as it glided across the room toward him. It moved with an inhuman ease, rolling and smooth, so effortless it seemed like it should have been moving at a snail's pace.

As it drew closer, Dean could see the colours of its features for the first time. Its long, hooked beak was tilted up proudly, bright red fading into black scales. It straightened itself up to its full height as Dean watched, the folds of its skin smoothing out with the motion. In its strange, alien head, its eyes—solid green against the black—shone bright and strangely human.

"Hello, Dean," it said. The thing's voice was low, but unmistakably feminine. It had a strange, raspy quality that reminded Dean of the talking parrot bits he'd seen on television, so familiar it had the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

"Aw shucks, you've heard of me," Dean snarked. He felt naked without a weapon, wished fervently for the Colt. Adrenaline had pushed back the nagging sense of fatigue, but it lurked at the corner of his awareness, waiting for him to falter so it could consume him.

The demon's features twisted, the beak cartoonish as it morphed into a sardonic smile. "Oh yes," she said, the rasp amping up. "The famous Dean Winchester— isn't that it? And you're wondering which stories I've heard, yes? Do I know you as the Hunter? The Seal? The Vessel? So many possibilities, yes."

Dean narrowed his eyes in an attempt to cover his confusion. "Seems you know a lot," he said, testing the waters.

The she-demon laughed. "More than you, dear one," she said. It wasn't right, mirth shining so obviously on an inhuman face.

Confusion shifted easily to aggression, and his lip curled up into an angry snarl. "So. You got me here. Are you going to get to the point, or are you just going to keep fucking around?" He hated that every fucking demon they met seemed to think it was some great joke to give him a pet name. Meg had squeezed every last vestige of fondness he'd ever had from Deano, and now this fucker thought it could use his MOM'S names against him? Not a fucking chance. "You wanted to talk to me, clearly. So talk."

The demon's head rotated sideways on its neck, farther than a human's bones would allow. "Down to business, is it? Before even learning my name?" she hummed. "Very well," she said. "This is the City of Dis. If you wish to continue, you will need to leave your brother behind." Her neck stayed craned, showing no sign of discomfort.

Goosebumps ran across Dean's skin, sending the hairs on his arms, hands and back standing upright. He smirked at the demon. "I'm not leaving my brother, dipshit. You'd better start trying harder if you're trying to pull one over on me."

She straightened her neck. "You won't even ask why?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't matter why," he said. "You obviously haven't heard much about me if you think I'd leave my brother behind on the word of a demon."

She didn't reply, considering his answer. "You are already separated from him now," she said, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. "You could continue forward— the next step is so close." She gestured behind herself as she spoke, and Dean could do nothing but watch dumbly as the room they were in changed.

The tiled floor heaved and fell abruptly, taking on the familiar shape of a sinkhole. The ground under Dean's feet trembled, and Dean scrambled back as the tiles at the center of the room fell inward. The hole grew, pieces of the floor dropping away from the center and tumbling into nothingness. There was no sound of breaking stone, no audible sign that it was happening at all; the hole just grew, silently. The floor shuddered again and with a great shuddering sound section of floor the demon was standing on dropped down an easy ten feet, removing her from his sight.

Dean snapped his head back and forth in a search for safety. The tiles under his feet moved, sliding through the mortar as though floating on water. Dean stayed light on his feet, practically hopping in order to stay upright.

Finally, the ground stilled. Dean's heartbeat throbbed loudly in his ears. He walked toward the edge where the floor dropped away, slowing as the demon's bald head came into view. She looked just the same, apparently undisturbed by her sudden drop. He stopped at the edge of the floor.

"You see?" she said, motioning toward the plunging hole the center of the room had become. "The last step on your journey is just a jump away." She was standing on a ledge the width of a sidewalk, which then dropped down again. Dean could see the pattern repeating on the other side of the hole, ledges dropping further and further down toward the center, the distance between each ledge and the next larger than the last.

Dean boggled at her. "Asking a bit much, aren't you? You lurk around like a freaked out groupie for a few days, and when you show up you ask that I abandon my brother in Hell to take a literal leap of faith into a hole in the ground you somehow managed to make? If you're trying to build some kind of trust to set me up later, you're doing a shit job of it."

She blinked her green eyes at Dean. "You haven't realized?" she asked, her voice bemused.

Dean hated it when they tried to sound human. "Realized what?"

She stepped up to the drop that separated them, reaching up high to curl her fingers over the corner of the floor. Dean had the sneaking suspicion if she'd had longer limbs she'd be trying to touch his foot. He leaned back but left his feet planted where they are; no matter how weird the bitch acted, he wasn't going to let her out of his sight.

The demon stared up at him, her eyes shining and bright. "That thing you're travelling with is not your brother, Dean."

"Dean!" Sam's voice echoed suddenly through the room, bouncing down the depths of the hole, filling it with echoes of Dean's name.

Dean didn't turn to look for his brother— Sam's voice was too quiet for him to be close and held the empty quality that Dean knew meant Sam was at least a floor away, if not outside the building completely. Moreover, he knew better than to turn his attention away from the enemy. "In here!" he yelled out, just in case his brother had managed to reach the citadel.

The sound of footsteps rang through the room, growing steadily closer.

"You need to listen to me," the vulture-demon said, filled with a sudden haste. Its voice was strange in its anxiety, more inhuman with the rise of stress. "That thing is not your brother, and if you stay with it, you will never reach your goal."

Sam's voice called out Dean's name again, tight and near-panicked. "Dean!" He was closer than before, his voice ringing out more clearly; definitely inside now, but not coming from behind, as though he'd come through a different doorway than Dean.

"I'm not going to listen to your bullshit," Dean said, settling himself with barely a thought. "You slime balls have been trying to play the 'Sam's evil' card for months, but I know my brother and there's not an evil bone in his body."

Dean's words seemed to shock the demon. "Are you so blind?" she asked, almost to herself. "The two of you have faced down the apocalypse— can you not see the thing you were travelling with is nothing more than a shade?" Dean didn't like how the demon kept talking about shit that had never happened. No matter how you sliced it, he and Sam had never been through an apocalypse. The demon rose onto whatever it had for toes, rocking up an extra few inches, her clawed fingers almost able to touch the tip of his boot.

"Demons lie," Dean said, an automatic reaction. It reassured him to say the words out loud, a reminder to both himself and the thing in front of him.

She sighed. "Except for when the truth will do more damage," she said, finishing the thought, and lowered her hands.

Dean scoffed. "Please. We're in Hell; you've got the head of a bird and the talons to match. Really, you things should at least try to be believable. Looking human might have helped."

The demon looked down, and the feathers around its neck swayed despite the lack of breeze. She raised her head and met Dean's gaze. "My form reflects the damage done to my spirit," she said, voice quiet and sure. "But do not think that inhuman means demon here, anymore than having a body signals a soul."

Sam burst through one of the doors across the room, divided from Dean by the giant sinkhole. "Dean!" he cried, his relief palpable in his voice.

The long-familiar tightness of being separated from Sam faded with his brother's entrance. "Over here, Sam!" he called back.

Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam inspected the great well that divided them and came upon the dark form of the she-demon. "You okay there, Dean?" he asked, tension clear in his voice.

The demon cast a look filled with anger and, to Dean's confusion, grief, at his brother. "You cannot go through this place, Sam," she said, voice strangely sad.

Sam narrowed his eyes and jumped to the first level down, the same one the demon stood on. He moved forward silently, unafraid despite the complete lack of cover provided by the bare ground. "I seem to be going through just fine," Sam said, eyes locked on the demon.

Dean moved a handful of steps closer to Sam and dropped himself down to the ledge, making sure to stay out of the demon's reach.

The demon's bare skull shone under the bright lights of the room, glinting brightly as she turned her head back and forth, looking from Dean to Sam and back again. "You have both forgotten," she said, and locked her gaze on Dean. "You have forgotten why you are here, and your faith has forged you the perfect distraction in him."

"You need to stop talking now," Dean said, listening intently for the sound of Sam's approach. Sam's movements were deliberately loud as he stepped hard into the ground so Dean could track him without looking away from their enemy.

Sam scraped his foot against the tile as he got within arm's reach and stepped into place at Dean's side. He took the side closer to the edge, little fucker— probably could tell Dean wasn't going to be getting any closer to the edge than he had to. He was done with falling off shit in this place.

"You okay?" Dean couldn't help but ask, unable to give Sam his typical inspection.

"Fine," Sam said, voice as quiet as Dean's. "She must have figured out our plan— I never even saw her once I doubled back."

Dean grunted in acknowledgment. "Well?" he asked the demon. "You have anything to say to my brother? Try to separate the two of us— maybe you'll just jump down the nice big hole and hope we'll follow you?"

The demon's expression was strange, shifting from a hungry longing as she looked at Sam to resignation and dismissal. The fact that her emotions were so clear, so distinct, despite the inhuman face, was annoying as hell. "It would do me no good to go through to the next plane on my own," she said. "Just as it would do you no good to attempt to go through accompanied by that."

Sam reared back as though struck. "I'm human," he grit out, defensive and angry.

"You are nothing," the demon hissed at him, eyes flashing. The feathers around her neck shivered. "You are a lie, a mockery of Sam Winchester." Her eyes flicked to Dean and narrowed. "A better mockery than most," she acknowledged, then trailed off and stared at Dean.

The demon was close, practically pressed up against him, faster than Dean could blink. He reared back, but not before her clawed hand snapped forward to plunge into his left jacket pocket.

Sam yelled in warning and moved forward, hand outstretched, but had barely lifted his open hand before she darted under his arm and plunged her hand, clenched around something, into his chest.

"No!" Dean shouted, barely paying attention to the demon as she drew her empty hand back out of Sam's chest. There was no hole where her hand had done in; no rip in his shirt. Before Dean had a chance to react, Sam fell to his knees, face broken open. He flickered, like a ghost, and black cracks spread out from the center of his chest, over his clothes as though he were a marble statue. The demon gripped Dean's wrist between her clawed fingers, but Dean was frozen even without the grip. The cracks spread across Sam's body, until he looked like a sun-damaged painting come to life.

"Dean?" he asked, as the cracks reached his face. A piece of his cheek fell to the floor and cracked, and then the lines across Sam's body exploded, taking his brother with him. Dean stared. All that was left of Sam was a pile of broken shards on the floor.

Dean turned his eyes on the demon and knew the broken pieces of his brother were reflected in his eyes. "What did you just do?" he asked, completely numb. "What did you do?"

The demon released his wrist and stepped back over to the pile of debris that used to be Dean's brother. The pieces had somehow lost their distinctive shapes, and the pile now held nothing that looked like it could have once been part of a human body— they were featureless, blank white pieces of ceramic. She crouched down, her long robe pooling around her, and shifted the pile. It took her only a moment to find what she was looking for, and she drew it out gently, so the pile was undisturbed.

She held out her finding to Dean, and it took a moment for the item on her palm to register with Dean. It was the lodestone Sam had given him after he woke up from the river.

"This was the focal point that mirage used to fine-tune his illusion," she said softly, stroking over the smooth black edges. "He used your own memories, your own beliefs, to fool you." She handed it to him and drew back so his fingers wouldn't touch her claws. It didn't feel the same; it was light, now, and inert. His nerves screamed with remembered static, but it was nothing more than the ghost of a memory.

Dean felt sick. It was too much; his thoughts couldn't process. Sam was gone; worse, had never been here. "Where is he?"

The demon looked up at him, expression deliberately blank.

"My brother— where. Is. He?" Dean dropped the rock and moved forward to grip the she-demon's arm in a firm grip; he could feel the bones in her arm, brittle and thin. Dean wasn't in the mood for games. His work had just doubled— he still had to find Dad and now he had to find Sam, too.

She tugged her arm loose without any sign of effort. "That is a complicated question."

"I'm ready for a complicated answer," Dean challenged, voice firm.

The demon shook her head. "It will need to wait." The low sound of wind started running through the room, emerging from the pit as a wail. "It's time."

Dean didn't trust her. Didn't trust her convenient arrival, her oh-so helpful knowledge, the fact that Sam was gone because of her. But he didn't need to trust her to know she was right. The only way forward was down. He shivered, and distracted himself with a nicety he didn't usually bother with when it came to demons. "What is your name, then?" he asked.

"Aset," she replied, and cupped her hand around his elbow, leading him to the edge. "Yes, my name is Aset."

She used her grip on his elbow to send him tumbling off the edge and into the abyss.

oOo

It wasn't a fall. Dean forced himself to remain aware as the world changed around him this time, and it didn't feel anything like falling. The light from above shrunk down to one incredibly bright, cold point of light; Dean passed through it and its freezing light seemed to reach into the very depths of him, but without the comforting numbness cold was meant to bring.

He hadn't realized he had closed his eyes, but he opened them to the feeling of his soul thawing even as the rest of him froze; the air of this place could put out a new patent on the concept of cold. Dean shivered and struggled with his rapidly freezing fingers to button his coat. His breath fogged on the air and turned immediately to snow, which fell lightly to the ground below.

For the first time since he had arrived in Hell, there was something to see in the sky. It was a star, bright and beautiful, hanging low over the horizon. Directly beneath it there were two massive, hulking structures, too irregular to be buildings, erupting out of a black lake. Their shadows, cast into definition by the star, stretched out all the way across the water to the shore.

Dean knew better than to look behind him for the city— if Hell had taught him nothing else, it was that there was no going back. Instead, he focused his attention on the water in front of him. It was utterly motionless, as though the surface had never been stirred into waves.

"Come," Aset said as she walked to the edge of the lake. "Lost souls don't rescue themselves, and if you remain here too long you will come to harm." She sounded far too cheery to be walking around the deepest level of Hell.

Dean was about to protest going into the lake— the water in Hell had done him no favours so far— but shut his mouth when Aset stepped onto the water, rather than into it.

"There's no need to worry, Dean. This lake has been frozen for hundreds of years." Her strange, birdlike voice was deeper than usual, and Dean realized she was laughing at him.

He poked at the edge of the water with his boot and found, despite its clarity, that she was right— it was completely frozen. He stepped onto the ice slowly. It wasn't like any frozen lake he'd walked on before— the only snow came from his breath, while the ice had frozen clear. In the distance the lake looked black, but he could see what was underneath his feet, like he was walking on an invisible road. He could see faint, unmoving outlines of creatures in the water, though it was too dark to make out any details.

They were headed toward the hulking masses in the center of the lake. "What are they?" Dean asked.

Aset shot him an indecipherable look over her beak. "Those are angels."

Dean stopped in place. "What? Those— they're huge!" Angels aren't real, he didn't say. Angels didn't belong in Hell, he didn't say.

Aset nodded her agreement, but didn't stop. "These are their true forms. On earth, they possess the bodies of the faithful."

"What are they doing here?" he asked, eyes glued to the angels, even as he hurried to catch up. His mind veered away from the significance of the angels, trapped down here in Hell forever with the rest of them. He didn't believe in God; there was no way he'd let himself fall back into that old, familiar rage.

Aset tilted her head to the side, considering him. "The one under the star is Lucifer," she said, off hand. "He has been here for... a long time. The other is Michael. He came with your brother." She paused. "It's a long story."

Dean let himself digest that for a moment. "And let me guess— you're not going to tell it to me."

There was no reply from the demon. She had frozen, eyes fixed on something ahead. Her beak opened and she drew in a deep, shuddering breath before she burst into a sprint.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, chasing after her.

The ice wasn't hard to run on; it should have slid out from under the tread of Dean's boots, but it was just as easy to run on the surface of the lake as on a freshly paved road. The good conditions didn't do him any good; the distance between him and the demon rapidly grew.

A loud, keening wail made its way to Dean's ears over the lake and he slapped his hands over them in an attempt to block out the sound. "What the fuck are you doing?" Dean yelled.

Aset ignored him, and the wail continued, spreading across the open air of the lake like a fog. It petered out when Aset fell to her knees near the base of one of the (angels)structures. As he got closer, the sound of ice being chipped— clawed— away reached his ears.

His steps slowed into silence, hunter-quiet. Any time a monster acted so out of character it meant trouble, and Dean didn't want to be caught in the backlash.

Dean waited for a change, but when Aset just kept digging at the ice, he edged closer. "Aset? You okay?" he asked, circling around. Aset wasn't totally crazy— there was definitely something down there in the ice, past what his eyes could make out, the clear surface having been scratched to white opacity.

There was no answer; despite the shards of broken talons discarded near the pit she had dug, Aset didn't stop. A few drops of blood splashed out on the ice from Aset's claws and froze on the surface on contact with the ice, lifting off from the ice like grotesque pieces of confetti.

Dean wasn't expecting it when, with a loud crack, the ice beneath Aset came apart, a fissure snapping out past Dean and off toward the center of the lake. Dean jerked back from it with a start as a huge puff of steam rose from the crack, expanding through the air and turning to snow. The snow fell down around the pair of them, clinging like crystals to Aset's feathers and catching in Dean's own eyelashes.

The ice had parted to reveal a head in the ice.

"Jesus Christ!" Dean shouted, jumping back. It was the head of a kid, strangely familiar. Short cropped hair frosted with snow, blue eyes, frozen and staring up into Aset's face, beseeching her as though she could save him. The skin was sunken and dried, like a well-preserved mummy. Dean's eyes snapped to his feet and the shadows hidden within the ice— people, he realized with a sickening lurch. Those were people, frozen beneath the ice. "Is this where all the souls in Hell go?" he demanded, voice shaking.

"It's not him," Aset sighed to herself, and then louder, "No." She caressed the sharp cheekbone, expression clearing to a more general sorrow. She shivered and snow fell from her feathers. She breathed in deeply and came back to herself. She looked back over her shoulder and the silhouette of her red beak against their surroundings did the same for Dean, giving him a point to focus on. "This place is reserved for betrayers— Lucifer made it his own, and his nature traps those he ranks next to himself."

Dean's eyes tracked back to the head; disturbingly, the thing had started leaking tears, which froze on contact with the air, crusting over the eyes with a thin film of ice as clear as the lake water. "Is my dad down here, then?"

Aset tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at Dean, then shook her head. The feathers around her thin, leathery neck swayed silently with the movement. "I told you— what that thing pretending to be your brother told you was a lie. John isn't here, Dean. He's never been here. You've been sent on a wild goose chase."

Rage exploded inside him like a switch had been flipped. "Then what the FUCK am I even doing in Hell?" Dean demanded. He clenched his hands into fists, hoping to hide their shaking— it didn't matter if it were from anger, he would not show weakness.

Aset's too-green eyes looked at him, sad. "You're here looking for the one you lost," she said gently.

"The only one I've lost is my dad!" Dean couldn't stand this ambiguous bullshit anymore. "Unless you're saying I'm here after— after my mom, then you're just a lying sack of shit. How do I know my brother isn't still back in the city, waiting for me?"

Dean's words seemed to startle Aset; she blinked at Dean without answering for a few long, drawn out moments before she said, "The thing travelling with you was never your brother— but it did tell you one truth. You did cross the River Lethe. As you did, your memories flowed away with its waters."

Despair rose in his mind and coated his thoughts in a filthy, depressing film. "If you can tell me that, why won't you just answer me? What. Am I. Doing here?"

Aset sighed, a strange huff of breath puffed out from her beak. "You came here for your brother, Dean— for Sam."

Dean froze. "Sam's dead?" he managed, voice strangled. That little phrase contained every nightmare he'd ever had, the horrid potential outcome of every mistake he'd ever made. It meant that no matter what he'd ever hoped to achieve, he was a failure. Utterly, profoundly— a failure.

"Not anymore," Aset said. She reached out toward Dean's face as though to comfort him and Dean let her, desperate for her words to be true. "His body is back on Earth— you're here for his soul."

"What happened?" Dean asked. His chest felt carved out, set adrift without a purpose.

Aset shook her head. "That is a long story that doesn't need telling— you'll remember once you've returned."

Dean's eyes sharpened. "How do you know that?" he demanded.

She smiled. "I've been watching you since you arrived," she said, voice low. "The effects of the Lethe are enhanced inside this place." She laughed, and the sound was bitter. "Leaving this cage has a price. Its nature has been so corrupted that leaving it comes with a guarantee that you'll have access to anything and everything that could turn a soul dark."

"Cage?" Dean asked, eyebrows snapping together. "Must be the shittiest cage in the world; demons are clawing their way out of here twenty-four seven." He looked around the lake they were on, and the empty horizon seemed suddenly much closer. A wave of dizziness ran through Dean and he blinked it away in irritation. He'd thought he'd be done with the wooziness after he ditched the lodestone, but apparently not.

Aset's eyes warmed and the red beak reshaped itself into that same cartoonish smile. "Demons don't escape from here, Dean. Nothing has ever escaped. You're either released, or you stay. This is not the Hell your demons know, that they try so desperately to avoid. This place is more than a cage— it's a box, taped up tight and left behind the day you move. Once, a long time ago, this place," she waved her hand at the lake, the towering angels frozen above their heads, "was all there was to Hell. But once God dropped out of the picture, the angels needed a place to put the demons where they wouldn't have the chance for escape." She laughed, and it was a bitter, harsh sound. "They haven't had much use for it in the last few hundred years. Now, they mostly let it stay empty."

Dean's gaze sharpened. "Then how did you get here?"

All the mirth fled from her eyes. "They put me here to stop me from interfering," she said, voice bitter. "I was too much of a risk for the angels' plans— knew too much, was willing to do too much. They wanted me out of the picture." She puffed a breath through her nostrils, and the moisture from her breath spewed out like steam from a dragon.

"What was so special about you, then?" Dean asked, the idea of this— creature— being so dangerous that even the angels wanted her out of the way setting his teeth on edge. For a demon, she seemed pretty normal.

Aset stood up from her crouch and struck off toward the pillars again. "My children are children of prophecy. The angels believed I would hold too strong an influence on them— that I would interfere."

A laugh burst out of Dean, sudden and loud in the dead air. "Seems to me they knew what they were talking about— look at me. You said you've been watching me since I arrived, and that I believe. You practically herded me here. What I want to know is why?"

Aset didn't answer; Dean moved into arm's reach, arm extended to grab her arm, when she raised it to point toward the distance. "That's what you've been searching for, Dean: the way out."

Frustration welled within him at the lack of answer but Dean turned his attention to where Aset had pointed him.

The angels themselves were the same pure, desolate black as the sky, and might have been completely invisible but for the star shining down on them. Looking closely, Dean could see that there was no ice between them; the water was still smooth as glass, but conveyed a sense of movement beneath the surface, as though there were fast running currents just out of sight. The air, empty as it was, somehow struck Dean as turbulent. It gave off a feeling of great heat, as though it was moments from igniting.

Dean dragged his eyes back to Aset. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he said quietly. "You say I came here for Sam— you BROUGHT me here for Sam— and now you want me to leave without him?"

Aset didn't remove her gaze from the water. "You won't be leaving without him, Dean— you found him within hours of your arrival." She shrugged. "The two of you are linked by more than blood, by more than destiny. This place was constructed to keep things out, and in— but within its boundaries it has little influence over the inhabitants. That construct who accompanied you was meant to be a distraction; it had no power beyond its mimicry."

Bullshit. "Sam isn't here. You think I'm so blind I'd just forget that?"

Aset turned to face Dean and stepped into Dean's personal space. It was all the more disturbing for how little it rankled Dean's instincts. He kept a close eye on her talons as she reached out and smoothed the line of his jacket, tracing the seam down until her hand reached his pocket. She reached inside; it should have felt invasive, but... didn't.

She stepped back, the bird skull Dean had dug out of the mud held delicately in her hand. She used her left hand to bring Dean's right hand forward, and pressed the skull into his palm. She cupped her hands around it and bent down to kiss the seam of her fingers, and there was a flash of light. When she drew back her hands, Dean was holding a tiny bird.

It was a robin, its breast proud and red. It shook itself, and its feathers puffed at the motion; it hopped off of Dean's hand onto his wrist and then burst into flight, circling Dean's head before landing on his shoulder.

It chirped at him, sudden and loud next to his ear. The sound of its song spread across the lake, and a warmth filled Dean's chest. It was the same feeling he got when he fell asleep listening to Sam's breathing, constant and sure.

Dean twisted his neck to look directly at the bird on his shoulder, close enough his eyes almost crossed. "This is Sammy?" he said, dumbly.

"Yes," Aset said, eyes glued to the robin's— to Sam's— tiny form. She seemed smaller than before, her voice weak and thready. "Not like you knew him," she said, eyes snapping to Dean's suddenly. "He has been here for too long to leave unscathed. This," she pointed a long, black nail at the bird, "is an avatar. He could not stand against the power of this place— no one can, for long— and it reshaped him even as it consumed him. The morning star's light has tainted this place long enough that everything succumbs to it eventually. Your brother's transformation was accelerated; Lucifer held him in too high a regard, gave him too much attention, to allow for anything else."

"I don't understand," Dean said, turning his attention back toward his bird-shaped brother. "If I've had him this whole time, what was the point in all of this?"

Aset put her hand on Dean's other shoulder, manoeuvring him in the direction of the angels. They loomed above them, so tall that trying to see their tops gave him vertigo. "Your brother's shade would not have let you leave. This is the only way for you— you, who have no powers of your own— to leave this place."

"You're full of shit, you know that?" Dean said tiredly, though he went with the press of her hand.

Aset laughed. "It doesn't matter what I tell you, Dean. You won't remember this place, or me."

Dean stepped away from her at that, and glared. "If I'm not going to remember, why not tell me the truth?" he snapped.

Aset's green eyes were sad and too knowing. "Because I will remember you, Dean. I don't get to leave, and if I tell you, I'll have your horror as our last memory together."

That wasn't comforting at all. "Then why don't you come with me?" It was a more appealing thought than Dean would have expected. Despite her gruesome appearance, Dean felt a connection to Aset, like some part of him recognized her as a kindred spirit. "You were a hunter, weren't you? You could come with me."

Sadness turned to tears at the corner of Aset's eyes. "I wish I could." She rested the back of a claw gently against Dean's forehead. "But I can't leave this place any more than those monsters up there could," she said, indicating the angels. "Your brother came here by accident; he wasn't meant to stay. I'm bound to this place, now. I can never leave."

Dean didn't believe it. "I think that's bullshit," he said quietly. He pushed Aset away from himself with a firm hand.

Aset considered him, and smiled at Sam as he released a sharp chirp, hopping in place on Dean's shoulder. "What do you see when you look between the angels, Dean?" she said, voice soft.

Dean frowned, and looked back at the melted water between the two figures. "I see water."

She nodded. "And I see ice. You came here on your own, if not under your own power. You will leave the same way."

Sam burst into flight from Dean's shoulder and flew toward the angels, the chirp of his song overly-loud in the silence. Aset laughed. "Thank you, Sam— no, he won't be leaving alone."

Dean couldn't find his sense of humour on this subject. "You're going to spend eternity trapped here," he said. "If Lucifer's focus on Sam turned him into this, you'll be following in his steps soon. The devil's not going to be happy about having one of his toys taken away."

"The process has already begun," she said. She shook out her feathers and traced a claw along the scales of her neck. "I didn't always look like this, you know."

Her green eyes dug into Dean. "I know," he said. Again, "I know that. Would it hurt just to try?"

Aset tilted her head at him, the motion matching too-closely with her birdlike appearance. Her eyes crinkled into a smile. "You aren't the type to ask favours, are you, Dean?" She held out her hand, and Sam landed on it for a brief moment, chirped, and hopped back to Dean's shoulder with a flutter of wings. "I will try. For you, I can try."

The ice didn't weaken as they approached the massive forms of the angels. The air grew colder, and Sam tucked his feathery body against Dean's neck, quiet but for the occasional chirp. It was comforting; the small amount of body heat Sam gave off was the only place Dean's skin didn't feel cold.

The edge of the water was a sharp, dividing line, just as defined as the line between the horizon and sky. Dean looked into the water and shivered. He turned his face into the light press of Sam's feathers against his neck, breathing in the strangely human scent the bird managed to give off. "You're no penguin," he said. "Think you'll be able to survive a bit of water?"

Sam chirped and jumped down from Dean's shoulder, tiny claws grasping the lapels of his coat. He squeezed himself into the space between Dean's jacket and his shirt and let out a happy trill.

Aset let out a high-pitched call of her own; it was unlike what Dean had come to know of her voice in every way, instead completely that of a bird. The air shivered. Dean had the impression the angels bracketing them were suddenly paying a whole lot more attention.

The sense of focus was no lie; slowly, as though each movement took a massive effort, the creatures which had been standing so still rumbled to life. They stretched, and Dean craned his neck up and could just make out the three pairs of wings they spread wide, as though they could envelop the world.

"Which one is that?" Dean shouted over the sound of wind stirred by the hulking Beasts' wings.

Aset laughed, the sound high and hopeful. "Does it matter?" she yelled out.

Two heavenly figures, both cast out from their home— no, Dean didn't think it mattered which one he was supposed to hate, they both deserved to rot for what they'd done to his family. "It doesn't," he said quietly.

He ran his hand down the lump against his chest where Sam rested, and smiled as Sam let out a quiet chirp.

The dark waters began to move faster, enough so that the artificial calm of the surface was broken by waves. Dean crushed the feeling of vertigo looking into the dark caused and took a deep breath. He looked behind him and met Aset's eyes. "Meet you on the other side," he said and forced a roguish smile onto his face.

Aset's green eyes shone with inner joy. "Always," she said quietly.

Dean guided Aset to the edge of the water she couldn't see, and gripped her hand in his own. They dove into the water together

and the water washed everything away.

oOo

"Wake up, Dean."

Dean opened his eyes to find Death staring him in the face. "Woah!" he breathed out, jerking back with enough force to topple his chair and landed hard on the floor. He glared at Death from between his legs. "Think you could warn a guy next time?"

Death raised an eyebrow at Dean and steepled his long, thin fingers together. "Many people have asked me to give them advance notice of my presence," he said, voice smooth as the inside of a coffin. "Let me assure you— knowing I'm coming does not make my presence any less surprising." He smiled. "People just don't want to believe I'm really waiting for them."

Dean swung his legs off the chair before sitting upright; he set the chair back on its legs, a few feet farther back than it had been, and sat down. Death watched his actions with endless patience. "You did quite well, Dean. I must say, I'm impressed."

Crossing his arms, Dean scowled. "Did well at what?"

Death raised his eyebrows. "Maybe not so well, after all." He fell silent and spent a moment considering Dean's expression. "Tell me— what IS the last thing you remember?"

It was a good question. Before Death's voice woke him up, Dean had been— somewhere else. Somewhere cold, if the lingering chill was any indication. "You were going to give me a chance to save Sam," he said. The memory of that conversation with Death wasn't fresh. It was faded, the details— the exact ebb and flow of their conversation— gone with the passage of time.

Time Dean couldn't remember.

"Hmmmm." Death spent a moment staring into Dean's eyes, his gaze grey and unwavering. "The particulars of that dimension have always been a bit strange," he said as though to himself. "It's created a mythology entirely unique but endlessly repeated— tell me, Dean. Did you go swimming while you searched for your brother?"

"Yes," Dean said, the answer torn out from someplace deep inside him. He didn't remember swimming. He didn't remember shit, except for Death offering Dean a way out of the clusterfuck he'd made of his family. "Does that mean— did I get him out?" Dean couldn't mask the desperate hope in his voice no matter how hard he tried.

Death tilted his head at Dean, the expression all-too-familiar after too much time spent in the company of angels. "What's in your coat, Dean?" he asked, apropos of nothing.

Dean knew better than to question Death. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, and turned them out so Death could see the lining. "I don't have my brother in my pockets. Obviously."

Death's expression shifted to the faintly annoyed look Dean had become too familiar with from one of the cornerstones of the universe. "Inside your jacket, Dean— close to your heart." He reached out and laid his hand on Dean's chest over his heart.

Dean shivered and scooted his chair back, out of arm's length. Death didn't withdraw his hand, but let it trail down the front of Dean's coat until it was entirely out of his reach. Death was a creepy fucker no matter how you sliced it.

Nevertheless, Dean slipped his right hand into the fold of his jacket and felt around, awkward as he groped at himself. He moved to withdraw, and something sharp poked at the back of his hand. Dean tried to trace its outline and failed, so he yanked his hand out and stripped out of his jacket, feeling for the bump over the left breast. He yanked his knife out of his boot and made quick work of the lining; one quick, easy slice was all it took.

His amulet shone at him from inside his jacket, achingly familiar. "Oh," he said, quietly. He lifted it out from between the torn fabric, the leather thong darkened with his own sweat, worn from his own hardships.

"It's just an avatar, of course," Death said. He lifted the amulet easily out of Dean's numb grip and clenched his fist around it; Dean had to look away as light shone out from between Death's fingers, painfully bright. He bent down and carefully opened his Doctor's bag with his left hand, and dropped the shining thing into the bag. "Your real amulet now belongs to a young Mexican girl whose mother found it in the trash."

Dean stared at the bag, filled with a desperate longing to see that light, to have it back, because that was Sammy's soul, brighter than the sun and infinitely more beautiful. "So he's gonna be alright?"

Death snapped the bag shut, the click strangely final. "As alright as he can hope to be," he said. "Now, Dean— I'm a very busy man. It's time for you to wake up."

oOo

Dean opened his eyes and found himself in Bobby's house. Death was notably absent.

A bird trilled outside the window, strange and out of place in a junkyard. It sent a flare of hope through Dean's heart but he turned away when Bobby's yell burst through the halls.

He pushed himself to his feet and forced himself to head toward the basement. He didn't know what he would do if Sam didn't come back to himself. He stalked down the steps toward the panic room on silent feet, ready as he could be for whatever was on the other side.

The birds kept singing. Their songs rang hollow, then unheard, as Dean went in search of his brother.

Fin.

Originally posted on my LJ here: .

See thanks and acknowledgements there. :)