Hopefully the length of this chapter will make up for my neglect of the story - sorry, been really busy! Hope everyone had a good Easter break :)

WARNING: While not explicit, there is some language and situations that are associated with rape (ei; lack of control, no consent etc.) If you're not comfortable with that, feel free to skip to the last part of the chapter.

PART 1 - Chapter VII: 'Lights Will Guide You Home'

DEAN POV

Sam and Macy were as white as ghosts, I would know. Their skin was ashen, though Macy's more so than Sam's. I'd stopped the blood flow as best I could with some cloth above and on the wounds, but she'd been lying in a pool of it before I'd even gotten to her. With the pair of them lying motionless on either side of me in the back of a pick-up truck we'd stolen, I felt exhausted. It would be a miracle if they both made it through this. Sam, I had more faith in because he'd pulled through earlier on. Macy though… she was more fragile, less durable.

"We have to take her to a hospital. Sam too, even. Maybe they've got something that can fix him." Bobby suggested from his position in the driver's seat. It was a particularly dark night now, the moon hidden behind a thick layer of cloud so that the road ahead seemed endless. The lights of the truck barely revealed a few feet in front of us.

"No," I replied after a moment's thought. "They'll be watching. We can't risk it. Besides, they won't have anything for Sam, this isn't something they can bandage up. Macy… she's alive. She's breathing. When we get her back we'll give her a transfusion. You've still got that O type blood stashed away, right?"

Bobby nodded and clenched his hands tighter on the steering wheel in a rare sign of stress from the old man. "You sure about this?"

I wasn't. But going to a hospital, especially one anywhere near that place, was suicide. The angels and demons would know we were banged up pretty bad, that Macy was dying, and that Sam was in some sort of comatose state, so they'd assume we would get medical attention. I was not in the mood to put up with those sons of bitches one more time tonight.

"I'm sure." I replied with all the confidence I could muster.

It was a long drive. We barely spoke, and when we did it was about the fastest way back home and to check on Sam and Macy's condition. Sam's pulse remained steady and even, though Macy's was slow and slightly erratic. I couldn't let her die. She'd been tortured for the past few days, by Crowley no less, and she still managed to get up and attempt to help me back there. She could have slipped away unnoticed, but Raphael had sliced her up like a Thanksgiving Turkey.

"You two are gonna pull through," I told them under my breath. "Can't be dragging your lazy asses around like this forever."

It was all too much, but I couldn't think, couldn't see straight until we were back at Bobby's and Sam was walking and talking again. I wouldn't be able to deal with this without him.

We made it back in record time and I thanked God, or whoever else was out there, that we didn't run into any cops or angels out gunning for us. Bobby's driving could probably have out-driven them anyway.

Bobby's house was eerily silent and I did a quick recon to make sure there wasn't anyone waiting inside for us. It was empty and dark. I flipped the lights on as we went in, first dragging Sam down to the cot in the safe house, where we knew he would be 100% angel and demon proof even if we weren't there, and then hauling Macy's body in carefully, placing her on the old, moth eaten bed in the front room.

As Bobby set up the transfusion, I checked on Sam. By all accounts he looked completely normal, a few scratches from the last few hours of being Raphael's punching bag, but healthy if it weren't for his pallor. I propped his head up on a pillow and left a bottle of water by the bed, just in case we got lucky and he popped up shiny and fresh. He probably wouldn't, but hey, weirder things had happened.

"How's it going?" I asked Bobby as I entered the front room once more.

"Good, looks like she's accepting the blood."

It was a weird sight, a woman here in Bobby's house, lying all small and broken on the bed with a blood bag all that stood between her and death. The guilt came in, familiar and unwelcome, that we had put her in the firing line to be snatched up by Cas, had taken him to see her in the first place. But I shook the thoughts off; they'd have found her anywhere, and here in Bobby's house was the safest place around for miles.

MACY POV

You know that feeling the day after a long workout, or a run, when you've just woken up and you feel fine, right up until you start moving? Your bones and your muscles and every other inch of you just aches and pulls and feels all wrong on your body, but you soldier through it because it feels like you've accomplished something at least? Like the pain was worth it? Well, my body felt like that multiplied by a hundred, except I was having a hard time remembering why it was worth it.

"Take it easy, you're weak. The cuts weren't as deep as they could have been but, you lost a lot of blood." Bobby's voice, though I'd only known him for a very short time, was a comfort to me. Anything before the past few days meant safety and I clung to it.

My head was groggy and the sunlight from the window hurt my eyes, but I turned to give Bobby a nod of thanks. I noticed a strange stand next to my bed with an almost empty bag of red liquid. "You always have spare blood bags lying around?"

Bobby shrugged and I could see the relief in his eyes that I was in apparent good spirits. I didn't feel that way but distracting myself was the best I could do at that point. "Doesn't hurt. Mostly use it for rituals, spells and weapons."

"Right," I smiled, thinking how strange that would have sounded to me a few weeks ago.

"From now on you have a strict diet of orange juice, water, and more orange juice. Blood isn't easy to come by so you've got to make your own from now on, got it? No more stealin' from my supply." Bobby ordered gruffly.

I gave a weak laugh. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Bobby left, leaving me with a glass of orange juice and some slightly burnt but otherwise delicious toast. It made a world of difference as soon as it hit my stomach and I felt well enough to stand up and take note of what exactly was going on with my body beneath my covers. Tattered clothes, once more, a myriad of bruises and cuts, but otherwise fine.

I remembered I'd been healed after the first round of abuse so that the angel could continue to torture me for more information. Of course, she hadn't gotten that chance but the first interrogation had been enough… There were two vertical bandages covering each of my arms, from wrist to elbow, and I knew that had I been on the verge of dying once again before Dean had stopped the flow of blood. People with those kinds of wounds didn't last long.

I shook my head from my morbid thoughts and headed for the shower. My legs were shaky, but they held me up, which was enough for me. I kept my arms out of the spray, but it still stung my cuts as the warm water washed the liters of blood from my body and untangled my hair. There wasn't much I could do without the use of my hands, but I was just happy to feel the warmth and cleanliness of the water. The routine of washing my body was soothing to me, a mindless activity that kept my thoughts from straying to things that were much more unpleasant.

The next few days were torturously slow. More often than not I would wake up in bed at night in a cold sweat, having recalled memories of Crowley's face as he sliced up my abdomen, showing me my insides and smiling at me as though he enjoyed it. At one point, he'd switched to drilling into my skull. I only knew that because he told me what he was doing before he did so and I'd passed out before I could actually witness it. I suppose I should be thankful, but not knowing what he'd done to me while unconscious somehow felt worse. Of course, there was no physical sign of his torture on me, I'd been returned to pristine condition afterwards, but the mental scars were still there.

I spent most of my days inside; the last time I'd ventured out was the day I'd been abducted. I didn't want to admit it to myself but shutting myself in my small bedroom was my way of denying everything that had happened. It worked for me most of the time, I'd only go into the main house for some water, food or to grab a lore book from the study. I was studying up on Mary Magdalene, a name that before the other day I hadn't heard since my Catholic school girl days. I had almost forgotten the angel had mentioned it until it surfaced in one of my many nightmares one night. I wasn't sure whether to believe what the angel had said to me, Dean reminded me they were lying dickbags who only served their own selfish needs, but it didn't hurt to know as much as possible. And in the back of my mind, something urged me that maybe there was some truth to it…

Bobby and Dean were doing their own thing, both of them understandably moody and frustrated at Sam's condition and the events that had occurred. Bobby checked on me a few times a day, asked me how I was, if I needed anything. He may have been gruff but there was no denying he was a good host. I always told him I was still weak after my near death experience, which was true, but I knew I was deliberately isolating myself.

Dean came to see me a few times over the week, mostly just to see if I was still there and alive, I thought, but he sometimes made short conversation. I wasn't sure what was going through his mind, but he seemed constantly on edge about his brother, although there wasn't anything he could do but wait.

It was no surprise that I'd begun to see Dean in a new light. Before, I'd always seen him as the anti-hero, attractive but dangerous. Currently, I couldn't help but think of how he'd saved my life, more than once now.

Eventually, I grew bored of my books and decided it was time to do something more productive. Sitting around on my ass all day was all well and dandy when I was recovering, but I felt strong and alive, which meant my mind wasn't as occupied as I wanted it to be. I jumped at shadows, shivered at the word 'angel' and often had to take a few gulping breaths of air if I felt my chest tighten after my mind accidentally slipped and thought about the past few days. I simply wasn't equipped to deal with the emotions attached to what had happened to me… I needed something to distract me.

I was well on my way to full physical health, which was more than I could say for Sam. I'd asked after him, but I hadn't seen him as of yet. He was in the panic room, the place I'd been holed up in when I'd first arrived here, so I was reluctant to pay him a visit. But if Sam, Bobby and Dean could do everything in their power to save the world, the least I could do was go check on Sam.

It was quiet downstairs in the basement, dark and cool. I half expected Dean to be sitting in there, watching his brother like a hawk, but he was nowhere to be seen. I braved the threshold of the door and sat on the chair next to Sam's cot. He looked fairly peaceful lying there, breathing steadily, face unlined and expressionless. But I knew, as Bobby had explained, that behind the mask a world of pain was being unleashed.

"I'm sorry this is happening to you." I told him. It felt like the right thing to say. His position on the bed, the somber, dark atmosphere in the house; it felt like a funeral. Of course, if I breathed that word around Bobby or Dean I'd be dead where I stood, and of course Sam would pull through. But condolences seemed appropriate for what he was going through.

I grabbed Sam's motionless hand and held on for a moment, gently squeezing his palm. There wasn't any definitive proof, but some research had suggested that comatose patients responded to external stimuli. "You'll pull through. You're strong, stronger than I am and if I can make it so can you." I knew our situations differed vastly, but self-deprecation came easy to me. I hadn't spent much time with the man before me, but his vulnerable unlined face and the goodness that he no doubt shared with his brother deserved more than just polite words.

I held his hand a moment more before moving my fingers to his wrist and checking his pulse. It was even and strong, a small mercy. I reached up and put my hand to his forehead – hot, but not dangerously so. I gave him a quick examination with my eyes, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

Out of nowhere, my eyes started watering and my chest shook. Christ, I was losing it. I hadn't been thinking about anything in particular, but my emotions seemed out of whack. The only other times I usually cried were during romantic comedies or funerals – tears of happiness and tears of grief. These were tears of fear: of the unknown, of Sam's life, of what the hell was going to happen next. I let a few tears fall, rubbing my eyes vigorously to get rid of the evidence. After a few deep breaths and an internal montage of happy images to calm myself down, I managed to pull myself together. But it was like putting a band aid on a broken bone, I knew I'd have to deal with it at some point.

"What's the verdict, Doc?" Dean asked from the doorway. I hadn't heard him approach – whether that was purposeful or just a product of years of necessary stealth, I didn't know. Hopefully he hadn't been there while I'd had my momentary lapse.

"Physically, he's perfect." I said, giving Dean the best smile I could muster.

Dean gave an amused snort.

My cheeks flamed. "I mean, he's healthy. Although I don't have any equipment."

He nodded, having already known that. He seemed tired, more so than usual, and I wondered what he'd been doing while I'd holed myself up in my room.

"And how are you doing?" The question wasn't exactly expected, coming from him. He mostly just spoke about important things, like his brother or the state of the world.

"Okay," I murmured, looking down and examining a freckle on my arm.

Dean walked further into the room and dragged a chair to sit in front of me, leaning forward with his elbows against his knees. He was a big guy, something I often hadn't noticed before when I'd only seen him with his brother around. He had a large frame that dwarfed the chair, broad shoulders and a muscular torso clad in a dark green t-shirt. There was grease on the hem; obviously he'd been out fixing his car again. He gave me a look, as though he were trying to see into my head. With his deep green eyes it wasn't difficult to imagine that he could.

"Look, I know this hasn't been easy," he started, "for any of us. But it's okay to… not be okay. I get it. This is one messed up situation."

"I'm just… not cut out for this. I should be the one lying here, not your brother."

Dean shook his head, "No, he doesn't deserve this but neither do you. I'll admit, I thought you weren't up to the job but you're stronger than I thought you were."

I gave a small huff of amusement. It was a nice sentiment meant to make me feel better, but I was a realist.

Dean leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I never really said thank you for what you did. I don't know if I would have made it if you hadn't distracted Raphael back there, so uh… thanks."

I nodded, pursing my lips. It was clear he was uncomfortable with the statement, and I appreciated it all the more. "It's not as though it did any good though, right? I mean, Bobby told me, and I quote, 'Castiel's went full rogue. Shit hit the fan'."

Dean sighed, a rare sign of weakness in an otherwise brick wall of a man. "Well he's not lying. But, we've got a plan."

"Which is?" I asked timidly.

"We're going to stop it."

"How?"

Dean's eyes hardened and gave me deadpan look. "We're working on it."

I took the hint and let the subject drop, fiddling with my fingers once more to give my hands something to do. I nodded and gave Sam one last look to make sure he was still alive, before standing and straightening my shirt. "I'll let you have some time with your brother."

Dean turned his gaze to his sibling's still form, face pensive and stony. It was an odd combination of character, his open thoughtfulness and simultaneous closed defensiveness. But as much as I would love to dwell on the intricacies of Dean's brain, I was far too busy trying to prevent my own brain from crumbling under the weight of everything that had occurred.

It was during dinner that my tidal wave of repressed memories finally broke through the dam. I didn't mean for it to happen, didn't see it coming, but it wasn't as though I had any control.

Bobby was fixing us some dinner and I'd crept out of my room to join the two men for once, finally braving the main house for a longer duration than normal.

"Got us some burgers," Bobby grunted, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen counter as I entered.

"Thanks," I murmured meekly.

Dean had already gotten his and was digging in quietly at the table, hunched over his meal and reading a large book with strange looking symbols in it. More research, I guessed.

As I placed one of the smaller burgers on a plate and turned to head over to the table, I accidentally bumped into Bobby on his way to the fridge.

"Whoa," Bobby cautioned, his hand going around my wrist to steer my plate away from colliding with him.

His warm, calloused hand was far from rough – in fact it was very gentle – but the simple placement stirred something within me. I ripped my wrist away from him, sending the plate of food flying until it shattered against the wall near Dean's head, who calmly ducked out of the way.

"Get away from me!" I screeched, my own voice sounding foreign to my ears. The hand on my wrist had long since disappeared but the feeling of it stayed with me, mirroring the sensation of my bound state as I'd been held captive.

Flashes of memory whipped through my mind at an alarming and overwhelming pace: red, dark red, methodical cutting, the contrasting sound of cheerful whistling as Crowley's head bent over my middle, his knife carving into me, the feeling of my body emptying of organs, the sharp metallic tang of blood in my mouth, the smell of my own death and the decay of my body. The images stopped but what came next was worse: the all-consuming sensation of exposure and vulnerability from unconsciousness as someone dug around in my brain, being helpless and tied up without control over the situation, completely at the mercy of another, brutalized, taken advantage of, violated in the most unthinkable of ways: without consent.

I was shaking, my arms clinging to my ribcage, trying to hold in whatever it was that was spilling from my mind. It was slowing down, my mind finally trying to make sense of what was happening in my immediate surroundings.

"You're not in danger anymore, you're safe," Bobby told me, holding his hands away from his body, fingers spread wide. He didn't approach, and I was grateful. I'd backed up against the kitchen wall.

I repeated his words back to me like a personal mantra: I was safe. No danger here.

Dean stood quietly, eyes dancing back and forth between Bobby and myself as he held his body in a tense, readied stance. I was intensely aware of the two men, and couldn't help the thought of their obvious strength advantage over me. But they weren't bad people, I reminded myself. They were good, the best people I'd ever met if their selfless acts of saving the entire world was anything to go by.

"Macy," Dean said softly, as though speaking to a frightened animal that threatened to bolt, "You're in control here, what do you want us to do?"

I liked to think of myself as independent, able to deal with whatever shit that came my way. But his calm voice, non-threatening posture and words meant more to me than I cared to admit.

"I think… I think I'm okay," I finally said breathily, "Just give me a moment. Finish dinner, I'll be alright in a second."

They both sat down at my command, returning to their meals and pretending as though I wasn't in the corner having a panic attack. I was thankful for the way they took it in stride – maybe they dealt with this sort of thing more often than I thought. Dean had certainly acted as though he were familiar with this sort of thing, knowing exactly what to say to make me feel better.

Within a few minutes, my arms relaxed their intense grip on my ribs and my legs unlocked so that I could step forward. "I'm sorry," I told the pair of them as I bent down near the table to pick up the broken shards of the plate I'd shattered. "I don't know what came over me."

"Don't apologise," Bobby told me, waving off my efforts with the plate and slowly sliding another burger in my direction. "Just eat. We've all been there before."

I was grateful. With my shaking hands, I was sure to have cut myself rather than do any good trying to clean up the mess. I sat down, trying to push past the embarrassment, and we continued the meal.

"So Macy," Bobby cleared his throat after a few minutes of silence. "We never got a chance to talk about what Balthazar told us. Who you are, and all that…" He waited for me to speak. Though I wasn't quite sure what to say.

"When I was… there, with Crowley," I swallowed back the fear, "The angel, Raphael was it? She… she told me I was from here, that Balthazar had been the one to take me to the other dimension and that I'd been reincarnated so that I could hide from the angels. That's insane right? That kind of thing is impossible, even here?"

They were quiet for a moment, chewing their food and giving each other a loaded glance. Dean finally spoke. "We don't know. It could be the truth, it could be a lie, but Balthazar seemed pretty intense. Can you remember anything that could be related? Anything at all? He seemed to think you'd know a lot about the kind of stuff we have to deal with. It could help."

I shook my head; I'd spent the better part of the past few days trying to research all this crap and found nothing to trigger anything in my mind. "I'll keep trying though. I know you guys are hell bent on fixing whatever it is that went down, I'm still not sure exactly what happened…" To be honest, all I wanted to do was go home. Get back to familiarity and my fiancé, a man I'd never spent more than a few days apart from since I'd moved to Vancouver. I couldn't forget that was my goal, no matter how crazy things got here.

Dinner continued on in relative silence. As first Bobby, and then Dean left the room for various other pursuits before bed, I packed up the dishes and let the wave of emotion wash over me, now that I was alone. It was far from what I'd experienced earlier, this one I welcomed as a way of dealing with my thoughts, and I let my tears fall hot and fast down my face. I was no longer shaking, but I still felt drained.

I considered going to bed, letting sleep lull my mind into relaxing. But the thought scared me slightly – I wasn't quite prepared to let go just yet. So instead I made myself a coffee and went into the study, doing my best to be quiet and unassuming so as not to wake Bobby from his sleep at the desk. Clearly, he'd been too tired to finish his research as his book lay open before him, his hand still clutching a half drunk glass of whisky.

I contemplated waking him, but thought better of it. He seemed peaceful. I crept passed him and towards the lounge where I'd left off my research earlier.

The book I had been reading, 'Jesus and Angels: Divine Power on Earth' was such a dry read and it mostly just spoke about Jesus' interactions with the kind of divine dick heads I'd come to hate. I put it back on the shelf and ran my fingers over the spines of the other books, scanning the titles for some other biblical read. Nothing stuck out in my mind, but what caught my eye was something rather unexpected; on the highest shelf, furthest to the right, a small tome sat hidden behind the larger one next to it. I wouldn't have noticed it if not for the fact that there was a small flower sitting in front of it.

I reached out, almost fearful, and plucked the small purple plant from the shelf, twirling it in my fingers. The book behind it looked promising, but I'd been through too many books just like it to think it may answer all of my questions; 'Divine figures in Monotheistic Traditions'. Regardless, the flower spurned me on and I flipped through the pages gingerly, careful of their age and fragility, until a piece of paper fluttered to the floor at my feet.

At first I thought it must have been some annotations Bobby had made about the book, but as I picked it up and read the first few lines, I realized I'd been mistaken.

Mary, Macy, whatever your name is now,

Unfortunately for us both, I don't think there is a high chance of me getting out of this confounded mess alive. What's lucky is that I am smart enough to devise a clever little back up plan that may help, should the situation arise that Castiel has taken on the souls of purgatory and likely been unable to control them.

If you're reading this, it means you've finally accepted who you are, or rather were, and are searching for info on your past lives. When I saved you from the angels the first time around, all those years ago, not only did I curse you with reincarnation, but I gave you an item, an ornate magically infused candle in fact, that allowed you to travel across dimensions. If you can go back to your dimension and retrieve it, you may be able to use it to get those souls, and whatever else crawled out, back into purgatory once more.

I struggled to read the rest of the words, my hands were shaking the paper. I knew the candle he was talking about: I'd found it with my things when I'd moved to Vancouver. A white candle sitting in a gold dragon shaped candlestick holder that I kept in my bedside table. I'd always wondered why I'd been so fond of it…

Below is the spell I used to transport between dimensions, and the last of the very rare ingredients you need can be found where I stashed them, in Bobby's secret but not-so-secret stash of expensive booze under the desk. Use it properly or you'll end up somewhere worse than your other sorry magic-less dimension… Go back and grab the candle. Light it, focus on where you want to go, open a door and it's a portal for whatever you want to stuff inside, as long as the candle is lit and the door remains open. Voila. Find the candle, if you can recall where it is, and fix this God awful mess. If not, then I suggest you use the spell to leave this place and live all cozy and safe in that world and never return.

Give them hell for me, you always were a fighter.

Kisses,

Balthazar.

Well, how about that. I almost couldn't believe it. The scribbled script was barely legible, but there it was: a way back. I'd almost given up hope, but somehow I would get home.

It had been a whirlwind of activity in the past few weeks, problem after problem surfacing and barely being resolved before the next one cropped up. I'd barely had time to process everything that had happened to me, and here was something that could possibly be the answer – or it could be the key to opening up a whole new can of worms.

A solution for me, a solution for them. It was almost too good to be true. Regardless, as I reread the words over and over with my shaking, sweaty palms clutching the paper desperately, I couldn't help but imagine I might make it out of this place alive.

Maybe in the process I'd finally be the hero of my own story.

So how about that? Don't ask me where this is coming from, the story takes me where it wants to go... What do you think? Plleeeease let me know, I'm dying with curiosity as to what you think of my baby story here. Is it too weird? Just weird enough? Macy's a little shaken up right now, but we'll get to have a better look into her back story soon. Love it? Hate it? Let me know!