A/N: Gee, I meant Thursday a week from now. Kidding! Just kidding!

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, not for profit.

Chapter 21

"Uh…Dad?"

John smiles a little as he swings at the bay window with the chair. "Yeah, Sam?"

"You do know what the definition of insanity is, right?"

The window flexes, but it doesn't break. The chair bounces off in one piece, like it has for the last three hundred seventy eight times.

Sam knows because he started counting.

John stands there staring at the window for a moment, and he's not even breathing heavily. He looks down at the chair and smirks. "It's just something to do, son."

"Uh huh." Sam jams his hands into both pockets. He fidgets, frowns a little, and then blurts out: "You think Dean's okay?"

John freezes just as he lifts the chair up for another whack at the window. When John's in motion like that it's hard to read him. Now that he's still Sam can see skin around his eyes crinkle, just a little. They're smile lines, usually. Worry lines this time.

John stares straight ahead for a moment. "Dean's fine. He has to be." John swings the chair again, with a little more added force than last time.

Three hundred seventy nine.

"But what if he's---"

"Sam. Dean's not dead."

"He's not dead, but he's not fine, either. Can't you feel it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I can," John grits out, and he swings again.

Three hundred eighty.

"And how are my little mud monkeys today?" Uriel booms out from behind. John tightens his grip on the chair, turns in the direction of that fucking irritating voice and swings.

Swing and a miss.

Uriel holds the chair with one hand as he pulls it out of John's grip. He's smiling, and the sight of that smile sends a chill down both Winchesters' spines.

John scowls. "What the hell's got you so damn happy?"

"We're going on a little trip. And were it not for that, I would smash you into the walls just like you've done all the chairs and furniture." Uriel smiles like the prospect of doing that would suit him just as well.

"What makes you think we're going anywhere with you?" Sam says.

"What makes you think you have a choice? Or that you could even stop me?"

The air behind Uriel shimmers, faint and silvery, and the people standing there when the glow fades are two that John and Sam have never seen before. The woman is slender, with long red hair down to her shoulders. She's dressed in blue jeans and a khaki shirt.

The man on the other side of Uriel is tall, dark haired, with startlingly bright blue eyes. John takes one look at him and snorts out a laugh. Dude looks like Lieutenant Columbo, rumbled tan raincoat and all.

"Uriel," the woman says warningly. She shakes her head and frowns slightly.

"You have no idea what it's been like looking after these two," Uriel growls as he puts the chair down. "They need to be taught to respect their betters."

Sam and John both laugh when they hear that one.

The woman sighs. "Teaching them manners is not your assignment. Am I clear, Uriel?"

Uriel grumbles. "Yes."

"Good." The redhead stares at John and Sam and smiles a little. "My name is Anna. This is Castiel." Columbo nods. Sam and John just stare at them all. "You're already met Uriel."

"You're in charge, right?" John drawls.

Anna nods."I am."

"Good. Because we need to talk about my other son, Dean."

"In that case, I'd like for you and Sam to join us on the back deck," Anna says with a smile. She glances behind her, through the kitchen. The door leading out back unlocks itself and swings open slowly. "Dean is the reason we're here. We need to talk."

"guh…gnuh…" Dean moans a little, deep in his throat, like a trapped animal. Ellen wrings out the cloth, places it on his forehead, and Dean flinches at her touch.

"…sign…sign of the…devil…" he whispers. "…devil…" Dean twists his left wrist, his chest and ankles against the wide leather straps holding him down on the bed.

There's no need to strap down Dean's right hand; he doesn't have one anymore. That shifting lightshow of a hand is gone now; all he has left is a stump.

"It's okay, Dean," Ellen murmurs out loud. "It's all right. You're safe now. You're safe."

Part of that is the truth. He is safe now. As for the rest of it, it's a damn lie, and Ellen knows it. She blinks. Her eyes blank out, glaze over, as she wipes the sweat from his face and neck, as she says soothing words over and over again to the tormented soul strapped down in the sickbed. When she gently touches those curious round scars on his neck Dean bucks up, arches his body against the straps.

"…tainted…something tainted…" Dean murmurs. Those impossibly long, dark eyelashes of his flutter wildly; Ellen sees those fine thin scars around Dean's right eye, sees the blank white of his eyes instead of bright green.

It's not fucking fair, Ellen thinks to herself fiercely. It's not. He's blind. On top of everything else, he's blind. It's like the damn universe is taking him apart, bit by bit.

Dean's lips move. They're chapped, pale, bruised like every other square inch of his body. "…sorry…'m sorry…"

Ellen freezes. "Dean?"

"…not…n - not…"

"Dean, can you hear me?"

"…not…Dad…"

"Dean?"

"…not...Sam…" Dean mutters. He raises his right arm, leads with his right. He's reaching for someone, lost loved ones, forever out of his grasp. When Ellen reaches out, touches his stump, Dean settles himself, but he still murmurs and moans to himself in broken words and sentences.

Ellen doesn't move away. "It's okay, Dean," she murmurs out loud. It's a comforting lie, the only thing she has at the moment. "It's all right. You're safe now. You're safe."

The blue and white striped canvas canopy flaps slightly in the wind. Bobby steps back, admires his handiwork. Pretty good for a rush job. Pretty damn good.

"Easy," Bobby murmurs softly. "Easy there. I'm not gonna hurt you."

The black horse snorts when she hears that. She's on the ground now, in the shade, with her forelegs bent neatly in front, her hind legs tucked underneath her. She looks faded somehow, dulled out. Her eyes are still the color of dirty pennies. That sleek black coat is dull, washed out, marked with those white circular scars around her neck, legs and back. It's a far cry from the spirited, gleeful creature he encountered at Lloyd's Bar at the crossroads, and Bobby doesn't even want to think about what kind of critter made those scars. She hasn't spoken inside his head since she arrived with Dean on her back, and now she's resting on her belly with her neck stretched out, her chin on the ground.

Hours before she waited patiently as Bobby untangled Dean's fingers from her mane, steadied herself while Bobby slid Dean off the saddle and half-carried, half walked him into the house. As soon as the door closed the black collapsed, and somehow Bobby was not surprised to find that her tack and saddle somehow disappeared into thin air when he came back out to have a look at her.

It's warm today, with a slight breeze, but laying in direct sunlight like that can't be good, so an hour ago Bobby tried cooling the black horse off with a garden hose. Good thing he didn't try to touch her. When the water hit her body it turned to steam.

Bobby stood there for a moment, thinking, and then he dragged the tall metal frame and the canvas out of the shed and set it up over the horse. He got it as a trade from one of his regular customers, figured he could use it as a sun shade while working out in the yard.

He sets the bucket of water down next to her, and she opens her eyes again and grunts when he doesn't move away. Bobby sets the pan of oats and sliced apples down next to the water bucket and he could swear the animal's eyes widen slightly, as if in surprise.

"Hell," Bobby says out loud. "I don't know if you eat. I don't know what you need."

She huffs, shakes her head from side to side, and then rests her chin on the ground again and closes her eyes.

That's clear enough. Whatever else she needs, she's not gonna tell him.

Bobby nods. "Fair enough." He gives Rumsfeld2 a rough pat on the head as he passes the big Rottweiler lounging on the back porch. The dog grins at him happily and goes back to watching the horse, and that's the damndest thing Bobby's ever seen.

Rumsfeld2 was trained to hunt and kill the supernatural, like Rumsfeld before him. The thing is, Rumsfeld2 apparently likes the black horse. He never growled at her, just sat and looked at her with this slightly goofy, doggy grin on his broad face.

Maybe he's in love, Bobby thinks to himself as he closes the kitchen door behind him.

All the sees is white…

"Sign of the devil. Look at those eyes."

…all he hears is voices coming at him from out of the blankness around him.

"Do you see the way his eyes look? There is something tainted about this child…"

He hears his father out in the barn…

"Your Dad, he's in here with me."

…hears the sharp scrape of metal against metal

"He's gonna tear you apart."

…as Father sharpens his ax.

"He's gonna taste the iron in your blood."

He can't move. They're holding him down.

He didn't want to come to this place. Didn't want to be with these people…

"Dean?"

…but the other part of him did.

"It's okay, Dean. You're safe."

This isn't what Gaelen wants. This isn't what Gaelen wants at all. He hears his father's heavy footsteps, can feel the ax blade slice shining and merciless through the air.

"Dad, Dad, don't you let it kill me."

Gaelen can't tell where he begins and the other one ends.

Bobby knows he's screwed.

One moment Bobby was alone, out in the yard, checking the wards along the edge of the house. The black horse still lay underneath the canopy, and Rumsfeld2 hadn't moved from the porch. In the next moment the hair on the back of Bobby's neck prickles with the sense of Other in the air. He doesn't want to turn around, but he has to. He can't stand there like that all damn day.

The girl is tall for her age. Twelve maybe, by the look of her, shoulder length blonde hair, ageless hazel eyes. The air around her shimmers, highlights the pale bejeweled robes she has on. She stands there quietly, looking up at him with this quiet smile on her face.

"Lillith," Bobby says out loud, and the young girl laughs.

Bobby glances over at the black horse then. Might be too much to ask for a little help here?

The black is up on her feet, all right, but she's not alone. A large white horse stands calmly next to her, gently nuzzling her neck and muzzle. Two riders quietly sit their horses nearby; a tall black man on a large red horse and a broad Hispanic male mounted on an equally large dappled grey.

"Did he just insult you, little sister?" the black man says with a smirk.

The girl nods. "He thinks I'm Lillith."

"Shame about that," the other man says gruffly. "Think you ought to show him otherwise."

"Well if you're not Lillith," Bobby snaps roughly, "who the hell are you?"

She's suddenly standing right next to him, her slender right hand on his arm. He shudders as her fingertips brush the top of his hand.

The young girl smiles at Bobby. "We are the Horsemen, human, and you have one of our own inside your dwelling."

Bobby feels himself weaken all over. His stomach growls, a loud, terrible sound, as his body shrivels and becomes lighter. Darkness wells up all

around him and he falls backwards into it.

TBC next week.