The three of them sat staring at the dark screen. What they had just watched didn't make much sense and, to be honest, was a little disturbing. Abbadon, or the young woman whom Abbadon was currently wearing, was videotaping two priests exorcise a demon. Or at least that is what they claimed to be doing but it was unlike any exorcism they had ever seen. .

"That wasn't a normal exorcism. They changed the words," Sam mumbled looking confused.

"I believe "lustra" is Latin for wash or cleanse," Castiel added slowly.

"Are they always that... bloody?" Hermione asked.

"No," Castiel murmured and he slowly wrapped his hand around hers as he continued to read the file over Sam's shoulder.

Sam discovered that the older priest in the video had passed not long after this had been taped by the younger priest still lived in St. Louis. They decided to wait for Dean to come back from the supply run - in that time the other inhabitants of the bunker had ambled in. Clutching cups of coffee they all gathered around the dark topped library table, discussing what was in the box. Minutes after Ron, the last to rise, was seated Dean returned. Cuing up the film again, they all watched the unusual exorcism.

"What do you think?" Sam said looking expectantly at Dean but it was Harry that spoke first.

"What was supposed to happen in that video?" Harry looked as confused as the rest of the trio felt. Having talked to the brothers about different things and gone a few smaller runs themselves, they had seen quite a bit of the supernatural. But none of them had seen or performed an exorcism.

"Usually an exorcism is Latin that expels the demon in black smoke from the meat suit; hopefully leaving it alive. This looked almost like the priest was trying to "clean" the demon or something - that is why he changed the words," Sam explained before a fit of coughing overtook him.

"So this could be..." Ron started.

"How to cure a demon," Kevin said still staring far away at something they couldn't see.

"Seems like we need to pay this priest of a visit," Dean finally said. Sam was thrilled and he stood up quickly, only to fall sideways onto Ron's lap. Helping the giant man get back on his feet, Ron stood behind him, looking hard at Dean.

"Sam, I don't know if you are up for this, man," Dean said, eyes leveled on his brother. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean looked down and continued talking, "Sammy, you can't even stand up. I can't drag you into who knows what and have to worry about you passing out. Besides," and Dean glanced at Ron who gave a swift, shallow nod, "I won't be alone. Ron will go with me." Everyone turned to look at Ron who grimaced like it was a burden he would bear. Inwardly, he was thrilled just to have something to do.

The church they walked into was vast and old, with rough stone lining the walls and simple stained glass filtering the sunlight that poured through the high windows. There was an old priest waiting near the front of the church; they had called ahead. Ron borrowed one of Dean's fed suits, being just a little too short for Sam's. He chaffed slightly at the restrictive collar and hard shoes but matched his partner step for step up to the front of the church. After brief introductions, they began asking questions, looking for the answers they had driven halfway across the country for.

"Father Thompson had some unorthodox ideas, which is why the Men of Letters were interested in his research," Father Simon said as they ambled through the church.

"Unorthodox how?" Dean asked.

"He believed that demons could be saved."

"What exactly do you mean, 'saved'?" Ron asked with furrowed brows.

"A demon is a human soul, twisted and corrupted by its time in Hell. Father Thompson believed that you could wash that taint away and restore their humanity," he finished slowly looking at the two men. Dean's face tightened as the wheels turned in his head.

Conversation continued for a few more minutes. They learned that this Father Simon didn't know much more because that night they had witnessed on the film had been overwhelming for him. Not long after, Father Thompson had died but they discovered that he didn't just die; he had been ripped apart in his study. Father Simon seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable with the conversation. Finally, they asked if he had any records from Father Thompson. Relieved, he nodded and went to fetch the box. When he returned, they bid him good bye and left the church.

"The date is August 3, 1958. This is trial 19, hour 1. My subject is Peter Kent. Mr. Kent is the father of two young sons, and three weeks ago, he was possessed by a demon. I'm going to ask you a question now. When you crawled into Mr. Kent and ate his children, how did it feel?"

"Orgasmic. Aah!"

"The first dose has been administered."

They continued to watch the video; the Father dosing the chained man with sanctified blood every hour. Each hour the man seemed more reserved, more pensive.

"Hour 8, the subject is prepped."

"Aah! Aah!"

"Exorcizamus te,omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra, lustra! Lustra! When you ate his children, how did it feel?"

"They were screaming...and I laughed. Why did I laugh? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. God, I was a monster."

"But now you are a man again. And you have been saved."

"Did he just... Cure a demon?" Ron asked. He and Dean were sitting in a reserved room in an old library a few hours outside of St. Louis. They had decided to go through the research from the dead priest before heading back to the bunker; in case there was more they need from the road.

"It looks like something happened," Dean said, unwilling to believe completely what they had just heard on the tape recording. The tantalizing dream of closing the gates of hell was getting closer and closer so of course Dean did what he always did when anything seemed easy or good; he doubted.

"We gotta get back to the others. See what they think," Ron was excited, curious why Dean wasn't as well.

"Slow down, man. We don't even know what we saw yet. I would have hate to bust in like Santa only to break more hearts," he was thinking of his already frail brother. "Maybe we try this first." Ron paled under his freckles.

"T...try it? Like with a demon?" he spoke quickly.

"Look, it will be fine. Sam and I have mastered how to trap these rats. Besides, the hard work is done. I know where we can find one," his wicked grin did nothing to make Ron feel any better.

They spent the better part of a day driving around Kansas and areas close to it, stopping at two or three storage facilities. Each time, Dean grabbed one or two old locked tool boxes, tossing them into the back of the Impala. Each time he touched one, Ron's stomach got cold because Dean had explained what was inside.

As evening arrived and shadows started to dance across the world, they were sitting in an abandon warehouse. Using a combination of magic (most to help hold or lift) and an old fashioned field surgeons kit that had belonged to John Winchester, Dean and Ron had built a demon. Sewing together hacked apart pieces of what had once been an attractive auburn haired woman, the one that Ron recognized from the first film. Dean spent time stressing to Ron how dangerous this particular demon was; not just a run of the mill soul snatcher but a Knight of Hell. She was one of the first and strongest and she was out of her time, having time traveled behind his grandfather. Ron knew enough about time travel to know that made her more dangerous.

The ground around her had to be consecrated; they hoped that would slow her down. Still, they shackled her in spell bound chains to the chair.

Ron was extremely pale as they started the process, having never really hardened to the sight of carnage. Slowly his stomach calmed and he was able to separate the horror in front of him from his emotions; to approach it as a job. Inwardly he smiled, he picked up more habits from these remarkable brothers everyday.

Finally, her neck was secured so they stood back and waited for something to happen. Ever so slowly, the large eyes blinked and when the lids peeled back, they were black and lifeless. To Ron's credit he didn't flinch, just hardened his stare at the monster.

"Morning, sunshines," she purred. Dean stared hard at the monster, his eyes sparkling behind the barely concealed disgust on his face. She smiled and it was sickening, with the jagged stitch lines across her neck and the dried blood running down her skin.

"I can't wait to tear out those pretty green eyes," she spoke softly, eyes on Dean.

"Good luck with that," Ron growled and she looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. Her brows scrunched together curiously.

"We figured kitty didn't need her claws," Dean smiled as his eyes flicked to the tool box still holding the severed hands of the monster. Her frustration was evident as she jerked angrily, forgetting the curious red head for a moment.

"Then I'll stump you to death. It'll be swell," she hissed. As she jerked hard and harder confusion filled her horrible face.

"The bullet - remember?" and Dean's smile was genuine, he was so pleased to have her trapped. "So you sit there like a good little bitch and you're gonna get to fessing up," he turned toward the small dirty table where he and Ron had laid what they would need for the procedure.

"Oh, I know this tune," she laughed.

"I doubt that," Ron growled, growing weary of the sick taint pouring from the beast.

"Father Max Thompson, born October 12, 1910. Died August 5, 1958. Who do you think ripped him apart? Word got back to home office that Maxie was messing with things, so we paid him a visit. It wasn't my most artful kill, but it was effective. And bonus - before he died, he told me all about Josie Sands. I found her, and I rode her into the Men of Letters," Abbadon licked her teeth as she finished the story, smiling at the shock on there faces, "And what I did to them, that was art," nothing but malice and evil poured from her eyes.

Dean and Ron looked long and hard at the demon, trying to decide how much was truth. Dean broke the silence.

"So you know what Max was doing?"

"Fella screamed the basics... but it'll never work," she looked from under her heavy lashes smiling.

"You keep telling yourself that," Ron said as he turned to arrange the needles on the table.

At that same moment, Dean's pocket started to ring. He pulled the phone out, frowned on looking at the screen and clicked the answer button. The silky voice poured from the ear piece.

"Hello, Squirrel."

"Crowley," Dean replied shortly.

"Crowley? The salesman?" Abbadon looked confused.

"Try the King of Hell," Ron snapped, staring at Dean, waiting to see what the other demon wanted.

"This is a joke, right?" Abbadon said, anger dripping in her voice. Dean rolled his eyes and jerked his head towards Ron. Together they stalked from the large room to the gravel driveway out front. Ron shouted, "STAY!" over his shoulder as they left. Neither of them saw Abbadon smile.

Dean and Crowley snapped at each other briefly. After he clicked the off button, he continued to stare at his phone. The light that flashed on his face showed he was reading something. Worry lines etched into his face and the color started to drain as he scrolled down the screen.

"Dean?" Ron ventured, "What did Crowley want?"

"He uh... he sent me a news article about a guy Sam and I saved... a long time ago. Seems his head exploded," Dean clicked the phone off on the last words as he looked up at Ron. They both knew that if Crowley was drawing attention to this, he was behind it. But they didn't have time to chase the skirts of the King of Hell right now; they had bigger fish to fry. Nodding to one another, they stalked back into the dim warehouse to proceed with the ritual that neither was looking forward to.

However, even in the dim light, they could see that the chair holding the demon was empty. Their stalk turned to sprint as they came up to the area to confirm their fear.

"No. No! No! No! No! She's gone. She's - son of a bitch!" yelled Dean as he rubbed his exhausted face. Ron crouched down and picked up the bloody bullet she had left behind, with the star etched into the tip. Again, Dean's phone chirped. He growled as he looked at the screen.

"It is a text message from Crowley - an address in Prosperity, Indiana... Sam and I worked a case there a while ago. Come on, we gotta go," without further conversation, they hastily gathered their tools, dumped them in the trunk of the Impala and peeled out of the gravel and weed strewn driveway, flying towards Indiana. Dean wasn't sure what game Crowley was playing but he knew that it wasn't going to end pretty.

It was dark when they pulled up to the house that matched the address they had been given. After walking right through the unlocked door, into the dark interior, they found what they were hoping they wouldn't. Ron stared at the dead girl as Dean frowned and turned away. He pulled out his phone, clicked 2, and waited for Sam to answer.

After a few minutes of conversation, in which Dean failed to mention Abbadon, he hung up. Before he even put the phone back in his jacket, it rang.

"Crowley," he said with menace in his voice as he answered, "What the hell are you doing, Crowley?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm killing everyone you've ever saved - the damsels in distress, the innocent whippersnappers, the would-be vampire chow - all of them," Ron could hear the demon through the speaker phone that Dean was holding between the two of them. Ron looked at the brother who had his eyes shut tight in despair.

"When you boys hit a town, you tend to leave a mess. Now, you're probably wondering why my droogs aren't in there giving you the bum's rush, so let's brass these tacks, shall we? I'm gonna gut one person every 12 hours until you bring me the Demon Tablet and stop this whole trials nonsense. Indianapolis, the Ivy Motel, room 116. You have 57 minutes."

The phone call disconnected and the two men looked at one another. Practically running, they got into the Impala and headed into the dark to fight Dean's worst nightmare. They made more calls; to share information, to try to make some kind of plan.

All the while driving, Dean felt sick to his stomach. He couldn't stop the images that surfaced in his mind, no matter how much he tried to bury them or drink them away. A beautiful slim brunette with patient eyes and a melting smile. A teenage boy with a trusting face and a good heart. There had been a time when they had been Dean's family; he still dreamed about it although he wasn't sure if they were dreams or nightmares. Because of him, they had suffered so much. That was why he had erased himself from their lives. They were better off without him, or so he told himself.

That is why he and Sam kept moving, didn't form ties. Ties to them were dangerous, deadly even. And now these people who had no real ties were even in danger. Grinding his teeth, he slowly pressed his foot down.