A.N.: Content warning for violence, mentions of torture, blood, death, and all things Alastair.


Dean came to in the bunker's dungeon, the wind still knocked out of him. He struggled against his restraints, but stopped when he heard someone opening the door. Grace stepped in, terror in her eyes. "Gracie, what's going on? Help me."

"I'm sorry," she breathed, her lip trembling as she struggled to keep herself from walking forward. Every step pained her, but she shuffled forward, trying her best to keep her feet glued to the ground. "Dean, I'm sorry."

He stiffened as he noticed the silver glint of a kitchen knife in her hand. "Gracie, what are you doing? It's me. You've got to let me out."

"I'm sorry." Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her knuckles turning white on the knife. "Please, you have to forgive me. Dean, I'm sorry."

"What are you doing?" he repeated, staring into her eyes. She was still there, but he could tell she was fighting something. Sure enough, Chuck stepped into the dungeon, walking in a circle around both of them. "Gracie, this isn't you."

Chuck stopped and leaned on the wall, crossing his arms as he watched Grace struggle against his will. "I would make her go for your eyes, but I want you to be able to see how much this hurts her. She's always loved your eyes. Then again, I could fix your sight. Hmm, Gracie, how about the freckles? Should we carve them out one at a time? Or should we start somewhere else? We have all the time in the world."

"Don't call her that," Dean managed, trying to keep his voice level as Grace stopped in front of him. "You don't get to call her that."

"Sit," Chuck directed, Grace being forced to sit on Dean's lap. She raised the knife in a trembling hand, slicing a shallow line down his jawbone.

She could only manage two words, Chuck holding everything else back. "I'm sorry." Raising the knife again, she waited for Chuck's command. Her breath caught in her throat as she addressed Chuck, who had clearly charged her with something else. "Please, don't make me… Chuck, please. Don't make me hurt him. Please."

"It's okay," Dean tried to smile as she raised the knife again, tracing his brow bone. Blinking the blood out of his eyes, he stared up at her. She reached out with her free hand, looping one of her fingers with his. The tiniest symbol of defiance as Chuck forced her to carve into him. "Gracie, it's okay," he whispered, trying to deny the pain he was in. "It's okay. I know this isn't you. I know you would never - agh!" She had sunk the blade into his shoulder, something cracking inside.

Chuck frowned, tilting his head as she twisted the blade. Dean gritted his teeth, trying not to cry out. But Grace knew he was in pain. She could feel it radiating through him as his grip tightened around her hand. "I'm sorry. Dean, I'm so sorry." She could hardly see through her tears now, but it didn't stop Chuck from forcing her to pull the blade out. She dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I..."

Either the spell had been broken or there was worse yet to come. "I invented Alastair," Chuck reminded him. "I made sure he was taught everything he needed to know."

"Why are you doing this?" Dean tried to keep breathing steadily as Chuck let go of Grace. She immediately tried to wipe the blood from his face, tearing a piece of her shirt to stop the bleeding from his shoulder.

"I can break either you or Sam. Or both. Mutual combat, that would be fun," Chuck mused. "You lasted forty years in Hell. I doubt you'll last forty hours if you have to look into her eyes as she cuts away at you. Now Gracie, let's take care of those teeth."

"Please don't make me do this," she begged, trying her best to keep even pressure on Dean's shoulder. "Please. Dean, I'm sorry."

"You play your part, and you convince Dean to play his," Chuck commanded from his position on the wall.

"No."

Dean looked up, registering the fear on Grace's face. "I know you don't want to hurt me," he assured her, "It's okay. I love you, Gracie. I'll still love you no matter what he makes you do. I won't blame you. I know it's him." He turned to look at Chuck, staring him down as he said, "It's pretty damn weak of you to make her do this. Sure, it's poetic, but what happened to the fire and brimstone God that would zap people with lightning or turn them into salt? You not like to get your hands dirty anymore? So you make her do all of this for you? Ooh, you like to watch."

"Dean," Grace warned, reminding him that it was still God they were talking to. Her hands were shaking as she tried to keep him from bleeding out. Her voice trembled just as much. She was clearly terrified of Chuck, of what he was making her do. Of what he could make her do. "Dean, don't."

"Gracie, dear, pick up the knife," Chuck instructed.

She did as she was told, raising it again. As she brought the blade down, the scene changed, Dean now standing in the middle of the bunker. Cas took the steps two at a time, running out as Sam tore after him, a gun in one hand and an angel blade in the other. Grace lay at Dean's feet, covered in blood and gasping for breath. Cas had been overtaken by the Mark for a while now, but no one had dared to get in his way. Not until Grace found him lurking in the bunker.

Dropping to the ground, Dean paid no attention to the fact that he was now kneeling in a puddle of blood. He held Grace close, telling her that, "We're going to find a way to patch you up, okay? You're going to be fine, good as new. C'mon, just look at me. Gracie -"

"Dean," she coughed. "Hey."

"I'm right here."

"I love you." She was already getting paler, the life draining out of her as Dean desperately tried to stop the blood from gushing out of a wound in her side.

"I love you too." He could feel her breathing slow, each breath taking more effort than the last. "We're going to take care of you. I'm going to take care of you. Sam! Sam, get back here! Where are you?"

"Shh." Her voice was getting fainter, Dean holding onto her and trying to call for his brother. "Don't talk over a dying woman." She laughed a bit, immediately regretting moving at all. "I love you, Dean Winchester, and don't you ever forget that. We were made for each other, but it's time… I'm not going to make it out of this one, and I don't want you doing anything stupid to bring me back. You and Sam - don't risk it. No deals, no sacrifices. Let me be. Don't stop fighting. Don't become - don't become like your dad. Or like Chuck. I'm going to be with the kids and so many of our friends. I'll be waiting for you."

He ran a hand through her hair, accidentally smearing blood everywhere, though neither of them cared. "Gracie, please. Stay. You have to stay." His voice broke as he held her close, telling her, "I need you. I love you. Please."

"Dean, I can't," she managed, taking another shallow breath. She could hear the rattling in her chest, the telltale sign that there was blood pooling in her lungs. "I need you to promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll stay here. Promise me you won't let go until I'm gone."

"Of course."

"I can see her. Billie. She says it's about time to go. She came to get me herself," Grace smiled, looking over his shoulder. Her gaze shifted back to him, Dean still desperately trying to conceal the pain in his eyes. "It's going to be okay."

He didn't dare look away from her. "Billie, please. Not now, not today. Not any time soon. I promised her… I promised her a normal life. A long time ago, in another lifetime, almost. I promised her a real life, with a house and a yard and kids and a dog, where we'd never have to worry about monsters or demons ever again. Please let me - she deserves that. Please, let me give her a normal life."

The air shimmered beside him, Billie allowing herself to become visible for a brief second. Reapers were never visible to those surrounding a dying loved one. But she made an exception for the Winchesters, as she so often did. "We both know that can't happen, Dean. Let her come with me. She'll finally be safe there. She'll be done with all of this. She'll be at peace." She disappeared as quickly as she had come into view, ostensibly leaving the two of them alone, though Dean knew she was lurking nearby.

"She's right," Grace told him. It was almost like she was comforting him more than he was comforting her. Grace knew that things would be alright, that she could wait for him. But Dean wasn't going to let her go unless she let go first. "I love you so much, Dean."

"I love you too." He gave her a kiss, watching the light behind her eyes fade away. "Grace? Gracie? No. No, Gracie, come on!"

The door burst open, Sam coming to a stop at the top of the stairs. What he saw in the war room below him broke his heart. His brother was covered in blood, hopelessly clutching Grace's now lifeless form. He was audibly sobbing, Sam wondering if he should leave him alone for a moment. But he went downstairs anyway, coming to rest a hand on his brother's shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, Sam eventually pulling Dean to his feet. "Sammy, no." Those were the first words he had uttered, the first time he had actually faced his brother. Dean was covered in blood and absolutely broken.

"Come on." Sam guided him to his room, depositing him in the shower as he went back to start cleaning up. He felt completely numb, staring down at his best friend as he reverently wiped the blood off of her face.

Dean stood staring at the shower wall for what felt like forever. He eventually shed his jacket, throwing his phone and his keys out onto the floor, fully intent on just standing under the water. He knew it would be freezing for a couple of seconds, but he didn't care. Reaching for the faucet, he sighed, watching the blood drip off of his arms.


"Dean. Dean, wake up." Grace shook his shoulder, Dean bolting up on the couch. "It's okay, I'm right here. Whatever it was, it was just a dream."

He rubbed his eyes, taking in his surroundings. Grace sat on the edge of the couch in her pajamas and a bathrobe, a cup of tea in her hand. The TV was still on behind him, whatever he had been watching replaced with the midnight news. An empty beer bottle was balanced on the table in front of him. "Hey. Uh, sorry, I must have dozed off."

"Yeah." She gave him a soft smile, leaning in to kiss him. "I fell asleep thinking you'd be in bed soon, but when I woke up and you still weren't back, I started to wonder. Sam's asleep, so I kind of figured you'd be here."

"I had this dream," he yawned as he turned the TV off. "Chuck must have planted it in my head. I'm just glad you're okay." The two of them stood, Dean pulling her into a hug. "I love you, Gracie."

"I love you too, Dean. If it makes you feel better, I had a really, uh, weird dream too."


Dean sat in the kitchen, his jacket on the table. He'd rolled up his left sleeve, dried blood covering his arm. Grace was sitting on the table, dabbing hydrogen peroxide on the wound. He sighed, taking another swig of the whiskey he held in his other hand. "I think you're going to need a couple of stitches," she frowned, tilting her head to see if there was any exposed bone. "They got you pretty good here, but I think four or five should take care of it."

"I killed him."

"The vamp? I know. He didn't actually bite you, did he?"

"Sammy. I had to."

"Wait, Dean -" She set her supplies down, gently turning his chin to face her. "You told me he went to shower. You told me he came back with you."

He downed the rest of his drink, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another one. "I want you to kill me. Chuck got what he wanted. This needs to be over."

Grace got up to give him a hug, carefully avoiding the exposed wound. "No. He got what he wanted, but it doesn't mean you have to die for him. It doesn't mean you have to die for either of them."

"I don't want to live without him, Gracie."

"And I don't want to live without you, but we're not going to… we're not going to leave a bunch of bodies lying around. That's really what he wants. He wants us to tear each other apart," She spoke into his shoulder. She could feel him starting to cry as she bit back her own tears, but she had to keep talking before she lost it completely. She couldn't let Dean see her lose it completely, or he would blame himself. "It's not your fault. But we… we mourn. We move into the house upstairs and we lock this place for good. We get the hell out of this life. We never forget Sam, but we can't let Chuck win. If you really had to kill him, okay. But if you die, Chuck wins."

"He already won," Dean croaked. "Winchester killing Winchester, remember?"

"No." Grace let go of him, brushing the tears from his dirt-stained cheeks. "He doesn't win until we're all dead, and we aren't going to let that happen."


"So you absorbed the power of this demon, but she's not possessing you?" Dean asked, laying back in bed. Neither of them had been able to sleep after their dreams had shaken them a little too much for their liking. It was also the first free moment Grace had found to tell him about the spell she had performed, so she decided to open that can of worms and distract him from the messages Chuck was sending.

"Pretty much." Grace was nestled into his arm, both of them not wanting to let go of each other. It was one of the last bits of comfort they had in a world that was crumbling apart. "It's like how Jack absorbed all of that grace, but it's demonic grace instead. Something to do with how higher-level demons flex their powers. I've been researching it when I find some free time, but we don't have a lot of that now."

Dean thought for a moment, wondering if this was really safe. But if Grace trusted it, he trusted her. "Hopefully it helps," he sighed, absentmindedly playing with her hair.

"I wish we could stay like this. Things are bad, but I think they're going to get worse before they get better." She was staring at the ceiling, trying not to speak it into existence. "The kids… it feels like we had them for a moment, and then… I keep having this dream where we're at the beach, and they're in the water, and I tell them to come in, since they're swimming out too far. They never hear me, so you decide to go after them, and then they keep getting smaller in the distance and I… you always come back without them." She rolled over to look at him, clarifying, "I don't blame you for what happened. I don't blame you at all. But it hurts."

"I think about them all the time," Dean confessed. It was his turn to avoid looking at her, trying his best to keep the stoic mask he always had on when he insisted that he was fine. "I see it every time I close my eyes. Thankfully you can hit me with that spell, because I'd dream about them every night if you couldn't." He paused, collecting himself again. "I was always supposed to protect Sam. I was always supposed to protect you. You two are old enough to watch out for yourselves most of the time, but the kids… What good am I as a dad if I couldn't protect them?"

"It's not your fault. There are some things that are too random, too big to stop. No one could've stopped Jack aside from Chuck."

"And now we've got to stop Chuck," Dean sighed.

"We'll find a way to do it. There has to be a way to... we can't kill him. We can't trap him. Maybe we could talk some reason into him. Whatever we do, he's not going to get the ending he wants. He's not tearing this family apart any more," Grace resolved.

The two of them lay there for hours, night slowly fading into day as they faded in and out of consciousness. Neither of them slept very well, but they at least had each other. Their little family - the two of them, Sam, Cas, Bobby, Jody, Donna, their favorite people - all had each other. And they would all make sure Chuck wasn't going to take that away too.