Castiel ambled slowly into the kitchen the next morning. Sam was sitting at the white table, drinking water clearly laced with medicine, surrounded by files. He had been there most of the night.

"Are you okay?" he asked looking at the pale angel.

"My wound isn't healing as quickly as I'd hoped... But I am getting better. And you're getting worse," Cas said, sitting at the table, looking at the youngest Winchester.

"Well, two trials down, one to go," Sam smiled.

"And the final test, do you - you know what it is?"

"I have to cure a demon," Sam said each word slowly. Even thinking about it all night, it still sounded ridiculous every time he said it.

"Of what?" Cas asked, genuinely confused. Sam chuckled.

Hermione walked in yawning and smiled when she saw the angel.

"Hey," she murmured, sitting in the chair nearest him, her knees tucked between his. She gently brushed the side of his face and he closed his eyes, leaning into it, looking like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Their eyes locked for a long moment. Sam became uncomfortable; he felt like he was invading a very private conversation. Trying to distract himself, he shifted his eyes back to his papers.

A few minutes later, Dean came in fully dressed. Hermione and Cas were holding hands, Cas sitting contentedly with his eyes closed and Hermione, reading through the file that had been sitting nearest her. Dean smiled to see the angel up already.

"Hey man, good to see you," he grinned as Cas opened his eyes and smiled at the brother. Dean threw open the fridge, staring at the bright white, nearly empty contents.

"Geez... guess I need to make a supply run," and he let the door shut. "I'll grab breakfast while I'm out," and he snagged up his keys and jacket off the counter, making for the door. As soon as he shut the door, Sam sat up a little straighter.

"7b... 7b..." he murmured and he made to stand. It was shaky and unbalanced. Hermione instinctively moved to help him. Had it been anyone else, Sam would have pushed them away. But he never pushed her away. When she offered a hand or tried to help, he always let her. She smiled, wanting to take care of him. And he smiled, enjoying the mothering.

Down through the bunker, Sam stumbled, leaning on Hermione every now and then. Castiel walked beside her, letting her help Sam and smiling all the while. When they found the room, Sam told them what file number that the file in his hand had mentioned. After a few minutes, Castiel lifted the dusty box onto the metal table. In the same moment, Sam gave a great heave on some wire shelves and they shifted across the floor.

He looked back at Hermione and Castiel with a surprised face, "I saw shadows back there and I thought there might be something," and he continued on into the space.

The dark black room held the tang of salt and iron. There was an evil looking chair laced with manacles in the middle of the room. Surrounding the chair was a huge Devil's Trap. Hermione swallowed hard, paled, and looked pointedly away.

"I guess we have a... chamber," Sam said, pointedly avoiding the word torture. Cas was fishing in the box, uninterested in the chamber, feeling the sickness and evil pour out of the stone. There had been dark things done in that room; things that left a permanent mark. He found a tin with the file number Sam had named on it and held it up.

"Sam," he said. The brother looked at it curiously and smiled.

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. Abaddon, or the young woman whom Abaddon was currently wearing, was videotaping two priests exorcising 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 living 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 looked 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 coughing fit 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 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 chafed 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 goodbye 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 needed 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 hate to bust in like Santa only to break more hearts," he was thinking of his already frail brother. "Maybe we should 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 abandoned warehouse. Using a combination of magic (most to help hold or lift) and an old fashioned field surgeon's 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 spellbound 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 redhead 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 the 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," Abaddon licked her teeth as she finished the story, smiling at the shock on their 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 true. 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?" Abaddon 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?" Abaddon 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 Abaddon 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.