Just barely holding each other up, they stumbled out of the bedroom, each armed with a shard of mirror and an expression that screamed dont fuck with me.

Dean was impressed at how far Sam had made it down the hallway. And by the serious amount of staining damage he'd caused.

They inched down the stairs, slowly and painfully like two old men trying to escape their care home. Where upstairs was brightly lit, downstairs was so dim it looked like Haversham was trying to save the planet.

"Left or right?" Sam whispered.

"Left. That's the way we came earlier."

They shuffled down the poorly lit hallway, clinging onto the makeshift bandaging that was keeping their insides on the inside. Dean pointed at the door nearest to them. Sam nodded and twisted the door handle.

No one was there to immediately greet them. Sam ventured inside, eyes searching for anyone hiding in the shadows.

From behind him he heard an oomph followed by a clatter. Startled, Sam turned back to the corridor to see that either Simon or Bruce had come up behind them in the hallway and tackled Dean to the ground. Dean had dropped his mirror shard, shattering it, and the guy was on top of his brother as they wrestled with a knife.

Sam didn't hesitate. He plunged his own piece of glass deep into the guy's back. It sliced his fingers even further, but Sam was too hyped up with saving Dean for the pain to stop him. He tried to pull the shard out to stab him again but it was too firmly wedged in there. The end snapped off in Sam's hand, further cutting into his fingers. The guy stiffened in agonyand Dean took advantage of the moment to steal the knife straight out of his hands. Then stabbed him up through his neck with it.

Sam used one foot to kick the guy off Dean then carefully helped his brother up off the floor.

Dean slowly got to his feet, holding tight against his abdomen. He pulled the knife out of the dead man's neck then searched him for any other weapons.

"That'll do." He took a small gun from an ankle holster. Gave it to Sam who grimaced as he took it. The cuts on his hands were getting too deep and bloody. Any further and he wouldn't have any fingers left.

As far as Sam knew there were two guys left; Haversham and one other goon. God only knew when Bill and Gavin were going to come join the party - had to be soon though. And the Winchesters had to be ready; Gavin was like one of those banned dangerous dogs that viciously attacked anything and everything it sniffed at. Bit like a human hellhound, Sam thought.

Back into the empty dining room they crept. Sam went over to the dining table and stole a white cotton napkin that probably cost a small fortune. Dean tied it firmly around his brother's right hand while Sam kept them covered with the gun in his left. "What is it with you and cutting up your fingers?" Dean fussed.

Sam handed the gun back to Dean. No point in him having it when he couldn't even hold it.

With Dean on lookout, Sam went over to the sideboard. He opened the decanter stopper and sniffed. Brandy, after all. If this all ended with him not being dead, that bottle would be coming with him.

Whilst there he opened the sideboard doors.

"Dean...come look at this." Along with other various items, there had to be a dozen small glass bottles in there, all identical to the ones they'd been forced to drink.

Dean whistled. "Wonder how many people he's killed using those?"

"One is too many. We need to destroy every last bottle - as soon as we've dealt with Haversham."

They went out a different door to the one they'd come in. This led to the main entrance hallway and front door. The front door was oversize and intricately carved with symbols Sam didn't recognise. The curious research-geek inside him wanted to pull up a chair and spend the next three days studying the shit out of it.

One other room led off the tiled corridor, the door semi ajar. As they sneaked towards it, the brothers could hear talking coming from inside. Sounded like the remaining goon, Simon or Bruce was trying to persuade Haversham to leave.

"Why? Everything is under control!"

"This address is getting too popular. With all due respect Dad, I don't believe you should have told those thugs to come here."

The brothers looked at each other. Mouthed 'Dad'.

"And with absolutely no respect due to you at all, everyone being in one place is the plan - that's what our industrial wood chipper is for after all!"

"This is all getting out of hand…" Simon whined.

"Oh I wish it were more so. I want those Winchesters to suffer terribly. They've killed everyone, Simon! Everyone!"

The next bit of conversation was muffled. Then Simon spoke again.

"I'm going to check on Karen, make sure she's ok."

"Can't you leave your vacuous girlfriend alone for longer than ten minutes? You're like a pathetic puppy dog always trailing after her…"

More muffled arguing. Sam and Dean used the time to slink back down the corridor to lie in wait for Simon.

"Hostage?" suggested Dean. Sam nodded in agreement. Having to barter for his son's life might mean the warding coming down that bit quicker.

They waited just out of sight behind the dining room door. Simon seemed distracted, didn't even notice the body of his fallen comrade until he'd slipped over the growing pool of blood then landed on the corpse. Shocked, he wrigged and fishtailed up with a squeak, then went silent as he saw Dean training the gun on him.

His lips wobbled like he wanted to say something then, stopped himself.

"Back to Daddy…" Dean waved the gun towards the way they'd just come. Simon meekly obeyed.

Dean indicated for Simon to enter the room first. Haversham Senior looked up in surprise at his son returning so quickly. Then frowned at the sight of the Winchesters following behind.

The office was a decent size and left no doubt this was a 'mans' space. Lots of dark solid oak furniture and chrome accessories. A large desk took center stage with the very tidy paperwork and the monitor/keyboard/mouse combo all exactly placed apart just so. Guy must use a damn ruler. There was a small couch on the left of the room, facing a wall-mounted TV.

"Sit." Dean growled at Simon, pointing to the couch. "And you, Pappa Psycho, come out from behind that desk and get comfy next to Junior. Don't know what kinds of surprises might be hidden behind there."

"It was always said that the Winchesters were like a bad bout of food poisoning. Just when you think you've finally finished vomiting, out comes another disappointing and unpleasant heave."

Simon's eyes were wide. "They killed Bruce Dad, don't antagonize them!"

The frown deepened, but Haversham complied. He didn't seem too put out at being squashed uncomfortably next to his son. Or at the news of Bruce's untimely demise. He had wider concerns.

"How are you both still alive?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Dean sneered.

"Yes, that is rather why I asked. You should both be mincemeat by now…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Bit of minor surgery. Look Ma! No stitches!" He pulled up his shirt to show Haversham the bloody bandages.

"You...cut each other open?!" His mouth flapped open and closed in disbelief. Dean reckoned it took a lot to surprise him. And surprise him they had.

"Well you didn't give us much of a choice eh buddy? Option A: become meatloaf. Option B: risk infection, nicked arteries, bleeding out, yadda yadda yadda? Option B means I get to keep my promise and kill your ass."

Sam spoke. "But first, we want you to take down the warding."

"The...warding? Why would that be your pressing concern? I would have thought emergency surgery would have been more of a priority?"

"You don't know shit about us or our priorities. The warding - take it down now and maybe your neat and tidy office won't get redecorated with the inside of your son's head…"

Haversham seemed to ignore Dean's threat. "Is it the angel? It must be, why else would you be interested in it? It's not like you American hunters have any interest in the finesse of good spell work. My warding is one of a kind, state of the art, maximum level security. No, I do it a disservice, its more than that...it's art. Pure art. Demons react in a similar way to your friend upstairs, but much more quickly. Werewolves become...slug-like. And you should see what it does to a vampire. Poof! Instant disintegration."

"Dad!" Simon was looking at his father in dismay. "Fuck art! Fuck vampires! Tell them how to lose the damned warding!"

"Son, you aren't Men of Letters." He patted his son on the knee. Looked up at the Winchesters. "He isn't Men of Letters. He doesn't know the commitment it brings. The responsibility. The duty. Duty is everything. He won't understand why I cannot and will not help you in any way. Anyway, the angel is already as good as dead. And rightly so - they have no place being on Earth. Oh yes, that's right...it's thanks to you two they all fell, isn't it? Another way you...imbeciles...fucked up!"

Dean raised the gun to Simon's head. "Then here's this imbecile's reply." His hand was shaking with anger.

"Dad...please!"

"Dean - my own, personal feelings have nothing to do with my decision. So do what you feel you must. Simon - if it's any consolation at least it will be a quick death. Better than the rest of us can hope for."

Dean lowered his gun in distaste when Simon began to cry, gobbets of snot running down his wretched face.

"Oh fuck this. I need a drink." Dean thrust the gun into Sam's good hand and stormed out of the office.

Taken aback at Dean's unexpected walk out, Sam raised the gun up to Simon and lowered it again when he saw it was pointless. Haversham was sitting back on the couch, stiff but calm.

"And you compare us to food poisoning?" Sam looked at Haversham with disgust. "I'd sooner drown in my own puke, than have you as a father!"

Simon, in the throes of messy hysterics, looked as if he might bolt at any moment or grab the gun off Sam and shoot Haversham Senior himself. Sam took a step back nearer the door just to make sure he was out of reach.

It was hard not to feel a bit sorry for Simon. Until Sam remembered what he'd done to Cas. Any small amount of sympathy dissolved at the thought of Castiel suffocating on his own blood inside a plastic box.

Sam probed his busted lip with his tongue. It stung like a bastard. "So who was Bruce? A friend? Family?…" He didn't think anyone was going to answer, he was only killing time anyway, until Dean came back. And, if he was honest, purposely being a little antagonistic. But Simon spoke up, wiping his face down with a sleeve. "My girlfriend's brother. He… What have you done to Karen? She's ok, right?"

Sam shut the hell up asking any more questions. And he definitely wasn't going to answer Simon's question. He could still see the look in Karen's eyes as he'd ruthlessly slit her throat. Haversham just shook his head at his son's naivety.

Where the fuck was Dean? Why choose now to go awol? Cas was dying, Bill and Gavin were due to arrive at any moment and the dizzy nausea from earlier was making itself known again. Five long minutes ticked past before he heard his brother's footsteps pacing back up towards them.

A calmer, and slightly drunker looking Dean kicked the door open with his foot, his hands were full with four generously filled glasses of brandy. He handed one to Sam, and then proffered one each to Simon and Haversham. Haversham looked baffled, then suspicious, but took his glass anyway. Simon was so shaken up by the situation he greedily drank the lot down in one go, slurping it like a child.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot." Dean was conciliatory. "You don't like our methods, we don't like yours. But our purpose is the same. Kill ghosts, demons, vampires and anything else that's a threat to humankind. And yeah, most angels are dicks - you won't ever hear us argue against that. Castiel tho? He's different. Not like the others. It's a shame you never got to see that, but we move in different circles, I guess, so that couldn't be helped." He took a sip of the brandy. Then another, more appreciative one. "This is good stuff. Sir Keith, you have no Men of Letters left in this country. If we kill you, that's it - you're done. And the good people of Britain are left unprotected. I don't want that, and I know you don't want that. So, I've got a proposition that none of us might like, but may be all that's left."

"Dean...what are you doing?" Sam was appalled. "We can't make a deal with this maniac!"

"Shut up Sammy - the grownups are talking." Dean never took his eyes off Haversham.

"What proposition?" Haversham leant forward but Dean couldn't tell if he was interested or about to attack.

Dean sipped the brandy again. "This is really good. What is it?"

"Very old, very expensive and not for the likes of you!" He knocked his back in two long swallows as if to make sure the uncouth American couldn't take more of his precious nectar. "So come on then, I'm all ears, what's the proposition?"

Dean smiled, finished off his drink and carefully clinked it down on the nearest table before answering: "You remove the warding, and I tell you which one of you just drank the XO I put in your brandy."

"...wh..what?" Haversham went pale. Simon clutched at his treacherous daddy's arm like he was three not thirty.

"You heard. Sammy, drink up bro, yours is fine."

Sam smiled. How could he have doubted Dean? His brother had just managed to trick a highly suspicious and intelligent Man of Letters into unwittingly swallowing his own doom. Sam took a sip of the brandy and it really was good. But even better was the look on Havershams face.

"Yeah. Added a special mixer to yours and Junior's. Well, to one of them anyway. The other is just regular ole water. Found these little glass bottles in a cupboard in your dining room, you see." Dean pulled an empty bottle out from a pocket and winked.

"You...you...What have you done?!" Haversham's cold composure was finally cracking.

"Given you a literal taste of your own medicine. Possibly." Dean shrugged. "Might not be you incubating your 'elegant' pet monster. That's the word you used, right? Whilst it was inside me? Elegant. It could be that magnificent specimen of a man over there who's gonna give birth to an elegant six pounder instead." Dean used the empty bottle to point at the shuddering, twitching wreck that had, not even two hours ago, gleefully helped to give Sam a kicking.

"I'm curious. Who are you hoping got to swallow it? You or your grown man-baby? See, most parents would take a bullet for their kid. But you…? I think you would sooner he…"

"Tell me!" Haversham interrupted, shouting far louder than he probably meant to. "Tell me who!"

Dean let the silence hang for a moment. "You know my terms." He leant back comfortably against the wall, like he had all day. "Best neither of you move around too much though. Just in case."

Haversham went rigid. "This...what you've done...this is pointless. The warding isn't something that can be turned on or off. Its built into the fabric of the building. Literally." Dean's smug smile dropped, but Haversham carried on "It's woven into the bricks and mortar. Into the structural frame. It's permanent, do you hear me? Permanent! Now, tell me who you...who did you…" He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Who did I just murder?" Dean sneered. "Fuck you with bells on it." He turned away, then almost immediately turned back around again. "No, actually I will tell you - but only once Cas - the angel you are currently killing as we speak - is safe. Which you just told me aint gonna happen so long as your house is standing. So you might want to sit tight and get good and comfy cos it'll probably take a while for me to knock the goddam crap out of this place."

"You...what? You're a lunatic! You can't do that!"

"I'm gonna do it, or die trying. You see - there's a difference between 'duty' and 'loyalty'. I hope your duty keeps you nice and warm as you sit perfectly still, whilst I loyally try and save my friend. Sam, help me tie these sons of bitches up."

Sam had spent two months without his brother - in fact doing his best to forget the fact he even had a brother. And he felt like the world's biggest idiot. Dean was the most loyal person alive, and Sam had been prepared to punish him for that. For being loyal to his dad. To his mom. And to him most of all. Maybe it was the brandy hitting his empty stomach or maybe it was the concussion messing with him, but Sam was overwhelmed with a fierce rush of love for his brother.

"Whatever you say bro, I'm here for you."

Dean wasn't expecting that. He faltered for a moment. Then forced himself back into Dean mode. "Careful Sammy, your man boobs'll start to grow with all that estrogen floating around your system."

"Oh fuck off," Sam laughed. And it felt good. Even as his insides felt like they were falling out and the pain from torn muscles burned, he felt good.

Until they heard the sound of a car pulling up onto the gravel path at the front of the house.