Dean could barely sleep that night. They had stayed up late – Sam had insisted that they should go over all his memories again, asked hundreds of questions, making him remember everything till the last detail.

The kid we saved from Azazel? Definitely a girl. No, I don't think she had siblings.

Could not-a-psychic open the Gates with the Colt? Probably, we hadn't checked, though.

Who else was unaffected by holy water? Well, if it worked even on Alastair, then it must work on most demons. No, we didn't try it on Lilith.

He felt too wound up to even try to close his eyes, so he was staring at the ceiling, mentally going through all the arrangements they'd agreed on. They would give Dad an anti-possession charm. They would remind him to paint the devil's trap in his room, and they would check it. They had already filled several plastic coffee cups with holy water and placed them around the room – it was the most innocent looking weapon they could think of.

They'd bought a fake colt and a case, just in case some shit would happen.

They had warned Bobby, Caleb and Pastor Jim. Dean was worried about Adam – there was hardly any better leverage than Dad's son and their half-brother. But neither of them could think of a way to warn Adam about a possible demon threat without sounding like someone who'd broken out from a psych ward, so Dean just hoped the demons wouldn't get to him, like the last time.

He turned his head and saw Sam also lying in the same position – on his back, hands crossed above the covers.

"Sam? Are you still revising my past-future in your head?"

"No. I'm thinking how to kill Azazel," Sam said and turned on the nightstand lamp since none of them was sleeping.

Dean chuckled. That was funny – fifteen years ago he told his brother about monsters – he remembered they'd been sitting in the dim light at night, alone, in a motel in the middle of nowhere, having chips for dinner. And here they were now, both grown-ups with a burden on their shoulders, plotting together against the Prince of Hell himself in a dimly lit shabby motel room and still running on takeouts.

"I really don't understand how we coped with all this in your universe," Sam whispered. "I mean, even now, with all your knowledge that's gonna be hard."

"I'm really glad you won't live through this crap again." You won't get hooked on demon blood, won't have nightmares about Lucifer, won't fall into the Cage…

"The Apocalypse was planned God knows how long ago. We're in a better position now, but still there's not much we can do against Hell and Heaven. They probably have plan B, plan C and up to plan Z. And not only in the English alphabet."

"We have the Colt. No matter how many plans they have, it can still kill them. Dad will be here soon. We'll track Azazel down – "

"He'll let us track him down," Sam corrected him. "Or shows up himself."

"He'll sure as hell do after we send all his minions back to Hell."

"Yeah. Can't wait."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"That must be him," said Dean, hearing the engine rumble in the parking lot.

"That's the third time you've said it's him. Calm down. It's gonna be fine," Sam said, typing something on his laptop. Dean looked at his reflection in the mirror, as if checking if anything about appearance could give away he was from the future.

"Jeez, Dean, it's just Dad."

Easy for Sam to say. Dean still had a feeling that Dad had the superpower of knowing everything with a single glance.

"What are you typing anyway?"

"Saying hi to Sarah. Advised her to check her devil's traps. Hope she takes the hint."

"You can be more direct with her."

"You mean, to tell her that we're closing in on the Prince of Hell and we have the weapon every demon wants to get, so they might try to kill her to blackmail us?"

There was a knock on the door. Nothing special, just an ordinary knock, but the three of them could recognize the subtle pattern. Dad.

Dean tucked the gun in the back of his jeans, made sure the carpet completely covered the devil's trap and opened the door.

Dad was standing right in front of him, only a foot away. Dean felt like he had been punched in the gut. He still remembered how Dad looked, but his memories were fading with every passing year, and they didn't have a lot of family photos to refresh them. And now he saw Dad, alive, in the flesh, within arm's reach.

He knew instantly it was Dad – by the way his eyes quickly inspected Dean, scanned the room, stopping on Sammy. By the way he was holding his right arm in the deep jacket pocked – probably gripping a knife or a gun.

"Christus," Dean chocked instead of a greeting.

John smiled. Dean noticed he was the same height as Dad. It felt weird – somehow he expected Dad to be taller.

"I was going to splash you with holy water, but apparently, it's not necessary."

"Um. Holy water might not work on high-ranking demons," Dean blurted out. He realized he was still holding the door half open, blocking the doorway. He let Dad inside and hugged him. The knowledge that it all was happening for real made the whole situation seem even more surreal. He couldn't be that lucky.

"Hey, Dad," Sam said from behind, smiling. "It's good to see you." And damn it, it was so good to see his brother hugging Dad. Usually these two were too proud, too stubborn to make the first step and apologize, so the air between them almost sparked with static till both of them could pretend to have forgotten the incident.

Dean wondered how long that would last. Sure, Sam was less pissed now that he had all the information in his notebooks and maybe he would be more forgiving now that he knew they'd lost Dad in another universe, but that was a matter of time till Dad would tick him off.

"Daniel left me a message, so I had a general idea of what you were up to. Good job with the vampire nest, boys. And I got your message about Meg. Well done."

"So, we've earned the right to watch your back while you're hunting the demon?" asked Sam lightly.

"We'll see," John answered, and to Dean's relief, Sam didn't press further. "We've got a lot to discuss."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So, for the last six months this demon has been attacking families with infants," Dean said, studying the notes on the map.

"Six-month-old infants," said John.

"And there isalways a fire in the nursery?" asked Sam, who already knew it wasn't always the case.

"In all the cases I've noticed, yes. It kills mothers, but never the kids – it's also funny that no one has died from smoke inhalation or burn injuries."

Dean exchanged glances with Sam.

"Dad," Dean cleared his throat. It'd been a long time since he used this word. "Were there omens without fires? Ever. Not only during the last six months."

"I didn't notice. Why? What's wrong with the fires?"

"Dunno. What's the sense?" Dean shrugged. "It kinda draws unnecessary attention, forms the pattern. And it's not like demons can kill only with fire."

John was thoughtful. What Dean said should be enough for him to come to the idea that the demon was screwing with them.

"Do you have these families' names and addresses?" Sam asked. "I want to look them up on the net. To see if the kids are alright."

To see where the other psychic kids lived and if any of them had already been kidnapped.

"Yeah, in my truck, I'll give you them later. Don't see how it's useful, though."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt either."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam was pacing around the room.

"So, sometimes there's a fire, sometimes not."

"Yeah, I've told you that before. It's unclear if there are always omens."

They were back in their room. Dad was already wearing the anti-possession charm, and was in his own room on the floor above, with the devil's trap in front of the door and holy water camouflaged as coffee. They'd asked a few leading questions, trying to find out whether he already knew something about Azazel's plans, but even if he did know something, he'd chosen not to share. Dean hoped Sam's visions wouldn't start in his presence.

"Okay. Suppose Azazel wants to create a pattern," Sam said, "then there are omens and a fire in the nursery. But the omens start a week before. He can't know in advance whether he would need to kill the mother or not."

"So, either these omens go unnoticed or Azazel has turned some kids into psychics without these signs and they're impossible to track. Awesome."

There was a knock on the door and it opened. Dad stood in the doorway wearing a jacket.

"Daniel called and asked me to help him with some wards against demons and devil's traps. I'll go see him. We had a fight a year ago and – well, we were both wrong," John gestured vaguely. That was as close to 'I was being an ass' as Dad could admit.

"You're going alone?" Dean asked.

"Yes, Dean. Like I've been for the last six months and many times before," Dean looked away. Well, probably for someone not expecting the imminent Apocalypse it looked like he was overdoing his vigilance.

"Wait," he fished the pest repellers out of his duffel back. "Give him these. They work really good against vamps, you just turn them on at the same time and bloodsuckers are knocked out." He felt slightly guilty about leaving an old man defenseless against vampires.

"Good thinking."

"Tell him we said hi."

"Sure. Though I don't think he'll forget you, boys" John chuckled, leaving. Dean locked the door.

"So, we're going to Salvation tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah. It's a twelve-hour ride. We'll need to pack tonight."

"I'll go buy some snacks. Dad can run on thin air when he's driving with a purpose, but we'll starve."

"Let's wait till Dad's back from Elkins and go together?" asked Dean, knowing it was probably overkill.

"Jeez, Dean – "

"Sam, last time you were kidnapped from a cafe with me sitting in the car nearby. Just – ugh. Look, I know I sound like a paranoid freak but humor me till we're done with Lilith, okay?"

"Dean, at this rate tomorrow you'll say I'm not allowed to use a bathroom alone."

"I lived in the universe where a demon could pop out from under your car and slash your throat, so cut me some slack, man."

"Really?"

"Yeah. This kid was like seventeen. He saved our asses twice the day he died." By that time he'd got used to people dying, but on that day he felt life was particularly unfair. "I just don't want to screw up again."

Sam sighed and sat back on the couch.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So, can we go to the shop now?" Sam asked after Dad returned in the evening.

"Yeah. And let's put the Colt in the car," he handed the gun to Sam. "Tomorrow we'll carry the case with a fake, so hopefully it'll look like the Colt is in the case even when it's not."

"Good idea," Sam put the Colt in the inside pocket of his jacket, checking his reflection in the mirror to make sure it didn't stick out. Dean put the case with a fake back in the closet.

"You're going somewhere?" Dad walked into the room, carrying the duffel.

"Yeah, we'll buy some snacks for tomorrow."

"Sam can do it. Dean, help me to clean the guns and sharpen the knives."

They exchanged looks. Sam shook his head dismissively, clearly not going to argue with Dad over this. Dean didn't want to appear a psycho in Dad's eyes. Sam took the "coffee" cup from the table and gave Dean the thumbs up. Well, after all, the market was just on the other side of the road and could be seen from their window.

Sam left. John put the duffel bag on the bed and handed Dean bore brushes and gun oil.

He really must calm down. That was just a mini market hundred yards away from the motel. Sam could manage alone. And Azazel didn't have the Colt, so no need to start that freaking survival show yet. Right? Right.

They sat in silence for some time.

"So, Elkins is alright?" Dean asked, not knowing what else to say. Good thing they both weren't the talkative type.

"He's fine, says 'thanks' for the vampire repellers."

"Good."

Something felt wrong. Every now and then Dean glanced at the door and through the window as if it could speed up Sam's return. After cleaning a third gun he texted Sam, got a pissed message in response and calmed down a little bit. Okay, it looked like nobody was going to kidnap his brother today.

Yet for some reason he was anxious. The gut instinct that had saved his life so many times was screaming now.

He looked at Dad and couldn't find anything wrong. He was cleaning the gun – maybe more slowly than usually, but they were in no hurry. He was still wearing the anti-possession charm – Dean saw the lace around his neck. And he had come in the room right through the devil's trap.

Dean started sharpening the knives, hoping Sam would come soon and his paranoia would shut up. There was a loud knock on the door and a woman's voice asked if they needed cleaning. Dad gestured to the door, asking him to talk with the maid. At that very second Dean saw what exactly was wrong with the picture.

Dad never sat with his back to the door. Never, no matter what. Dean wasn't sure if it was a marine thing or a hunter thing, but keeping all doors in sight and sitting with his back to the walls was Dad's second nature. Yet he was sitting on Sam's bed with his back to the door when there were at least two places in this room where he could sit and see the door.

Dean sent the maid away, a plastic smile glued to his face, a thousand thoughts racing in his head. He suppressed the urge to check the devil's trap – he couldn't do this unnoticed, and in the worst-case scenario he would give himself away.

He took a deep breath. That could still mean nothing. Or he was alone with Azazel.

Fuck.

He returned to sharpening the knives, thinking what to do. He couldn't come up with a surreptitious way to find out if Dad was possessed.

Where the hell was Sam? Or maybe it was for the better that he hadn't returned yet.

"Dad, have you seen Sam's knife here? A butterfly knife, with a dark green handle," Dean described a non-existent knife, pretending to look for it.

"No," Dad looked around, "he has a butterfly knife?"

"Yeah, a souvenir from Stanford. He didn't forget about his safety completely there."

"Good that he didn't. I can't see the knife here, though."

"Maybe he left it in your room when we were discussing the demon. I'll go check."

Dad casually threw him the keys from his room. The bastard pretended really well. Or maybe Dean was wrong and it was still Dad. The answer was in Dad's room – if the devil's trap was still there, he'd do his best to turn off his hypervigilance.

He entered Dad's room, aiming the gun at an unseen enemy. The room was quiet and empty. He lifted the carpet. The devil's trap was there, intact. Relief flooded through him, he almost laughed – he should really stop freaking out over nothing.

To prove his paranoia wrong, he looked around the room for the traces of sulfur. Nothing. After a moment of doubt, he decided to check Dad's jacket for bloodstains – Dad wouldn't let Azazel possess him without a fight.

His hand felt small carton packs in one of the pockets. Curious, he took them out and froze in shock. It was the pest repellers. The pest repellers Elkins had thanked him for. With several bloodstains on them.

Fearing the worst, he dialed Elkins. Nobody took the call.

He returned to the devil's trap and inspected it closely. And then he noticed it – a very thin line across the border of the circle. Two millimeters thin, but technically enough to turn a trap into a useless graffiti.

Sam was in the shop. The Colt was in the Impala. Azazel was sitting in their room cleaning the guns.

They were screwed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Found the knife?" Dad would have turned his head to watch who came in. Azazel didn't.

"Nah, he probably took it with himself to the shop," Dean shrugged, trying to look at ease.

"I wonder what's taking him so long."

"I bet he's reading every single food label, trying to pick the most wholesome candy bars this shop can offer," Dean forced a laugh. He had texted Sam from Dad's room, but his brother hadn't texted back yet.

Azazel chuckled. He sounded so much like his father. Bastard. Dean fought the desire to shoot him with the nearest gun – it wouldn't do any good and anyway, Azazel would have him pinned to the wall faster than he could take aim.

"So, I guess we're finished," said Dad – Azazel –- and started to pack the duffel. "Since you found the Сolt, it would be logical if you had it. That's why you should give it to me, and you'll have a fake one – that'll confuse them."

If up to this moment Dean still had some hope left, it shattered into pieces now. Yeah, Azazel might have Dad's memory, but he would never understand how his mind worked. Dad had been hunting the demon for twenty years – he'd never even imply someone else could carry the weapon that could kill it.

Dean froze, thinking frantically. So, Azazel didn't notice Sam had carried the Colt to the Impala. That was good. He just needed to win some time.

"Yeah, sure," he gave Azazel the case with a fake and continued packing his duffel. The case was closed, with a devil's trap painted on the lid. Azazel needed him to open it. Admitting it would be the moment of truth.

Where the hell was Sammy?!

"Open it," Azazel was rummaging in the duffel, keeping his hands busy. Smart son of a bitch.

"Yeah, in a sec," Dean went to the bathroom, closed the door and turned the tap on. His heart was in his mouth. There was still no reply from Sam. He tried to call him, but his brother didn't pick up the phone. Sam had the car keys and Dean couldn't even excuse himself to get some fresh air and return with the Colt.

Dean returned to the room, half expecting to see yellow eyes on Dad's face and be pinned to the wall.

Azazel pointed at the box. Shit.

"What's the matter? You can't open it yourself?" Dean asked jokingly, gesturing at the devil's trap.

"Maybe I'm checking you?" Azazel smiled. Damn it, he was a good actor.

"I have an anti-possession tattoo."

"It can be burned off or cut off."

"Yeah, but it's still safer than anything else. Why haven't you got one?"

"Just never thought of it, I guess."

"C'mon, you spent half your life hunting the demon." It was weird to talk to Azazel looking like Dad discussing how Dad had been trying to track him down.

"Yeah. And now we finally have the Colt. Open the case already."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Dean was very aware of how easily Azazel could kill him right now and that he had nothing to defend himself.

Slowly, he opened the case. Azazel reached for it, but before he could take it or see the contents, Dean slammed the case shut. He met Dad's eyes.

"Well, I can open it. Your turn," he said, trying to keep his voice even.

John's hazel eyes turned ugly yellow. Next moment Dean was pinned to the wall.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Azazel didn't have Alastair's imagination, but Dean doubted he would last for a long time. He was about to black out and only his worry about Sam kept him conscious. He desperately hoped the demons hadn't got his brother.

Dean tried to support conversation with Azazel to buy time, mainly insulting him and being a smartass, but after Azazel had done something to his lungs, he could only cough up blood and grunt in response. Breathing had become a challenge, too.

Shit. He couldn't die like that. He just couldn't. It wasn't a part of Death's plan, right?

Something caught his attention – behind Azazel, the door handle moved and the door cracked open. One unexpected advantage of this motel – the doors didn't squeak here. Whoever tried to open the door - Dean didn't know whether he wanted it to be Sam or not – Azazel wouldn't notice.

"I'll open the case. You can take the Colt," Azazel was likely to finish him off once he discovered the colt was fake, but he had run out of ideas to win time. And he needed to divert Azazel's attention away from the door.

The door opened wider. Sam was standing in the doorway, taking aim. Dean noticed he had blood on his face.

"You really think I can't open the damn box just because you painted the devil's trap on it?" Azazel laughed. "No, it's not only that. You should hear your Daddy screaming inside. Oh, the slower and the more painful your death is, the more guilty he'll feel. He'll do everything to bring you back."

Dean felt his intestines boil and screamed.

The next moment he heard a gunshot. Azazel – Dad – fell on the floor, his body glowing with orange light. The blood puddle under Dad's head was growing quickly. Dean dropped on the floor, too, coughing up more blood and trying not to choke on it. Sam locked the door from the inside and rushed to him.

"Sam, Azazel – the devil's traps – "

"Yeah, I see. We're leaving. Right now. Can you walk?" Sam helped him to get up. Dean staggered but nodded – the parking lot wasn't far.

"Thank God we've packed already. I'll take bags, then go back for Dad's body and we'll get the hell out of here."

"How are we going to get past the reception?"

"This motel doesn't have an administrator anymore." Dean raised his eyebrows and Sam went on to explain. "The guy was possessed. Said he was Meg's brother and he was really pissed we'd exorcised her. I had to shoot him. That's why it took me so long."

Dean muttered curses. Well, if Azazel and his son had been acting together, that explained ruined devil's traps. He crouched over Dad's body and pulled the lace from the anti-possession charm – predictably, the pendant itself wasn't there.

"You were right. They are getting smarter," Sam said, taking both his and Dean's duffel bags.

"I'll call Bobby," croaked Dean. Bobby was Bobby. Dean was sure he could always help when it came to saving their asses.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean came around in a hospital.

Of course. Where else would his worried little brother drive him? Of course, it had to be a fucking hospital.

He turned his head and saw Sam dozing in a chair nearby.

"Sam? What the hell?"

His brother jerked awake, reaching for the bottle of water – Dean suspected the water was holy.

"Dude, a hospital, seriously? We're in the middle of preventing the Apocalypse."

"Yeah, your doctor is well aware of that."

"What?"

"You talked funny things under anesthesia hangover. And you tried to attack your anesthetist, claiming she was Lilith," Sam smiled wearily.

"Oh, crap. Wait, anesthesia? I was operated on?"

"They couldn't stop internal bleeding, so yeah, you had surgery, but the doc said it's gonna be fine."

"So, when are we leaving?" Dean honestly felt like he could use a couple days of hospital treatment, but he didn't like that apathy in his brother's tone.

Sam made a bitchface. "Dean, you have liver, kidney and lung contusion, you had surgery and they had to do a blood transfusion. For god's sake, wait till it all at least partly heals."

Dean sighed. Sam looked like he needed a hospital himself. He had the dark circles under his eyes he used to have when he couldn't sleep because of nightmares, looked like he lost several pounds and his hair was a mess. Dean noticed several coffee cups on the bedside table and he wouldn't be surprised if that was Sam's only source of energy since he killed Azazel.

"Have you slept at all?"

"I'm fine, Dean."

"Like hell you are."

"Elkins was found dead, his throat was slashed," Sam changed the topic. "We – me and Bobby – warded this place. Fluorescent devil's traps are basically everywhere, on the floor and on the ceiling, including the main entrance. We checked all your doctors and staff who had contacted you. Bobby is an FBI agent now, he monitors the cameras. We're as safe here as we could be in any random motel."

"Awesome. Are you all right?"

Sam didn't answer.

"Sam, in my universe I was the one who was feeding you this 'I'm fine' bullshit when in truth I was a total wreck. Trust me, this coping mechanism sucks."

Sam looked up. "I killed Dad, Dean. I'm as fine as I can be in this situation."

"You saved my life. And you killed Azazel. Dad just died as a result," Dean said firmly.

"Bobby said the same thing."

"Yeah, and he knows what he's talking about. He killed his wife when she was possessed."

Sam frowned. "I didn't know that."

"I didn't know either until those zombies showed up. Ugh, never mind, zombies aren't important now."

Sam opened and closed his mouth several times, hesitating.

"I – it's just – I mean – Shit, forget it. I'm fine."

Dean knew this facial expression too well.

"Let me guess. You're thinking you're turning into some kind of a monster? You used to freak out about this all the time in my past."

"Well, Dean, being Lucifer's true vessel kinda influences your psyche," Sam snapped.

"Michael isn't that much better. And none of this shit will happen."

"We thought we would prevent Dad's death, too."

"We screwed up here, yeah. Azazel was a smart son of a bitch, I'll give him that. We won't screw up next time."

"Are you alright?" asked Sam after a pause.

"Yeah. Not the first time I've lost him."

"That's why I'm asking."

"I don't know, Sam. We barely spent a day with him. For me it was like one of these good dreams that turn into nightmares at the end. I wish we'd saved him, but – I'm fine. Really."

"I should have shot him in the leg. I just wasn't absolutely sure it'd help Dad to get control back. And he – I mean, Azazel – was about to kill you, and I –"

"Sam, it's fine. If you hadn't killed him, they'd have found a way to finish what they started and Dad would have ended up in Hell."

They were silent for some time.

"Where's the Colt?" Dean asked.

"Under your pillow. Dean? Maybe it's time to call your Cas? We could really use some backup."

"Yeah, no argument here. We need backup, but not Cas. I mean, if it was the Cas I know – I'd have prayed to him ages ago. But I've no idea who the present Cas is. We call him now, we could end up having both demons and angels on our asses."

"But he rebelled against Heaven for you."

"Yeah. It was after he pulled me from Hell. The of experience sort of brought us together. But right now? He doesn't have a vessel. He doesn't even know me," he said wistfully.

Now that he thought about it, there was no guarantee that he and Cas would become friends here. He would try to pray to him, of course, after all this crap was over. But he had no idea what he would tell him.

Hey, Cas, we were buddies in another universe and prevented the Apocalypse together, you wanna hang out?

"I have an idea, though. Ask Bobby for the Roadhouse number, it's Ellen's bar. He must know it. And Sam? Humor me and don't go outside the hospital. I'm begging you."

"I won't. Sorry for giving you crap about being paranoid."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was so good to hear Ellen's voice again and Jo's laughter in the background. Dean swallowed, shaking off the memories of their death. Fuck Lucifer and the Apocalypse.

"Ellen, rumor has it you have a genius MIT dropout living at your bar? Can you put him on the phone?

Ellen shouted Ash's name several times, and after a couple of minutes Dean heard Ash's voice.

"Good afternoon, it's Dr. Badass. An hour of my time costs one beer. What can I do for you?"

"Hey, Ash. I need to find somebody. I'll send you his composite sketch. He's short. Well, shorter than 6'0 anyway," he remembered Gabriel was about the a head and shoulders shorter than Sam. "People around him get killed or have crazy hallucinations – like really crazy, slow dancing with aliens and stuff like that. He eats tons of candies. Might be seen in the company of chicks looking like pornstars. He's probably working as a janitor at a university – probably in Ohio. That's all I've got."

"Hmph. Interesting. That'll cost you twenty-one beers, pal."

"I'll tell that to Ellen," Dean chuckled and hung up. It was nice to have Ash alive.

"So, this janitor guy is the backup you were talking about?" Sam asked, perplexed.

"Yep. He's the archangel Gabriel."

For some reason, I really enjoyed writing this chapter, though I like John Winchester and it hurt to kill him.

Let me know what you think, your comments are very welcome!