A/N: Hello dear readers! MaraDixon413: I'm sorry. I hope you weren't to traumatized by this chapter. I'm evil, I know. CarverEdlundtheLast: I'm sorry. I hated doing this to my babies, however… Plot! Angst! Anyway, I'm very glad that you considered it to be so well-written. Thank you. ncsupnatfan: I will allow the fic to answer your questions, I assure you you will receive answers shortly. I'm glad you've been enjoying this plotline! Thank you for reviewing! iriskary: Wow! Two reviews! Thank you! It is always wonderful to meet a new reader. I'll start with your review of chapter 24: Congratulations, you are the first person to guess both canon scenes correctly. YAY! *Tosses confetti* Thank you for being so dedicated. Castiel is one of my favorites too, by the way. Don't worry about this fic ending anytime soon, I have twenty years of plot yet to cover, I will be working on this monster for a long time to come. Now for your second review: I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I promise I will keep writing. I don't think I could stop here anyway without garnering bombs around my house. Just keep reading…


Chapter 31: Into the Fire


"Forty years, Sam. Forty damn years." Dean picked up a tool, studying it lovingly. He put it down, leaning against the instrument table to speak. "You want to know the great thing about this? I finally get a crack at… you." he pointed at Sam, laughing slightly, dryly. He stood back up, returning to his perusal of the items, "Almost makes all those other sons of bitches worth it. After all," he turned back towards Sam, "It's your fault, isn't it?" Sam studied him sadly. He looked so worn out and broken, like a plate shattered on the floor, like despite the joyous cruelty stamped across his face he hated everything around him, like he wasn't living of his own volition but by some outside force. Sam had tears in his eyes looking at him, "Oh, Dean… What happened to you?" He wasn't speaking to Dean, but to himself. He had long since given up communicating with the people in his dreams.

Regardless, Dean didn't seem to have heard him, continuing to speak, "It's all your fault. The torture, the pain, everything I've done… the freaking Gate to Hell and everything after, it could have been avoided if you had just had the balls to kill that damn kid when you had the chance."

Sam stared at him, confused. Was Dean angry with him for not killing someone?

There was a pause, like the Sam in the scene had said something. Dean laughed, again that tired, dry laugh that hurt to hear, "Not your fault. Now that's hilarious. Why'd you do it, Sammy? Why'd you have to let him kill you like that? Thirty years on Azazal's rack, and now being his apprentice or whatever, and it all comes down… to you. You hadn't died, I wouldn't of made that deal, and I wouldn't be playing Jailhouse Rock for a bunch of slimy hellbitches."

"Dean please… I'm sorry. If this is my fault then I'm sorry."

There was a slight pause, just a second or two, like the Sam in the scene had talked a little longer, then Sam jumped as Dean yelled, "I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE SORRY! I don't want to hear it! You're nothing to me, you understand? Nothing!" He paused, carefully selecting a tool as he spoke, "But then, it isn't just this, is it? You've been sucking the life out of my life for longer than I can remember. You stole my childhood, my chance at a future, and as it turns out, you as good as killed Mom. So guess what, now you're on my rack… and I couldn't be happier about it." He nodded, seemingly satisfied in his choice of instrument, and walked over to stare down at Sam, "Well, guess we'd better get this party started."


Little Dean sat on the floor, studying the sleeping toddler. Sammy had been asleep for three hours, and while Dean was glad that he was resting, it struck him as a little odd. He couldn't think of the last time Sammy had gotten that much sleep. Moreover, he had fallen asleep on the floor, he had never done that before.

Suddenly the baby let out a soft moan, limbs twitching like a dog having an active dream. Dean sidled closer, beginning to grow alarmed as the moans and twitches increased.

The little boy shook him, his voice pleading with worry, "Sam. Sammy. Come on, wake up." No effect.

Dean's heart raced. Now he really was worried. Why wasn't Sammy responding? A particularly loud moan escaped the two-year-old, and he flung out an arm, catching Dean in the face. The child shook him again, "Sammy! Wake up! Come on, please!" He turned his head toward the door, "Help! Dean! Cas! Sam! Help!" He gathered the toddler into his arms as he rocked back and forth, curling around him until their foreheads touched, "It's okay, Sammy. Everything's gonna be okay."


Bobby stared at John from across the fire. He worried about the guy. There were days when he seemed slightly unhinged, and people like that often became the worst kind of hunters, the crazy ones who didn't care about anything but killing. The ones who would rush into conflict, unheeding of their safety and others. The one's who reveled in danger and gore. He didn't want that for John. "Hey, you okay?"

The dark-haired man left off his nervous fidgeting and turned to look at Bobby, "Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

Bobby silently stared at him.

"My wife might be out there, Bobby, and I just put out salt to keep her away. Do you think I'm okay?"

Bobby sighed, "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"No you don't."

"What?"

"This is just the sort of damn thing I hate. That stupid, awkward, fake-sympathy 'I know how you feel' crap people spew all over the place. You don't know how it feels, you can never know how it feels, so stop. I don't want to hear a damn bit of it. Shut up and leave me alone."

Bobby sat, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, Bobby started to speak, "I… lost someone too."

John glanced at him distractedly, "Really? Who?"

The other hunter cleared his throat, voice breaking as he talked. Man he didn't want to talk about this, "My wife. Few years back." But if he could get through to John somehow…

Now he seemed to have the man's attention, "Oh. What was her name?"

"Karen."

John paused. "She, uh, she another hunter?"

Bobby shook his head, "No." He paused, "Reason I started hunting, actually. Thing got her."

John looked down, then back up, apology shining in his eyes, "I'm sorry, Bobby. I've- I've really given you a lot of crap. I thought- I assumed…"

"It's okay. You didn't know. I don't talk about her much. Hurts, you know?"

"Yeah." There was a long pause.

"Look, John. I know how hard it is. Believe me, I know. You think your gonna die, like the pain is gonna eat you alive. But you can't let it. You decide what to do with your life, and you tell all the evil sons of bitches to jump in the lake."

There were tears in John's eyes, "I have to find Mary's killer, Bobby. It's all I have left."

"I know the feeling. But what if you can't? I've been there John, and some things, they can't be killed. Then what? You have to get on with your life."

"No."

"No?"

"Anything can be killed. You just have to find a way."

Bobby sighed, "Yeah, okay, I hear you. Well, if we're done feeling our feelings, maybe we could get back to work."


A few minutes after Dean yelled the adults came running in, pausing to stare at the scene.

Older Dean dropped by the child's side, "What happened?"

Dean looked at him tearfully, "He won't wake up. I think there's something wrong with him."

Cas walked over, staring down at the toddler for a moment, his face grim, before grabbing up Dean and handing him off to the tall man, "Get him out of here, Sam."

"No! No, I won't leave him!" Dean flailed, striking out at everything within reach in panic, "I won't-"

Cas spoke, "Listen to me, Dean. Nothing will happen to your brother, I promise. I failed you once, this is my fault. This… it never should have happened. I'm sorry. Just give me a chance. Dean and I, we'll save him, don't worry. Please believe me."

The child didn't respond, but he stopped fighting and was carried, crying, out of the room. The angel rushed back to the spasming toddler, putting a finger to his forehead as he moved him to the bed. Sammy quieted, his muscles relaxing. Older Dean stared at Cas with wide eyes, "Well? Is he okay?"

"No, that was merely a symptom. But hopefully he will not suffer physical injury."

Dean paused, "Cas, you know I've forgiven you, right? For all that stuff you did?"

"Of course, Dean."

"Then what was all that back there?"

The angel was silent.

"Okay, fine, have it your way. What's wrong with him?"

"He's having a nightmare."

Dean looked up, confused, "Nightmare?"

"Yes, a… premonition."

"A premonition?! How the hell could he be having a premonition?!"

Cas sighed, "If you remember, Azazal infected him with demon blood-"

"Yeah, I know, but it didn't have an effect 'till a few months before I picked him up from Stanford. He wasn't having premonitions at this age!"

"Dean…"

"What?!"

"Demon blood is a drug, you know that. It has an immediate effect. He started dreaming the night he was dosed."

"Well then why the hell didn't he tell me about it? Huh? Prophetic nightmares? I think I'd remember him telling me about that."

"He didn't know. It was a single dose. Slowly, but surely, the effects wore off. It's how it works. Azazal wasn't trying to give him powers, he was building immunity. That way he would be able to drink gallons as Lucifer's vessel."

The blond man shook his head, "Freaking demons. Still, it's been a year and a half for him, I think it should have worn off by now."

"I said slowly. It's like an illness, Dean, either it runs its course or it's forced to a crisis. I was worried about this with the spell. It forced him to a crisis, either he survives, or he dies."

"Dammit." Dean paused, "What is this? This never happened. Not when we were kids, not ever! He's having freaking seizers!"

"The experience is too traumatic. He can't handle it, and his actions are leaking through to his body. It's like, um, like when a dog's paws twitch in its sleep."

"Wake him up!"

"Dean…"

"Wake him up! You're a freaking angel of the Lord. Do it!"

Cas focused, one hand on Sammy's chest, then looked up. "I can't."

"Okay, well, how do we get in?"

"What?"

"Come on, we gotta get in there, don't we? Help him wake himself up?"

"Dean, this is the worst I've ever seen him. It's even worse than..." He paused, "Whatever he's seeing…I'm not sure you want to-"

"My brother is in there, and he is in pain, dammit! I don't care what the hell I have to go through to get to him, I'll do it! Now get. Me in. His. Damn. Head."

Cas stared at him, then, "Okay."

"Good."

The angel positioned himself, "Put your hand on my arm."


"Where are we?" Dean spoke, staring at the room around them. It was large, a white nothingness that barely seemed to have edges. It was just… blank. Cas was staring about in horror, "No. no, no, no, no, no, nO, NO! This is wrong, this is very wrong. He should not be able to see this."

Dean looked confused, "Well, what is it?"

The angel was breathing heavily, eyes wide with alarm, "The Cage."