Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Just playing in the sandbox.

Dean had never considered himself to be a particularly good son, at least not in the ways most fathers thought of their sons as "good." It was true that he had practically raised his sister and brother, in the absence of their father; had picked up the slack John left behind, and had done so without question or complaint. It was true that he found himself playing mediator between the younger Winchesters and their father more often than not, possessing that ability to see his father's reasoning that so many eldest siblings develop—and so many younger ones do not. It was true he had protected Sam and Kate from all things evil as well as any brother possibly could; had patched up scraped knees and broken hearts; had stood between them and well-meaning adults who wanted to (or did) call Child Protective Services anytime something went wrong. It was true he had shed any dreams or illusions of normalcy at a ridiculously young age, replacing them with a cocky, bad-boy image that would make sense given the need to fight, lie, and steal to keep the younger ones fed and sheltered.

But Dean had never considered himself a very good son, because he knew, at his core, that his loyalty lay with them—with Sam and Kate—more than it did with Dad.

Worse, he suspected Dad knew it.

But that was why he felt absolutely no hesitation putting a hand on the man's elbow to get his attention while he packed the truck, after defending him to Kate and Sam's (well, more Sam's, honestly) passionate—and loud—protestations regarding his current plan.

"Dad, are you sure about this?" he asked in a low voice. He ignored the way Dad tensed and his eyes darkened, about to lay down the law the way he often did when he was sick of being questioned. Dean forestalled him with a single placating hand held in a gesture of surrender. "I know, I know the reasons, I get it. But this is the Demon we're talking about. The Demon. And we're going to leave Sam and Kate to deal with it alone?"

Dad clenched his jaw, and Dean saw the minute flash of muted panic that haunted his father's gaze for a bare second before he got hold of it.

"Sam is the one with the visions, with all the information; he has to stay," Dad said slowly, as if convincing himself as much as Dean. "Kate would be worse than useless anywhere near Kasadya right now; she'd get us both killed running the woman down." He met Dean's eyes again, brown to green, almost pleading. "I would go alone if all it meant was my death; that's nothing to me. But they would snatch me and use me against you three, and I'm not stupid enough to believe any of you are calloused enough to not respond to that. You, of all you kids, would have the fortitude to stand your ground even if they had me, but it would be hell."

Dean pointedly ignored the pit in his stomach at the image, and didn't voice his disagreement with that last statement.

Dad rubbed a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, impatience and frustration—though not at Dean—showing in the jerky motion. "There's no right answer, Dean, and I know that. This is the least awful of a whole slew of awful options."

It was at moments like these that Dean remembered why he admired—and trusted—his father so much. The man may have been an obsessed bastard at times, but he'd been dealt an impossible hand, and had done his best with it. He always did.

Dean nodded, placed a hand on Dad's shoulder and squeezed. "I get it, I do. Just wanted to make sure you did."

Dad gave him a small smile, that one he'd shared with Dean so many times before leaving on hunts, when Sam was sulking or Kate was out walking, hurt and angst-ridden that Dad was leaving again. John would look down at his eldest, and say, "Look after them." And Dean would nod, seriously, maintaining eye contact to let him know he understood the order and all its implications, and John would smile that smile.

That's my boy.

"I'm going to go say goodbye," Dean said, nodding toward the hotel room. "I'll be out in five."

Inside the dingy room, his brother and sister were both tense; their hugs a bit tighter, lingering, eyes barely masking fear and frustration and rage.

"Take care of her," he murmured in Sam's ear as they embraced roughly, and Sam tangled a hand in the back of his coat in response. His bangs hung in his eyes when they pulled back; he looked so young, that for a split second, Dean was sure he couldn't possibly leave him, leave them, not now. But Sammy swept his hair back, sharply, and when their gazes met again, his hazel eyes were hard and dark. He nodded once in response to Dean's admonition.

Kate trembled in his arms, and he held her longer, let her take deep stuttering breaths against his chest in an attempt to bring herself under control. Dean knew that Caleb's death had hit her hard; followed closely by the culmination of their entire existence—The Hunt for The Demon—happening that very night, and without Dad or Dean for backup? His sister was shaken, and Dean could hardly blame her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair, holding her as tightly as he dared. She shook her head against his shoulder, the juvenile action making an unexpectedly sad smile spring to his lips. She used to do that as a kid, when she didn't want to go to bed.

The cotton of his tee rasped as Kate's forehead brushed it repeatedly. "'M'not tired, Dean…"

"Katie," he murmured, buried a hand in her hair to stop her. "I know what he was to you. It's okay."

She dug her hands into his back so hard it hurt. "Not now, Dean," she choked out, muffled against his leather jacket, and he dropped a kiss to the top of her head, respecting that. She needed focus now, not reminding of her grief.

"Don't you let anything happen to Sammy," he ordered as he held her at arms' length. "Or yourself, hear?"

She nodded, then swallowed hard.

"Don't die, Dean."

He pulled her hard to him again, unable—well, unwilling, at least—to stop himself.

"I won't. You too."

One of the less glamorous parts of an already-less-than-glamorous job was the stakeouts. Kate stared at a spot on the Impala's dashboard, wishing the young couple—the Holdens, she thought Sam had said—would finish their dinner and put their baby to bed. Was that bad, wishing for a monster to come visit an innocent family? Kate was too numb to care; though to be fair, it was less wishing for it to happen and more wishing it would hurry up and happen—

"You often think too much."

Kate blinked in surprise at the warm cabin room surrounding her. It took her half a moment of shock to realize she knew this place. The oil lamp burning on the rickety table nearby, the crackling fire across the room, the spiderweb in the window where she and Caleb had stood guard all that night while Dad and Dean recovered on the thin rug.

But instead of two wrapped-warm-and-snuggly lumps, Nathanael stood in the middle of the floor, head tilted.

"What the hell?" she mused. "Why are we here?"

Nat raised an eyebrow. "You were thinking of him, of this place, when I came to you. You are distracted. Given the enemy you are about to face, it is perhaps unwise."

Kate was speechless for a moment, the numb nothingness of the last few hours giving way to hot fury that robbed her of words temporarily. Nathanael said nothing, only looked at her with that same serene expression he always wore when they talked.

She wanted to punch it right off his face.

"Unwise?" she growled. "It's unwise to be unable to absorb what's happening around me right now, how quickly everything fell apart? Unwise to be facing down the horror of knowing that…bitch…killed Caleb? That's what you want to say to me? That I'm distracted, and it's unwise?"

The angel narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Yes. It is the truth, and it could prove fatal if you cannot—"

"I know!" she shouted through a clenched jaw.

"Maybe we could tell them there's a gas leak?" Sam mused aloud, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel restlessly.

Kate stared at him blankly for a moment, absorbing the chill of the air inside the car, the darkness outside, her brother in the driver's seat. Sam stared back, clearly expecting an answer. She cleared her dry throat. "A plan that, while logical, has served us well precisely zero times," she countered, her voice flat and monotone to her own ears. Sam sighed, ceding the point.

"We could tell them the truth."

Kate didn't even dignify that with a response, only tore her gaze from the house—the couple were clearing the table now—to give him an incredulous look. It was the first real expression she'd worn since Dad and Dean left, and Sam gave her a small smile. She suspected he'd just succeeded in an effort to draw her out of her own head.

You have got to snap out of this, Winchester.

She forced a grin back at him, and the tension in Sam's shoulders lessened visibly. Kate stifled a wave of guilt—she wasn't the only one hurting, here—and settled back into the leather with a huff of frustration.

"I hate the waiting worst," she remarked, without heat.

"Yeah, I think we all—"

"I have come to relay orders," Nathanael said, back inside her mind. Kate let her head fall back against the cool glass, stifled the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"Orders?"

"From my superiors," the angel confirmed.

It was Kate's turn to raise an eyebrow. "I thought you lot weren't supposed to be interfering down here."

"We aren't," Nat confirmed. "And for tonight, neither are you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's almost weird, sitting here," Sam mused. Kate startled, clenching her fist to keep from looking around in confusion. The head-hopping was getting old fast. And Sam was staring at her.

"Sorry," she muttered. "Almost fell asleep."

He didn't look like he believed her, but continued his thought. "After all these years, we're finally here. It's..."

"Surreal," Kate supplied, and he nodded. Companionable silence fell again before Kate said quietly, "We can't think about it. We just do our jobs, like always."

Sam took a moment to answer, but when he did, he echoed her very thoughts on the matter.

"This isn't like always."

"I know."

He was quiet for another beat. "Do you think it'll stop once he's dead?"

Kate stared at him, uncomprehending.

"The headaches, the visions, your…healing abilities," Sam clarified, and her stomach clenched. "Do you think they'll stop once the Demon is dead?"

"Tonight's events are preordained, you cannot participate in them," Nat was standing before her again, and Kate's patience snapped.

"Shut up!" She stood, even as the wind blew out all the windows and destroyed the old wood door, thunder crashing overhead. Nat took it all in calmly, looking around before meeting her eyes again.

"You are angry with me."

"Damn straight I'm angry with you!" she roared. "I'm having a serious conversation with my frightened, uncertain younger brother out there and you keep dragging me back in here to tell me I'm supposed to let him run into that house and confront that monster alone! You're insane, I won't do it!"

"Katharine—"

"Get out, Nathanael."

"I must warn you, if you go against Heaven's wishes in this—"

"I don't give a single flying crap what your superiors want." Kate said quietly, blue eyes flashing. "I'm not sitting this one out. Now get out of my head, before I throw you out."

Nat stared coldly at her. "You could not if you wished to."

"Shall we test that theory?" she challenged. "Out."

"Katie?"

"I don't know, Sam," she answered, trying to ignore how frail her voice seemed. "I doubt my freaky powers are going anywhere, though I hope your headaches stop."

Sam said nothing, and when Kate looked over, he was studying her. Normally she didn't mind that look; Sam was insightful and wicked smart, and Kate was nearly always interested in what his brain managed to extrapolate from whatever his senses were telling him.

This time, though, she wished he'd leave it alone.

"Why?" he asked. She looked at him, confused again. "Why do you think your powers will stay?" he repeated.

She shrugged. "I don't know if—"

"But you do," Sam interrupted. "You do know what they are. And you know they're not related to Yellow Eyes at all, don't you?"

She said nothing, words getting stuck in her throat.

"Why would you let me believe we were alike if we're not?" Sam looked…hurt, and it made Kate's heart break afresh. "Why let me hope—" he stopped, taking a deep breath, as though it were a betrayal she had dealt him, and a devastating one at that.

"Sam," she moved, placing a gentle hand on his forearm and praying he wouldn't pull away.

She was interrupted by streetlights flickering outside. There was a beat; blue eyes met hazel. The radio crackled, static filling the car, and Sam breathed a single word before they were both stumbling into the cool night:

"Kate—"

For a moment, all was sensation: boots slapping the asphalt, her breath fogging in the air, grass under her feet bare seconds after leaving the car. She had just formed the thought to tell Sam to try carding the door instead of picking the lock—it'll be faster—when something slammed into her side. She barely had time to register the feeling of weightlessness before she hit the ground, landing hard on her wrist, something heavy crushing her a half second later. She felt something in her arm give, heard herself cry out, distantly. Felt something unyielding strike her jaw and realized it was a fist.

Struck back as she heard Sam shout her name.

The old warehouse was nothing particularly special—nondescript, like so many places the monsters they hunted chose to hunker down, meet up, build homes. Dean had seen hundreds of them in his lifetime, had explored their nooks and crannies, had brought their secrets to light and purged them of the evil that too often resided there.

So when Dad gave him the signal to hang back, he naturally took it to mean what it always did:

Stay out of sight, son, and cover me.

Dad walked out into the middle of the cavernous room right at 11:59 pm, alert for any movement. Dean had worried, briefly, about whether they'd make it in time to ensure they both got out of this alive; but they had managed—though barely.

He lingered in the shadows, using every sense he possessed to try and locate Meg. He had wanted to try to take her out himself before she even got near Dad, but John had been adamant.

"She won't come alone, Dean. Don't make a move until we know what we're dealing with."

Always one to follow orders—not to mention that plan made good sense—Dean did as he was told, one eye on Dad while he moved silently through the outskirts of the warehouse room. All was silent, aside from the sound of dripping water from the northeast corner, and dark, except for the single bulb that illuminated the stark figure of his father not far away.

"Hello, John," came a warm male voice, echoed through the large space. Dean saw the speaker's shadow before he even stepped into the light, and trained his gun on it.

Dad hesitated for a moment. "What was wrong with your other meatsuit, Kasadya?"

The man chuckled. "Oh right, you half-blind humans. Can't see souls. Kasadya is my sister, and she hasn't switched meatsuits at all. I'm Kabaiel."

"I see," Dad responded, slowly. "And where is Kasadya?"

The man grinned.

Kate tried hard to sit up and got a mouthful of blonde hair for her trouble, as her attacker shoved her back down. She had only gotten a single, blurred look at the woman's face, but she already knew who she was dealing with. Biting back a whimper hard enough she tasted blood—her wrist felt like it was broken, fuckin' perfect—Kate curled up, made herself small beneath the woman's slight weight.

She kicked, and her booted foot met flesh and bone with a satisfying crunch. Above her, the woman screeched and rolled, giving Kate the opening she needed. But then Sam was there, fist flying toward a pretty face as he stepped over his prone sister.

"Sam!" Kate shouted, but his blow had already landed, leaving his opponent stunned in the grass while he turned his attention to her. He crouched, moving to help her up; but Kate shoved him off, cradled her left arm against her chest.

"Sam, the demon!" she hissed.

"But—"

"I got this, you go!"

"No, Kate—"

"Goddammit, Sam, you got one shot at this!" She paused, seeing the truth of her words working at him. He wavered, then squeezed her shoulder roughly and was gone. Kate stumbled to her feet as fast as she was physically able, looked down panting at the blonde struggling her way back to consciousness. The woman groaned and rolled over, and Kate smirked when she blinked sluggishly.

"Hello, Meg."

"Where is Kasadya?" Dad asked again, his voice dropping, adopting that dark tone that usually made the monsters sit up and pay attention. This guy—Kabaiel—just smirked.

"She had…other business to attend to."

"More important than the Colt she's been killing my friends for?" Dad asked, incredulous.

"Well," Kabaiel explained, his tone neutral, almost good-natured. "The Colt is important to our father, so he assigned Kasadya and me the task of retrieving it. But the only thing Kasadya wants more than that gun, John, is you."

Dad's head tilted in a gesture Dean recognized as genuine confusion. "Then why isn't she here to collect me?"

Kabaiel laughed out loud this time, the sound sending chills down Dean's spine. "Because she doesn't want to kill you, John. She wants to hurt you. Over and over, she wants you to feel that greatest of agonies. So she's not coming for you. She's coming for your kids."

Dean felt his world contract to a pinpoint as his chest clenched painfully.

Katie! Sam!

"You bastard," Dad growled. "I'm not giving you the gun. I'm going to shoot your ugly face with it, and then I'm going to leave."

"I expected no less, really," Kabaiel picked at his thumbnail indifferently. "You already didn't follow the terms of the deal, did you, Johnny-boy? You think I'm stupid? You didn't come alone."

Dad froze, and Dean moved. His bullets wouldn't kill the thing, but they might slow it down enough for Dad to get away.

"Of course I came alo—"

"Drop the games, Winchester. Your firstborn is here, I've seen him."

Dean's heart stopped.

"It doesn't matter," the demon continued. "I didn't come alone, either."

He moved his finger to the trigger, but never got to pull it. Pain exploded behind his eyes, and everything went black.

"Aw, sweet Katie Winchester," Meg grunted as she stood. "That brother of yours has quite the hammer fist."

Kate almost laughed, fierce pride rushing through her veins for her hulk of a little brother. "Quite. Thought you were meeting up with Dad tonight?"

"Ah, but after I finished bleeding your friend Caleb—"

"Which I'm going to destroy you for, by the way."

"—I thought to myself, 'Self? You know the best way to torture John Winchester?'"

Kate roared her rage and rushed the demon, who sidestepped her easily, but still caught the sharp edge of Kate's knife in the gut. She staggered back a couple steps, yelping, and retaliated before Kate had time to catch her balance. The demon punched, sending Kate flying into the Holden's car in the driveway, adding the squealing car alarm to the general mayhem. Kate struggled to blink back the blackness encroaching on her vision as she worked to breathe past screaming agony.

Above them, the nursery burst into flames and a woman wailed inside. Kate's eyes widened.

"Sammy!"

"Oh, no you don't," Meg was right there, fingers closing tightly around Kate's throat as she lifted her clean off the concrete. Kate gasped, kicked, flailed, all to no avail. The demon wasn't letting go, and she was far stronger than a human the size of Meg Masters would ever have been. Kate whimpered in spite of herself as her sight began to dim; she hadn't actually wanted to go like this…

The pressure released, and there was a scream right next to her as she hit the ground. Through streaming eyes, Kate looked up to see a man with yellow eyes standing over Meg, who was crouching nearby.

"Funny meeting you here, daughter," the man said to the sniveling demon at his feet. "I was rather certain my orders were clear. You were to retrieve the gun from John Winchester tonight. No later."

"The gun is in our hands right now, father!" Meg wept. "Kabaiel—"

"Kabaiel was not ordered to get the gun. You were."

"Father, please!"

"Tsk, tsk," the Demon tutted. "It's really too bad, Kasadya. You were to be my right hand in all of this, but…I can't have an insubordinate lieutenant running about, mucking up the works, now, can I?"

"But I—"

She never got to finish her sentence, as the Demon placed a hand over her forehead and black smoke poured from Meg's mouth, seeped into the ground as Kasadya was sent screaming back into Hell. The Yellow-Eyed Demon looked down at the charred grass and sighed. Then he turned to Kate, who suddenly wished she was literally anywhere else; anywhere but backed against a car with no weapon before the greatest enemy her family had ever known.

"Shame," Yellow Eyes said conversationally. "It's hard to find good help these days. Now you, young one," he grinned and leaned in so his face was mere inches from hers, and Kate shuddered. "You are something altogether different, aren't you? A small threat to my plan, for sure…but killing you outright would do nothing to help me with Sammy. He's my favorite, you know."

Hearing that monster speak her brother's name so familiarly, as though he owned Sam, lit a fire in Kate's veins. She clenched her jaw and ground out;

"I won't let you touch him!"

Yellow Eyes smiled indulgently. "Oh how...poignant. So protective you are. Don't worry, I won't hurt him. I'm rooting for him, in fact!"

Kate never got to ask what exactly he was rooting for. A shout came, one she recognized, and Kate looked up to see Sam in the doorway, aiming the Colt straight at Yellow Eyes. She heard a cold laugh, and turned to watch the light leave his evil eyes…

But he was gone. She gasped, wincing at the pain of it, and yelped when Sam went to his knees before her. There were people standing around—the Holdens, neighbors, onlookers—and Kate knew they needed to get out of here. Sam was bleeding from his nose and ears, and Meg, fully human again, was stirring weakly nearby.

"Sammy, get us away from these people," Kate rasped through a clenched jaw. He helped her to her feet before lifting Meg's broken body into his arms. The girl whimpered breathily in response, and someone shouted at Sam, "Hey! You shouldn't move her!"

"We're taking her to get help!" Kate retorted, and ignored shouts of protest as they moved to the Impala quickly, Kate sitting in the back with Meg's head on her lap. Sam looked at her from the driver's seat.

"Where to?" he asked softly. She placed a hand on his temple and breathed some of her grace into his head, soothing the bruise on his brain—a nasty concussion—and taking a deep breath against the pain of using her power while she was injured herself.

"Anywhere but here," she answered, setting to work on Meg. Before she got far, her phone rang shrilly. She flipped it open and tried not to sound too half-dead.

"Dad?"

"Get to Bobby's," Dad said, and then hung up. Kate raised a brow as she tossed her phone to the floorboards, turning her attention back to the broken girl in her backseat.

"Bobby's, Sam; Dad says Bobby's."

The drive was a blur to Kate; she managed to heal Meg enough that the young woman would survive without requiring medical attention, but that was as far as she got before her body's own reaction caught up with her. They spent the last half of the drive stopping every thirty miles so Kate could throw up. By the time they pulled into Bobby's driveway, kicking up gravel and dirt, she hadn't spit up more than bile in two hours, Meg was pale and sweating, and Sam was exhausted.

"Where are we?" were the first words Sam heard from Meg, as herself. He was shocked how different her voice was, softer and a little higher, nothing like it had been when she was possessed.

"A friend's," he answered, hoping not to spook her too badly. "We'll introduce ourselves properly as soon as we're inside." He levered a barely-conscious Kate onto her feet, ignoring her slurred protests that she was fine, she could manage, what was Dad going to think if he saw her like this?

"I know who you are," Meg said quietly, limping toward the house beside him. Sam shuddered at the realization of what this woman had been through. He was sure she would need help adjusting, and only hoped Dad didn't try to boot her back into regular civilian life.

There wasn't really any way to come back from that kind of possession, he didn't think.

Bobby met them at the door and held it wordlessly, which was Sam's first clue something was up. Bobby hadn't seen them in ages, and was always shamelessly affectionate with all three of the Winchester kids, in his gruff sort of way. The lack of greeting made Sam's hair stand up. But he shuffled his drooping sister past the older man and into his living room. Dad stood quickly from the couch, striding over to them and folding both of them in a suffocating hug.

Sam couldn't hold back the laugh of relief—they'd made it!—and hugged his father back. "God, Dad, we were so worried."

"I know," Dad whispered back, slapping him on the shoulder as he pulled away. Something in his face wasn't quite right; pinched and gray. "What happened to your sister?"

"Yellow Eyes," Sam answered, hoping it'd be enough for now. "Where's Dean?"

What color was left to John Winchester drained from his cheeks, and Sam felt his heart drop into his stomach. "Dad?" he questioned. Kate was forcing her head up, sensing the change and knowing something was wrong. "Dad, where's Dean?"

Dad shook his head.

A/N: DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNN! Cheers to my SPNsters, Nova especially, for their help and encouragement.

Don't forget to leave a review! My muse loves them like Dean loves pie.