He had both windows rolled down, anger tinted his cheeks and pricked behind his eyes, but the caress of the tarmac on rubber brought that wash of familiarity and calm. A separation from everything outside these six windows. He didn't know where he was going he just knew he needed to go and just keep moving forward. Never stand still, always keep moving and try not to look back. He slowed the speed watching the trees rise and fall on either side of the narrow road, as if he was driving down their time line. He closed his eyes. Ignorance is peace.

"Hello Dean."

"SON OF A..." The car swerved to the left drastically but Dean regained control and miraculously without any damage to the car. "What the hell Cas!"

"My apologies. Dean we need to..."

"No we don't need to do anything. Get out of my car you SOB"

"But Dean." Dean slammed on the breaks, the Impala screamed in disgust. His glare stayed faced out the windscreen and his knuckles whitened from gripping the steering wheel. Castiel leant forward to place and hand on Dean's arm, but Dean visibly shuddered before he had even made contact. Castiel recoiled hurt, then vanished.

Bobby was 'advised' by Castiel to stay at his lodge while Sam waited for Dean to return so they could begin. Bobby had concocted most of the solution. His extensive hoarding had its uses. Castiel had given them the co-ordinates and it had taken them near enough two days to drive there considering Dean wouldn't let Castiel 'mind zap' them there.

"And you're sure you've got your objects?"

"Yea, but look Sammy, I don't like the sound of this, with the precious object thing. You don't think that sounds odd to you? The blood and the contract and the soul part Sam?"

"Of course I do Dean, when have deals ever been a good thing, but what other choice do we have? Cas said this is the only way."

"Well maybe the angels are wrong and this is one of those things we should just walk away from."

"Dean, I know you don't believe that." They stared at each other before Dean blew air from his nose and climbed out the car slamming the door indignantly. They were at the outskirts of The Black Hills National Forest. You wouldn't be able to stumble across the Oracle; you can only have an audience by asking permission through the ritual, according to Castiel it works on any forest. Sam finished setting up and had begun reading the script, stumbling with the ancient language, older than Latin, older than time it sounded.

The chant took some time and Dean looked at the serene outskirts of the forest then back to the dense darkness that seemed to leak between the thick trees. He cursed in his head: 'Why is it always at night.'

Sam paused and pulled out a ring, too dull to glint its potential in the moonlight, he hooked it in one hand along with his blade: "Dean are you ready?" Dean nodded, grabbed the second knife and removed his jacket. Sam offered him a question mark expression but Dean remained emotionless and turned his back to Sam. Sam hesitated a moment longer unsure whether to proceed, but although Dean was off his game he knew he wouldn't do anything completely stupid...

He started the final verse of the chant, roughly translated as: "We offer these gifts. As soul payment. With the blood of the loved. And the blood of the contract." They both sliced their palms, a single smooth movement leaving a gash, thickening with blood, then they took out their vials (one of Bobby's more unusual but once again helpful quirks that he keeps a blood Sample of everyone he can.) And poured the contents over their wound. Sam came to the end of the ritual and placed the ring on the cut. Out of Sam's gaze Dean placed his cut hand on his left shoulder, over a hand print blistered in to his flesh.

"So?" Sam looked up and Dean still had his back to him but was now slipping back on his jacket. They both faced the woods. "What now?"

"Cas just said that after the ritual was done the Oracle would decide whether to allow us permission."

"Well that's just freaking perf..." Thousands of painful creaks and groans bombarded the air as the tress bowed in to each other forming a clear pathway

Sam let out a pleased "Huh" and they trod their way in to the unknown.

"So, Dad's ring?" Sam turned to Dean's question.

"Yeah."

"I didn't know you kept it."

"Mmm." Sam stumbled slightly over the rebellious roots. "And what did you use?"

Dean let his eyes cast down and pursed his lips: "Well, it fit the description."

"But what was so precious that you couldn't show me?"

"Leave it Sammy." Dean had put on his father's voice, that military tone that reminded Sam his place as the younger brother. Sam huffed but dropped the subject. The rest of the twenty minute walk was in a not quite comfortable silence. Sam felt anger bubbling with every step, angry at his brother, angry at Cas, angry at why he is being left in the dark...AGAIN. 'Who is Dean protecting? Are the angels telling Dean to kill him again just to eliminate the risk? Is he protecting himself? He is so guarded it is impossible to tell.' But just as Sam was about to attack his brother with questions, a hut came in to view. They looked at each other; smoky blue against hazel-green and they proceeded towards it.

They stood facing the wooden door unsure what their next move was, "It looks uninhabited..." They entered through the archway and were met with a Victorian medium's room of 'wonders,' purple silks draped in hanging rings and everything glittered with plastic magic.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me."

"Dean."

"Seriously Sam, comeon! It looks like Physic Sally's wet dream."

"Dean!"

"What?!" There was a woman stooped over a crystal ball who hadn't moved from her seat, she hadn't even looked up, but as they moved closer Sam could see the flicker of something below her veil, something was moving. As they circled round the room to face her, a table separating them they piles were brought in to view. Piles and piles of different shades of peach. The piles got darker and higher the further from her and the one she was sitting on. The same layered, squashed pile of unidentifiable material, which acted as a throne for her at the table.

Sam cleared his throat: "Ma'am? I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean, are you, the Oracle?"

Her right arm snapped up with such velocity it made Dean reactively move his hand to his gun until he saw her fingers indicating them to sit. They both sat opposite her waiting for her to speak. She said nothing. Her head was pulled in to her chest and her face hidden by matted greying blonde hair and some sort of headdress. While Dean was getting pissed Sam looked round the room, it looked like just the one room in the whole hut, no kitchen. No bedroom. Just the back of the room filled with stacks of pink. The wooden walls were peeling, as was the ceiling. And the floor. The whole house looked like it was in agony. The only thing that struck of interest was the one door behind her. A brass knob shined and not a speck of decolourisation of the wood, it looked so out of place like a dove in a flock of pigeons.

"So lady, we're here, we've played your little game so talk to us."

"...Objects." She still didn't look up but her breathing had become shallow and rapid and her speech wobbled.

"What? That wasn't part of the deal." Sam glanced at Dean who was staring angrily at the figure in front of them.

"Objects. Objects. Objects!" She sounded almost feral and her voice was getting stronger, louder.

"No dammit." Dean crashed his fist on the table. The woman flew forward across the table, grabbed his wrist and with both hands pulled him down the table towards her, knocking the crystal ball flying. Dean let out a small cry of surprise and pain, the grip was tight and firm, much stronger than that of an elderly recluse. He watched her as her head raised from his wrist up to his arm pausing at his shoulder then up to his face. She stared in to his eyes and he could look at nothing else, these eyes were so rich in colour the closer he looked the more dimensions of iris' were revealed. He then realised she couldn't be more than eighteen. Sam gawked at this specimen, a face that unhinged jaws, stops wars. Starts wars. Then she spoke. Her voice had more of a musical tone now, it was soft but vibrant. She stroked a gloved hand round Dean's wrist.

"For the answers you seek, I need your possessions." The command brought Dean back and he saw her through suspicious eyes, he noticed her eyes had faded slightly, they darkened with less light shining out, and she had lines appeared around them now, crows feet, the longer he looked the deeper they seemed to get. Dean stared he looked at the mouth; he looked at the mouth starting to droop and the cheeks getting hollow. He stared back at sunken eyes that darkened further under angry white eyebrows. He closed his agape mouth and blinked away his confusion and fear.

Her grip tightened, painfully so. Dean let out a cry, she was going to break the bone he was sure of it. Dean cried again. But Sam stepped in.

"Woah, hey, look here you go, you can have them, ok?" Sam intercepted, his eyes worked from the grip back to her, he lent forward and placed the ring in front of her. Her grip slacked but not enough for Dean to wriggle free.

"And you." She rasped, her voice was now of a woman on her death bed. Harsh and crackled, Dean's face tightened but finally nodded. She picked up the ring and it vanished in her leathered palms. She flashed Sam a wonky, toothless grin. The next thing they saw would stay with them forever. They watched the face of a ninety year old hag crack and split straight down the middle, then the lines shattered each half until they peeled from her face and fluttered to the floor like autumn leaves, adding to the pile of her throne. She giggled, a childish gurgle, a babies giggle? Their faces contorted with disgust as they both looked up to see what was revealed underneath, the face of a baby. Dean tried to hold back bile rising in his throat as the "woman" danced a finger up his arm and at his shoulder. She worked up his sleeve to reveal tanned skin as her face aged to a young girl.

"Yours is going to be slightly less painless." And she giggled as she placed a slender long hand over Castiel's hand print. Dean was still reeling over the whole face falling thing but it's not like he was strong enough to stop her anyway. As soon as the hand touched the print he felt as if his heart was being penetrated by metal spikes conducting electricity. The girl threw her head back and laughed. A young teenager; "Oh well this is new." Dean clenched his teeth grunting through the pain. "Oh such pain and sadness. But, yet, so much love. And so much strength." She released him. Dean collapsed back in to the chair; he passed out for a second to find Sam propping him up.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Must just be tired from the drive." Sam's eyebrows furrowed in confusion but was interrupted before he could continue.

The woman's head thrust back words poured from her open mouth without her lips moving: "The cracks are opening and time is coming, seek out its keeper, the collector. He can save you, us, them, those, who? Exactly, him. Find him. Save him. Save us."

Then their world darkened as both the boys blacked out and awoke to an otherwise empty shack. "What the hell?"