Dean had always been athletic and so had Sam. John Winchester's training had insured that. He treated them like soldiers at boot camp and motivated them in a Yoda-like fashion.

"There is no such thing as can't, dammit!"

When Sam and Dean had seen Return of the Jedi, they'd both groaned in sympathy for Luke during his Dagobah days and thanked their lucky stars they did most of their training on the Great Plains and not in the Everglades.

Being athletic, however, and being an athlete, were two different things. In that respect Sam had a distinct advantage. He'd gone to war to be able to play soccer, which opened the door to both basketball and baseball as well. He'd have been drafted for track if the schedule hadn't conflicted with his other activities and he had been just too tall for football. No school they ever attended could find a football uniform to fit him.

Dean, on the other hand, was not an athlete. He much preferred watching as to participating. Give him a hot dog, a beer and a place in the stands close to the cheerleaders and he was a happy camper. It wasn't that he was incapable of playing the game, he just didn't possess much of a competitive drive when it came to sports. Nor, truth be told, could he maintain the grades to be allowed to play. Dean's only contact with team sports was through Sam. When Sam practiced, Dean was drafted to play interference.

Once Sam had asked Dean to pitch a few balls at him so he could practice his swing. Dean, being a smart-ass, made his first pitch a fast ball – which Sam not only hit, but hit hard. Before Dean could react the ball came speeding back at him and nailed him right between the eyes.

It had produced a similar result and feeling as Lisa Holland hitting him with a Louisville Slugger and, as he had back then, he came to his senses hearing Sam's frantic and frightened voice asking him if he were okay.

Uh, no.

Aside from the throbbing head, Dean was pissed at himself for walking right into a trap; and a trap it was too because as he shifted his weight and opened his eyes he realized he was tied down to a wooden table. About a foot away, similarly bound, was Sam. In the pale light that surrounded them, source unknown, Dean could make out some rather unpleasant looking stains on the table beneath his brother. Curling his fingers he could feel something sticky beneath them, and there was no mistaking the smell of blood. They were apparently not the first victims to be strapped down to these tables. Dean now realized the divination that had been going on, didn't require onions.

"Terrific," he muttered hoarsely. "This is just terrific." He blinked painfully. "You okay, Sammy?"

"Headache."

"Same here."

Sam grunted. "We got bagged by a couple of girls and a dog, Dean."

"Don't remind me. My ego hurts worse than my head." After a pause he realized what Sam had said. "A couple..."

Craning his sore head, he looked toward his feet and saw both Missy and Lisa standing there. Missy looked weary and worried. Lisa on the other hand, appeared smug and a little pissed. He realized how foolish he'd been to fall for her innocent nerd routine. The pretty Missy had come off as sharp and confident and Dean wondered now how much of that had been his own way of thinking. Now that they were together, it was clear that Lisa was the leader, Missy the follower.

"So," he said hoarsely. "Which witch is which?"

Missy's flinch and Lisa's frown gave them away. Lisa's story hadn't been a lie, she'd just changed a few things, mostly regarding the role she played. She was the brains. Missy was the brawn; only in this case Missy's brawn was her ability to perform ritualistic magic. Apparently she had healing in her bag of tricks too. The gash on her forehead from where she'd been hurt before was all but gone.

Another observation – there was a building behind them, a small barn with a utility light above the door. The door was open. No light shone inside. There were sigils chalked onto the stone lintel and along each side of the door. Dean didn't recognize them, but Sam did.

"It's a portal. They're building a portal," he whispered. "Dean. This can't be good."

Lisa came toward them, which was a relief because as she stopped between the two tables, Missy behind her, it was easier to see her. Lifting his head made Dean nauseous.

"And to think I actually considered being a gentleman and handing you a tissue," he told her. "You two should be nominated for Oscars."

Lisa smiled. "It opens doors. Nobody pays attention to the mousy wallflower, and when they do, it's generally dismissive. She can't possibly be dangerous. The sexy blond siren though..."

"Missy is the psychic," Sam concluded.

"And she was dangerous, to herself and others, before I came along. She owes me." Lisa shot a look over her shoulder at Missy, who hastily looked away. The statement was a reminder. "She's talented," she continued. "Powerful, but not powerful enough. I was hoping to draw in another psychic, someone to give her a boost."

"The article." From his expression, Dean could tell Sam was kicking himself in the ass for falling for it.

Missy nodded. "All we got though were kooks and assholes. We were both convinced you were the latter until the demon told us otherwise."

Lisa grinned. "I never dreamed of finding someone more powerful than Missy. My intent was to free only Kokabiel..." She gestured toward the building. "But now he can free his comrades too. He commands an army of spirits, and with them he will redeem all of mankind."

"He tell you that? Freeing a demon and a bunch of his little minions ain't good, lady!" Dean tugged at his wrists. They were tightly bound with chains, not rope. There was no way he was getting loose. "He fed you a line. You said it yourself, only it wasn't Missy. He took advantage of you!"

"He loves me."

"Demons don't love people, they love destruction and chaos!"

"You're wrong." Lisa said coldly. "He's not like other demons."

"He was one of the two-hundred," Sam interjected quietly. "The Fallen Ones. He used to be an archangel."

Dean turned his head and gave his brother a hard stare. "How do you know this stuff?"

Sam's response was patently nonchalant, as if he weren't strapped down to a table about to have his guts removed. "I read more than the back of cereal boxes - and romance novels."

"We're about to die and now you're being a smart ass? Nice, Sammy."

"Oh, you're not going to die," Lisa corrected. "You're both far too valuable for that."

Both brothers spoke at the same time.

"What?"

Smiling, she reached out and ran the back of her hand across Dean's cheek, before placing her palm down upon his chest, rubbing it in slow circles. It was an overtly sexual gesture that led Dean to figure out what she was up to before she actually said it. "You are the vessel, and Sam - well - he's always been slated for bigger things." She turned her head to give Sam a wry look. "That's right. Kokabiel is quite familiar with the demon who killed your mother. You might call them...associates."

Sam's voice was hoarse, filled with fear. "He's one of them too. The Fallen."

"That's right, and if you think I'm going to reveal which one, you're kidding yourself. True names have power, and I won't give that to you."

"But you toss Kokabiel's around freely."

"Only because we will need it to help him take the next step." Giving Dean's chest one last pat, she stepped aside and beckoned Missy forward.

Dean flinched away from her, but she didn't touch him. "I'm not going to be anybody's vessel, especially not a demon who's spent time inside a mangy dog. I won't let you do this."

"I won't be doing anything but setting things up," Missy replied softly. "I have the knowledge, but not the power." She turned her head and looked down at Sam. "You're going to do it."

Sam's jaws clenched, his nostrils flared. He was pissed, no bones about it. "Like hell I am," he spat.

From somewhere near their feet, Lisa laughed. "You've got that right. It will be exactly like Hell."