Act One, Scene One: I Can't Quit You, Baby

Step One - We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable.

Bobby had warned them that he was extremely good at escaping facilities like this, so they'd locked him to the bed in the most secure room, and monitored him extremely closely.

Dean woke up screaming every night, drenched in the coldest, most disgusting, smelliest sweat he'd ever experienced. It was like a decade of alcohol abuse was trying to crawl out his pours. Smelling himself percolating in his own stench was better than the nightmares, though.

The nightmares were the worst he'd ever experienced, vivid and horrifying. He dreamed of Hell, dreamed of Sam jumping in the hole, dreamed of Cas's body melting into the lake, over and over. At the end of every dream, he found himself alone in a shitty motel room, drinking away the pain, and every time he woke up, he was shocked for a few minutes that it hadn't been real.

After a week or two, he'd calmed down enough to be allowed out of bed, and closely monitored visits to the shrink. This did not please Dean Winchester.

"You want me to what?" he gaped at the woman blinking at him from behind a very large desk. She gave him a don't-you-start-that-shit look.

"I want you to go to a meeting." She was older, curvy, with long dark hair and kind eyes, but the kindness was lost on Dean at the moment.

"Like, an AA meeting."

"Exactly an AA meeting. You don't have to talk, I just want you to go. "

"Look, Cassie-"

"Carla. Dean, please. I listened to your nihilistic rant about how nothing matters and you're all alone, and everything sucks, and I can't force you to want to stop drinking, but I can force you to stay in the clinic indefinitely. You almost died. All I'm asking is that you go to one meeting, with an open mind. One meeting."

"Will you let me out after that?"

"No, but if you hate it, I won't make you go to another."

"Fine. One meeting."

"Okay, here's the thing. Step one, no problem. My life is fucking unmanageable, and I'm powerless over alcohol. I don't like saying that. I'm powerless over a lot of shit, have been for years, and I'm fucking sick of it. Bobby told me I had to quit, I knew he was right. I tried. Less than a day'd pass, and I'd be back down at the bar. But the rest of the steps, the hippie-dippy love circle, I hate that shit. Higher power fucking bullshit." Dean crossed his arms resolutely in front of himself and leaned back in his chair.

"You don't have to believe in God to be in AA, Dean." Carla said.

"Oh, baby, that's not the issue here. I know there's a God. I just happen to also know he doesn't give a fuck if I drink or not, and that he doesn't give a fuck if I'm sane or not."

"Why do you think he doesn't care?"

Dean laughed on the inside at that. Because I used to have a direct line to Heaven, that's why, he thought, but he replied, "Look at all the horrible shit that happens all around us, the death and the natural disasters, you think a loving God would let this happen?"

"I think that there's good and evil in the world, and there's a reason for both."

"How can you find a reason in all the pain?"

"If things weren't painful, we wouldn't know when it was good. Sometimes, the reasons for bad things become apparent after the fact. Sometimes, their only purpose is to prevent others from making the same mistake."

"What about the Devil?"

"Do you believe in the Devil, Dean?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I fought him, that's why." Dean snapped, before he realized what he'd said and how it might sound crazy.

"A metaphorical devil or an actual devil?"

Fuck, now she looks worried, Dean's thoughts raced to get out of this, but he was too strung out and cranky to do a good job, fuck it, he thought, I can stick close to the truth, and said, "Metaphorical. Over the last few years, my brother and I, we went though some serious shit. He got addicted to drugs, did a lot of things he never woulda done sober, ended up almost dying a few times, and he finally basically went through Hell to get sober. As soon as he got fixed up, another friend of ours, he got hooked on something, and he died."

"You said you fought the Devil, but you told me what your brother and his friend went though."

"He was my friend. Our friend. Mostly, my friend. My best friend."

"What did you do, when your brother and your friend, were dealing with their addictions?"

"Lady, come on. I can't… I worked… I had a different job, before I was a mechanic. I did… I fought bad guys, basically, and I can't really tell you more than that, but we were all going up against just bad fuckin' guy after bad fuckin' guy. I drank, all day, every day. They got hooked on harder shit. It was like we were fighting the Devil, people always dying, always just the three of us against the raging hordes of how much God doesn't give a fuck, and then Cas died, and it all just stopped. " Dean could feel the tears starting. This was the most he'd talked about Cas since he'd gone under, and he didn't like it. "I don't want to talk anymore, today, Carla. I'll go to another meeting, okay? Just, let's be done for today."

"Sure, Dean. Whatever you want."

Dean stomped back to his room, paced angrily for a few minutes, and then went to politely request he be allowed to make a call to Sam.

The phone rang, and rang, and finally went to voicemail. His throat felt too thick to speak, and this time, as he hung up without leaving a message, he did cry.

Act One, Scene Two: You Are My One Desire

One year earlier...

Sam shifted restlessly in his bed. The dreams were still coming, and he couldn't decide if they were welcomed or not. At least they were better than dreaming about Hell. They always started the same, he was walking through a forest, a green, pulsating, unbearably alive forest, and then he'd stop to examine a pretty leaf, or a rock, or something, and then the voice would come from behind him. The first time, it was remarkable because he should have been shocked, but instead, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to hear that voice.

"Heya, kiddo."

"Hi, Gabriel."

"How're things going with Hallucifer?"

"Heh. Hallucifer. I like that."

"You still seeing him?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. How's life?"

"Not good, honestly. We trapped Lucifer in the cage, you know. You didn't sacrifice yourself for nothing."

"I know, you did good, Sammy. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, I guess. But then, after… Cas brought me back, got me out of the cage, but he did it wrong, and my soul… Cas got pretty lost, somewhere along the way."

"I know. Angels are too powerful for freewill, and Raphael would have destroyed us. Cas didn't know what else to do. He didn't know how to ask for help, until it was too late. It sucks, man, but it's not the end of the world."

"I think it's the end for me, I'm locked in the panic room right now. A vamp got me."

"I know that, too, buck up, little buddy. Things really aren't as dire as all that. Don't lose faith."

Sam had woken up, still chained to the cot in the panic room, but for some reason, he now had an odd curling sensation in his gut that it was all gonna be ok.

The dreams of Hell stopped from that night on. Sam didn't know how or why, but they'd been replaced with the forest and Gabriel, and he didn't know it, but he was about to slip from consciousness into a dream that would change everything.