"Oh god..." Sam searched Dean's face. His lifeless, unbreathing face... "What have I done?"

"You did what he asked you to," Tony tried to assure him. Sam looked over at the agent; eyes glistening with whatever tears hadn't managed to escape down his cheeks. "You saw how much pain he was in, Sam-"

"I killed my brother!" he would've shouted, but his throat ached. "I killed Dean..." he stood, abruptly, and leaned over the edge of the deck and expelled the contents of his stomach into the lawn.

Tony approached his side as Sam's short-lived retching died down and turned into quiet sobs. "Sam," he started, quietly, "I know you didn't want to. But you did it for him and I know he's grateful for it." He watched Sam's adam's apple bob up and down as his jaw clenched. "Could you have sat there much longer and listened to his bones continue to break? His screams?"

"Tony..."

"No, man...I get it. I do. I get what you're feeling like, right now. But what you did was brave and merciful. I don't think I would've been able to do it; but that doesn't make what you did wrong."

"Pretty sure there's a law..." he said with a slight hint of his lips turning up at the corners.

"Pretty sure there's an exception to every rule," he replied without hesitation. "Especially in these circumstances."

Sam shook his head and forced himself to look back out at the lawn, and not at his brother. "I...think I need some time," he said without looking at Tony. "Just...to be alone for a while out here. Please?" That's when he did look at Tony, and the broken look in Sam's eyes spoke a thousand words.

"Sure," Tony replied. "I'll be just inside if you need anything." Tony quietly made his way into the house, shutting the door behind him and stopping Gibbs and Ducky from intruding on the younger Winchester for the time being.

Sam waited several silent minutes before turning around and looking at Dean. The lump reinforced in his throat and tears burned new again. He stepped forward, glancing at the fallen blanket on the deck floor beside the chair. He swiped the tears from his face before picking it up, shaking it, and draping it gently over Dean, up under his chin.

"Damnit, Dean," he whispered, brokenly. "I really hope nothing happens to Cas. 'Cause if he doesn't make it back here... we're both dead." The finality of that decision gave him some measure of peace, albeit a small one. He laid back in the chair, then turned onto his side facing away from Dean; ashamed still at what he'd allowed himself to do. Before he realized he was even tired, he was fast asleep...

11 00 11 00 11

"Everything okay out there?" Gibbs asked Tony after he'd quietly led them to the living room.

"No. Not at all," Tony replied as he sank down on the opposite side of the couch from his boss. Ducky sat in the chair across from them. Gibbs narrowed his eyes in Tony's direction for further explanation just as McGee appeared from the basement door and wandered into the living room.

"Abby passed out in one of the hammocks," he informed them, "And Bobby is keeping an eye on the cam." His brow furrowed a bit at the sullen look on his colleagues faces. "Everything okay?"

"The sedative stopped working pretty much immediately," Tony told them. "Dean woke up as his body started...contracting. It was like every muscle in his body was uncontrollably squeezing to the point we could hear his...bones start snapping like twigs."

"Dear god," Ducky said in a low voice. "I've never seen such a thing in all my years..."

"Well," Tony made a small sound that could've been a laugh, had he added even a hint of a smile, "It's a demonic poison, so I'm guessing that no you haven't."

"He's quiet..." McGee glanced briefly toward the patio doors then back to Tony.

Tony met his eyes for a long moment, then Ducky's, and finally Gibbs'. "After his collar bone snapped, Sam didn't really have much of a choice... Dean was begging him," he looked down at his lap. "And I don't blame him for giving in."

Ducky and Gibbs immediately realized what he'd meant, then. Gibbs drew in a deep breath through his nose before slowly letting it out. "How?" Ducky asked.

"Painkillers," he replied.

"Wait..." Tim swallowed, "Are you saying Sam... killed him?"

"Yeah, Probie. That's what I'm sayin'," he met his eyes again; a serious look in his eyes that dared him to question the decision. "He didn't wanna make him suffer any longer. We tried everything; it was the last resort. But it was the humane thing to do. It's not like he's gone forever, right?"

"Yeah, but still," Tim said as he leaned back on the fireplace, "That had to be...really tough on Sam..."

Tony flinched slightly, suddenly proud of his probie for the actual subject of his concern. "He's pretty upset. Almost immediately regretted the decision. But I don't think there's anything we can say or do to make him feel any better until Castiel shows up."

"How much longer do you think he'll be?" Tim asked.

"Not really sure. But...I guess there's not much else we can do right now. Maybe...you should try and get some sleep?"

"I'm not sure I can, right now," Tim admitted.

Ducky sighed, "Well, I suppose I'll at least attempt to catch a bit of shuteye," he said as he stood with his tea. "If Sam has any trouble...well, if you need me, don't hesitate to come and get me."

"Yeah, Duck. Thanks," Gibbs told him.

"Goodnight," the doctor said before retreating up the stairs.

"What about you, Tony?" Gibbs asked. "You've had a damn long night."

"Yeah, right," he smirked. "No way I'm getting to sleep any time soon..."

11 00 11 00 11

Sam was pulled from his sleep by a hand gently shaking his shoulder. "Sam," a voice whispered. A familiar voice...

His eyes shot open to the person crouching beside the chair he was laying in. "Dean?"

Dean smiled, "Yeah, Sammy. Time to get up." Dean stood up.

"Dean..." Sam shot up to stand and threw his arms around him into an embrace. "I'm sorry..." his voice cracked.

Dean furrowed his brow as he returned the hug. "You've got nothin' to be sorry about, Sam. You did what I asked you to," he pulled away and held him at arms length to look him in the eye. "Wish you woulda done it sooner," he smirked, "But better late than never, right?" Sam's face scrunched a bit and his eyes shone with anguish. The smirk faded from Dean's face. "I'm sorry I asked you to do that, Sammy. That was a lot to ask... I can't thank you enough."

Sam looked him over, "Everything's better?"

"Yeah," Dean told him as he dropped his hands. "I need a shower and a change of clothes, but other than that, I'm good as new." Sam nodded in acknowledgment as he continued to look at him. Dean knew, in that moment,, exactly what his little brother was thinking; what that pain in his eyes meant. "Listen, Sam. That pain..." Sam met his brother's eyes as he spoke. "It was like being back in Hell again." Sam flinched at that. "And you stopped it. You made it go away. I'm not some...senior citizen who's just tired of life and wanted to die. You're not Kavorkian," he told him, and Sam's gaze dropped for a moment, someplace lower than his face. "And you're not a murderer." He met his eyes again. "You're not evil, Sammy. You did this because you're not evil; because you're good and you're strong. Sometimes I think...you're stronger than me. 'Cause, Sam," his eyes met the shocked and almost disbelieving eyes of his little brother, "I can only hope I'd be strong enough to have done that for you. But I know, right now, that I don't think I could have. I woulda killed me," he gave a sad smirk that accentuated the tears that had been building in his eyes. "Cas or no Cas, it woulda torn me apart. So I'm sorry, Sammy," he said as he pulled him back into an embrace and squeezed him tighter. "I'm sorry for makin' you do that."

"It's okay, Dean," Sam replied, holding him just as tightly. "I'm just...I'm glad you're okay." And for the first time since he'd been awake, he glanced around the deck. "Where's Cas?"

Dean pulled gently away, "He's inside. Has somethin' to tell us all. He's waiting on us." He looked Sam over, noticing now the blood that had undoubtedly come from Dean, himself. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam replied. "Let's go see what he has to say."

11 00 11 00 11

Castiel sat silently in the armchair Ducky had earlier been occupying. He and the agents patiently waited for the Winchesters to emerge from the deck, since Castiel had informed them that Dean was now alive and well.

They were all relieved to see him, even in the bloodied clothes, as they entered the living room through the kitchen. Dean briefly met Tony's eyes and gave him an appreciative nod for supporting his brother through all of it. Then he turned to the angel, "Alright, Cas. What's the plan?"

"There is an incantation that can hold Hel, as if in a devil's trap," Castiel told them as he stood from the chair. "It won't work if it's said out loud. The words must be thought within a hundred feet of her."

"Okay," Dean said. "Sounds simple enough."

"There is one other requirement," he said. Dean raised a brow. "The only way the incantation will work is if it's done by someone with a specific aura. Here, it would be one whose innocence had been taken from them."

"You mean..." Tony surmised, "Raped?"

"Not just," Castiel looked at him. "But taken forcibly from purity."

"You mean raped before they ever...had sex before?" Sam deduced.

"Yes," Castiel replied.

"No offense, Cas," Dean started, "But we don't really have time to find someone who fits that description."

"There's no need to search," the angel replied. "As I told you in the beginning of all of this, everyone here has experienced many trials in their lives."

"You sayin' someone here...?" Gibbs didn't need to complete the question. Tony and Gibbs thought, perhaps, seeing as where and how she was raised, that it could be Ziva. But as they looked at Castiel, the angel was turning his head, and looking over to Tim.

Both agents turned to look at him as well, now. Tim stood straight and awkwardly; blood drained from his face, yet somehow flushed as well. He was clearly uncomfortable and now on the spot as everyone's gaze had fallen upon him.

"Damnit, Cas..." Tim swallowed. "You couldn't have...done this privately?" he shuddered and quickly escaped the room, fleeing up the stairs.

"Real tactful, Cas," Dean glared.

Tony looked at Gibbs once Tim disappeared up the stairs; his face clearly conveying the fact that this revelation had disturbed him greatly. "I'm gonna go talk to him," he said in barely a whisper before standing and going after his probie.

Gibbs looked up at the angel. Castiel almost imperceptibly shrugged one shoulder, "I apologize..."

"No need to say it to me," Gibbs told him. Then he looked back up toward the vacant stairs.

McGee had always seemed the most well-rounded of their team. Someone who'd been raised right; always played by the rules and followed his dreams. He'd worked hard to get where he was today. It didn't seem like there'd been a dark secret in his past. But now that he thought about it, Tim's insecurities and tendancies to have trouble with women, seemed a little more understandable now. Of course...that didn't really mean much of anything, when he thought about it. The truth was, Tim had hidden it well...

11 00 11 00 11

"Tim?" Tony stepped into their room to find McGee sitting in a chair by the window, his elbows on his knees and his head resting loosely in his hands.

Tim's head shot up and he had a look in his eyes that portrayed a slight bit of horror. "Look, I'll do the stupid incantation thing, okay? I just...I can't be down there right now," he dropped his head again. "I don't know how to...do this..."

Tony quietly closed the door and walked into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed which was just a couple of feet away from the chair. "How to do what?" he ask, softly.

"I haven't even thought about it in a really long time. And I've never told anyone. Anyone, Tony," his eyes met his partner's again. "And Castiel just blurted it out in front of you and Gibbs...and Sam and Dean. God..." he pushed himself out of the chair and moved toward the frosted window, crossing his arms in front of him. "Why did he have to do that?"

"I don't think he did it with intention to embarrass you," Tony offered. "He's kinda like a kid, ya know? Just says things without thinkin' about how it might make someone feel."

"Yeah..."

There was a still silence in the room, but Tony was sure he could hear the gears slipping in McGee's head. "I know it's kinda personal, but...why didn't you ever tell anyone?"

Tim's head dropped a bit and Tony watched his fingers nervously twist into the sides of his teeshirt where his arms were still crossed. "At first?...'Cause I didn't really understand what happened..."

Tony flinched at that. "How old were you, Tim?"

McGee took a silent breath. "I'd just finished fourth grade; Dad was at sea and Mom had taken a summer job where she had these crazy long hours. So she sent me to a Summer camp..."

"Fourth grade?" Tony felt his eye twitch. "So you were, what...ten?"

"I think so," he fought the urge to turn and see Tony's face. "All I really remember was that I'd just finished fourth."

"Jesus...How did..." Tony came to a realization, then. And he could feel his gut twisting; a coldness painfully shooting through his body causing him to shiver. "McGee, you don't have to tell me... But I'm here and willing to listen, and I think you should talk about it."

"Why?" McGee asked as he turned to look at him; brow furrowed.

"Uh...well, I hear talking about it is supposed to help," he replied.

"No. I mean...why are you willing to listen?"

Tony narrowed his eyes, "What do you mean? Of course I'm willing to listen, McGee. You're my friend. And someone hurt you a long time ago and you've kept it a secret all this time. You can't hide things like that-"

"Yes, I can!" he retorted, his brow raising in exclamation. "And I have! And everything was fine! I don't want people assuming that I've somehow been shaped completely by that; that my entire life and everything I am, today, boils down to a sick fuck camp counselor sneaking into my bunk and screwing me into the mattress every night for a week-" his sentence ended abruptly as the memory caused his own stomach to turn. Tony's eyes were glassy when he met them again. He'd only ever seen him cry once before; right after Fenrir... "I didn't want people to look at me and think they had me pegged. 'McGee's insecurities and trouble with relationships' and all. I didn't want anyone at NCIS to think I couldn't handle field work or that I was somehow emotionally unfit. Because that's not who I am. I mean...that's not why I'm anything."

"I never even suspected..." Tony told him. "And I don't think you let yourself be affected; not outwardly, anyway. But...you never told anyone, McGee? Not even to stop the bastard from doin' it to someone else?"

"I didn't have to," he told him. "The idiot got drunk one night and took a canoe out onto the lake. Fell, hit his head before going into the water, and drowned. There really just wasn't any reason to tell anyone. It was embarrassing enough as it was. And after a while, the pain went away, and the nightmares came less and less. And eventually, I figured out that no one could see it...ya know, that I didn't look different because of what he did. That was the hardest part, really; thinking there was some kind of sign and people would know right away..."

Tony knew, right then and there, that perhaps he understood what the kid was saying. "I hid, too, Tim," he told him. Tim furrowed a brow in question. Tony let out a small, nervous laugh and scratched the back of his head, and he watched as McGee moved back to the chair and sat down to listen. "Gibbs knows a little, only because the situation called for confessions," he began. "When my dad's spirit was attacking us..." he took a breath and slowly let it out through his nose. This was going to be a little harder than he'd originally thought. But he wanted Tim to know that he understood, even if the circumstances weren't exactly the same.

"Tony?" McGee urged him to continue.

"Those things he did to everyone," he started, "When I was a kid, he did them to me." He met Tim's eyes in time to see them flash. "What he did to Ziva... when I was-" he paused in thought, "God, I don't even remember how old I was. I was small...maybe seven. I played baseball in school. It was the first game, and my dad didn't show up. In hindsight, I shouldn't have been surprised," he smirked. "But after seeing all the other kids' dads all proud in the stands, I was kinda disappointed, ya know?" Tim listened intently. "So I get home and go to my dad's study. He'd been drinking, of course...why I was shocked, I don't know. I asked why he didn't come. He got...real pissed off at that. I could feel my whole body go cold...numb...'cause I knew what was comin' next. And I tried to apologize. Tried not to cry, 'cause...well he didn't much care for that, either. But I couldn't help it. And so he decided to shut me up, instead."

Tim remembered what Ziva looked like the morning after her attack; the marks on her throat. And suddenly, he realized what must've happened. "He choked you..."

"Yeah," he let out a small laugh. "Nothin' stops a kid from talkin' or cryin' like cuttin' off the air supply. And, of course, waiting til they pass out so you don't have to listen to the aftermath."

"God...I'm sorry, Tony."

"No. I'm sorry. 'Cause all that ended up on you guys, and I'd never wish any of it on any of you..." Tim swallowed as he thought back on what had happened to Gibbs and himself. "Yeah...you getting thrown into that cupboard? One day, I thought I was so smart... Took his bottle of gin and poured it down the drain so he couldn't drink that night. Unfortunately, I got caught in the act. Killer thing is," he laughed, "He was just getting home from the bar. So, my efforts were in vain. He was so mad... Shoved me into his 'hunting' closet. There was so much stuff in there, that my tiny little body was wedged up against the door and I couldn't move. It was dark and it smelled funny. But the worst part was not being able to move... He left me there till the next morning when he could send me off to school."

McGee was glad that Tony's gaze had drifted down toward his own hands that fidgeted in his lap, because it was getting extremely difficult to fight the stinking in his eyes.

"What he did to Gibbs," he continued, this time swallowing before he began again, "I was...maybe eight. Dad was having a sorta party with some business associates. You know, one of those cookouts where everyone brings their kids, so I actually got to come downstairs and participate. Guess in all the excitement, I accidentally spilled a drink all down the front of my shirt. Dad...well..." he took a few short breaths as the memory seemed to affect him a little more than he'd anticipated.

Tim sensed how difficult it was getting for him; Tony's hands fidgeting even more now. He reached out and placed a hand on one of his, and Tony looked up at him. "It's okay, Tony. You don't have to tell me."

Tony smirked as Tim took back his hand, and he looked back down. "He dragged me inside," he continued. "Took me upstairs to the bathroom at the far end of the house where no one could hear... I don't even remember what he said, really. Something about my inability to go a day without embarrassing him. He filled the tub and made me stand there and wait. Didn't even take my clothes off before putting me in. He was so...angry...and he hadn't even had much more than a couple of beers that day. I didn't think he'd do anything, really. But next thing I know, I'm being held underwater," he sat up, but his eyes focused somewhere else in the room as he spoke. "I could feel his hand squeezing and pressing on the back of my neck to hold me there, but I couldn't understand why. I opened my eyes...all I could see was the bottom of the tub, and the bubbles of air when I started yelling." He took a deep breath, as if reminding himself he wasn't still in that water. "Next thing I remember, is one of the housemaids kneeling over me, crying...maybe from relief. I was on the floor, then. She must've pulled me out and did CPR."

"Did she report him?" Tim's voice cracked and Tony met his eyes to see unshed tears that Tim was barely holding onto.

Tony purposefully relaxed his face and gave him a small smile, "Nah. Dad had her convinced I'd simply been stupid and slipped in while no one was looking. Paid her a few grand as 'reward' for saving me. Really, it was most likely hush money. Either way, no one found out." He watched McGee as he seemed to lose himself in his own thoughts. "My point of tellin' you all this, wasn't to have a horror-story pissing contest," he said.

Tim furrowed his brow, "I didn't think that, at all."

"Didn't say you did. But anyway, my point is, I know what it's like to hide. I know why you hide. I did it for the same reason; didn't want people to look at me with pre-programmed stipulations. 'Cause, like you, I didn't let it shape who I am today either. Sure, I've got some residual issues...side effects, if you will. But there's no way in hell I let them get in my way or screw up what I have now. I let it do that in the past. Let it chase me away from other places too soon. But I like what I have here and I won't let it...won't let him take that away."

McGee looked at him with new understanding, and maybe a bit of amazement. "You told me some of your darkest secrets, just to let me know I'm not alone? That you understand?"

"Well yeah, Probie," he grinned. "You told me yours, first, ya know... Would you tell me something else, though?"

"What?"

"Me bunking in here with you...does that make you...uncomfortable or anything?" he almost regretted asking, as soon as it came out of his mouth.

"No, Tony," he replied, calmly. "You don't make me uncomfortable. Though I've expected to wake up with my hand in a bowl of warm water, or shaving cream on my face... I do trust you otherwise. With pretty much everything."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," McGee smiled.

Tony returned the smile, "Thanks, Tim. That means... a lot. And thanks for trusting to talk to me about...things."

"Same to you," he replied. "And thanks for listening. I do kinda feel...unexplainably a bit better."

"Me too." Tony thought about that for a moment. He did feel better, he found. This whole 'talking' business, regardless of how stupid he'd always considered it to be, had its advantages. Even if he didn't entirely understand why. "We should go back downstairs and see what we're gonna do as far as Hel and the incantation thing..."

"Yeah," he said as they both stood. "Let's get this over with..."

11 00 11 00 11

Tbc...