Alright, I know there are some concerns with the last chapter, but let me just tell you that questions will be answered in this chapter. Like I said at the end this is the second part of the story, Chapter 11 was part one. So I hope this answers many things and satisfies your story lust.

And sorry this took so long. I was swamped (pun intended as I was Shrek in Shrek the Musical), then I was stuck in the desert storm of writer's block, and by the time I had an idea for this chapter I decided to wait it out until I could type it on my BRAND NEW MAC AIR! So I thank you all who waited for this chapter as it took the same amount of time for a new season of Sherlock to air (I don't watch the show, I just used it as joke material).

Be warned, there is some harsh language and a lot of Dean angst, so the weak of heart and feels should be wary of italic text.

I own nothing, not even my Mac Air (at least until 3 years when I can purchase it for a dollar). Please review

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 12

"Agent Prince?" Sam asks, incredulously. His eyes widen in surprise, the antithesis of the other's penetrating gaze. Tracy stands there: high heels giving her zero help when standing in front of Sam. She's wearing a grey pantsuit, with a fitted jacket over a blood red blouse. Her dark hair has been straightened since the last time they met, and her skin a shade darker, having spent time hunting in the sun. Her lips are pulled tight over her face in a grimace.

"Yes," she says, showing her teeth in a fake smile. "And you are…" she leaves off, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Trevor," Sam quickly fills in, flipping his badge, "Agent Steve Trevor."

She pushes the badge down, and her grin falls into a straight line. "Well, Trevor," she starts, "sorry that you had to schlep yourself out here but I've got this case covered."

"Well," Sam quirks his lips, "I got word from headquarters that this case isn't a solo one."

"I want to see this order," she steps forward and into Sam's personal space. She seems bigger, but it's not her footwear. It's her personality. She stares into Sam's eyes, each waiting for the other to make the next move. The abrupt entrance of one of the sheriff's deputies, however, ruins their moment. His eyes scan the room frantically before landing on his boss. He rushes forward.

"Sheriff! Sheriff! One of the prisoners is trying to kill themselves again! We're restraining them but it's not gonna hold. It's like they are freakishly strong, or something!"

The sheriff, who was watching the scene between the two "agents" with amusement, breathes a quiet "shit" and follows the young man to the holding cells. This leaves the two hunters alone.

"What are you doing here?" Sam says, breaking the silence.

"What's it look like I'm doing here?" she answers back, hands on her hip.

"It's not safe!" he yells, throwing his hands in the air, "I thought you would have learned to stay away from the big cases and stick to simple salt and burns!"

She casts him a dark look, as her mouth twists into a wry grin. "It's not so simple anymore, Sam," she says.

This takes Sam aback. "What do you mean?"

"Those salt and burns," she explains, "the vampires, the shifters, hell even the wendigos, are going under. Good ol' cases are getting harder and harder to find. It's been forever since I ever struck a match, and the last vamp I sliced was just before I met you and your brother. It's like the supernatural know that there's a storm a comin', and they're bunkering down. Either that or they've become trapped in the battlefield between angel, demon, and demon. I was getting bored, and I needed to do something. I did my research, I saw the signs, and I hitched a ride into this sleepy little town to do some good, not get lectured!"

Her teeth are bared, and her eyes are wild. She's just itching for him to say something, do something, just so she can react. She's been putting all of these feeling away, compartmentalizing, and only now, with this man she tolerates, can she let forth the swell that's been hidden behind her mental dam.

Sam looks down at her, and sees all of this. Her body is thrumming with energy, raring to hit, to cut, to burn. He can see her hands shaking, grabbing at nothing.

"But…" he says, "we had a case not too long ago."

She snorts. "Well, then you're lucky."

He puts his arm on her shoulders, and she flinches. His hands are warm, and she can feel it even through the layers of her jacket. She starts to relax, letting the warmth seep into her, but steels herself before he can see the effect. She shrugs the large paws off of her and steps back a couple of steps.

Sam sighs, brows furrowing and eyes fluttering shut in exasperation, "I don't care about how "lucky" you think I am." His eyes open, and the intensity burning in them has Tracy shuffling back even further. "If what you're saying is true you should be joining all those other monsters who have the smart idea of hiding. This isn't just some random battle in the ongoing fight of human versus the supernatural! This is war: cold, unforgiving, deadly war. And I can't let another unprepared kid getting caught up in the bloodshed!"

Sam has backed Tracy up against a desk, the silence of the empty room making her feel even more trapped. She stares into his eyes, refusing to back away. Her hands come up and push at his chest.

"I don't know who you think you are," she starts low, growling, "but no one gives me orders. I don't care what type of fight I'm in: battle, war, hell even a bar brawl once or twice. I chose that when I chose to live the life of a hunter. How can you ask me to sit back and let people be injured in the crossfire? To allow families to be torn apart like mine was? I knew the price I was going to pay the minute I loaded my first salt round. That was the moment I grew up, stopped being a kid, and became a soldier."

The pair was at a standstill, neither willing to concede their stance on the matter. Electricity sparked between their locked gazes. The space between the two was slim, and as each side was preparing for the next spat, the little area that was left was only going to decrease. As Sam opened his mouth to fire his verbal ammo, a shriek sounds from the room of the prison cells, along with some choice language. His mouth is left gaping for a couple of seconds before it sets in a grim line.

"Stay behind me, I'm in charge of this mission," he says as he turns to leave.

Tracy smirks from behind, "We'll agree to disagree."

Sam rolls his eyes, thinking that comatose Dean would have been a better partner than her.

Inside the cell area, the remaining cops are struggling with the kid Sam brought in, knife in his hand slashing around the cramped room. One cop lies on the ground, hand leaking blood around the shoulder wound he's staunching. The sheriff and two other cops make up the remaining force trying to prevent another prisoner from taking his life. The teen hisses at the cops, each swipe of the blade erratic and quick.

Sam rushes in with Tracy hot on his heels, and joins the fray.

"What happened?" he asks the Sheriff, eyes following each swing of the knife.

"He got a knife, we don't know how, but he got one. And the guard on the ground found him trying to slash his throat and tried to stop him and, well… you see how that played out."

Sam flicks his eyes over to the man on the ground again before staring at the prisoner again. He watches each movement of his arm, notices the grip on the weapon, and the stance of the wielder, and then waits for opportunity to present itself. When Sam sees his opening, he rushes in. He grabs the offending wrist and twists it, forcing the kid to drop the knife. He then sweeps his leg under the guy's feet and sends him sprawling onto the dirty prison floor. The two cops still standing rush the weaponless boy, and slaps the cuffs on him once more. Sam steps off of him and rejoins Tracy side, as the sheriff looks on with praise.

"Agent, that sure was something," he whistles, tipping his hat, "I swear out of all those crazies weird suicide attempts, this was by far the closest we got to losing one of our own."

Sam and Tracy exchange a look, before turning back to the sheriff.

"Can you show us the rest of these "crazies"?"

"Keep that away from him, he's not ready!"

The King of Hell stands in the main room, rolling his eyes heavenward, with the First Blade propped between his fore fingers.

"Oh, Cainy poo, how I missed your dear dear hospitality," Crowley sighs, then turns to the other occupant in the room, "Castiel? Is that you? I didn't recognize you without your grace and all…"

"Crowley," Castiel growls, stalking forward until he has the lapels of the demon's silk suit in his clutch, "what did you do to Dean?"

Before any serious harm can actually befall him, Crowley disappears in a cloud of red smoke, and appears on the other side of the room. "Now, now, angelface, don't dirty the merchandise." A stormy look remains on Castiel's face and Crowley's shit eating grin only grows wider and shittier. "Oh, are you jealous of what I did just there? I know it's been a while since you've been able to-"

"Enough."

Cain stands between the two, one hand on Castiel's chest to keep him in place while the other one is outstretched in Crowley's direction.

Crowley puts his hands up (one still around the handle of the First Blade) in a placating manner. "Fine, fine, I'm mature enough to play nice." He strides towards one of the chairs and regally sits down, crossing his legs at the ankles and lounging languidly.

"So," Crowley starts, "how do we get the ball rolling?"

"What is that thing in your hand, and what does it have to do with Dean?" Castiel addresses, cutting right through to the point.

"Cutting right through to the point are we?" Crowley mocks.

Seeing as how Cain has become the voice of reason here, he turns to Castiel to answer. "It is the spark that started this damned inferno: The First Blade."

Castiel's eyes quickly flit over to the old bone, and he notices with a shiver an… aura, that the cursed object is projecting. Surrounding the weapon is a swirling vortex of darkness, reaching out into the darkness. With his diminished grace, only with his full concentration can he see it. Twirling, dancing through the air and in the direction of…

"Are you planning on giving that… thing… to Dean?!"

Castiel has to be held further back by the First Knight, when the simple nod from the carefree ruler of the underworld sends him into a spiraling fury.

"Oh come off it you holy roller," Crowley stands up, the Blade grasped in an iron grip, "he bears the Mark of Cain on his arm, it's only natural that the First Blade find it's way to him. The way I see it, the sooner he gets it, the better he can wield it, and a greater chance we have at offing her royal ass before she has a chance to actually do some real harm!" He starts to move towards the hallway, in the direction of Dean.

However he stops in his tracks as the fallen angel breaks through the gates holding him back and stomps towards Crowley in righteous fury.

"I swear if you even take one more step-"

"Well then it's a lucky thing I can do this, now is it love?"

With a snap of his fingers he again disappears in a cloud of smoke, and as Castiel runs to catch him he gets caught in the wisps.

"Crowley!" he yells, Cain hot on his heels, as the duo rush towards Dean's room, long legs carrying them, seemingly flying over the cold floor. Castiel reaches the door first and his eyes lock onto Dean's seizing body, soup stained blankets flying off of him as his limbs thrash against the memory foam. Crowley stands over his body with intent, reaching for his hand.

"Hold still you jittery squirrel, I'm giving you back your nuts," he says when he finally grasps the appendage, wriggling in the hold.

The world seems to slow down for Castiel as he tries his best to stop the demon lord from completing his task, but like the many times he has tried to do good he is too late. Dean's fingers clamp down on the handle, like a magnet drawn to metal, and his body stills. The bed stops rocking, the headboard hitting the wall behind it no more, while Crowley gawks from on high, waiting for whatever he hopes to happen, to happen. As the seconds tick away, he grows restless, and the victorious smirk he wore has deteriorated to an unsatisfied snarl.

"Where's the fire? Where's the earth shaking lightning? Where is the biblical razzmatazz?" he huffs, eyes squinted at the prone husk on the bed.

Castiel moves towards Dean and puts his hand on the one holding the Blade, but recoils from the unbearable heat. He rubs his hand and looks towards Cain, curious and concerned. "Although I am loathe to admit it, I agree with Crowley. Should not something have happened to him?"

Cain sighs, and mutters to himself, before addressing the two men before him.

"What has happened, is that Dean was improperly introduced to the power of the First Blade. Even if he was back at full strength, the strength of its influence would have been too much for his body to handle. He needed time, and the proper training, before he could even think about getting near the damned knife. But now, we've thrown him headfirst into the lake, and our only option now is to let him swim to the top."

"In English, you Confederate countryman," Crowley snarks, arms crossed tightly against his chest.

Cain gives him a distasteful glare. "You screwed up, and now we have to wait."

One man is banging his head against the wall, blood dripping rapidly down his grinning face. He continues through the pain.

There's a woman who is curled around herself in the corner, muttering inane words in crazy patterns, making no sense to the trained ear.

In the back cell a young boy, no older than thirteen, just sits in a single chair staring through the bars, unblinking. Staring straight through the eyes of anyone who dare stand in front of his bars and into the great unknown. It is this cell that unsettles the younger hunter.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Tracy says, quickly walking out of the hallway of prisoners and back into the station. Sam follows her with his gaze, feeling bad for her. He remembers the first time he saw a kid suffer because of the supernatural, was the reason he stopped trying to make friends with others too. It hurts. A lot.

"That's the last of 'em," the sheriff interrupts Sam's foray into a pity memories, "sorry we had to end with this 'un. I know how hard it can be to see children in these sorta situations."

"No, no," Sam turns back to him, "it's fine. Th-thanks for showing us them. We'll try our hardest to find the cause of all this madness."

"I hope so," the sheriff continues, "now I'll let you deal with your lady friend while I try to detox this horror show with some cute internet kittens."

Sam leaves the man to his own devices and comes to find Tracy sitting on one of the benches, her head between her knees and hair curtaining her face. He kneels in front of her, "Tracy," he whispers, touching her shoulder. She starts in shock, but slowly relaxes when it's only Sam. He continues, "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah," she breathes, "I just needed a compartmentalize. It's just… that last one really knocked me over. It was like that kid was staring straight into my soul or something-"

"What was that?"

Sam is looking at her, his brain connecting pieces that weren't quite there but are now clear in his mind. Tracy just squints her eyes in confusion before repeating: "what he was staring straight into my soul?"

"That's it!" Sam stands, the hazel in his eyes shining with understanding.

"What's 'it'?" Tracy asks, still not getting the picture.

"Souls," he says, "These people are missing their souls."

"How can you be so sure?" she inquires, intrigued over the sudden realization.

Sam sits next to her. "Because…" he starts, "because there was a short period of time where I was soulless too-"

"You mean you?" Tracy interrupts, hand covering her mouth while her imagination works to replace the random faces of the prisoners with the one standing before her.

"No, no," he quickly stops that trainwreck of a thought from continuing, "I never went that crazy. But I was very distant, unemotional, and robotic in a sense. I focused too much on the hunting and the killing, I put humanity and safety on the back burner. When I was freed from Hell, I got right back into the game and, let's just say what I did I'm not proud of… But where I was doing it to the creatures who hide in the shadows, these innocent people are hurting the regular folk who should have nothing to fear."

Tracy sits back for a minute, taking in all that Sam had to say, before sitting up with a righteous fury. "Then we have to stop this monster before any more people get hurt!" There's a fire burning in her body that was not there before. Her entire system seems to be flaring with energy.

Sam is startled at first, surprised at the response, but relaxes enough to once again be the voice of reason. "But we have nothing to go on right now!"

Tracy mulls this over for a second, but her fire does not die out. "Yes we do. They've been attacking people with souls, I have a soul, so-"

"No."

"No?" She repeats, blinking owlishly. Turning towards the gargantuan man next to her, she sets her fury onto him. "The sooner we find this man the faster we can close this case! I won't let anything happen to me-"

"You don't know that!" he cuts her off again, "I've had way too much experience with using bait and let me tell you that it never works in the end."

"But this is me!" she tries again.

"Yes, this is you, which is why I don't want to get you in danger again!"

They continue to stare each other down, neither one willing to sway to the tide of compromising. Lightning flashes back and forth between their eyes, and both wait with baited breath for whoever makes the next move.

When someone does, it wasn't from who they expected.

"Excuse me?"

The duo turns to face a nice old lady, stylishly dressed, smiling at the two of them. "I couldn't help but overhear the predicament you two are facing and decided I could help. The name's Julia, and this lazy police force is not listening to me… but I feel you two would. You remind me of a couple of people to pass through a long time ago…"

"Thank you, ma'am, but I'm sure you won't have anything that we might be looking for."

Her eyes shine in amusement. "Not even if it has to do with the demons taking people's souls?"

Their dumbfounded expressions amuse the old woman, and she sits down to continue her story. "I am more privy to these goings on then you think. But for you to understand what happened, I'm going to tell you a story of the first people to come here about this problem: Josie Sands and Henry Winchester."

(I'm not deviating from the story she told Sam in the original episode, and have no desire of retyping it, so if you want to know that story, find the episode)

In an abandoned convent on the other side of town, a scraggly old man sits on a stool, wiping a cloth back and forth across a glass jar glowing with an ethereal force. His eyes are manic in the soft glow, reverent of the innocence he gets to hold and corrupt in his hands. Once finished he set the object back on the shelf with his collection of others, each buzzing around like fireflies in August.

"Cute. Very Martha Stewart of you."

"Wha-?" he turns, surprised at the sound and trying to find the owner of the sultry voice.

"Over here luv," she steps out of the shadows, boots clicking on the stone floor. She stands in front of the jars, picking one up in her hands and tracing over he glass with a manicured finger. "I've got to say you really outdid yourself here in this little piece of Podunk."

"Yo-you're not supposed to be down here!" he says, voice shaking in fear.

"Oh, that's where you're wrong, dearie," she says, looking up from the glass, "I was just put in charge by the boss lady herself. So I have every right to be down here."

"You lie," he seethes, anger taking over the fear. Anger that this… girl, can just come and order him around like he was filth. "Abbadon has entrusted this sector to me, and in no circumstances would she entrust some new demon filth to this delicate operation."

"The name is Bela," she offers, putting the jar back on the shelf, "you know, since as your boss I won't take kindly to being called "demon filth"."

His eyes bleed over into black. "Well when I'm done with you, you'll be crawling your way back from the filth."

Bela does the same. "Oh I do love me a good fight. Especially when I know I'll be the winner."

Darkness. Everywhere. Silent, soul-crushing black, everywhere he looks. He doesn't know where he is, doesn't know how he got there, the only thing he does know is that he is alone. Alone in the swirling cloud of shadows that have overtaken him.

"Dean…"

He hears a voice. It's familiar to him, in a way, from a long time ago. He swivels his head, looking every which way for the source of the sound, until he spies a kid with brown hair, looking at him from far away. He's sniffling, and his eye has been forced shut due to a swelling bruise. The kid reminds him of someone… someone he feels he should know. He gets closer, and the sound of crying just grows louder.

"Dean," the kid looks up, tears flowing freely down his face. "Dean, why weren't you there?"

Sammy.

"Sammy, I-" he tries to say, but can't get the words out.

"Where were you? Dad got into one of his rages again and you weren't there. Aren't you supposed to protect me? Dean, why weren't you there?"

Dean knows somehow that this isn't right, that somehow this whole situation felt wrong somehow, but he couldn't help how hurt he feels inside.

"Dean, why," Sam starts to grow taller, fit, until he has aged right before Dean's eyes, "are you never there for me when I need you? Always off with someone, doing something illegal: alcohol, drugs, or maybe both. And when I don't need you anymore? You come back into my life and screw everything up. I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for you."

Each word is like a bullet, going straight through Dean. And what makes it worse: Dean believes this to be true. He's forced to his knees, head bowed so he can only see below the knees of Sam.

"Dean…" says a softer voice.

Dean looks up again, expecting Sam but in his place is his mother, Mary, standing there with her hands folded across her chest.

"Dean, my darling little angel…" she says, voice soft and sweet, always that right tone that calmed Dean down.

"What a devil you've become!"

Her voice, once saccharine with sweetness now drips venom. Her eyes have gone hard, and the once soft glow she was in is now a harsh light, blurring Dean's vision.

"Did I raise you like this? Oh no wait, I wasn't able to raise you, remember? You just had to make sure "wittle Sammy" was safe. If it wasn't for you, I could have escaped the house and made you better than what you are now. A drunk? A pill-popper? You are mommy's little disappointment. When I look down at you from up there, what I see makes me glad I'm still not around."

Dean, by this point, is silently crying. His mother, the woman he's held on high for so long, has proven true everything he's ever thought about himself. She and Sam have broken straight through his heart and have systematically confirmed everything he knows to be true, but no one had the guts to tell him. He falls over, tears flooding over his cheeks, hiccupping to a great amount, lost in the sadness.

"Pathetic. Didn't I ever tell you Winchester men don't cry."

Dean's eyes widen, and he stops moving. Only one person could have made this worse, and as Dean lifts his head yet again, he sees his father standing right before him, steel toed boot right near his face.

John smiles, "Hello… "son""

The older lady walks out of the building with a smile on her face. It's like a weight has been lifted off her chest, finally being able to reveal that part of her life she has kept hidden for too long. She only hopes that those two youngsters will be able to end this unlike those other two.

And speaking of the youngsters…

"So it's Abbadon again," Tracy sighs, rolling her eyes, "joy. I always wanted to see more of her."

"It might not be," Sam said, getting up, "with all the chaos in Hell, she's not prone to leave. It'll probably be a lower-level demon; but we shouldn't let our guards down either way."

Tracy joins him, heading towards the exit: "Please, like this isn't my first prizefight."

Sam follows, "I mean it. Anything could be waiting for us. From a scraggly old man to a supermodel – this thing could have possessed anything."

"Oh I'm sure a demon would be able to do its business secretly while in a supermodel's body."

"Bad example aside, I don't want any unnecessary injuries."

"Sure thing, general."

They get into the Impala and drive off into the night, in the direction of the convent the former nun directed them towards.

From the shadows of the police building, a figure emerges and stands in the pale moonlight. His bright red hoodie stands sharply out against the bleak greys and muddy browns that surround his area. He keeps his eyes locked on the fading image of the car, smirking the entire time until the vehicle is out of sight.

"Well, well, well, Sammy," he mutters, "you sure haven't changed. But Dean certainly did."

"Still no sign of him."

Two men stand slightly away from a larger group of people, all dressed in similar trench coats and suits. The first of the men is a tall, burly man with alabaster skin, red hair and green eyes. He stands next to another man, dark eyes and skin, bald head, and a frown marring his face.

"Are you sure, Harut?" the frowning man asks.

The ginger nods solemnly, "As sure as God has abandoned us, Jehoel."

"How is it that this unholy trash can escape the holy forces of Heaven so easily?" Harut growls rubbing his forehead, taking away some of the pain.

"Jehoel! Harut! I found something!"

A woman, small, curvy, and brunette, starts typing away at the laptop that is perched on her knees. The two men who were bemoaning their failures quickly make their ways over to her.

"What have you found Nuriel?" Jehoel asks, "have you found Lucifer in this godforsaken town?"

"No," she says, but cuts him off before he can respond, "but I did find something rather odd. There's a large collection of souls in this one place, yet all research says that it has been abandoned for a long time. Even if it does not involve Lucifer… it's still suspicious. And if anything… he might go there as well: a big cache of souls isn't something to pass up."

Jehoel smiles. "Great," he says, then turns to the rest, "pack up, get in the trucks. Set coordinates for the souls, and prepare yourselves."

"…Dad?"

John's eyes squint, and his boot is crushing Dean's face into the ground, his foot moving so fast it was a blur to Dean's bloodshot eyes. He grunts in pain.

"Didn't I tell you, when you address me it shall be as sir and only sir. Clear?"

Dean grits his teeth, but still replies. "Yes… sir."

John smiles, and puts pressure on his foot before removing it. "Good. At least you can listen to directions this time around." He starts to walk around Dean, circling him like the hunter to its prey. "Not like all those other times: abandoning Sammy, showing weakness, getting caught up in 'feelings'."

He stops. "The hunter world is no place for a fuckin' fairy."

Dean's eyes widen once more, and he stops breathing, hanging on the next words to come out of John's mouth.

"Yeah I know about your obsession with that angel-boy you got so far up your ass he thinks you're actually worth something. I watch from upstairs with your mother and we cry over what happened to you. If I knew you were gonna turn out like some fucking faggot I wouldn't have offed myself for you all those years ago! We all would have been better off if you died like you should have."

Dean can't take it anymore. He shuts his eyes and covers his ears with his hands, curling into the fetal position. All the stuff he knows in his heart his family thinks of him, being confirmed one after the other: all the pain, all the heartbreak, and all the betrayal. He wants it to end.

"…Left me. All alone to deal with dad…"

"…Kind of son would do this? You disgrace of a…"

"…Should have known since you love driving stick…"

The voices swirl around him, and no matter how hard he clamps his hand over his ears, squeezing his head, the voices ring out loud and clear in his mind. Every insecurity he's ever had being stabbed through him.

'They're right,' he thinks while rocking back and forth, 'I… I never deserved any of their 'kindness'… their 'love'… anything good in my life. Everything I touch just gets turned to shit.'

The voices swirl, continuing their mantra of negativity that just sends Dean spiraling deeper and deeper into the depths of depression. He can see each and everyone one of their faces behind his eyelids.

"All you ever cared about was yourself." Sam

"I died for this?" Mom

"Knew I should have dumped your ass sooner." John

The faces keep appearing, one after the other, each getting harsher and harsher with each phrase. Dean can't take it anymore. He's over the edge. He just wants it to end. He wants it all to-

"Dean…"

A bright light washes out the faces, and Dean can't help but open his eyes. What was once a swirling vortex of shadow has now become nothing but a pale room. Floating high above Dean, a blue ball of light shines above him. He knows that voice. He knows it like he knows his own name…

"Cas?"

"Dean? I need you to get up. I need you-"

"No you don't Cas," he cuts him off, "nobody needs me. I ruin things. I ruin people. I deserve to be back in that hellhole."

"Dean, you do not ruin things," Cas says, "you do the opposite. You save them. You've saved me on many occasions."

"But… but Sam-"

"Sam loves you and would never want to see you leave."

"The others! Every single person I got involved in this horrible life!"

"You helped them, Dean. You did your best to make sure they didn't get killed. You protected them."

"But-"

"But nothing Dean! You are the most compassionate person I know! You have taught me the meaning behind humanity, among other things. Stop comparing yourself to trash when you are treasure Dean!"

Dean knows the words should be helping him, knows they should be true. But he just can't believe them.

He whispers, "I don't deserve you, Cas. I'm nothing."

"You are not nothing Dean. You are everything!" Castiel shouts this, and Dean finally unfurls, flinching at the power behind his words and staring at the orb in awe. "You matter to so many people, to me, and if you were to leave you wouldn't just leave silently. You'd abandon all the people you've ever cared about. There's nothing you don't deserve. You should have the whole world at your feet."

"Cas…" Dean hoarsely replies, tears still cascading down his face, "how did I ever find someone as good as you?"

"You didn't find me," Castiel says, a small tendril flowing from the ball and slowly reaching its way towards Dean, "I found you. And I will always find you, wherever you are. But now… I need you to get up."

Dean stares at the lifeline, hand twitching at his side.

"Get up Dean, get up."

His hand starts to rise, getting closer to the light.

"Get up, please."

His fingers brush the line-

"Please Dean, please get up."

Dean is comatose on the bed, restrained from his earlier bout with the First Blade. Even though it has been forcibly removed by Cain and is now with him and Crowley in another room, far away from them. Castiel sits by Dean's bed, hands in his, lying down on his chest while he waits for his hunter to awaken.

"Dean…"

"Cas?"

The fallen angel sits up with a start, eyes snapping to stare into the ones he'd know anywhere. Dean's eyes are half-lidded, unsure of his surroundings, but safe knowing Castiel is with him. Castiel can't help but the tears that are welling up in his eyes as his prayers have been answered. Dean can't help the smile that lights up his face.

"Hey."

The night air is cool around them as the duo makes their way from the car and towards the abandoned convent. The building looks holy bathed in the moonlight, but as they get closer, they see the rotting wood, the faded brick, and the musty smell of death that hangs in the air.

"Wow," Tracy comments, breaking the silence, "now all we need is some creepy music and we'll be set."

Suddenly a song comes out of nowhere, and Tracy has been so startled she jumps back into Sam, knocking him down to the ground. He's aggravated at first, but then sees how shocked she is, and starts to chuckle. He pulls out his phone and the muffled music becomes louder, showing it to Tracy to calm her down. Her cheeks redden as she brushes imaginary dirt off her clothes repeatedly with her hands.

"You should've put it on vibrate before we left the car," is all she says before stalking over to the building muttering curses under her breath.

Sam chuckles one more time from the ground, then he picks himself up and answers the phone. "Sam here," he says, "Hey Cas, anything new with Dean?"

He listens to Cas explain the situation: the coma, the Blade, the Crowley. When Cas finally gets to the part where Dean woke up, he hears the sound of wood creaking, and sees a flash of dark hair before disappearing into the condemned building.

"I gotta go Cas- yeah, yes I'll be done soon, don't worry. Bye-tell him I said hi, too." He quickly puts the device into his pocket before running after his partner before she can get herself into more trouble.

With Tracy, she tries her hardest not to make a sound, but the floorboards seem to creak when under even the lightest of objects. She navigates past the obstacles, avoiding getting her heels stuck in the holes of the floorboards. Past the broken locks and moldy wood, she stumbles upon a staircase, and can just sense the evil coming from it. Tracy slowly descends down the stairs, hoping that with each step the stairs don't break due to their age. As she gets to the bottom she can see a strange glow coming from the next room. Captivated by the unearthly light, she does not notice the hand reaching for her arm.

She spins, gasping, and coming face to face with Sam, who looks slightly annoyed. "I thought we were in this together?" he says.

"Well you were taking too long gossiping with your BFF Jill," she replies sarcastically.

"What?"

"You've never heard of that commercial, it was like insanely popular."

"If you haven't noticed I don't really watch a lot of television with all the action that goes on in my life."

"Really? And I thought this was just a hobby."

"Can you stop being sarcastic for one second or do you need it like regular people need oxygen."

"Well it does give me a certain pleasure in life-"

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The pair turns to the sound. Standing in the doorway of the room, bathed in the light of the ever-growing collection of souls, stands the operator behind these acts. Sam is surprised.

"Bela?"

Tracy looks to Sam. "You know her?"

"Oh don't worry, sweetie," Bela smirks, "never like that. I wanted to live long enough to die on my own terms-or, at least, the ones set by the demon I dealt with."

"How are you even back?" Sam asks, stepping closer to her.

"Stop jumping ahead, Sam. If there is one thing a Winchester is, it's eager I tell you," she snarks, "I made a deal, a new deal, this one with the Queen herself. Now I get all this," she points to her eyes, shifting over into the common demon black, "and with it all the power."

"Please," Tracy comments, "even with your 'power' there's still two of us and only one of you."

"Like I'd ever come prepared for a 'fair' fight," she says, then whistles. Out of the shadows the groundskeeper jumps out, rope in his hands, as he swings it over Sam's head and drags him into a separate part of the basement.

"Sam!" Tracy shouts.

Bela chuckles again, cracking her knuckles. "Looks like it's just you and me, luv." She pounces.

In the other room, the man has a literal strangle hold on Sam's neck, with Sam clawing at the old rope being pulled taut around him. The groundskeeper chuckles in his ear. "Stop struggling, if you're a good boy, you can have your soul extracted as well," he whispers.

"Not… on your… life," Sam chokes out, before getting his fingers around the rope and pulling the rope forward, flipping the man over him. The demon is shocked, allowing Sam to greedily suck in air. But he's back on his feet soon enough. They stand apart, waiting for the first person to move.

"Why do you fight her majesty's wishes," the old man coos, "when she's in control of Hell, there'll be no more Earth. Why ensure later pain when you can get an in now and have your soul turned into a demon?"

"So that's what you're doing," Sam deduces, "increasing your ranks."

"Well that," the man concedes, "and distracting you."

In a rush the man swings a fist at Sam who blocks, and sends his own fist in. It lands, square on the jaw, knocking him back a bit.

"Exorcizamus te," Sam starts, but the man rushes him against a pillar, arm against his neck choking him off yet again.

"We won't be having any of that," the man grins, enjoying the hue of blue that is working its way onto Sam's face. Sam's hands are flailing, trying to grasp something. The man's smile grows wider and crueler as he presses harder onto the windpipe. "Shh, shh, it'll all be over soon."

Now Sam is the one who's smiling, arms still. "For… you…"

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…"

The demon rushes back from Sam, hands over his ears as the recording plays loudly over the phone. Sam breathes yet again, and continues. "You'd be surprised how well technology can be used by the modern hunter."

The groundskeeper snarls, and tries to rush for the phone, but Sam knocks him away again.

"Vade, Santana, inventor et magister…"

The recording continues and the fight slowly drains out of the man until he's seizing on the grimy floor, eyes bleeding out the usual black, and blood leaking out of his nose. At the final words, black smoke expels from his body, and seeks into the cracks of the foundation on its road back to Hell. The old shell decays before Sam's eyes, dead since the beginning.

"Adios, bitch," Sam says, then goes about finding his way back to the other two.

With Tracy and Bela, the ladies are fighing it out. Bela has Tracy pinned against the wall, with a cut on her cheek while Tracy has some blood leaking down the side of her mouth.

"You know, I'm glad that Sam brought his new girlfriend, saves me the trouble of having to find you to kill you for my demon initiation," Bela jokes, running a finger down Tracy's face and swiping some blood and tasting it. "Mmhm," she hums, "fresh."

"Get. Off. Of me!" Tracy struggles. She lifts her leg and smashes her knee right into Bela's crotch, stunning her momentarily for a swift gut punch that gives her some breathing room.

"Oh, the little tart has some fight in her? I do like my meat to be tenderized first." Bela goes in for more, throwing a punch at Tracy, only for her to catch it. But then she uses her other fist to land a swift uppercut on the other woman, and Tracy bites her lip hard enough to bleed.

"You're gonna pay for that," Tracy swears, swinging right back and boxing Bela's ear, disorienting her. With a few more punches, Bela is swaying on her feet. "Get ready for the finisher," Tracy says and runs at the demon.

At the last second, Bela smirks, and twists out of the way, leaving her foot out and catching Tracy by surprise, having her fall face first. She swallows dirt as Bela straddles the fallen huntress, taking out her demon blade and running the dull side over Tracy's face. She then twists it, and cuts into Tracy's cheek. "What are you going to do now, little girl? Your boy toy isn't hear to save you…"

Tracy has had enough.

"I don't need a man to save me," she grits, bringing her head back to smash right into Bela's nose and knocking her off. She gets up and circles the fallen demon. "I've taken down whole vampire nests, fought off a ghost with nothing but a salt shaker, and took a Wendigo down with my bare hands! If there is one thing I can't do is let a man do the fighting for me." Each point is reinforced with a kick, and Bela is still struggling to get up. "If anyone is going to be doing the saving it's going to be me."

"A-hem," Sam coughs, and Tracy turns to see him there, leaning against the archway, "nice resume by the way."

"You heard all that?"

"More or less, o mighty savior," he bows, but then winces in pain. Tracy just chuckles.

"Oh, go free the souls, I'll tie up the Wicked Bitch of the West here."

She looks around and finds some rope while Sam heads to the room where all the souls have been collected. He sees the orbs of light floating around in their confinement, and just watches them for a second. They are beautiful in their true form. He reaches out and grabs one, and holds it in his hand. The jar feels empty, but he can see with his own eyes that it's full of life. His hands twist the lid open, and he slowly removes the cover and enjoys the sight of the soul flying from its prison and off to its destination, whether at the police department or in Heaven.

"Pretty, right?" Tracy smiles, and Sam turns to see her. He pauses, mouth still slack from the previous sight as he just really… sees her: without the danger, the mission, and the threat that was once posed had been taken care of, he can really take in the vision of beauty before him. He blinks, shakes his head, and stammers on.

"Yeah-yes. Yes, it is," he says, looking at the jar he is still holding.

She moves forward and grabs another jar and repeats his action, and watches the soul flutter above her and out the window. The two continue to free the lost souls, opening each one methodically until there are no more lights. Now back in the darkness they go back to their prisoner, who is just starting to stir back into consciousness.

"What do we do with her?" Tracy cocks her head in Bela's direction.

Sam sighs, "We try to get as much information from her as possible then send her back into the pit. I'll start the circle." He takes out a piece of chalk and starts to surround Bela with the demon trap, but the darkness makes the entire process difficult. When a light shines onto him, he is relieved. "Thanks for the light," he says.

"That wasn't me."

Sam stops his arm, and turns his head to see Tracy standing there with her hands in her jacket pockets. Behind her, from a cellar window, the bright light shines through the cracks and right onto them. He moves to go see what it is until a sharp gasp is heard from their prisoner.

Bela is back with the land of the living, and squints at the room in front of her, before shivering with anticipation. She looks at the window. "I did not sign up for this," she mutters, then turns the mask back on to speak to the hunters. "Until next time, losers." She disappears in a puff of smoke and the rope falls to the ground.

"Damn," Tracy sighs, "I really wanted to rough her up some more."

"But what would have made her run like that?" Sam asks.

"Angels."

Sam and Tracy are too tired to be shocked by anymore unexpected visitors and turn bleary eyes to the newest newcomer: a teen with messy hair and dark whiskey eyes.

"Now who the hell are you?" Sam asks, really annoyed at the turn of events the day has taken.

"Sammy, I'm hurt," the boy puts a hand over his heart, "I thought all that special bonding time we had together meant something."

The boy's manners, words, and actions strike Sam as familiar, until the ball drops and he widens his eyes, finding a wellspring of energy with which to feed his horror.

"But- you can't be-" He starts to mutter.

The boy looks Sam straight in the eye.

"Good Morning, Vietnam."

Dun Dun Dunnnnnn! Will Lucifer reveal why he is after Sam? Will Dean master the First Blade and his insecurities? Will the next chapter be posted sooner than this one? (I know the answer to that one and it is yes.)

Thank you for reading and please review! Each review feeds one tiny… part of my ego. Keep it growing people, it's malnourished since I took to long to post this.