A/N: My laptop suffered an unfortunate accident which killed the hard drive, meaning I lost EVERYTHING. So after much blood, sweat, and tears (lots of tears), I present: chapter seven reborn! Even more thanks than usual to Maddy77 and Mikey who not only Beta'd this but also supported me in my moment of peril. The title of this chapter is lifted from a Streetlight Manifesto album (If you haven't listened to them, I'd highly recommend it!) Anyhoo, that's all I have to say.

Please enjoy! (and review?)

The featureless landscape billowed and undulated. Fires crackled somewhere in the distance. The air was thick and heavy, with a sharp metallic tang. The place resonated with him, half-remembered.

"Sammy?" Dean called, but his plea was lost in the haze.

He felt a piercing pain in his side. Looking down he saw the long, feathered shaft of an arrow protruding just below his ribcage.

"Our prince has risen," a voice intoned. Dean whipped around, trying to discover the source.

"Our prince has risen." It came from every direction. It was there, inside his head.

Dean hissed as he felt another stab of agony rip through his back. He couldn't see the archer or the arrows. Out of the smog they flew, one after another. He raised a hand to protect his face. A barb pierced his palm, the force wrenching his shoulder and driving him to his knees, pinned.

Ropes sprung from the earth like snakes, winding their way around his limbs, pressing his body to the ground.

"Rejoice." The voice reverberated, shaking Dean down to his bones.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw a figure materialize and move toward him with long, purposeful strides.

Dean struggled, but was stuck spread-eagle like a butterfly in a collection.

Relief washed over him when he saw that the figure was Sam. "And the cavalry arrives! Quick, untie me so we can get the hell out of here."

But his brother made no move to help him. Instead, he peered down at Dean with a detached curiosity.

"Wha-"

Sam smiled, though his eyes remained cold and flat. His teeth were razor sharp.

He leaned over Dean, his jaw elongating until he could open his mouth inhumanely wide.

Dean didn't even have time to scream before Sam tore his heart out.

A firm hand pulled Dean back to reality. He woke to Bobby's face, creased with concern.

"You alright there, boy?"

"M'fine," Dean grunted, digging his fists into his eyes in an attempt to shake off the last vestiges of the nightmare.

"Bullshit," Bobby growled. "If it weren't for this one over here," he jerked his thumb at the body on the couch, "I'd have you on lockdown."

"Yeah whatever, just gimme a drink."

Bobby huffed and puffed but eventually left to search the cabinets for a drop of Hunter's Helper.

Dean sighed and rose, stumbling sluggishly into the living room. He performed the ministrations automatically, the motions repeated so often they'd become ingrained. A hand above the mouth, feeling for the faint tickle of breath before placing that hand on Cas' forehead in one fluid motion. Still hot. Adjust the blanket, trickle some water between his lips and over his burning skin. Rinse, lather, repeat.

Dean could feel his world gradually shrinking down to four peeling, floral-papered walls, a desk crammed haphazardly with papers, and the sound of labored wheezing. He hadn't left the house in days, delegating the supply runs to Bobby while he poured over cramped text and sat vigil. I'm sorry, baby. He thought guiltily of his car, parked and tarped in the scrapyard.

"Maybe you should get out for a bit. Clear your head." Bobby materialized behind Dean, echoing his thoughts. He held out a beer apologetically. "This is all we've got."

"Nah, I'll be okay," Dean waved a hand dismissively. "Gotta keep hitting the books until we find something, right?"

Bobby scowled belligerently, drawing himself up to his full height. "Son, if you don't get out that door right now I'm gonna push you myself. I'll stay here and watch Rip van Winkle over here. You go breathe some fresh air." His eyes softened, "Sam can wait another twenty minutes."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but the elder man grasped him firmly by the arm and spun him around towards the porch. "Fetch me some coffee while you're at it. The strong stuff. You come back with instant and I'll kill ya."

They were keeping him in some sort of cell, with sturdy cinderblock walls and concrete flooring. The room was devoid of furniture, save for a hook dangling from the ceiling. In the beginning they'd hung him from it, yanking the chains around his wrists until his shoulders strained in their sockets. Now they were content to leave him in shackles. He could hear others banging on the walls to his left and right, could hear the screaming. None of them sounded like Dean.

He'd lost track of the days, not only was the light perpetually murky and dim but he got the feeling that time itself moved differently. In fits and stutters. Sometimes he'd feel the space between each beat of his heart, each breath stretching on for an eternity. Between every languorous pause he'd wonder if maybe he was finished.

But then with a snap he'd feel air enter his lungs and blood surge through his veins. His limbs would move jerkily, like in an old stop-motion picture he and Dean had seen when they were kids. Images flickering rapidly before his eyes.

After a period, days? weeks? Azazel came to visit. He gripped the bars on the door tightly, grinning.

"Let's get ya outta here Sammy. I had a hell of a time finding you. Literally. And an even harder time convincing Alistair not to redecorate the room with your intestines." He shrugged, "So you should really be thanking me."

Sam spat on the floor. "Where's Dean? You told me I could see my brother!" His voice was raw with rage.

Azazel shook his head. "Tsk, so ungrateful. Dean's home free. Back topside safe and sound. You should really be worried more about yourself."

Dean is safe. Sam felt something loosen within him, the tight coils of pain and worry constricting his heart relaxed. He slumped down into a squat. "What do you want with me then?" He croaked finally.

Azael's eyes glittered. "I want to help you follow your destiny. I've been waiting, ever since the day you were born. Sure, there are others like you. But Sam, you truly are my favorite." His features relaxed in a sick parody of a loving gaze. "Come with me. I have something to show you."

Sam heard the door open and felt the heavy weight of the chains drop to the ground with a clang. His thoughts whirled around, darting away from him. I don't understand. This has to be some sort of game. They'll be waiting on the other side to tear me apart. But the long, dank corridor was deserted. Every hunter's instinct Sam possessed screamed at him to run, fight, resist, but his overwhelming curiosity got the better of him. I need to find out the plan first. So Dean and I can stop it when I find a way back.

He let Azazel lead the way, the demon grinning from ear to ear.

Dean hummed tunelessly, tapping the wheel of the Impala as he sped through the weary strip of asphalt that was the main road of Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

Bottles clinked in the backseat. While the town was a podunk little spot on the map, it had a generously stocked liquor store.

Dean was thinking that maybe, just maybe he could take a day off and spend it poisoning his liver in a field somewhere with the radio blasting when the engine coughed and died with drawn-out rattle.

"Sonovabitch," he swore, punching the roof of the car in frustration.

"Hey, you'd better not be abusing her." Dean whipped his head around so fast he pulled a muscle in his neck.

Sitting shotgun, his arm dangling casually out the open window, was John Winchester.

Dean gaped openmouthed, his fingers stuttering up and down his jacket, unsure of what to do. Salt? Holy water? Silver? Shotgun? Dad.

John smirked. "You look like a civilian who's just seen a ghost. Thought I taught you better than that."

"Ho-how are you here? You, you aren't real!" was all Dean could manage.

"I don't have much time, Dean." Already he was fritzing in and out like a broken TV, his words occasionally skipping or blending together. "I have…connection with the car but s'not strong. I need-

"Do you know how we can save Sam?" Dean burst out, his heart pounding wildly with silent hope.

"Listen to me!" John clenched his fist and one of the Impala's headlights exploded in a shower of glass.

"Yessir," Dean muttered automatically, wiping sweat off his brow.

"Like I already told you… Dangerous. Your brother- can't save him from… will turn him. Blood. But Azazel, we can kill him and maybe put an end to this."

"How do you mean?" Dean asked cautiously, "I ain't giving up on Sam!"

"Of course," John put a hand on his son's shoulder. Dean could feel a numbing electric tingle creep down his arm. "…Have to be careful. Can'ttrust-" He vanished and the engine rumbled back to life.

Dean let out the breath he realized he'd been holding, cradling his head in his hands. Can't ever get a goddamn break. First the demons, then Sam and Cas, now this. I can't do it.

A buzzing noise interrupted his reverie. Dean fumbled around in his pockets before finally retrieving his phone.

"Bobby!" He snapped, though he could hear the pent-up emotion thickening his voice. "I-I can't talk right now, but there's something-"

"I think he's waking up."

Dean threw the phone onto the passenger seat without hanging up and tore down the road at speeds that would make the Sheriff's eyes bleed.