Author's Note: This chapter does contain non-canon character death (not Sam or Dean). I believe its inclusion is organic to this tale and while disturbing, will hopefully be seen as ultimately serving the story.

Chapter 17

"Sam, Dean." Cas pops into the Impala's back seat.

Sam yelps and fishtails the car across the thankfully empty stretch of highway.

Hee. Somehow this is funny when it happens to his brother and not to Dean.

Dean turns to face Cas. He's missed him. Not that he's going to say this aloud. Cas nods at him in his ever solemn way and Dean smiles brightly.

"I have good news."

Now there's something you didn't hear every day. Well, not if you're Dean Winchester at any rate.

"Go on," Sam says.

Sam doesn't have the patience for Cas's intermittent pauses. Come to think of it, at one time neither did Dean. Now, it doesn't bother him so much.

"Kimaris is gone. Lucifer was displeased at his failure and banished him."

Dean snorts. "That's minion number two blowing the job. I'll bet Lucie is royally pissed. Dude had the fuckin' Cerberus and still couldn't get the job done." He turns to look at Sam a moment. His brother took that beast on single-handed ... man, that took guts.

"Guess we won that battle," Sam says. But Sam's voice wavers and Dean hears the rest … but not the war.

Wet blanket. Couldn't they spend five freakin' minutes enjoying this? Right now. This second. Nobody is tracking him. Hell Hounds aren't materializing to rip him to shreds. Time and space is staying put. Dean Winchester, you just survived 10 rounds with Hell's denizens, whatcha gonna do now?

"We should head to DisneyWorld."

Both his travelling companions look at him like Dean just lost his mind.

"Never mind."

Sam gets it. "Dean, you're right. It's good."

Dean looks at his brother. Waits till Sam looks back, because this is about so much more than Kimaris getting his Fabio ass kicked back to Hell. "Yeah," Dean says. "It's good."

"And your friend Bobby is making good progress on his plan. He is a very smart hunter."

Dean turns back to Cas. "What plan?"

"To trap Death."

Dean's heart suddenly feels like a tight, cold thing. "Cas?"

"I believe Sam saw some of Bobby's research …"

Sam won't meet his eyes. "I knew … I mean the texts they talk about Death and how it controls the passage into Hades. Technically, if Death didn't open the door, you couldn't go to Hell. Ever. It made Bobby think … but how would one …?"

"Sam. Turn the car around. Bobby's. Now."

– – –

What used to be easy is now so blasted hard. Bobby spins the chair around again and maneuvers his makeshift paint brush on a stick into a semi circle shape. It has to be precise, can't be sloppy. This summoning has to go without a hitch. He works his way around the empty garage, swirling, crossing, filling in … it's as intricate as a piece of lace. Or a web.

The sigil he's drawing left ancient behind several thousand years ago. Its origins are shrouded. One reference had it coming from God. Others credit Lucifer, before his fall. Bobby likes to think it might have come from a mighty clever hunter of yore. Evil's always underestimating humanity. And if evil ain't goin' anywhere, neither are people.

Suddenly, he misses his friend John. Sure woulda been good to have someone like that have his back on this one. 'Course if John hadn'ta started down the path of makin' deals … But he's let that bitterness go. Mostly.

He wheels himself back to check the image on the floor against the one in the book. A few spots are off. He goes to correct them and has to stop as another pain shoots down his arm from his shoulder. Dammit. Been giving him a hard time. Must be from movin' himself around in the chair. He needs to take some Advil. Should do the trick. Between this and the heart burn he's been a rollin' sack of aches lately. Ah. Growin' old. Wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy. Although the alternative is worse so he guesses he would wish it on his friends.

They'd lost some good friends of late. Pamela. Ellen. Her baby, Jo. That one still stung darn hard. What is it with these children of hunters that are so quick to want to give up their lives? Not for the first time he thinks Sam had it right. He at least tried to get away. Go to college. Live like a person. Dang, John had been upset. Took Bobby a month to just find out what happened. Really what kind of crazy person treated a full ride at Stanford like a trip to a concentration camp? John just muttered something about not being able to keep Sammy safe and stalked away. Dean, bless his soft heart, just stood there. Face blank. The boy had a face like an angel and when it went into that lost stare it could just about break your heart in two. He'd tried to get Dean to talk.

"It's tough when they fight, eh?"

Dean had nodded.

"Hard to be the peacekeeper. They're peas in a pod, Sam and John. Couple of stubborn mules."

"Yeah."

"Miss your brother?"

Dean looked at him. "I called him. We spoke some. He's settling in. Making friends. School's always been easy for him. He'll do well."

"How 'bout you?"

The boy looked at him like the question had no meaning.

"Ever think about what you want? Maybe college ain't for you but …"

"Gonna hunt with Dad," Dean said, as if no other thought had ever dared enter his head.

And maybe it hadn't. How could it have, the way John raised him? Boy lost his innocence at four. Bad shit chasin' that family around. Both boys have separately told him they think their family is cursed. He said curses were bullshit and that their futures are what they make them. Mostly he believes this. But sometimes you have to help that future along. That's why he is doing what he's doing. You can't control the future. But there is one thing he is going to control. Dean Winchester is never going to Hell again.

A last hard look at the symbols he's drawn satisfies him that this part is as good as it is going to get. He makes his way back to the book. He's memorized the words he must recite but a last look isn't going to hurt. They are powerful and old and deadly if misused. Tamara says that when he's done he has to return the book and she's locking it up again. He can't disagree with her. Lots of mischief and worse could be done with spells that touch the power of the Earth herself.

He wonders what he might have done if he'd had access to this text two years ago. If it works now it would have worked then. He could have kept Dean out of Hell. He'd tried everything he could think of that horrible year to save Dean. He remembers Sam going crazy tryin' to break that blasted deal.

Bobby just wishes Dean hadn't made it in the first place. It took a piece of Bobby's heart when he saw Sam dead in his brother's arms in that piss poor ghost town. But seeing Sam walk through his doorway three days later, he knew instantly that Dean had done something unforgivably foolish and completely irreversible.

Boy never believes in his own worth. Bobby doesn't know why that is exactly. John wasn't father of the year, but he loved Dean. Loved both his boys more than anything. It's like Dean identifies himself only as John's son, Sam's brother. Lose them and he vanishes. Makes no sense.

Bobby can still hear Castiel looking at Dean asking, "You don't believe you deserve to be saved?" Good kid like that, smart as a whip, braver than men twice his age. Shouldn'ta been in Hell in the first place, ya idjit.

So maybe this is too little, too late, but Bobby is finally going to do right by the boy he considers a son. And he isn't trading his soul to do so either, but a little deal making … well, that's okay, dealin' is older than anything outside of the Bible he reckons, heck older even than that. Keep the price manageable and a deal could be just what one needed.

He lines the candles out along the edges of the design. He's got these long doo-hickeys to help light them. Better than dropping a match on the wick and hopin' it took.

It's done.

He wheels back against the wall and takes a deep breath. This is for you, boy.

"Evoco prodigium … Praestigarum murus … Major creoare … "

The room begins to flicker and the books on his table rustle as if a wind is passing through even though the doors are closed. He ignores this and continues the recitation, voice rising at the end. "… Circus consisto funestus. Attineo prodigium!"

His eyes are shut but he feels the snap as the spell finishes and he's no longer alone.

"Oh. What have we here?"

Her voice is deep, sultry, sexiest thing he's heard in a long time. He opens his eyes to take her in fully. Long, wavy blonde hair, close to six feet tall, shaped like a starlet, not all skinny like today's idea of good lookin' – nope, all curves and long-legged wonder. She smiles pearly white teeth at him and shakes her hair over one shoulder. She's in the white dress both Sam and Dean described. Silk or satin, clingy, low cut. Parts of him he'd thought long dead are noticing.

"Hello. Aren't you all cuddly looking?" She gazes at him through lowered lashes. "But shouldn't a gentleman stand to greet a lady?"

He doesn't answer, in shock as he feels his legs. Holy mother of …

"Well you went through such trouble to see me. Come here, sweetie," she beckons.

On shaking arms, he pushes himself up. Standing on wobbly legs he looks at her now, eyes wide. He hadn't counted on this, is scared that there's a price he didn't reckon on. She's right in front of him and she's so tall he has to look up.

"You have pretty blue eyes," she murmurs. He stands perfectly still, frankly afraid of trying to take a step on legs that haven't been used in months. "Brave little man. Hasn't anyone ever told you that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing? Summoning me isn't like calling your pet demon, you know." The seductive tone in her voice changes to razor wire. "You presume too much, little monkey. You do not play with me."

Around her the room explodes in flames. Bobby ignores the orange flame-tips reaching for him, the sudden smothering heat, the deafening roar of the fire threatening to consume him. He stands unmoving for a century, at least.

The inferno vanishes.

"You aren't afraid." It is not wonder in her voice. And not quite apprehension. Not even a little. "Why is that?"

"You can't take me." He pulls a crystal on a cord from around his neck. It's glowing inside with what looks like trapped sunshine.

"A soul keeper," she hisses. And Bobby is really glad she can't reach him. "I haven't seen one of those in a long time. Didn't expect to find anyone who could still make one. Nice. Tethering your own soul." And she's all peaches and honey again. "I like you. Formal invitation. Smarter than the usual kind who play with fire." A hint of smoke touches his nostrils. "Very polite."

Here is his opening.

"Well, then, if'n you like to do things proper, miss, we should introduce ourselves. Mr. Robert Singer. I'd say, 'at your service,' but that ain't exactly where this is headed."

"Miss … so formal. I am Azreal."

Bobby takes a breath and holds it a moment. Last word of the incantation. "Azrael."

The room darkens. Death blinks. "What did you do?" Her fury is back but Bobby can see he's got her off-balance as she tries to figure out what just happened.

He still has working legs so he takes another step away from the blasted chair and carefully makes a circuit around her. She moves with him to keep her eyes on him.

"You and I are going to have a nice, long chat."

She reaches out with her arms, feels the invisible force holding her in. Her face goes red. "Let. Me. Out."

"Not yet sweet pea. First I want to deal."

Azrael snarls. "Here I thought you were different. But it's always the same. Predictable. Immortality. Power. Revenge. I pick you as the wanting to get even kind. So you want me to take out one person or wipe out the whole family? If you're looking for impact, that's the way to go. And the reputation that'll give you, well it's priceless. So what'll it be?"

Bobby notes her words are agreeable, but he's seeing the anger she's trying to conceal.

He smiles. "I'm not dealing for me. I want you to shut a door. Or never open it to be precise. Dean Winchester never enters Hell again."

She's surprised a moment but recovers fast.

"This is about Dean Winchester? Oh, I don't think so. There's a very special place waiting for him. He's got a lot of real close friends set to welcome him home."

The menace of her voice sends chills down Bobby's spine. If there was any doubt he was doing the right thing, the brutal promise in her words puts it to rest.

"Well, okay then, if you don't want to deal, then I'll just be goin'." He knows she'll figure it out in a minute.

She laughs. It is not the laugh of someone sharing a good joke. "How long till one of my friends let's me out of here, do you think? That's how long you have left, little man, and then you'll wish you'd settled for playing with vampires and ghosts."

"Nobody is finding you. See these symbols around you. Their opposites are buried underground, beneath the concrete you're standing on." Like a key in a lock. Bitch was stuck. Wasn't goin' nowhere unless he opened the door.

One … Two …

The scream of Death is not meant for men's ears. Even with his legs locked to support him, Bobby reels, nearly falls. But Azrael is still held in his Bobby's trap. He continues to wait.

"That's all you want? No Hell for Dean Winchester? And you let me go?" She's throwing the rage and hatred of every soul-sucking piece of supernatural crap he's ever hunted at him. He stands firm.

"It's enough."

Damn heartburn acts up again. No time for nonsense, he has to stay focused. Get her to agree. Save the boy.

"Don't even think about tricking me, old man."

"You lock the door to Hell for Dean forever. I will let you go. It's a good deal. Suggest you take it."

Azrael watches him with eyes slitted like a cat's. Staring down Death, if that ain't the capper of his hunting life. And suddenly she laughs.

"I like you," she says. "You surprised me. I haven't been surprised in a long time. And you're fun. Play a good game. Bet you kick ass at chess."

He nods at this and eyes her questioningly.

She fulfills her part of the deal speaking an ancient tongue. "إغلاقبابجهنمإلىالأبدالروحالذكور." Bobby makes out enough to believe.

The door bursts open. Bobby doesn't even look, just holds his hand up to stop the hollering that is sure to commence. 'Course the angel ignores the gesture.

"You were successful," Cas says.

Bobby nods.

Cas turns to Dean with a small yet profound smile. "Dean, you will never enter Hell again."

"Now, little man. It's your turn."

Dean looks wildly at him. "Bobby. What did you do?"

"I'm not an idjit like you, Dean. My soul is safe. All I'm doing is letting her go."

"Bobby. Your legs …"

"Freebie. Before she knew what I was up to. Not sure how long it'll last …" He shrugs to show it doesn't matter to him. Flinches at another wash of heartburn. "Now if you clowns'll stay quiet, I've gotta finish this."

"You're letting her go?" He shoulda figured Sam'd have a problem with this.

"Trust me," he says. "I said I'd release her. Gotta keep my word."

Azrael turns to Sam. Licks her lips seductively. "Be seeing you again, soon, Sammy."

Bobby shudders a moment at this but then quickly utters a foreign litany under his breath, as if praying. It's over in a flash.

Both boys are staring at where Azrael was standing.

"Bobby?"

Bobby ignores them and addresses the woman now staring at him in bewilderment. "What did you do?" she breathes.

"I let you go, like I said, I just didn't say what I was letting go. You're a reaper now, honey. Not The Grim Reaper. Just a reaper. You'll get to take souls on their natural journey. Death's back where she … it … belongs." Bobby looks back toward his friends. "You didn't really think I was gonna let the Pale Rider just stroll through the door to slaughter more towns, didja?"

Sam is pulling at Bobby's arm urgently. "Bobby, you see her, the reaper … you're talking to her?"

Bobby pulls his arm away. She is beautiful. Why didn't he see that before? He feels an odd tingle, then the most thunderous pain of his memory explodes through him and his legs fold again and he's on the ground looking up at three blurred faces.

The reaper is between him and them. Breathing is hard, he struggles, feels a weight like a stack of bricks on his chest. He takes a final look at the faces of the boys he loves so much. He wishes he can tell them how special they are. Be good to each other. Her hand grazes his forehead and he sees no more.