Dean moved slowly, carefully checking each door and each room that lay beyond. He found nothing time and time again, and he wandered down the hall, eyes and ears poised and alert. His attention was caught by the flicker of light from beneath a door up ahead. The hunter hesitated outside the door for one second, then two, and then with a burst of courage and rage, he pushed his way inside.

A man stood in the center of the room, his hands folded patiently. Brown hair framed a thin and angular face, and keen blue eyes watched Dean's arrival with interest. "You came."

The hunter recognized him immediately; the black suit and the thin, pale lips giving him away. "Dymanos, right?" He twisted the weapon in his hands as he stepped forward, but halted with the nephilim raised his hand.

Despite Dean's hostility, the creature seemed as cordial as ever. "Please. Call me Damien. It's far more … fitting for the age." His hand dropped down to motion to the weapon in Dean's hand. "I see you received my father's sword from the psychic."

"Yeah," Dean quipped sharply. "Big mistake on your part."

Damien let out a soft laugh. "Perhaps," he conceded good-naturedly, "But it was the only way to get you here." He moved forward, fingers dragging on the table as he circled around it. "I'm no fool, Mr. Winchester. My father told me exactly who you are. Before you killed him, of course." He stopped in front of Dean and placed his hands into his pockets. "I know you're going to kill me. And I'm going to let you." He motioned to himself, and for the first time Dean saw the scars
and fissures on his exposed skin. "Being the son of an angel and a demon is extremely unstable. I was kept in stasis while in hell, but now that I walk the earth, my time is limited. I give myself a day. Perhaps an hour. My death is inevitable, Dean, and that is why I will let you kill me — but not quite yet. This wasn't just one elaborate plan purely for my demise."

"Yeah, I bet." Dean narrowed his eyes as he studied the calm confidence on the nephilim's face. "So what was this? A test to see if we could get in and find Sam?" He scoffed condescendingly. "Cause guess what. Your warding didn't work, Chuckles."

The soft laugh sent an unbidden shiver up Dean's spine. "I can assure you my sigils did exactly what they were suppose to," Damien chuckled. "And yes, Dean, there is a test. However, you haven't yet taken it. Ah ah." He held up a hand when anger flashed in Dean's eyes and his hand tightened around Lucifer's blade. "If you kill me now," he warned, "they both die."

The shiver returned, hot and thick at the nephilim's words. "Both," he repeated flatly.

"Yes. Your brother and your angel." Damien circled back around the table and picked up clear glass and a bottle of whiskey. "Drink?" he offered.

Dean only adjusted his stance firmly, too afraid to trust his voice, but the cold fire in his eyes gave the nephilim the answer he needed.

"Suit yourself." Damien took a sip from his filled glass, pausing to roll the flavor around on his tongue before he finally swallowed. "You know," he began, "I never really knew my father, having been locked away on the outskirts of hell for so —"

"Save the sob story," Dean snapped, his anger and impatience momentarily getting the best of him. "Let Sam and Cas go."

He watched in barely masked frustration as Damien clicked his tongue. "Dean Dean Dean," he chided. "My father gave me one command before he died, so I thought I should at least explain why this is happening."

"Let me guess. I killed your daddy, now you're out looking for revenge." Dean's voice grew deep with anger. "Save it. I've heard it all before."

"No, no, I doubt you have." Damien stalked up to him, something cold dancing in his ice blue eyes. "My job, Dean, is to make you understand. You killed my father because once upon a time, he made an impossible choice. And now, Dean Winchester, it's your turn."

Dean shifted backwards as confusion pushed at his mind, but he refused to look away.

"Lucifer was forced to choose between losing his father's love or his family's respect. Either he grovel before man, or he stand up for his brothers and their rights. An impossible choice between the two things he loved most caused him pain and misery for the rest of his life. Lucifer thought you should understand that." Damien raised both of his hands, and two glowing orbs appeared in his hands, one blue, one white. "You, Dean, are going to choose between the two things you love most in this world."

"You son of a bitch." The words sounded stronger than Dean felt, rumbling deep within his chest and bouncing off of the barren walls. "If you think —"

"That you can bring them back again?" the nephilim finished. "You won't. You're going to choose one, Dean. One companion for the rest of your miserable life. The other comes with me, and when I die, his soul will be scattered so far across the universe God himself won't be able to put him back together again." His hands fell back to his side, and Damien looked down at his cracking skin. "Better choose fast," he warned. "I won't survive much longer."

"No." Dean surged forward and pinned the nephilim against the wall, eyes burning with rage as Damien's head slammed back into the brick with a sickening crack. "You listen to me, you sick son of a bitch. I swear to God I'm going to get them out alive."

Damien laughed, a low, dark noise that had Dean's confidence splintering. "God has nothing to do with it," he rasped. "Tick tock, Dean. Make your choice."

Dean's fist connected with Damien's jaw once, twice, and finished with a third punch to the nose before he stepped back. "You wanna kill someone?" he yelled. "Huh? Kill me. Come on!" He socked the nephilim in the mouth as anger and panic swept through his limbs like a tsunami, his organs tossing and turning in the waves. "Come on!" he yelled. "Kill me instead!"

Damien fell to the ground with the force of Dean's attack, and he spat blood onto the ground but made no move to get up. "I'm not killing you," he laughed. "There's no punishment in that, Dean. No lessons learned." He pointed behind him, and Dean turned to see a window on the wall which had been empty just seconds before. "Take a look."

Dean didn't want to, but his feet carried him over to the glass."Maybe looking them in the eyes will help you decide," Damien added from where he sat. "And then again, maybe not."

Dean ignored the nephilim's laughter as he tried to look away, but his head refused to move, and his eyes refused to blink as he stared into the darkened room. Sam was there, his bloodied and unconscious body tied to a wooden chair. His head sagged against his blood-stained shirt, and his hair was matted and covered in grime.

Castiel was to the left, half-suspended by chains. His arms were bound above his head, but even as Dean watched, he stirred, head rising towards Sam as his lips fell open in an unheard question. Sam didn't respond.

"They can't see or hear you." Damien rose to his feet behind Dean, but the hunter didn't look away from the window, and for one second Castiel turned towards him, and their eyes met. Dean knew they did, and time stopped. The weight crushing his lungs and mind, the yoke bearing down on his shoulders that made his stomach heave and lungs weak - for the briefest of moments it was all gone, and all that existed was Castiel, himself, and … clarity. Peace.

"Tick tock, Dean." Damien's voice was cold and triumphant, and the window disappeared forever from his view. "Five seconds before it's too late."

Dean stared at the wall, eyes screwed shut as his fist tightened around the angel blade in his hand.

"Four."

Why him? How could he live without either of them? Why should he of all people be the one to live?

"Three, Dean."

One. One. The number repeated itself over and over again in his mind. Just say one, dammit. Don't make me choose. I need one.

"Two."

The name came from Dean's lips, but it didn't feel like he was saying it. The voice sounded so foreign, so … sure of its answer. It couldn't have been Dean. It couldn't have been him that sent one of his loved ones to their death.

The room lit up in a bright light as a soul was released from the nephilim's hold, but Damien was dead before he could utter a word, light exploding from his body with a silent scream as his father's sword pierced his heart.

One.

One was dead. The ground disappeared from beneath his feet, and Dean fell. His knees hit the concrete floor with a low and distant thud, but the hunter felt nothing but the numbness and the shock. One was dead. He had killed him.

Zero.