4 years later

There would be no cards, no presents, no happily singing loved ones. Just him, the open road and his tunes. He does this every year, he takes off without warning only to come back, somewhat in one piece, slightly drunk and completely unsatisfied. And this year was no different.

He couldn't take his father's blank stares, only sober enough to put a gun in his hands and a knife in his pocket, nor could he take Sammy, who always looked at him with pity, ashamed he could do no better than give him whatever was cheapest at the drugstore they passed the night before.

And he couldn't take the fact, that this year, just like all the years before; Castiel had refused to show his face. Sometimes he wonders if the angel was even real, or if Cas was just a figment of his overly excited imagination. But when his father was in the mood to acknowledge his oldest son, he would confirm the existence of an odd four-year-old boy, who spent more time in his house than he did.

"He was supposed to protect us," he grumbles to himself, pulling over to the side of the road. So what if he was bitter? He had every right to be. Everything was taken from him that night, his mom, his home, his best friend. He felt betrayed, he was heartbroken and it was all because of that dick, Castiel the Angel of the fucking Lord. You don't just come back from that shit; you can't just pick up the pieces of a broken and empty life.

He could feel it all bubbling up again, threatening to take him over. This is why he doesn't do feelings. This is why he left the chick flick moments to the people who spent all day bitching and moaning about their poor sad lives.

He grabs the bottle of bourbon he may or may not have stolen from the liquor store a few miles back and angrily gets out of his car. Taking a couple of swigs, he finds a nice patch of dirt to sit in before throwing himself onto the ground. The dirt is soft and slightly damp, perfect for mindless drawings.

Dean was full of shit, he knew that. Hell, a lot of people knew that. As much as he pretends not to, he cares about his brother who, was frankly beginning to scare him, and he cares that he just got expelled from the third school in three years. And, if the drawing was any indication, he cares that it's his birthday and no one bothers to acknowledge it.

In the dirt he draws himself a small cake with nineteen candles. He hates cake with a burning passion, but on birthdays he'd give an exception. In his mind it is chocolate, with chocolate mousse filling and chocolate frosting. Yeah it was a tremendous amount of chocolate, but Dean Winchester isn't the kind of guy who does things half assed. He swipes the cake away with his foot, pretending he is blowing out the candles.

"Happy birthday Dean Winchester," he says to no one in particular. "Happy birthday."

Sometime later Dean wakes up, hungover as hell and annoyed at the persistent sound of his phone going off. He grabs it, ready to tear the person on the other end to shreds for bothering him. One glance tells him it's Sammy, and suddenly he is sober, alert and slightly scared.

"D-Dean, I...Dean I don't know what to do, I didn't mean to, it wasn't I mean I didn't..." Sam says quickly, his words forming together.

"Sam. Sammy! Speak slower, what's wrong?" It seems as though his brother is trying to tell him something, but due to the excessive crying, Dean can't make out a word.

"Dean...Dean, it's Dad. I can't-Oh my God I didn't mean to Dean. I swear I didn't. I-oh God, it was the voices Dean, they told me-I tried to stop-but he got in the way and it went off. Dean, please I need your help, I don't know what to do. I-Dean."

"Sam, I'm going to need to you calm down, and tell me slowly. Okay Sam? Okay? Whatever it is we can get through it together okay? So take a deep breath and start again."

"I'm so sorry Dean," Sam whispers, voice shaking like a leaf. "I'm so so sorry."

Dean tries to pump him for more information but all Sam can do is apologize, over and over again. He jumps into his car, speeding off and breaking every driving law known to man. When he finally reaches the motel they've been staying at, he runs inside. And once he gets there, it takes everything within him not to fall to his knees and weep.

Sam is in the middle of the room, cell phone clutched in one hand, a gun in the other. He's covered in blood, tears and snot is dripping from his face.

"I'm sorry." he says "I'm so so sorry." Their father is lying at his feet, with what looks like several gunshots to the head.

"Sam," Dean says in disbelief. "What did you do?

"I'm sorry," Sam says again. "I'm so sorry. It was him...the one-The one with the yellow eyes. He told me-He made me do it. Dean, I'm sorry."

Dean could do nothing more than to stare at his little brother, who had clearly lost his mind. It was true, they had been searching for Yellow Eyes for as long as he could remember - but telling his brother to do things, making him kill his dad, that was different kind of crazy he was not prepared to deal with.

"Dean..." Sam cries, sniffling. It knocks Dean out of his daze. He needs to act and fast, there was no telling who had heard the gunshots.

"Sam, go clean up," Dean commands, grabbing the comforter off the bed and laying it on the ground next to his father.

"But Dean I..." Sam starts to argue until Dean looks up, glaring. Sam nods, putting both the gun and phone down and turning to the bathroom.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, placing John on the comforter and rolling him up in it. He opens the motel door, looking around quickly before slinging John on his back and placing him in the back seat of the Impala. "Sam, hurry up," he calls. He sighs, packing up their things quickly and throwing them into the truck of the Impala.

They needed to get somewhere safe as soon as possible, and he knew just the place to go. It was nearing noon when the pulled up to the salvage yard. Bobby was sitting on the porch drinking a beer. The excitement was visible on his face when he saw the Impala pull up, but it quickly fell as soon as Sam and Dean stepped out of the car and he saw their faces.

"What's wrong boys? And where's your dad?" he asks, lifting his baseball cap a bit to scratch his head before fitting it back into place.

"Sam get inside." Dean says.

"But-"

"Get inside, Sam!" Dean yells, banging his fist against the hood of his car. Sam grabs his bag and scrambles inside.

"What the hell has gotten into you, boy?" Bobby says, slightly startled. Dean doesn't say a word. He goes to the back of the car, opens the door and gestures inside.

"Take a look for yourself.," he says. Bobby rushes to the car, takes one look and slams the door shut.

"What the hell is going on here Dean? Why is your father covered in a sheet in the backseat of his own damn car?"

"I'll tell you after we bury him." Dean says, walking away to find a shovel.

"Dean-"

"After we fucking bury him, Bobby!" Dean screams. He picks up the nearest crowbar off the ground and starts going to town on a junk car. It was almost therapeutic. Every swing stood for something that had gone wrong in his short life. And man did it feel good.

Wham. This was for him. Wham. This was for his baby brother. Wham, wham, wham. This was for his mom and dad. Wham, wham. This was for Cas. He keeps hitting the car until his hands begin to bleed, and only then does Bobby even considers venturing in and stopping him.

"Put it down before you hurt yourself boy," he says gently.

"What is the point Bobby? I've lost everything...everything. And now Sam...I-" his voice gets trapped in throat as he begins to cry. He had been trying to keep it all together, trying to stay strong. But there was no one to keep up the pretense for.

Bobby, who is not used to holding many people, wraps the boy in his arms and pats him on the back.

He doesn't say anything, now is not the time for words. Besides, even if he knew what to say, Dean would brush them away like he did everything else. Right on cue, Dean pushes him away, grabs a shovel and walks off.

"We should get started before the body begins to stink up the car." he says, his voice cold, void of any emotion or feeling. Bobby watches him walk away, sadness gripping his heart. Dean was a good boy, a smart boy. Before this day, Bobby would have said that Dean had the world at his fingers, if only he reached out and grabbed it.

But now, it seems like there was no hope left in the boy. Someone who should have been at the prime of his life now walks around like his life was over, and Bobby doesn't know if there was any fixing that.

Several hours later, Bobby joins Dean at the doorway of what was unofficially Sam's room.

"What are we going to do about him?" Bobby says gruffly.

"I don't know, I really don't. I mean voices Bobby? You don't get any crazier than that."

"So you don't believe him?" Bobby answers. "You don't think its Yellow Eyes making him do this?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," Dean says with a small sigh. "He can't stay here, Bobby. He's...I don't even know what he is anymore."

"We don't have many options here, Dean," Bobby points out.

"I know. But I think we both know what we have to do." Bobby nods. Dean gives his sleeping brother one last look before walking away and heading towards his own room. He sits on the bed, head in his hands, utterly defeated. He doesn't even have the strength or the will to cry. He just feels empty, and broken and in need of a long, long nap.

Out of nowhere he hears a rustle. At first he ignores it, after all Bobby's home was pretty old, and was in the habit of making odd noises. But then it comes again, much louder this time - and if he isn't mistaken it sounds vaguely like wings. He jumps out of bed, gun at the ready, prepared to shoot first and ask questions later. Right where he was sitting is a box, it's small and white. There are no words on it, no markings, nothing to suggest where it came from. Scratching his head in confusion, he opens the lid gingerly, just incase something decided to pop out and attack him. But he finds nothing of the sort. Inside he finds a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, and if he isn't mistaken, the filling should be chocolate mousse.

His heart constricts as he reads the words on top of the cake.

'Happy Birthday Dean,' it says. 'Happy birthday.'

The next day, Dean and Bobby sit Sam down in front the fireplace. It has been several minutes but no one has said anything yet. Dean was a bit jumpy, his hands were shaking and his legs were twitching. Sam and Bobby were sending Dean identical 'what the fuck' faces but he ignored them both in favor of staying in his own headspace.

So he had eaten the entire cake last night. So he was so high off of the sugar he was ready to bounce of the walls.

What he did and what he ate was nobody's business but his own. It doesn't help that he has a sinking feeling as to who the cake is from. It doesn't help that for the first time in years he has hope. It doesn't help that he stayed up all night praying to a fucking angel who didn't give two shits about him. It doesn't help, that this is the way one lousy cake made him feel.

And to make matters worse everyone was looking at him as if he was the one losing his mind.

"You okay Dean?" Bobby asks, giving him yet another look. "You look...wired."

"Yeah, I'm fine." he says brushing off the question. "But this isn't about me, this is about Sam."

Upon hearing his name, Sam looks away eyes, welling up with tears. "W-What are you guys gonna do?" he asks, his voice wavering.

Sitting down next to Sam, Dean places a hand on his brother's shoulder, hoping to comfort him. He sighs. "Sam, Bobby and I talked last night, and we think it's for the best if you got some help."

"How? He's in my mind, Dean! He's always there, h-he tells me to do things," Sam whispers fearfully, looking around the room.

"Sammy, we're taking you to a hospital, okay? They can help you get better," Dean promises, standing back up.

"You don't believe me. You think I'm insane. After everything we've seen Dean, you won't believe your own brother?" Sam asks, standing up. "I'm not crazy! He's there, in my mind, telling me what to do!"

"I know, Sammy, I know. We'll get him out of there okay? The hospital will help you, he won't be able to hurt you anymore," Dean soothes, wrapping Sam in a hug. "They'll help you get better, I promise."

"O-okay," Sam whimpers. Dean nods, letting go of Sam. He had expected more of a fight. As they gather up Sam's belongings guilt seeps into Dean's veins. He's supposed to be the one to protect Sam, and now instead he's sending him away.

Bobby pulls Dean away as Sam is getting into the car.

"You sure you wanna do this?" he says in a hushed tone. "Let's say he's telling the truth, let's say this Yellow Eyes really has your brother's gourd in a knot. Why are we sending him off to possibly terrorize unsuspecting people? Shouldn't we keep him here, with us?"

"Bobby," Dean sighs. "He killed his own dad. What am I supposed to do with that? I don't even know where to begin. If this is real, if Yellow Eyes has really taken over my brother, then what better place to send him then somewhere locked and secure? At least until I figure out how to get the bastard out of my brother's head. I don't want to do this, I don't want to let him out of my sight for a single moment. But until I can figure this out I don't need him trying to kill me in my sleep."

Bobby raises his hands in defeat. "Okay Dean, he's your brother. It's your call. But I think it would be best if he stayed right where he is."

Bobby walks away, leaving Dean to wonder if he made the right choice. He shakes his head, he can't worry about that right now, he has so little family left and he needs to protect that. Even if he has to protect them from themselves.

Castiel has taken to making small excursions to Earth when he thought that no one would notice. Over the past fourteen years, he had been sneaking down, just to see how Sam and Dean were doing. Under no circumstance would he allow himself to intervene in any way. And it was killing him. Something was terribly wrong and he knew it. He just couldn't understand why Heaven had allowed a demon to warp the mind of an innocent fourteen-year-old boy. But every time he questioned it, every time he made any sign that he thought it was wrong, he would get shut down and punished.

He doesn't know how many more of these punishments he could take. As strong and as resilient as he was, they were beginning to wear him down and crush what little spirit he had left. He was straddling a dangerous line. With every passing moment his thoughts grow more and more rebellious. They veer towards serving man and humanity and turning his back on his own kind. He doesn't know how long he can continue faking his loyalties until he is caught. He knows his brothers and sisters aren't stupid, he knows it will come to a point where they will no longer hide the fact that they can see just how far he has fallen. He knows that, but right now, in this moment he can't find it within himself to care.

Castiel prepares himself for flight, thinking sadly that he never got the chance to show Dean the freedom of flying. But something stops him in his tracks: a message is coming through over angel radio for him. An angel by the name of Tabris is requesting to see him. And by the sounds of it, it looks serious.

Cas doesn't want to delay his visit to Earth for very long, but if there is one thing he has learned, it was how to keep up appearances.

He has heard of Tabris before, but given the nature of his job, no one has much use for him or sees him much for that matter. Castiel has to travel to an obscure part of Heaven just to find him and when he does, he knows it doesn't bode well for him. He stops briefly at the threshold, he really doesn't want to deal with this. But he finds he has no other choice, besides Tabris has already sensed his presence.

"Come in, Castiel," Tabris beckons. The room is small and dark, books lining the walls and floors. In the middle of the mess of literature sits Tabris, hands folded and face weary.

"Do you know who I am?" he asks. Castiel tilts his head slightly in confusion. Of course he does, no matter how obscure, every angel and their purpose is known to all.

"You are Tabris," he responds slowly, not sure if this is a test or if Tabris really doesn't think he knows. "The Angel of Free Will."

"Good. And since you know who I am and what I do, I imagine you know why you are here." Tabris says.

"I am not really sure-"

"Free will Castiel, you are here because you are expressing your free will. Did you not think no one else would notice? Did you think you would be able to get away with it for long?"

Castiel opts to say nothing, he will neither confirm nor deny the angel's statements. The longer he doesn't say anything, the longer he can remain safe.

"Do you know why we were created, Castiel?" Tabris continues. "We were created as God's warriors, the keepers of His word. We were made to serve Him and carry out His will, not fraternize with the humans he created."

Cas knows he is going to regret this, but he can no longer sit by as yet another angel chastises him for his love of humanity.

"Why not?" he asks. "They are God's children as we are, shouldn't we protect them as we would protect each other?"

"There is a difference between protection and becoming one of them!" The angel snaps. "Castiel, do you not realize what is at stake here? Your family, your home, your grace! Are you really willing to throw it all away for a couple of humans you've only knew for two months? And if you still choose to fall for them do you think Heaven will ever leave you alone? You will be hunted for the rest of your life. You will be dragged back to Heaven and killed." He bangs his fist on the table.

"Do you want to be known for that? The only angel stupid enough to risk it all for humanity? When we are so much better, so much stronger, when we have so much more to offer?"

Cas wasn't about to explain himself to someone who clearly didn't understand. He wasn't going to give this angel the satisfaction of being privy to the changes Castiel has gone through. So he gave him a simple answer. "Yes, yes I will."

Tabris looks at him as if he has never seen anything quite like him, he opens and closes his mouth several times before responding.

"You know I was like you," he says looking sadly into the distance. "The first thing you learn about emotion is that it has its price. There will always be a price, Castiel, and for us, the Host of Heaven, it is a steep one."

"You call yourself the Angel of Free Will." Castiel says, voice shaking. "Well, where is mine? How can you possibly say you have been where I am and want me to turn my back on it? How could you have felt what I have and tell me to forget it? There is so much out there, so much we don't understand! We have been here since the beginning of time yet the humans, the so-called weak ones, understand the world better than we do! I found something on Earth Tabris, I found a purpose, a calling. I found something worth existing for. I am not about to turn my back on that now. I can't"

Castiel turns on his heel, prepared to walk out the door but the other angel's voice stops him.

"I understand better than you think, young angel. Why do you think I became the Angel of Free Will? Why do you think I reside in this remote part of heaven? It's because we don't need it, we are better off without it. Free will is your prized rose, more beautiful and more fragrant than you have ever known. But underneath those petals of ruby red are thorns ready to poison you as soon as you slip up. I am your first and only warning Castiel. I am what you do not want to be. I was poisoned by that rose and I barely escaped with my life. You will not be that lucky."

Cas runs out of the room, no longer willing to listen to what the angel had to say. Tabris might have a point, free will was a rose. But in his mind even if he got stuck by the thorns, the simple fact that he was able to smell its sweet fragrance was enough for him.

'This is it,' he thinks to himself, preparing for his descent to Earth. 'There is no turning back from this point.'

As much as he is willing to risk everything for the family he adopted back on Earth, he can't help but to feel a little sad as he falls from Heaven in more ways than one.

"He abandoned you Sammy." Yellow Eyes whispers. "He left you here to rot while he hit the road doing God knows what."

It's sad, these days Sam doesn't even argue anymore. He just sits there, staring at the blank walls, letting Yellow Eyes fuel the fire. Some days he doesn't blame his older brother for what happened, some days he knows that Dean had every right to dump him in the hellhole. But there are other days when just the thought of his brother would enrage him.

At first it was the small things, exploding light bulbs and broken windows. But then it became bigger, more destructive. He would shoot a glare at an unsuspecting passerby and they would collapse in pain. Sam doesn't really take any joy from the pain he causes, but he can't seem to stop.

He's lost count of how many days he's been in the hospital, he no longer flinches when he hears Yellow Eyes in his head, he accepts it. Yellow Eyes never leaves his mind. Some days Sam finds he doesn't mind it.

"It's time to try a little experiment Sammy," Yellow Eyes tells him one morning. "I want you to set the dresser on fire."

Sam sits up, staring at the dresser. Yellow Eyes says that these are tests to see how ready he is. He's not entirely sure what he's getting ready for, but so far Sam has passed each test he's been given. He doesn't know if he should be scared or happy.

Sam jumps back a little when the dresser catches on fire. He's shocked at how easy it was to make it happen. His mind is growing stronger with each day and each new test Yellow Eyes gives him.

"Perfect Sammy. You're getting strong." Yellow Eyes says proudly. Sammy grins. It's nice to make someone happy for a change. Dean was only scared of him, his dad never got him. Maybe that's why he's stopped caring that he killed his father. It's not like he was a good dad anyways. He deserved to die, Dean would see that one day.

"Sam, it's time for your medication," his nurse, Ruby, says coming into his room. Sam knows how to avoid taking pills now, it's easy to hide them under his tongue and spit them out once the nurse has left. Sam sighs getting up and flushing the pills down the toilet.

"Sammy, you're almost ready." Yellow Eyes whispers into his mind.

"Tell me what to do," Sam calls out, staring at himself in the mirror. He jumps back when his eyes flick yellow.

"Kill your nurse," Yellow Eyes commands. Sam waits, expecting some other command, but none comes. When he looks in the mirror again, his eyes are back to hazel.

With his task in mind, Sam lies down on the bed, waiting for it to be time for lunch. Normally he would have to participate in groups and pointless therapy, but after he bit a couple kids, they considered him too violent to be around people. He's still violent, just from a distance. He laughs softly to himself. Humans were such idiots sometimes.

Sam doesn't consider himself to be human anymore. He didn't really know what he was, but he certainly wasn't weak like everyone else. He was better, smarter, stronger. He could do things people only dreamed about doing.

Ruby knocks on the door, bringing in Sam's lunch. She sets it down on the tray and stares at Sam. "Time for you to eat, kid," she says. Sam sits up grinning at her.

"That's it, Sammy. Kill her."

Sam closes his eyes, focusing on the image of Ruby standing there in confusion. She was stupid too, thinking Sam wouldn't recognize that she was a demon. There's a loud cough, and when Sam opens his eyes, Ruby is coughing up blood. It won't kill her, but Sam knows it's probably not pleasant.

"What are you doing, you twerp?" Ruby yells, coughing up more blood. Sam raises his hand and makes a fist, watching as Ruby's airflow is cut off so she cannot speak.

"You're an idiot," he tells her, his eyes flashing yellow again. "I knew you were a demon from the moment I got here," he says with a laugh, getting up and walking around her. Using his mind he pins her against the wall, and begins to pull Ruby out of the woman she possesses. The black smoke floats around the room and Sam grins, watching the body slide to the floor, dead. "See ya Ruby," he shouts, watching as the black smoke bursts into flames.

"You're ready," Yellow Eye tells him, and Sam laughs. He is more than ready. This is the beginning of a brand new world. One that Sam would rule, one that would worship him if they wanted to live. He walks out of the hospital, killing anyone who attempts to stop him. He hears the screams and feels the pain of everyone he passes and it fuels him.

'They should be scared,' he thinks. He laughs as security actually tries to stop him. A quick flick of the wrist should do the job, but Sam is not letting them go that easy. He twists their insides so the bleed to death from the inside. It is slow and painful, but everyone is going to die someday, and today just so happens to be their day. Once he's out, he turns and snaps his fingers, watching as the whole building burst into flames.

It makes a pretty picture, the flames of orange and red with black seeping into the sky like smoky ink. He thinks briefly of the brother who abandoned him the moment he found out his precious little brother was a freak. Dean would live to regret that. If there was one thing Sam would do, it was to make Dean suffer for letting him go when he needed him the most.

He pushes the thought of his older brother from his mind, opting to laugh again. A sick, sort of maniacal sort of laugh. He walks away, with the fire still burning behind him. In his mind he can hear Yellow Eyes humming a tune Sam hasn't heard before. It sounds old and ominous, fitting for the momentous occasion. It isn't long before Sam starts singing along.

"My name is Death," he sings, eyes flickering to their now permanent shade of sickening yellow. "And the end is here,"

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