"What the fuck do you mean you 'don't know where he is'?" John Winchester's voice was low and ominous, wavering in that hot zone between speaking emphatically and yelling as he shrugged off his heavy coat and glared at his teenage son across the small, seaside themed motel room.

Dean's eyes widened, immediately registering the trouble he was in. He moved his feet off the low, light-house striped coffee table and set the TV remote down. He straightened his posture and squared his shoulders automatically under his father's dark gaze. "I- I mean I don't know where he is. I waited in front of the school where we meet and he was a no show. I went and asked his teacher, she said he left with some friends. I figured-"

"His teacher told you that?" The anger was becoming more prominent in John's body language as he stalked across the room, boots thudding heavily on the wood paneled floor. "Did you throw holy water on her? Say the lord's name, see if she flinched? Cut her with a silver blade?"

"What? Dad, no- she's like 85." He stood up as his dad approached, trying to not visibly shrink away from the haze of whiskey and condescension surrounding the older man.

"Then how could you possibly trust the information she gives you about your brother?"

"I dunno. The school board probably has rules about hiring scum suckin' agents of evil-"

It wasn't a particularly hard hit; just a backhand swing to the sixteen year old's gut. Still hard enough for him to double up and gasp for air. "Are you bein' smart with me, son?" When Dean didn't reply, he followed up with a smack to the back of his head. "Huh?"

Swallowing down a yelp of pain, Dean straightened again and fixed his eyes forward. The picture on the far wall of a blue and white lighthouse standing solidly on a jutting peninsula was nice; the ocean looked so calm and peaceful. He'd never been to a beach before, but if he ever went, he hoped the ocean matched that one. "No, sir."

"Good. It doesn't suit you."

"Yes, sir. It's just," He risked looking at John's face and found him glaring right back. "I mean, he's almost thirteen. He's gotta have some time to himself."

"I'm sorry, are you trying to tell me how to parent my child?"

"No, sir." There was absolutely nothing to be gained from pushing him any further, especially when he was like this.

"It's way too dangerous for him to be wandering around on his own, you know that."

"Yeah, but when I was his age, you were sending me out on ammo runs by myself. I just think-"

"Thinking's not for you." John scoffed. "Sam's different. Another thing you already know. How many times do we have to go over the same shit to get it through that thick head a yours? Maybe you aren't cut out to be a hunter if you can't even keep track of your own brother."

"I can't keep track of him all the damn time! I can't just be his keeper, he-" 'He's not a dog on a leash' Dean was going to say. 'He's his own person and he needs his space' he'd been trying to explain. But communication had never been his strong suit and he'd made a poor word choice.

This hit was much harder and not open handed. John's fist caught him on the jaw and spun him around, causing him to bang his shins on the coffee table before falling hard to his knees. He didn't even have time to register the pain before John hauled him back to his feet with an iron grip on his upper arm, jerking him around to face him like a scorned toddler.

"You're not his keeper? Is that what you just said to me? Do you know what that's from? You tryin' to tell me you're Cain?" He gave him a little shake. "You gonna gank your brother if I turn my back on you?"

"What? No! I- what?" Dean's head was reeling, half confusion and half punch drunk. He cursed himself; he was such a god damn idiot, his dad was right. He was just so thick. "I'd never hurt Sammy! I'd do anything to protect him."

"Then how about starting by keepin' tabs on him?" John nearly growled, shoving him towards the door. "Get your ass out there and find him."

Dean stumbled a few steps before regaining his balance and nodding in response. He scurried quickly out the motel door, rubbing his swelling jaw as he went. He knew exactly where Sam was, had dropped him and his two friends off at the library himself and had promised him at least a few hours on his own. But John was right, he shouldn't have left him alone.

He was such an idiot.

Fifteen Years Later: Springdale, Wisconsin

"That the best you got, shit rooster?" Dean's cocky grin flashed brightly in the dull gray light illuminating the filthy alley as he squared his footing and flexed his already bloodied fists. One body already lay slumped against the wall behind him, and he waved forward one of the two demon's facing him down.

They both rushed just as he anticipated. Spinning, he landed a roundhouse right in the chest of the smaller, weaselly man, sending him flailing into the brick wall and only wobbling a little bit on the recovery just as the bigger one swung at his face.

It held a tiny, three inch knife in his giant hamfist, just small enough to escape Dean's notice.

He yelled when the blade tore into the forearm he'd gotten up to block, ripping through his canvas jacket and stuttering through several layers of flesh, slicing across the exposed arm with a half hearted gush of crimson. "You black eyed son of a bitch! I love this jacket."

A right hook cocked the demon's mutton-chop'd head back and Dean followed through with his left elbow, wincing from the knife wound when he slammed it into the demon's exposed throat with a sickeningly wet thunk.

The demon faltered back a step, gurgling through his collapsed esophagus, and Dean kicked his foot out, sweeping the monster's legs out from underneath him and sending him sprawling to his back.

Dean's balance wavered before he quickly pulled out the demon knife and jumped on the fallen demon, driving the blade up into his sternum with clenched teeth. The blinking spark escaped through the huge body, lighting the alley and causing a grim smirk to cover Dean's face.

The smirk disappeared when he was suddenly dragged back, finding himself restrained in an unbreakable headlock by the smaller demon. "Didn't mean to leave you out- I was getting to you!" He said, struggling violently but to no avail.

"Dean Winchester, out hunting demons by himself. And drunk as a skunk by the smell. My, my, this apocalypse really is messing with the weekly line up." This one appeared from the shadows, sauntering up to him in its attractive female meatsuit.

"Oh, great." Dean grunted, his voice strangled from the arm tightening around his airway. "Psycho-babble from a no name mook. Just when I thought my night couldn't get anymore useless."

The sequined high heels she wore were as heavy hitting as they were gaudy and Dean was left gasping from pain after the several impossibly hard kicks to his stomach.

"Can't trust the little bro out on the town after he brought about the end of life as you upright cattle know it?" She asked sweetly, grabbing his face in a hand and squeezing his cheeks tightly. "Is that why we're out playing shit faced Batman all by our lonesome?"

Dead didn't respond, glaring vehemently at the pretty redhead. Well, not at her so much as into her; at the monster possessing the poor ginger's body.

She shrugged her slight shoulders and punched him. Again and again and again. And one more time for good measure, smiling contentedly at the muffled crunch of cartiledge like a woman enjoying the aroma of her chamomile tea. "Feeling more talkative?"

Green eyes opening unevenly, one already beginning to swell shut, he blinked blearily until things came back into focus. He spat onto the ground, a gloopy trail of blood and spit falling from his lip to his chin, and grinned; every tooth outlined starkly in red. "You hit like a girl."

An inhuman growl escaped her pretty mouth and she lunged at him, acrylic nails held out like claws.

Feeling the arms around him slacken in anticipation of the attack, Dean slammed his head back into the face of the demon holding him and threw all his weight back, catching it off guard enough to make it stumble. He brought his legs up and slammed them into the bitch, sending her to the dirty ground.

He ignored every jolting flash of pain tearing through his body as he twisted out of the demon's grasp, pulled a battered flask out of his pocket and splashed the contents across either of his attackers.

While they shrieked in pain from the holy water, he scrambled over to the empty meatsuit, yanked out the knife and tackled the female. He rammed it up through her jaw, felt it rip into the roof of her mouth and twisted the wooden handle as it entered her brain.

Jerking it free, he rolled to his back and launched it at the last one, embedding it right in his chest even before the bitch was done sparking out. The lights from their crackling deaths died out and Dean was left panting in the dark.

He eased himself to his feet, wincing at what felt like a couple broken ribs and a twisted ankle. So he hadn't counted on the fourth one showing up, that was a little tight, but whatever. It worked out okay.

Limping over to the last body, he pulled out the knife and wiped it on the guy's cargo pants before sliding it into his coat pocket. He picked up the nearly empty flask of holy water, exchanging it for the sturdier flask of whiskey in an interior pocket that he promptly drained the contents of.

The temporary buzz of victory had vanished almost as fast as the demons' sparks had died out and it left him with nothing but a bitter, empty burn and the desire for more booze. And another fight.

"Dean."

He spun around, crouching defensively at the low, angry voice.

At the tight entrance of the alley, back-lit by the pallid yellow street light pooling across the crumbling pavement, Castiel stood still as a picture, arms straight at his sides and shadows covering his eyes.

"Oh, hey, man." Dean straightened, alarm disappearing. "I was just about to find a bar, you want a drink?"

"You have had enough to drink tonight." His voice was exactly as loud and impassive as always, yet the anger in it was impossible to miss.

Dean cave him a sloppy, careless grin as he approached, forcing the limp away now that there was someone around to see. "Well we can't always see eye to eye, huh? How the hell did you find me, anyway? I thought my full bone tat kept me off angel radar."

There was still blood across the human's lips, now dried and cracking, and Cas felt that the grin did nothing to detract from it. "It does. I have physically searched every part of this poorly maintained town looking for you." Every word was emphasized darkly, and when Dean moved to step around him to exit the dank alley, Cas caught his wrist and held him in place. "What do you think you're doing out here, Dean?"

The smile, nothing more than the most surface of expressions to begin with, melted away into the darkness clouding his eyes and the bruising still developing across his light skin. "My job. The hell do you think you're doing?" He tried to yank his hand away, but he couldn't even move it.

With a twist of his hand, Cas turned Dean's arm over to expose the ragged slash mark in his coat, now sopping wet with blood from the open wound underneath. He stared at it accusingly. "Your job is not to get exceptionally drunk and pick reckless fights with no one to assist should you find yourself in distress. So I repeat-" He threw his hand back as if disgusted by the sight and turned his piercing blue gaze to Dean's eyes. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Hey, you are not in charge of me. You can't even pretend to boss me around now that you've given the heavenly horde the big fuck-you-very-much."

"I am not trying to boss you around. I-"

"Great, then get the hell outta my way." Dean forced a smile and stepped around him, trying to shoulder him to the side as he went.

Grabbing the front of his shirt, Cas took one step back into the thickening shadows of the alley and pushed Dean against the wall. "Two fractured ribs, one broken. A bruised lung and slight internal bleeding. A dislocated, floating metacarpal and four jammed knuckles. A chipped molar, severed sinew and muscle in your left arm and a severely sprained ankle. You're losing blood as we speak. Dean-" He spat out his name like a curse and clenched his teeth in an attempt to quell the sudden uprising of anger he felt. When that didn't work, he slammed his balled fist into the wall above Dean's shoulder. The human flinched as mortar and brick dust rained over him. "You know I can't heal you right now. I. Am not. Trying to order you around. I am concerned."

"Why do you care?" Dean asked bitterly, glaring at him.

There was pain on his face and in his eyes. Pain reverberating through his deep voice. But it was so much deeper than what was visible; indeed, Castiel felt the physical injuries were an ill attempt to mask the suffering he saw now.

"I have no one left to care for but you."

Dean swallowed and broke the eye contact. "I was just blowing off some steam, Cas. There's no shortage of demons to take it out on, what with the friggun' end of the world right around the corner."

"This is not therapeutic." Cas' frown deepened, but he released Dean's shirt, letting his hands drop back to his sides. "It's self destructive and dangerous. I can not stand by and allow it to happen any longer. Ever since you and your brother took leave of each other-"

"I don't want to talk about Sam." He muttered. Eyes downcast, he pushed past Cas and tried to stride towards the street, but it turned quickly to a labored, unbalanced gait. Just as he approached the exit, Cas flickered in front of him. He stopped, the toes of his stained boots even with the sharp line of shadow cast from the building between himself and the nearest street light.

"You are not responsible for his decisions."

"You're kidding, right?"

The glower on his face said he clearly was not.

Dean took a deep breath, feeling the cool air twist down his throat, his expanding lungs pressing painfully against his injured ribs. "Alright. Listen, because I'm only gonna explain this once. I fucked that kid up so bad, he'd go to a demon's bed just to avoid me. I don't mean that in the metaphorical 'she was a real hell bitch and I hated the passive aggressive comments she made at dinner' way. I mean a literal black eyed, evil servant of Lord Satan himself. That's how shitty of a brother I am." His olive drab eyes were wide and gleaming, light reflecting off unshed tears. He swallowed, struggling to maintain his usual stoicism, and the shine disappeared. "So no, I didn't make the Emmy winning decision for him, but I sure as shit helped influence it." Despite his reticence on the subject, once he started talking, it was hard to stop; the words pouring out of his mouth like the black smoke of a demon abandoning its human host.

Cas had listened patiently, but his frown had deepened. There was a flurry of shadows behind him; the intangible quality of his wings made them nearly invisible unless viewed from just the right angle, and they could now be seen stretching above his head as the dim light cast a yellow aura around his slim frame. "No."

"Awesome. Am I gonna be charged the full hour for this psychiatric eval? Because I'm just not sure my insurance will cover it."

"I'm sorry. I don't have a response that wouldn't turn your anger towards me. But… Maybe it is better placed there than turned inward." He tilted his head, speaking the last sentence softly as if to himself. The wings disappeared and a new calmness seemed to wash over the angel. "You are responsible for your own actions and your own decisions, as is your brother. This," He waved his arm vaguely, indicating the current human condition. "Is not on you."

Dean scoffed and turned away, pacing back a ways, retreating into the darkness. Every step shot a tingle of pain up his leg, but he didn't mind. In fact, he almost appreciated the relief of some of his brain cells having to focus on the throbbing sprain rather than the emotional conversation. "I guess conveniently looking past negative events comes with the angel territory, huh? Remember who kick started this crazy train? I broke the first seal, and I drove Sam to break the last. And torturing innocent souls to save myself a little heartache is a helluva lot worse than-"

"Dean, stop!" Cas' voice wavered to a yell and he strode after him, catching his upper arm in his hand. "Just… Stop." He was so conflicted by the emotions swirling through his mind and so overwhlemed by the relatively new experience of confronting them; it would be so much easier to leave this dark, forgotten part of civilization and turn a blind eye to Den's actions. But something needed to be said. A great many things, actually. "Thirty years. You underwent unimaginable suffering and pain, pain literally too great for nearly all mortal minds to comprehend, for thirty years. Giving in after that is not the same as willingly pursuing and seeing through actions you have been warned multiple times and by multiple people against."

He shrugged, wrenching his arm away. "Thirty years, whoop-de-fuckin'-do. My dad held out indefinitely while he was on the rack. If I had a sack half as big as him-"

"No… He didn't." Cas interrupted, a confused frown covering his face.

"What? That's what Alastair told me. Said they only started in on me because he wouldn't cave." Dean looked at him over his shoulder, popped collar blocking the upset tilt of his mouth from view.

"And you believed him?" Cas shook his head, squinting at him. "John Winchester was never the Righteous Man. He would never have been offered that deal. It was always you."

"How do you know he wasn't?"

"Dean, every second that you suffered in hell, I was battling my way to you. As were many of my brothers. I- we, all had very clear orders and a very clear goal. To save Dean Winchester's soul. You and your brother were destined as parallels to Michael and Lucifer thousands of years before you were born. John had no bearing on that beyond fathering you. Alastair lied to increase your suffering because that's what he does."

Snow had finally pushed through the soupy gray mess of clouds squatting possessively over the small town and thick, wet flakes began stuttering silently to the ground around them. Dean's vision swam unevenly from the alcohol and blood loss as he followed the fitful path of a snowflake up above the rooftops, fluttering to the slick concrete and disappearing on contact.

When the human remained silent, Cas sighed and placed his hand gently on his hunched shoulder. "I don't mean to upset you further, I'm only trying to explain that the first seal was not your fault. You held out much longer than anyone had any right to expect of you."

"Doesn't matter. I still pushed Sam into that mess with Ruby, the last seal was still my fault."

"No. For the last time, he is responsible for his own actions."

"It's easy to say that, but… Sam's different. My whole life, my dad gave me one very clear order, and I failed it just like the idiot he always said I was."

The alley was thrown into complete darkness when Castiel's wings flared to their full, frightening extent and their opaque outlines filled the entrance and curved over the gap between the rooves, blocking all of the light. "Your father was a selfish drunk who deserved his stay in hell for the way he treated you."

Lips curling in an immediate snarl, Dean didn't even think about his movements as he turned and threw his fist as hard as he could with all his weight and every ounce of strength he had left at Cas' rage-filled glare and sorrowful frown.