I decided to post everything at once. This story is done. For now.


Death's Dream Kingdom

He was so cold. Too cold for sure, considering the inferno that had been his house was still raging not fifty feet from him. He wouldn't live through this, he knew. But at least the incessant cold had granted a reprieve from the pain by finally numbing him.

He didn't know how much time had passed since the house had exploded. He still couldn't quite figure out what had happened, how he'd been bested so easily. He'd planned everything out so carefully. The pain inside had been overwhelming, almost tipped him into unconsciousness. Then he'd come face to face with the demon. Gotten beat while he was down, knocked into blissful unconsciousness.

When he came to again there was someone squatting next to him. Pale skin, blue eyes, light hair in a long trench coat, and Mac had no idea who this guy was, but he was happy to see him all the same.

"Help us," he'd gasped, blood burbling on his lips.

The stranger cocked his head then looked up as if he were listening to someone else. When he finally focused those eyes on Mac again, Mac felt dread pool in his belly.

"I am here to deliver judgment," said the stranger. Pale fingers closed over Mac's eyes and the whole world spun for a second. The fingers lifted and the flicker of firelight was gone, the grass was gone from beneath him. Mac blinked and tried to focus, but couldn't see anything. Could only smell the stink of his storm cellar.

"How did I get here?"

"It is not your fate to die tonight." For some reason, the stranger's statement wasn't a comfort.

"What are you?" The stranger ignored him, just kept talking.

" You have been judged and found wanting." The stranger stood, and Roy could see Duke laying on the mat, writhing. "You're punishment is to lay in this hell of your making."

"Wait!" Mac yelled.

But the stranger disappeared.

"Reflect on your actions."

"You can't do this!"

"It is not my place to offer mercy. Ask for Mercy and perhaps it will be granted you. You have time before you'll stand judged again." Then true darkness descended as the doors were sealed above.


Upstate New York. Eight Weeks later.

Eight weeks after he was freed from captivity, Dean was finally moving under his own power. The plaster cast on his hand had been replaced with a soft cast and splint. Doctors were hopeful that the limb wouldn't need more surgery, but full use might never return.

His foot would never be the same, but doctors considered it a miracle that he still had his foot. Dean took his pain in stride, keeping with his character. His appetite returned, though it was nearly a month before he could actually eat that sought after cheeseburger. Dean had started regaining some of the weight he'd lost in his month of captivity and his two week long hospital stay.

The circles under Sam's eyes had finally started to fade, though he still slept only a few hours a day. He kept vigil during the nights, keeping an ever watchful eye for any uninvited guests.

They waited and healed, healed and waited.


It is nearly time.

"He is not ready. He is still not healed."

It is nearly time. You must prepare.

"He cannot yet. He is too weak. In too much pain still."

He has passed through hell and earth and hell again. He is tested. He is ready.

Castiel sighed, knowing that he would have to obey. The War had come...


End for now....

Let me know what you think. Enjoy.