Story title comes from WASP song Heaven's Hung in Black, apparently referring to the route criminals would have to walk on their way to the gallows in ancient Rome (kinda fitting for the way the Winchesters' lives go in this story).

Disclaimer: hellooooo ... fanfiction site! 'Nuff said.


This is a sequel of my fics 'Two Guys, a Girl, and a Ticket to Hell' and 'Can't Catch me Coz the Rabbit Done Died' but if you haven't read them, that's okay because I will fill you in on the basics of what you need to know as we go (just read the Author's notes).

This story is an AU for season 6. You'll recognize some of the basic elements from the canon show (like Crowley and the Campbells) but things go down way way differently so it definitely won't get boring. It has darker subject matter in some parts and swearing and sex/lemons so it is rated M (for Mature) – please be warned!


This first chapter is just a short prologue that gives you a taste of what's coming 'down the road' before the story flashes back a weekor so in the next chapter.


CHAPTER 1 - Down the Road…

The motel room was seedy, even by Winchester standards. Puke green, water-stained wallpaper adorned three of the walls but that was a step up from the cheap, wood paneling nailed haphazardly on the fourth. The original color of the carpet was indiscernible but it appeared now to be an unsightly shade of rust, though that was probably more an effect of the constant flickering of red through the shabby drapes from the neon 'vacancy' sign outside. There was no noise save the uneven thrum of the cheap ceiling fan above and the musty air was rank with the stale stench of liquor and sex.

Dean Winchester sat on the end of the bed in silent misery, elbows on his knees and his head hung low in shame. He stole a quick glance over his shoulder at the passed-out, dark-haired prostitute sprawled naked on the sheets behind him, fucked into oblivion. After taking a long, self-punishing drink from his half-empty bottle of Jack, he traced his finger back and forth over the trigger of the silver engraved .45 he held in his hand.

How did things get so screwed up? How had he gone from being the happiest he had ever been to this in so short a time? How the hell had things spiralled down so quickly? Just when he had found peace, everything had been torn apart.

His thoughts drifted to Sam. Looking out for the kid was his responsibility. Right or wrong, it just always had been, and he had failed miserably - again. His brother had died for him and had then fought so damn hard to get control over his demon-blood addiction, this time with no magical cure-all from God, only to be hit with something much worse. Life had thrown his little brother to the wolves yet again and right now, Dean wasn't fit to help him.

Then there was Cas. The angel had given up everything for the Winchesters and was now but a shell of his former self - a lost, empty husk looking to Dean for answers. Banished from Heaven and hunted by those he had betrayed, Dean knew his friend wouldn't last much longer; if some vengeful angel didn't kill him then some inner demon would.

And there was Tasha. Oh fuck, Tasha. He exhaled and closed his eyes. He had hurt her badly, come damn close to killing her. His hand involuntarily dug into his right pocket and pulled out a small piece of silver, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. This was his fourth attempt but it still needed work. Making a ring from melted down pawn shop silver had proven to be much harder than making bullets. Tasha's hunter father had made her parents' wedding bands in the same fashion and to this day Tash kept them on her key ring, the only thing she had left of them besides memories. He had wanted to make some sort of gesture to let her know that the weeks he had spent with her had been the happiest of his life but let's face it, romantic gestures weren't exactly his area of expertise. Making her a ring like her dad once had for her mom was all he had been able to come up with.

He stole a quick glance behind him at the sexed-out whore and a fresh wave of guilt and shame swept over him. His fist closed tightly around the ring and he quickly turned away. Fuck, he was a monster. A cheating, dirtbag of a monster who deserved to be exterminated like the things he had spent his whole life hunting.

Dean had never had any trouble distinguishing right from wrong. That moral line had never been clouded or grey for him like it had been for Sam and hunting decisions had seldom been difficult for the elder sibling. But now ... He looked down at the gun again, fingering the trigger almost wistfully, contemplating his options.

What was the right thing to do? Destroy the monster he had become and end any chance of the twins ever being born? Through circumstances that still baffled him, he had been giving the blessing (or was that the curse?) of meeting his future children, spending three wonderful days getting to know the incredible little beings they were. Well, would be. But he needed to survive two more years to conceive them and he wouldn't ...couldn't...keep breathing that long in the state he was in now. He was going to kill someone ... and soon. He knew this without a doubt. He took another long drink from the bottle. Could he justify the risk of killing an innocent person for the sake of two children who hadn't been born yet?

A shuddering sigh escaped him and he buried his head in his hands, his fingers fisting tightly in his short hair. His future children weren't the only ones who needed him. He couldn't check out knowing something was wrong with Sam. Dean didn't even know if that thing at Bobby's even was his brother. For all he knew, Sam was already gone for good, though some part of him deep inside simply refused to believe that. Their father's dying words echoed in his mind. "You have to save Sammy. If you can't save him, Dean, you might have to kill him." It was fucking eerie how that exact same set of instructions seemed to be back in play.

He had to save Sam. He had to help Cas. He had to start that family with Tash.

He exhaled slowly, feeling the familiar weariness of responsibility and failure seeping into his bones as he bent over to pull on his boots. He slid the silver ring back into his pocket and shoved the gun in the back of his jeans as he stood up. Making a conscious effort to avoid looking back at the naked woman on the bed, he tossed three hundred bucks on the dresser, shouldered his duffle, and left the room.

To be continued: A week earlier...


A/N: I know hookers and contemplating suicide may seem totally out of character for Dean, but I swear it will all make sense when we get back to this part! Please review, even just a few words to let me know what you're thinking ... 'so far so good' or 'WTH?' :-)