The world was spinning on its axis. Painful throbbing reverberated at the base of his skull and Dean had just enough time to turn onto his side before he vomited violently. He retched and coughed, wincing at the dull ache the motion sent through his abdomen.

Then Dean noticed the smell. Gone was the familiar scent of Bobby's house— a blend of whiskey, aftershave, and gasoline. In its place was the acrid mixture of body odor, worn vinyl and floor wax.

Slowly, Dean opened the one eye that wasn't swollen shut. He found himself lying on the bench of a police station holding cell, his hands cuffed in front of his body.

"Hello?" he called out. He sat up awkwardly, taking in his surroundings.

There was no answer.

Dean stood up from the bench, narrowly avoiding the puddle of vomit at his feet, and walked over to bars. He grabbed them, the chain of his cuffs clinking against the steel.

"Hello!" he shouted.

Still there was no answer. The station appeared to be empty.

It was then that Dean looked down at his hands. They were gripping onto the bar. His hands shouldn't have been able to grip the bar. They should have been broken and disjointed, barely able to move, let alone grip a steel bar hard enough to rattle the cell door. He shouldn't have been able to walk to the bars in the first place, but as he took another step, there was no pain in his ankles.

Dean let go of the bars and pulled his jacket sleeves up enough to expose the wrists. They weren't marked by open wounds as they had been in the last moment Dean could remember, as they should have been, but by bruises.

Dean stared at them in confusion, his heart sinking. "What the fuck?" he whispered.

Suddenly, the cell was filled with the sound of flapping wings.

Standing outside of the cell was the same angel who had confronted Dean in the abandoned church in Kansas. The one that tormented Dean for days with visions of doubt and pain and spoke to him with a pompous swagger.

Dean narrowed his eyes, his fists clenching despite the tightness of his handcuffs. He was an angel he now knew all too well.

"Zachariah," he spat. "I had a feeling you had something to do with this." Dean stepped back surveying the small, dank room. "You've got some pretty big cajones showing your face in front of me."

"Oh?" Zachariah cocked an eyebrow "And why is that, Dean?"

Dean shrugged sarcastically. "Gee, I don't know, maybe because you possessed one of my disciples, made him betray me and got me nailed to a tree?" He glared at Zachariah, his expression dark. "If I wasn't handcuffed, I'd stab you in the face."

"So, Nazarene. You remember?" Zachariah smirked. "Good. That means you and I are on the same page."

"We're not any page." Dean gritted his teeth. "You and your boss Michael to go fuck yourselves. I'm not saying 'yes' to him. Ever. And I'm sure as hell not letting him use my corpse while my soul's stuck in wherever the fuck this is."

Perhaps the place was Purgatory. Perhaps it was Limbo. Perhaps even Heaven. Dean hoped more than anything that it wasn't Heaven.

"You're not dead Dean. Not really," Zachariah said. "But even if you were, Michael can't inhabit your corpse. He needs all of you. The whole package. Body and soul. That aside, you're not here so Michael can get consent from you. It's only a matter of time before you say yes to him anyway. No I'm here for another reason."

"Yeah? Then what is it?" Dean asked. "What is this place?"

"The Future," Zachariah replied easily. "I had a feeling that even after learning the reality of the situation that you were going to be stubborn. So think of this as a 'taste' of what's going to happen to you if you don't consent to Michael."

"Yeah," Dean scoffed. "You're gonna get me convicted of some trumped—up murder one charge? Makes sense. That way you can get me on death row and lethally injected. I can be your 'The Lamb of God' and your precious seals will be reset," he recounted sarcastically. "Then you're gonna wait a couple millennia until I'm reborn and start this whole thing all over again because the third time's always a charm, right?" Dean glared. "I've love to see you try."

"Not exactly," Zachariah said. "This time, your demise is going to be a bit more of a family affair."

Dean blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"Standing outside is your abomination of a brother." Zachariah pointed to the door. "The Son of Perdition with a platoon of demons in tow. He's going to help Lilith break the final Seal." He smirked. "But before he does that, he's going to have you killed."

Dean froze. "You're lying."

"Am I?" Zachariah cocked an eyebrow. "Your own father warned you about Sam. You know far better than anyone how far gone he is. How much envy he has towards you. A few more demon blood martinis and killing you won't be any issue for him."

"That's bullshit!" Dean shook his head. "That's never gonna happen! Do you understand me?!"

"It will if you keeping acting like a stubborn child and disobeying us. We'll make sure of that." Zachariah smirked. "Even if you're dead we can still use you to fill the pews and fratricide is one of the company's tried and true narratives. Upper Management won't even have to alter much, unlike the last time you rebelled."

"You're so goddamn sure of that, huh?"

"Oh I am," Zachariah laughed. "In fact, by the time the Winchester Gospel is written, edited, rewritten, translated, redacted, interpolated and codified into a single volume of text well…let's just say it will have been a long time since parents named their child 'Sam.'"

Dean glared at him. "You son of a bitch."

"This shouldn't come as a shock, Nazarene" Zachariah said. "All you have to do is drive down the interstate to see "you" as a blonde haired, blue eyed, gun-toting Savior of The Red States. It's a bunch of jingoistic, revisionist drivel, but we do nothing about it because it's good for business."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Not if I have any say in it."

Zachariah let out a hearty laugh. "You don't." He met Dean's angry gaze. "Like I told you before Nazarene, you're just a vessel. All you are is a glorified ape. Nothing more. That's all you've ever been and all you ever will be."

With that, Zachariah disappeared.

The sound of footsteps on the tile floor echoed down the hall. A moment later, Ruby walked into the room, leaning casually against the door frame. She was followed by two other demons wearing police officers.

She walked over to the cell, her eyes turning black as she approached. "Hey Dean." She smirked. "Long time no see."

"Hey, bitch." Dean glared at the demonic face under her meatsuit. "I see you're just as ugly as you've ever been."

"You shouldn't talk to me that way," Ruby threatened. "Sam won't like that."

"That so?" Dean gritted his teeth. "He'll like it even less when I shank your ass with the demon blade." Dean pursed his lips, glancing between Ruby and the other two demons. "But since that's not an option right now," He cleared his throat. "Omnis immundus spiritus, omnis legio diabolica—"

"—Oh, please Dean," Ruby laughed. "You honestly think we'd come in here unprepared?" She pulled over the neckline of her shirt, revealing a binding sigil carved into her shoulder. "You really are stupid." She smiled viciously as she lifted up her hand up, thrusting it towards Dean.

Dean slammed into the back cell wall, landing on the floor and hitting his shoulder with thud and a crack. He grunted in pain.

Ruby unlocked the gate and opened it, stepping into the cell. She walked over to Dean and kicked him hard in the crotch.

He groaned, recoiling.

"That's for your blood burning my meatsuit." Ruby hissed. "And this is for you." She dug into her jacket, producing a wreath of twisted barbed wire. With a quick thrust, Ruby shoved it onto Dean's head before stepping back out of the cell.

Dean let out a muffled groan, biting it back as the barbs pierced his forehead and blood flowed into his eyes.

"Bring him to Sam. He'll want to see him." Ruby motioned to the two other demons.

They entered the cell and grabbed Dean by the shoulders, dragging him face front out of the holding area and outside to the front of the police station, dropping him onto the steps.

A platoon of demon were standing at attention on the sidewalk. Sam faced them, his hands dripping red. Sam turned slowly, revealing a mouth caked in blood and eyes a bright shade of yellow.

"There he is," Sam smirked. "My dear older brother and our guest of honor." He paused, then Sam sauntered over to Dean. "Heaven's Crown Prince."

"Sammy. I know you're still in there. You gotta listen to me, okay?" Dean's voice shook as he picked himself up off the floor. "Whatever it is you're planning on doing with Lilith, don't do it. There's more goin' on here then you realize."

Sam glared at him.

"You gotta stop this before—"

"Shut. Up." Sam lifted his hand up, squeezing it.

Dean choked, collapsing to the floor again, clawing at his neck. Spots of black crept in from the edges of his vision and he grappled for air. Just as Dean's eyes started roll into the back of head, Sam unclenched his hand. Dean wheezed, sucking in air.

"I am sick of listening to you boss me around. I'm sick of listening to you dictating my life with that self-righteous attitude of yours," Sam hissed, clenching his teeth. "I'm doing exactly what I need to do," he glared, "so my Father can return."

"Satan is not your father," Dean rasped.

Sam scoffed. "But he is. He's more of a father to me then John ever was and once he rises I'll inherit the Earth." He grinned. "And I'll have you—The Righteous Man—to thank for it."

Dean's heart sank.

Sam squatted down in front of Dean. "You know, rumor has it that you broke the first seal because Alastair hung you on a tree." He laughed, vicious and mocking. "What was the matter? The cross hit a little too close to home for you?"

Tears welled up in Deans eyes. He didn't say anything. He just glared at his baby brother.

Sam stood back up. He brushed his finger over the barbed wire cruelly pressed into Dean's temple. "You know, that gives me an excellent idea. You would be the perfect warning to any angel or hunter that would try to oppose him. A deterrent."

Dean's eyes grew wide. "Sam! Don't!"

Sam ignored him. Glaring, he turned to the demons wearing police officers. "Crucify him."

"No!"

The two demons grabbed Dean and carried him down the stairs through the horde of demons who followed behind them. They dragged him through the parking lot and into the main road where a wooden utility pole with was standing in the grass just before it.

A two by four, rope, hammer and nails were already lying in the grass. Waiting.

Though Dean hoped more than anything that it was Ruby and not Sam who had planned the crucifixion, it didn't matter. The intention was all the same. It was pointed and personal. A blend of blasphemy and mockery meant to torment Dean as much as torture him.

Seeing the makeshift cross, Dean didn't scream. He was utterly quiet and still while the demons unlocked the handcuffs and tied him the two by four. It wasn't until the nail pierced his right hand, breaking bones and tendons, that he screamed. Not because of the pain, but because of the sound. The hammer hitting the nail and striking against wood dragged up memories of smoke, sulfur and white eyes. They intermingled with memories of arid heat and a mother's sobbing. Memories of terror and sadness, hopelessness and abandonment.

All Dean could do was scream. A guttural wail that cracked his voice and stung his throat raw.

When the nails were in, the demons they lifted the board up and nailed it to the pole, just high enough so Dean's feet didn't hit the ground.

They left Dean's feet dangling, laughing as they backed away from him.

Just as Dean took his first strained breath, a bright light washed over the road. When it dissipated, the demons were lying strewn across the road, their eyes charred black sockets.

Castiel was standing in the middle of the road. His hand extended outward as the white light soaked back into it.

"Cas?" Dean croaked. "How did you—"

"—We don't have much time," Castiel said quickly, walking over to the cross. "The other angels will be looking for me and Sam is on his way to break the final seal. You have to stop him." He pulled the crown gently off of Dean's head.

Dean winced, despite Castiel's gentleness. "How the hell am I supposed to do that when I don't even know what the final seal is?"

Castiel locked his eyes on Dean. "Lilith is the final Seal. You have to stop Sam from killing her."

A buzzing sound began to fill the air.

Castiel pulled the nails out; Dean let out a hoarse moan in pain. "You told me once a long time ago that we always have a choice." He untied the ropes. Dean fell from the cross and Castiel caught him, throwing him over his shoulders. "You still have one Dean. You can stop this."

Just as the buzzing began to hit an earsplitting pitch, everything went black.

Dean let out a gasp, sitting up with a jolt so powerful his head spun. When he opened his eyes he found himself alone, lying on a cot in Bobby's panic room.

The smell of roses was gone.

He looked down at his hands. The wounds on his wrists had turned into scars.