Summary: It took numbers to storm Hell. The whole of the Heavenly Host, dispatched for once righteous soul. Balthazar didn't think it was worth it - a suicide mission, in his opinion - but Castiel did. Too bad it wasn't Castiel who pulled the Righeous Man from Hell. It wasn't Castiel who raised Dean Winchester from perdition. It really should have been.

A/Ns: For those of you who follow The Road So Far (This Time Around), I am still working on it! There will be a new chapter this Sunday. In the meantime, I've been keeping the muse busy getting out some of the distracting stories she keeps trying to write instead. Hopefully that will clear the way for faster updates on TTSF(TTA) in the future.

This story is a little dark at the start, and not all that different from The Road So Far. It is yet another AU that poked me one night and just hasn't quit yet. However, I've attached a goal to this one: be less friggin' verbose. So here's my attempt to write a *short* little AU that, you know, re-writes half the series. (You'd think I didn't actually like Supernatural, what with my habit of deciding to change, you know, most of it -_-)

Story Warnings: Character death, depictions of violence, swearing

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Cadence

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Cadence: noun. The flow or rhythm of events,

especially the pattern in which something is experienced

Part I

Dean tried not to fidget at the circular table, looking at his brother and Bobby. Sam seemed about as uncertain about this all as he did, but Bobby looked a smidge more comfortable with all this and Dean tried to take comfort in that. Tried to be like Bobby.

"Right." Pamela smoothed out the wrinkles in the velvety tablecloth in front of her before she placed her elbows onto the table, far apart, and placed her palms upright like some sort of ancient prayer form. She winked Dean's way and wiggled her fingers. The hunter startled, realizing what her hand was there for. "Take each other's hands. And I need to touch something our mystery monster touched."

Her perfectly manicured hand slid under the table before he could reach for her palm and he jumped yet again as it made its presence very known somewhere a lot lower.

"Whoa!" He fought the blush that colored his cheeks as his brother snorted beside him. "Well he didn't touch me there."

Pamela laughed, an inviting sound that had Dean shifting in his seat for completely other reasons than her fingers purposefully dragging down his thigh and off his knee. "My mistake."

She withdrew the hand but her gaze remained on Dean, turning serious and expectant. She was waiting for him to procure something their mysterious monster had touched. Dean found himself swallowing a tad more forceful than he intended, thinking of that vibrant burn seared into the skin of his arm and the thing that must have left it behind. Clearing his throat awkwardly, eyes darting to Sam uncertainly – he hadn't seen it yet, damn it – he reached over with his other hand and started rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt.

Sam sucked in a breath beside him, straightening at the sight of that hand print burned into his arm. Pamela eyed it for only a moment, hardly batting an eye, for which Dean was greatful, before she wrapped her significantly smaller palm across the mark. Dean shivered, but he didn't know if it was from the touch or something else deeper inside him. Or it could have just been little Dean getting all excited, no thanks to the woman who's hand was all but purring against him.

Was that even a thing? Could hands purr? Hell, if anyone could pull it off, it would be Pamela Barnes.

"Okay." The psychic took in a deep breath and her eyes slide shut, trance-like. Dean and Sam shared one more uncertain glance, Bobby shrugging at him with as much support as he could, before they all closed their eyes. When Pamela began, her voice was deep, even and powerful, but like silk. "I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle."

Dean tried to focus past the smoothness of her voice, reminding himself that they were playing friggin' peekaboo with whatever hella powerful thing had pulled him out of hell. He cracked open an eye when nothing happened.

"I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle."

He slid his eyes closed again as Pamela's fingers tightened into his bicep.

"I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circ-"

She gasped, the noise full of pain, and it broke quickly into something that was so much worse. Dean's eyes flew open as Pamela withdrew her fingers like she had been burned. The hunter found himself hissing as well, grabbing at his shoulder and the mark there that was freaking smoking. Literally smoking. Not some metaphor for the smoldering heat running beneath his puckered, scarred skin. No, the thing was actually smoking.

Sam was standing, caught between action and horror, Bobby leaning across the table in concern, but Pamela was the one who looked the most surprised.

"What the hell," Dean ground out through the burning heat, not unlike the Hellfire he actually did remember (and wasn't that just awesome). He clamped his hand down atop the wound, half expecting his arm to burst into flames, given the tendrils of black leaking out between his fingers. It was beginning to tamper off, at least, more of an after effect of whatever Pamela had done than something actively starting to catch fire on his arm.

As the pain receded to a dull throb and Dean finally let go of his arm, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I've never seen that happen before."

"What was it?" Sam asked even as Bobby parroted with, "What happen?"

Dean shook his arm out as his brother retook his seat and Pamela spread her hands across the table again.

"I didn't see anything clearly. Just…heat. An incredible heat and…darkness. Everywhere." She shook her head again. "I don't know. I think the connection wasn't strong enough."

"Maybe we should stop," Bobby offered, but Pamela was already trailing her hand down Dean's chest, much to his raised eyebrows and surprise. She winked at him again.

"Don't be silly. We just need something a little stronger." She slid her hand beneath the hem of Dean's shirt and started back up his bare chest, her soft skin tickling his torso. He gave an awkward, mostly nervous laugh as she settled her palm right over his heart, tapping his pec lightly. "This ought to do it. Close to your soul."

"You sure?" He asked, not sure who he was asking for: her or himself. His arm still tingled with the aftermath of that heat, but she looked confident as ever, so he tried to be as well.

"Of course," Pamela answered with another devilish smile. She closed her eyes once more, holding her hand out for Bobby, who reluctantly took it. The circle was formed and she began again. "I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle."

The chant continued until the lights around them flickered and the table trembled beneath their elbows. Sam's eyes snapped open to meet his brother's, but he didn't appear to be in pain this time, only significantly freaked out.

Pamela kept chanting until the crescendo of her own voice, the shaking of the furniture, and the flickering lights ended so abruptly that the silence was shocking. The room fell dark and still as the psychic broke from the circle, eyes snapping open. There was real fear in them. Her hand flinched away from Dean's chest, and after a moment of surprise, she slid her arm out from under his shirt. Pamela looked shaken.

"What's wrong? What was it?" Dean reached for her but she flinched back momentarily and he stopped altogether. Her breathing was rough, but she was clearly trying to get it back under control.

"Pamela?" Bobby asked uncertainly, having never seen the psychic so scared.

"I'm okay," she whispered, then cleared her throat and repeated it more convincingly.

"What did you see?" Sam asked, the worry in his voice as sure as his concern for her. Dean shared a look with him, both knowing that if whatever had dragged him out of hell could mess her up so badly with just a peek…

"I didn't see it," she said, voice still shaky but strengthening. She straightened in her chair and finally met their eyes. "But it warned me to turn back. He-"

Her voice stuttered and broke as she took in another breath.

"He threatened to burn my eyes out if I kept going."

"Okay, we're done," Bobby replied immediately, as though anyone at the table would argue with that.

Pamela gave him that look all strong women gave men when they tried to protect them (and not just because they were women). As hunters in a world full of strong women, the boys weren't unused to seeing it. "I'm fine, Bobby. I just… It surprised me, is all."

Surprised her because she'd believed it. The voice had been so furious, so loud and demanding, she'd had to pull away. Part of her had been expecting to open her eyes to infinite darkness even after she did as she had been told.

"We should stop," Dean offered quietly and meaning it a hundred percent. He caught the psychic's gaze and offered the Winchester smile that always charmed even the most stubborn of ladies. "It's not worth it, Pamela."

She let out another shaky and then laughed, the noise clearly self-deprecating but also immensely relieved. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"Don't apologize," Sam countered, that Winchester smile on his face too, though his would always be the puppy-dog eidtion. "We'll find another way."

"You may not have to." Pamela placed her elbows back on the table gently, a contemplative and still slightly conspiratorial look crossing her face. "I didn't see what he was, but I did get a name."

Beside her, Dean straightened, face going blank in temporary surprise before he looked towards Sam and Bobby almost eagerly. It was a dreadful kind of eager, but still. One step closer to finding out who had dragged his ass out of Hell and why.

"What name?" Sam asked, almost breathless for the same reason.

Pamela spread her fingers out across the tablecloth and let out a sharp breath. She regarded each of the hunters in turn.

"Balthazar."