Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you recognize nor any of the poetry featured in this story.

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Everything You Want

Written by Becks Rylynn

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Chapter Eighteen

the hunter's heart

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''I was trying to describe the kingdom, but the letters kept smudging as I wrote them:
the hunter's heart, the hunter's mouth, the trees and the trees
and the space between the trees, swimming in gold.''
- snow and dirty rain

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There is no way to make this story anything other than what it is.

A tragedy that knows no boundaries, a love story that just ends, a story without a happy ending, or a bow, or a nice wrap up. A coat of paint, a song and dance, a prayer, the powers of bargaining...

None of these things will bring about a happy ending that never was.

Life is hard. It's cruel. It wrecks you. Cuts you up. Worms its way into your heart and creates heart failure. A pain of the sickest kind. It puts your will to be here through a juicer. All the sugar in the world couldn't make this bitter mess of blood, sweat and tears sweet.

It doesn't work that way.

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Lisa isn't entirely comfortable in the presence of this enigmatic Josef character.

She thinks she might trust him just fine, because he does get her and her son to safety, but she's not sure what to think of him. Normally, she wouldn't worry herself with feeling guilty over this. She either feels comfortable or she doesn't, and Josef isn't even human, so it's not like it's completely unfounded that she's uncomfortable. But there's something about this man that makes guilt bloom to the surface. There are fine lines on his face that paint vivid portraits of unthinkable tragedies that she cannot begin to imagine. His thin lips and the perpetually impatient look on his face may make him appear as some stone cold uncaring demon, but he is a broken, broken man and she - for some reason - feels awful that it makes her uncomfortable.

She thinks even this can be traced back to Dean. He has made brokenness and unfixable heartache her type. She really hates that.

After Josef guides her and Ben out of the structure they had been held in, he hotwires a car, forces them into it despite Ben's incredibly vocal protesting that he's not leaving without his father, gets them on the road, and barely says two words to them. She is grateful for his help. She tries to leave it at that. She has her hands full with trying to keep an increasingly pissed off Ben calm, simultaneously assuring him that Dean will be fine and trying to mask her own worry.

The drive is about three hours and it's tedious and awkward, with Josef driving in stony silence and Lisa concentrating on her son. Josef has a very slow and measured way of talking whenever he's speaking to them, like he thinks every single word he says through, imagining the possible outcome. It's almost like he's prodding them for answers without having to listen to them talk. He asks them if they're okay, if either of them need a hospital, and then he tells them that he is not going to take them back home, but to Bobby Singer's house because he's sure Dean will want to make sure they're all right before he takes them home himself. That's it. He clamps his mouth shut and doesn't say another word.

He's an odd man. Rather intimidating. He'll look at her and she'll just feel his eyes practically burning through her. He's not really a man at all, if she thinks about it. He's a demon. This is painfully clear. Also, he's related to Ruby, which does serve to make things a little strained. She spends a lot of time trying to be polite to him. By the time they get to the salvage yard, she is torn between wanting to get away from him and the awkward silences and wanting to stay and ask him what it's like to be a living breathing version of Batman. Ultimately, she chooses fleeing.

She and Ben seek refuge on the second floor of Bobby's house, away from Josef. She half heartedly attempts to help Ben clean up, wiping the smeared dirt off his face, but in true pre-teen fashion, he scowls, snaps at her and swats her hands away. She tells him that he can sleep if he wants to but he stubbornly shakes his head and tells her that he wants to wait for his dad before stomping back downstairs. She blows out a breath and scrubs a hand over her forehead, swallowing the urge to run after him and hold him tight. She is not a blind idiot. Her son may be a strong kid, but he is still just a kid and the events of the past couple days have clearly taken a toll on him. He is shaken and horrified, but he is doing all he can do to cover that up with blind frustration and anger. He's freaked out, plain and simple, and unfortunately for her, her son displays freaked out as hates the world.

Suddenly feeling exhausted and shaky, she slumps down onto the edge of the bathtub in Bobby Singer's old house and cries. She doesn't mean to. The tears just sort of happen on their own. She leans forward to bury her head in her hands. The adrenaline that had been pumping through her is long gone now and it has left her a broken and trembling mess. There are so many emotions racing through her that she can't pick one from another. In the course of two days, she has learned that Dean Winchester is in fact her baby daddy, she has been kidnapped and held hostage by a demon with a screw loose, and her life has been saved (spared) by The Other Woman. She feels like all she should be hoping for right now is normalcy. She should be wishing for a time machine to go back to when Dean showed up on her doorstep wrecked so that she could slam the door in his face and save herself. It would be so much easier. It would be so much safer. It would hurt less.

As it is, she just wishes Dean had picked her. It's an off putting moment of jealousy and grief and yearning that startles her and makes her feel absolutely pathetic, but it's powerful. Nearly debilitating. It hurts so badly. She misses him. She really does. She misses how safe he felt, despite everything. She misses the way he held her and kissed her and touched her like she was the only one for him. Lisa has always prided herself on not needing a man, on being Wonder Woman and Supermom. But.

She misses not being alone. She misses sharing her life with someone. It was nice. It took some of the weight off. It's hard to do this all alone. ''No,'' she thinks her voice may come out a little garbled and hoarse, but she does her best to sound strong. She rises to her feet and staggers over to the sink, grasping the edge of it. Her reflection is tired and sad. ''What are you doing?'' She whispers to herself. ''I can't do this anymore.''

She needs to get over Dean Winchester. She needs to. She doesn't have the time or the patience to act like this anymore. She is a mother, for god's sake. She has a family and a job. It's time to stop being Dean's ex and start being Lisa again. She shakes her head and wipes at her eyes. ''I'm fine,'' she says strongly. ''I'm fine, Ben's fine, we're all fine. Everything's fine.''

She swallows.

She cleans herself up the best she can, splashing her face and scrubbing at as much skin as possible. She could really use a shower. A shower would be heaven right about now; steam and hot water to wash away the dirt, sweat, tears and weakness leftover from everything, but she really has no idea how to navigate this house and she's not so sure she feels comfortable showering in someone else's house without their permission.

She's not sure what to do next to keep her mind off of the waiting and everything that has happened. She goes back downstairs, praying that Ben won't notice her red eyes. She finds her son sitting sullenly in the living room, waiting for his dad. He is silent and stoic, but she can practically see the burning in his eyes, made up of fear and exhaustion and anger. Lisa swallows hard and sits down on an old lumpy chair, carefully moving a book off the seat and placing it on an already precarious stack of books. As she gingerly sits down, feeling awkward and out of place, it suddenly occurs to her that she and her son haven't eaten anything in at least 24 hours. She had honestly forgotten. It's funny. The things that escape you.

''Hey,'' she tries to smile. ''You hungry? I can probably scrounge up some stuff for grilled cheese.''

Ben shakes his head slowly and drops his gaze to his hands. ''Not hungry,'' he mumbles.

She presses her lips together. She doesn't even have the strength to reprimand him for mumbling, something she hates. ''Baby,'' she tries again. ''You really should try to eat something.''

He doesn't answer, eyes firmly cast downwards, teeth sinking into his lip. ''You know,'' he muses softly. ''This is all her fault.''

Lisa winces and shuts her eyes. Yep. She was afraid of that.

When he looks up at her, his eyes are bright. ''Everything is her fault,'' he snarls out passionately. ''This all happened because of her. We were kidnapped. She could've killed you.'' His eyes narrow into slits and he shakes his head. ''She ruined everything.''

''Ben,'' Lisa sighs out. ''She saved our lives.''

''I don't care. I hate her,'' he declares vehemently, voice thick with unshed tears. ''I wish she had never come back.''

She closes her eyes. ''Baby, that's not fair.''

He scoffs. ''Why not?''

She clenches her teeth. ''He wasn't happy, Ben.''

''I know!'' He bursts out. ''I know that, okay?! I know he wasn't happy!'' He leaps to his feet with a grunt and runs a hand through his hair. ''But he could have been,'' he says quietly. ''He could have been so happy with us, Mom. But then she had to come back and ruin everything. And then we got kidnapped! I wish she had just stayed gone.''

Lisa glances around nervously, half expecting Josef to pop up and tear Ben a new one for daring to talk shit about his niece. He does seem to be a staunch defender of his niece. He's definitely president of the Ruby fan club. She licks her lips. That's not fair. He's her family. Of course he's going to defend her. ''Ben, stop it.''

Ben's eyes flash. ''She took him away from us, Mom!'' He screams. ''She's the reason Dad left you and she nearly got us both killed! Why are you defending her?!''

The emotions that have been bubbling to the surface overflow and spill out and her throat begins to ache terribly. ''Because he loves her!'' She shoots back at her son, standing quickly. Her outburst startles Ben and she immediately takes in a breath and tries to clam herself down. ''He loves her,'' she says, softer this time. ''She makes him happy. I want him to be happy.''

''He loved you,'' Ben argues in a croak.

She smiles sadly and shakes her head. ''He did,'' she agrees. ''Just not like that. You're young. You don't understand. ...What it looks like...'' She sniffles. Tears flood her eyes and she valiantly attempts to blink them away before Ben can see them. ''Love. When it's real and true,'' she whispers. ''It was always her. It was always supposed to be her.''

''Then why did he come back to us?''

''Oh,'' she laughs and wipes at her eyes. ''Ben, honey,'' she smiles. ''He came back for you.''

Ben falls back onto the couch with a sigh and crosses his arms, still broody and scowly. (Like a true Winchester.) ''I still don't like her,'' he gripes.

She leans back against the rickety table wavering under the weight of all the books on it. ''You don't have to like her,'' she assures her. ''You just have to accept her. She's important to your dad and I can guarantee she's going to be around for a long, long time. He needs her.''

He is quiet and contemplative for a moment, an adorably pensive look on his face. He stares down at the ground. ''I do want him to be happy,'' he admits in a mumble. ''I do.''

She flashes him a weak smile. ''She'll make him happy.''

He doesn't say anything else, keeping his eyes down as he scuffs at the floor with his shoe. Lisa remains still for a moment, studying her son. She isn't all that worried. He'll be fine. He may be a little stung right now, but he'll be fine. He'll recover quickly, forge a great relationship with his father, and probably even grow to like Ruby. He will bounce back with the agility only a twelve year old can have. She, however... She needs some air. She does not have the emotional agility of a twelve year old, you see. She excuses herself with a quiet but steady voice and ducks outside into the cool spring air.

The sun beats down on her from a blue sky and her breathing grows ragged. Her body feels strange; her muscles tight and sore, her limbs shaky. She does not at all feel like herself. Logically, she knows that this is most likely some form of shock. Just the side effects of adrenaline draining out and exhaustion creeping in, but she does not like it. She rubs at her watery eyes and attempts to do a few breathing techniques that she has picked up from years of yoga. She just really wishes Dean would come home. Even if it's not her he wants, she needs to know he's okay. He's still Ben's father and she still cares about him and that was some bad shit that went down. She grimaces and crosses her arms over her chest, her beating heart. The events of the past couple days still feel surreal to her. Part of her is still waiting to wake up.

A choked laugh pushes through her lips. She doesn't think this is the life her parents had imagined for her. She closes her eyes and breathes in the fresh air, just trying to gather herself together enough to be okay again. After a minute, she opens her eyes, releases one more breath and decides she's okay. Or at least she's okay enough for now. She turns to slip back inside, ready to smile big for her son and make grilled cheese. Instead, she runs straight into an unfamiliar but uncomfortably aesthetically pleasing chest. She gasps and her hands fly to her mouth, eyes traveling up.

''Sorry,'' Josef apologizes. ''I didn't mean to scare you.''

She stares up at him with wide eyes. ''Were you...'' She looks around him, then up. ''Were you on the roof?''

The expression on his face never changes. Doesn't even waver. ''Is that strange?''

''...Kinda, yeah.''

''I'll make a note of that,'' he remarks.

She presses her lips together.

Finally, he cracks a smile. ''You realize I'm messing with you, right?''

''I didn't, no. You have one expression. You're extremely hard to read.''

''I wasn't on the roof,'' he says. ''I'm not a DC comic superhero, you know. I was around back. I wanted to make sure Crowley didn't send any of his idiots to stake this place out.''

She pales. ''Would he do that?''

He shrugs. ''He was out of his mind,'' he reminds her. He stares down at her with a disturbingly intense look of fascination, as if she is a hard to understand painting, and then he moves past her. His shoulder brushes hers as he takes slow and careful steps over to the railing. He leans against it, tongue poked into his cheek and he just stares at her. For some reason, she lets him. ''I don't get it,'' he finally says in a soft rumble.

She shifts from foot to foot. She moves slowly and hesitantly over to the railing beside him, hands curled around the wood. ''Get what?''

''How that man continues to get all of these women, who are so obviously better than him, under his thumb like puppets.'' He snorts, caught somewhere between genuine curiosity and disgust. ''I don't understand his appeal.''

She puckers her lips, suddenly feeling oddly offended. ''I'm sorry, are you hitting on me or insulting me?''

He rolls his eyes. ''I'm married.''

''So, the latter then?''

He pushes off the railing. ''I don't know you well enough to insult you, Ms. Braeden. I'm just stating a fact. I don't understand what it is about Dean freaking Winchester. What makes him everything all these women want? Is it his looks? His charm? The way he says the word sweetheart?''

''He's never called me that.''

''For all intents and purposes, he's nothing special,'' Josef goes on, emotionless and oblivious to the slack jawed expression he's getting. ''Technically, if you think about it, his body is past its prime and his mind is perpetually eighteen.''

''Actually, I've heard that thirty three is the prime of life. I've also heard that for sexual prowess, the ideal age is anywhere between forty two and fifty. If you want to get technical, his body is either perfect right now, or so called perfection is on its way.'' Then, because she's evil, and still a little protective of Dean, she adds, ''I'm sure your niece is going to enjoy those years,'' just to piss him off.

It does not deter him at all, although his eyes do darken a little at the thought of Dean defiling his niece. ''He's no longer a vessel,'' he points out. ''No longer needed to save the world. He doesn't have money. Doesn't have an abundance of extreme wit and intelligence. So what is it about Dean?''

She looks at him, completely floored. And then she bursts out laughing.

''I...'' His eyebrows furrow and he frowns deeply, folding his arms over his chest. ''Didn't realize that was funny.''

''You sound like the jealous father of a teenage girl who's started spending all her time with her new boyfriend.''

It seems to be the wrong thing to say because he stands straight and glowers down at her. ''I am trying to protect my kid,'' he grouches. ''Tell me you wouldn't do the same.''

Despite the gnawing in her gut that is telling her he's one hundred percent right, she sneers up at him, unafraid, and stands on her tip toes. ''She is a grown woman,'' she says. ''You can't tell her how to love, or even who to love. That's up to her.''

''People die around the Winchesters, Ms. Braeden.''

''People die every day,'' she tosses back. ''And it's Lisa. Ms. Braeden is my uppity sister.''

''Oh,'' he scoffs and waves her off. ''You don't understand. You couldn't. Dean and Ruby love until they break each other. It consumes them. It eats them up. If this relationship continues, they will burn until there's nothing left. And I'll be left to pick up the pieces,'' he hisses. ''Again. I'm tired of duct taping my niece's heart back together because of Dean Winchester. That's not a healthy way to live.''

''No,'' she counters. ''It's the only way to live.'' She's not sure why she feels the need to defend Dean and Ruby's relationship for a second time, but she does. Maybe it's just because she doesn't like being wrong. In the back of her head, she knows exactly why she's defending it. Because it's everything she could ever want for herself. It's that desperate kind of love that everybody secretly wishes for. They have all the stolen kisses and the fiery eyes, the heated looks and explosions of passion. It's the kind of love people write songs about. Isn't that what everyone wants? A love that takes them over. A love that's raw. ''Newsflash,'' she spits out at Tall, Dark and Angry. ''That's what love is. That's what it's supposed to be. It's supposed to break you and tear at you. Love is ruin, Josef. That's the point. True love is destructive and magnificent and painful, and it is never ever supposed to be easy. You can't tell me you've never had at least a taste of that.''

He flinches. Touches his wedding ring.

She softens. ''Look,'' she sighs. ''It's natural for you to want to protect her. You love her. You want her to be safe. To never hurt. But being a parent means accepting your child for who they are and who they love. Even if it's hard. Especially if it's hard.''

He crosses his arms. ''Even if I think she's making a huge mistake?''

She nods. ''Even then.''

He tilts his head to the side. ''You know,'' he drawls. ''I didn't expect you to be a defender of their relationship.''

She snorts. ''Neither did I. I guess I'm just a hopeless romantic. My bleeding heart gets me in trouble so many times.''

He smirks, eyes narrowing. ''You're not defending them because you're sweet as sugar, Lisa,'' he steps closer to her. ''You're doing it to prove you're better than the both of them.''

There's a brief gleam in her eyes and her lips curl into back into a smirk. She ducks her head, letting out a small huff of laughter. When she looks back up, he is staring at her once again. His jaw works silently for a moment, gears turning in his head. There's a brief flicker, a light in his eyes that wasn't there before. His lips twitch, like he wants to smile but can't quite remember how. He licks his lips instead. She squirms. ''What?''

''Nothing,'' he rushes to say. ''Just - All of a sudden, you remind me of my wife. She would've said the same thing.''

''Your wife was a very wise woman.''

He smiles. It's a little lopsided and sad, but it's a smile all the same. ''She was,'' he agrees quietly.

There is a moment of silence between them. A moment of understanding. She cannot say that they're in the same boat. Cannot say that their pain is the same, that she knows how he feels, or even that he knows how she feels. But they are both, at the moment, alone and when one is coping with loneliness themselves, it is incredibly easy to detect. Loneliness is like a beacon. It calls out to you. You can see it from outer space.

Josef sighs eventually and spins on his heel, gesturing for her to follow him. ''Come inside,'' he utters. ''I'll make us some coffee.''

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And so they wait.

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It feels like they've been waiting for hours. Ben is antsy and argumentative, brushing off his mother's attempts at comfort and wearing a hole in the living room floor from his pacing. Lisa, because she doesn't know what else she can possibly do, holes herself up in the kitchen with Josef. They drain a pot of coffee together and make idle chit chat, talking about their lives - about the weather, what's on TV, his wife, Ben, Ruby, the Winchesters. Josef is incredibly easy to talk to, as it turns out.

Well.

Either that or she's just so tired and loopy that her lips have loosened all the way. It's extraordinarily likely that could be what's happening.

They are just tucking into a second pot when the familiar rumble of Dean's car crunching on gravel echoes. It seems to bounce off of every wall. On the couch, half asleep, Ben startles and leaps to his feet. Lisa stands, suddenly feeling a strange dread gripping her insides in an ice like fist. Josef leans back against the counter, arms crossed, eyes blank.

None of them are prepared for the irreversibly broken versions of Dean and Sam that walk through that door. Sam and Bobby are the first ones inside. Sam is quiet and unresponsive, but shaking. Bobby looks terrified that his boys are going to fall, looking back and forth between the brothers. Dean comes in next, inviting with him shock and despair. It should be a relief to see him. To know that he's alive and he's okay. But it's not.

''Oh my god.'' Lisa squeaks in surprise, taking a step back in horror. Her hands go up to cover her mouth. ''Oh my god,'' she repeats. A lump as hard as a rock grows in her throat. Instinctively, she makes a beeline for her son, wrapping her arms around his shoulders like she's trying to protect him from the image of his father standing there, crushed and destroyed and covered in red.

There is blood coating Dean like paint. It's on his hands, it's crusting his shirt, his jeans, it's on his face. It is quite obviously not his blood, as he appears to look mostly fine, physically, albeit perhaps pale and maybe a little clammy. The bloodstains are, as gruesome as it may be, consistent with someone cradling a bloody body. Lisa panics, growing breathless, and surveys the survivors. She swallows tightly. No one else walks through the front door. Her shoulders slump and she holds Ben just a little tighter.

Oh.

There is a painful moment where complete silence is all there is. It coats every part of the room and nobody says a word, standing around awkwardly, shuffling their feet and looking pained.

''Oh my god,'' Lisa says again, trembling.

There's not even a question as to what happened. Everything instantly jumps to grief and pain. When Lisa looks down at Ben, there is an unimaginable guilt starting in his eyes. He wanted her out of the picture, but she doesn't think this is what he meant.

''No.'' Josef's voice from behind is tight and restrained, trying to keep everything inside. Lisa turns her gaze to him and instantly feels tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She doesn't think she has ever seen anybody look so completely destroyed before. ''No.'' Josef shakes his head. ''Not her.'' He takes a step toward Dean, pointing a shaking finger at him. ''You tell me it's not her.''

Dean doesn't even react. To be honest, Lisa isn't even sure if he's heard Josef.

She pulls Ben back. ''Ben, honey, maybe you should - ''

''Tell me it's not her, Dean!'' Josef roars. ''Tell me she's okay!''

Dean lifts his eyes to Josef, but doesn't say a word. He stares straight ahead, almost as if he doesn't understand the words being flung at him. His eyes are lifeless, devoid of any emotion and hollow. He isn't home anymore. Lisa presses her lips together. Part of her begins to believe that Dean might have died with Ruby. That's love, right? Raw and all consuming and life destroying.

''Whoa.'' Bobby steps in between Dean and Josef, into the shoes of the mediator, one hand reaching out to steady his boy, the other keeping Josef at bay. A little to the right, out of the line of fire, Sam is shaking terribly and rubbing at his temples, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. ''All right, let's all just - '' Bobby breaks off in a sharp intake of breath. He glances worriedly at Dean. ''Let's just breathe,'' he suggests. ''Okay? ...Okay, Dean?'' His tone of voice when talking to Dean is reminiscent of a parent talking to a small, scared child. Dean's jaw ticks and he blinks rapidly, staring down at his hands.

Lisa tries to breathe evenly and push the tears away. Regardless of anything, of everything, she is having an extremely hard time fighting the urge to rush to Dean's side and comfort him. She can't help it. She's a mother. It's an instinct. He looks so much like a lost little boy right now, confused and in so much pain. He reminds her of Ben.

''Josef,'' Bobby says softly, regretfully. ''This isn't on Dean. There were repercussions. To what she did to Crowley. She knew that. We didn't. This was not Dean's fault. Do you understand me?'' His voice is quiet and apologetic, but firm and protective. He is still standing in front of Dean like a shield.

For a second, it seems like Josef might back down. He looks down and away, body beginning to crumple and sag in pain. They should all know better. When he snaps his head back, his eyes are black as tar and his face has twisted into the purest form of rage and grief. He darts forward, grips Bobby's jacket and throws the man into Sam. Path cleared, his lip curls back in a half smirk, half grimace and he lunges for Dean, blatantly ignoring Lisa's scream. It is a disturbing reminder that Josef, while easy to talk to and instinctively paternal, is not human.

Within the length of a single second, Josef has thrown Dean into a table, sending books and papers raining down on Sam and Bobby, and then he's practically on top of him, hands around Dean's neck, choking the life out of him. For a truly petrifying amount of time, Dean doesn't bother to fight back. His hands half heartedly claw at Josef's much stronger hands, but that honestly seems more like a muscle reaction that anything else.

Lisa rushes forward, but Josef bats her away like she's nothing, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Dean just kind of lies there, waiting to die, waiting to be with her again. It's the saddest thing you ever did see.

But then his eyes slide over, most likely to check on his brother, and he sees his son standing there all alone and terrified. Life lights up in Dean's eyes and the fire returns. His hand gropes around on the desk for something to use as a weapon, but all he manages to curl his fingers around is a small fountain pen. He makes it work. He swings his arm out blindly and drives the pen right through Josef's neck. Josef staggers back instantly, choking on blood and making a wet gasping noise. With a groan, Dean throws himself off the desk, landing hard on his hands and knees, coughing and spluttering. When he spots Sam and Bobby, both almost on their feet and ready to fight back, his eyes darken and he gives the table a hard shove, right into his brother, cutting off him and Josef from the rest of them.

Josef plucks the pen from his neck with an unsatisfied noise and throws it away.

Dean rises unsteadily to his feet. ''I'm sorry,'' his voice is a mere breath, sorrowful and guilty. ''I'm so sorry.''

Josef falters and stops in his tracks. He licks his lips. ''Not good enough,'' he growls, and throws Dean across the room like he weighs nothing. ''She is dead because of you!'' He spits out through his bloodied teeth. ''This is all because of you! I've lost everything!'' The fight is short, fairly one sided and massively unfair, because Josef is one majorly pissed off demon who is splintering apart at the seams. Dean does fight back, dodging punches and getting a few hits of his own in, but it's not enough to overpower Josef. It ends in the kitchen, with Dean down on his knees, staring up at Josef, and Josef gripping a knife, intent on butchering the Winchester at his feet. ''I should've done this a long time ago,'' he snarls.

And then...

A gust of wind.

Dean's eyes widen. ''Cas, no!''

Josef whirls around, meets Castiel's eyes, and is sent sailing through the air. The knife clatters harmlessly to the ground next to the crumpled heap of demon.

''Don't kill him,'' Dean pleads. ''She'd hate me.''

Castiel pinches his lips together and turns to stare down at Josef. ''Get up,'' he orders coldly.

Somewhat begrudgingly, Josef does.

''The only reason you are not dead is because Ruby was my friend,'' Castiel bites out. ''And she wouldn't want you dead.'' He takes a step closer and lowers his commanding, authoritative voice. ''She wouldn't want this, Mr. Casablancas. You know she wouldn't want this.''

Josef wipes the blood from his mouth, eyes glittering like diamonds. ''I think,'' he starts in a growl. ''That she would want to be alive. But she's not, is she? She's dead. And it's you!'' He points an accusing finger at Dean, but does not attempt to get past the wall of angel bodyguard in front of him. ''It's your fault! It's always your fault! How many times does she have to die for you? How much do you have to take away from my family? My niece is dead, my wife is dead, I have nothing left! Because of you and what you started!'' His lip curls back in disgust and he stares at Dean, looking him up and down, at every inch of him, like he's vermin. ''Why do you get to stay?'' He asks. It is the most broken he has ever sounded. Fragments and fractions of a man. ''Why do you and your family get to live?'' He shakes his head. ''They were better than you,'' he says, and his voice catches audibly. ''My girls were both better than you.''

Dean looks like he wants to agree wholeheartedly. He looks like he wants to drop to the ground and sob, beg for forgiveness, scream and cry. He looks completely defeated. But then he glances over at Ben again and manages to straighten himself up somewhat. ''What do you want me to do, Josef?'' He murmurs softly, calmly.

Josef can't answer that. He looks away. His intentions have been blown out the window, and he is left only with his hands and the blood on his throat. A wedding ring without a partner, an uncle without a niece, a man without a cause. ''Where is she now?''

The question throws Dean. He pales, if possible, even more. ''She's...'' He can't get the rest out.

''She's in the car,'' Bobby says in a low voice, barely loud enough for Lisa to catch.

There is a second, after those words have been spoken, where Lisa actually thinks Dean might dissolve right then and there. His hand twitches and he moves to scrub it over his face, but he comes to a screeching halt when he catches sight of all of the blood on his hands. He grimaces, shifting uncomfortably, sweat beading on his forehead lightly like he's going to be sick. He swallows it down instead and carefully moves to brush past Castiel, watching closely as Josef stalks out of the room and out of the house without another word to anyone else. The door slams behind him.

Castiel and Bobby flock toward Dean. Sam seems to be stuck in some sort of near catatonic state. ''Dean,'' Castiel says in that slow, measured voice of his. ''Are you all right?''

Quite abruptly, Dean snaps out of it. ''Oh yeah,'' he sneers. ''I'm fucking awesome.''

Castiel presses his lips together. ''I just meant - ''

''No, seriously. I'm peachy. Another one bites the dust, right? Story of my fucking life.'' He swings his battered and broken gaze to Lisa and Ben, full of psychotically overwhelming grief and guilt. ''In fact, you two should run while you still can. Before I get you both killed. 'Cause that's what I do. That's what this life does. You heard the man.''

Sam drops into a chair, rubbing at his eyes and scratching at his arms. He's uncharacteristically quiet, not bothering to say a word as he watches his brother break. It's strange. Unnerving. Usually, he'd be right up there with Dean, trying to calm his brother down, speaking in a soft, comforting voice. His knee jiggles. He stays still instead.

''Dean,'' Lisa moves forward, intending to hug him, but he moves away from her.

''Dean, this wasn't fault,'' Castiel says sternly. ''You need to know that. She knew what she was doing. She knew - ''

''You know what?'' Dean's voice is cold. ''Do you think we could possibly have this conversation sometime when I am not covered in my dead girlfriend's blood?'' All goes quiet. The pain is just radiating off of Dean. He sneers again, or at least tries to, his newfound quivering anger doing a truly terrible job of covering up his grief. ''Great, thanks.'' He balls his hands into fists and looks at the sullen, shocked and stricken faces in front of him. His eyes linger on Ben, dismayed and guilty, and then on Sam, who - aside from the trembling - looks like he has completely checked out. Something shifts in Dean's expression, into something Lisa recognizes instantly.

She spent a year with a broken Dean Winchester, remember? She knows what the worst kind of pain looks like on him. ''Dean,'' she keeps her voice soft but walks toward him steadily, wrapping her fingers around his wrist despite the dried blood staining his skin. ''Honey, you should go take a shower. Get all this blood off of you.''

Dean looks down at his hands as if he can't believe they're his own. ''Yeah.'' His mouth moves silently, but no words come out. ''Yeah, I...'' He looks up at Lisa, then at Sam and Ben, and finally to Bobby. The look in his eyes is a plea for guidance. Lisa tosses a glance over her shoulder at Bobby. The older man is staring silently at Dean with a mixture of reluctance, sympathy, and deep paternal comfort. He smiles sadly and briefly and gives a quiet nod. Dean blinks. ''I should.''

It takes both Bobby and Lisa to guide Dean towards the stairs, and even then he remains unsteady, clearly in some sort of shock. Lisa is having painful flashbacks to May of 2010. She has to stop herself at the foot of the stairs, allowing Bobby to take the reins, guiding Dean up the stairs with a hand on his shoulder. She watches from the bottom step as Dean gets farther and farther away from her. He leaves a bloodstain on the railing. She presses her lips together and tries not to cry, even though she has no idea why she wants to cry. It wasn't like she and Ruby were Monica and Rachel. It's just so unfair to all of these men. They all loved her so much. How much do they have to lose?

When she gets back to Ben and Sam, trying to muster up a few condolences to spout off to the increasingly unglued Sam, she is greeted by the sight of her frightened son and the sound of the back door slamming shut. Ben looks small in this light and so scared, guilt blooming in his eyes like tears. ''Baby,'' she takes a step.

''This is like before,'' he says. ''This is just like before.'' He looks worried, wringing his hands anxiously. ''Is he going to be okay?''

''Baby,'' she says again, and pulls him into her arms without another word. She doesn't know what to say anyway.

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.

You would think he would be used to this by now. Throughout his admittedly very long life, he has lost every woman he has ever cared about. He lost his first wife, Mary, due to complications in childbirth. He lost his daughter, Alice, when he went to Hell. He lost Adele. Now he has lost Ruby. Again. One would think that, at some point, standing here with another body would hurt less. It doesn't. It still hurts just the same.

Fists clenched, breathing uneven, Josef stands out in the dirt, under the sun. All that is left of his niece is a body in a car. A body that the Winchesters will undoubtedly want to burn. He snarls at the thought. They will not be touching her ever again. He'll make sure of that. His anger toward Dean has lessened slightly, leaving behind a dull hiss of pain and simmering anger. He feels too shattered to be homicidal right now. His shoulders feel too heavy.

He doesn't understand. How could she do something so irresponsible? How could she just willingly let herself die like that? What was she thinking? How could she leave him all alone out here? He presses his lips into a thin, tight line. How pathetic. His beautiful girl has just died and all he can think about is how alone he feels? Yes, what a great man he is. Other than a few descendants of his daughter scattered around the US (a few in Texas, a couple in Nevada and North Carolina, a teenage girl who is the spitting image of Alice in small town Virginia, a man in Boston with his brother's smile, a young mother in California with Ruby's laugh and her piercing eyes) there is no one else, and it pains him to admit it but he is scared.

Loneliness is a weapon far sharper than any man made blade and far more dangerous than the most treacherous wilderness. It carries with it the worst pain a heart can endure.

Josef starts forward and then finds himself hesitating and inching away from the sleek black car that has become Ruby's casket. He does not particularly want to see the broken and bloody body of his kid, deprived of the life that had once shone so brightly in her eyes. He feels like he has had enough of lifeless bodies. He sighs.

But.

It's Ruby. That's his girl. It is still his duty to take care of her. Even in death. That's what family does. Josef takes a deep breath and steps forward.

''Mr. Casablancas.''

Josef spins around in the dirt and the dust and finds himself almost nose to nose with that annoying pest of an angel. His eyes darken and he crosses his arms defensively. ''What?''

The angel remains impassive. ''I want to express my condolences,'' he says simply. ''I'm very sorry for your loss.''

''Don't talk about my loss,'' Josef snaps back. ''You have no idea what I've lost.''

Castiel is unfazed. ''I apologize, but - ''

''Well, stop! Stop apologizing!''

''I need to take her.''

Josef's blood runs cold. He looks behind him at the car where the body lays, and then back at Castiel. ''Excuse me?'' He takes a threatening step in the direction of the emotionless angel, gravel crunching under his boots. Castiel is still calm and unimpressed. ''I'm sure I must have heard you wrong.''

Castiel shakes his head. ''I'm afraid not. I need to take your niece's body.''

''You're a sick, sick bastard,'' Josef hisses. His throat aches, his eyes sting, and his ears burn.

A small amount of something that could be considered a half hearted version of sympathy flashes over Castiel's face. ''I understand that this is a fragile time, that you're upset, but this is important.''

''Go fuck yourself.''

Castiel heaves a sigh and carefully produces an envelope from the inside pocket of his trench coat. ''She wanted me to give you this.''

Josef reluctantly takes the slightly wrinkled envelope. His name is written on it in neat, familiar handwriting. The 'f' is smudged lightly, as if by a teardrop. There is a sudden lump in his throat that he cannot swallow. ''What is this?''

''An explanation.''

With a horrific roaring in his ears, it all clicks for Josef. The last piece in an ugly puzzle of bloodshed falls into place. ''It was you,'' he rasps. ''You were the one who...'' It is white hot; the feeling of rage that begins to spread within him. It is a white hot fury that turns his heart into ash and burns away the wall of humanity that is keeping every single demonic, animalistic impulse at bay. Josef has never really been much for control. That was always Adele's specialty. He may give off an air of impeccable control, but deep down, he is just as much an animal as any other demon. He clenches the envelope in his fist. ''You were the one who helped her commit suicide,'' he growls. He darts forward before Castiel can disagree and grasps the lapels of that stupid fucking trench coat. ''You did this to her!'' He turns the angel around and shoves him back up against Winchester's car. ''You took her away from me! You gave her the means to destroy herself!''

''I did what she asked of me,'' Castiel responds. ''She asked me to help her. I did.''

''What makes you think you had the right to do that? I swear to God - ''

An honest and true expression flitters on Castiel's face. It is not a happy expression. ''What makes you think you have the right to swear to God?'' With a disturbing amount of ease, Castiel peels Josef's fingers away from him and twists the wrist until the demon grimaces in pain. He licks his lips and then throws Josef away like he's nothing.

Josef flies far, landing hard and noisily on top of a different rust bucket. The metal bends and caves in under his weight and pain flares up instantly, shooting up and down his entire body. A pained groan escapes his lips involuntarily but the pain is not as strong as the anger boiling inside of him. He rolls off the car and lands hard on his hands and knees, sharp gravel cutting through his palms and tearing his jeans. When he rises to his feet, Castiel is right in front of him. Josef throws a sloppy punch, but it is caught easily. Castiel gives him a shove, just a minor shove, but it sends Josef up into the air and then down hard on his stomach. Gravel cuts through his cheek and dirt gets in his mouth.

Castiel releases a breath and crouches down beside the heap of a demon. ''I'm sorry, Mr. Casablancas,'' he says again. Again with the apologies, the meaningless condolences, like they're good enough, like they make up for what he's done. ''We are of rival species,'' the angel continues. ''We are not meant to have our lives intertwine the way they do, and so I understand your distrust. Your wariness. But your niece... She was a good woman. A brave woman. Now, I don't want to hurt you, but make no mistake: I will if I have to. Let me rephrase my earlier statement: I am going to take her, whether you like it or not, and you are going to read that letter. Just as soon as you wake up.''

Before Josef can say anything at all, two cold fingers are pressed to his forehead and all goes dark.

.

.

.

''God, I fucking hate those geeky little bastards.''

It is a statement growled out against the soft lips attacking his. Perhaps not the most opportune time to bring that up. There are legs wrapped around his waist and there is a naked chick pressed into him. Maybe he could have chosen a better time to bring up the Ghostfacers.

She lets out a breath and pulls away from him, arching a perfect eyebrow. ''Ugh.'' She crawls away from him with a roll of her eyes, sending a sharp swat to his abdomen, flopping down on the bed, sheets up to her chest. She lies down on her side, head propped up in her hand. ''Dean, are you fucking serious right now? We just had sex and you want to talk about some gangly losers with video cameras who pee their pants when they see real ghosts?''

''Well, they bugged me,'' he argues.

She scoffs and slips out of bed, sheet wrapped around her. ''You bug me,'' she grumbles.

''Oh,'' he rolls his eyes, watching her snatch up her hastily discarded clothes. ''For Christ's sake. You leavin' again?''

She shrugs and wriggles into her jeans, still searching for her shirt. ''Don't I always?''

''Exactly my point.''

She turns her head, lips curving into a slow smirk. Her eyes glitter in that predatory way of hers and she licks her lips. He has to swallow. With her messy sex hair and that intoxicating post coital glow about her, he doesn't think she has ever looked more beautiful than she does right now. Not sexy. Not fuckin' hot. Beautiful. It's strange to think of her as beautiful, he thinks. It bothers him. She's a demon. A good fuck, a warm body, but that's it. That's supposed to be it. But then he looks at her again, at the spark in her eyes and the smile on her lips and he lets it go. He thinks she's attractive. It's not like he's in love with her or anything.

''Thought you didn't give a crap what I do,'' she purrs.

''I don't,'' he says quickly, maybe a little too quickly. ''You can do whatever the hell you want. I'm just sayin'...'' He trails off and pauses. What he is just saying? He shrugs off the awkwardness and catches hold of her wrist just after she has pulled her shirt over her head. He tugs her down onto his lap effortlessly and brushes hair away to nip at her neck. ''One more time,'' he says, pleads.

She sighs again, a heavier sigh this time, and shoots him a look. ''How many times are we going to say that, Winchester?''

He freezes up. ''I don't - ''

She presses her lips against his in a hungry kiss. ''With us, Dean,'' she whispers, after she has pulled away. ''It's never one more time. We have addictive personalities.''

He stares up at her, unblinking, and tries not to think too much. Finally, he wraps his arms around her waist and throws her back down onto the bed. She lets out a screech of laughter but doesn't fight back, and when he hovers over top of her, noses almost touching, she remains still. Her fingertips graze his cheek. ''If that's the case,'' he begins, ''then we better get our jollies out now. 'Cause I'm checkin' out in a few months, darlin' and you're gonna have to take your addictive personality elsewhere.''

She laughs. ''And that's kind of sad, don't you think? That it takes one of us dying just to get us to stop fucking? Is that pathetic?''

''If it is,'' he shrugs. ''I've decided I'm cool with it,'' and then he covers her mouth with his own. ''By the way,'' he breathes out against her lips. ''You need to get naked ASAP, because these clothes of yours are really gettin' in the way.''

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.

.

Dean steps closer to the bathroom mirror, eyeing his pale, sickly reflection. His fingers grip the white sink so tight his fingers go numb. He doesn't mind. He welcomes the numbness that is slowly beginning to spread throughout the rest of him. This would be shock. What he's feeling right now, what he's not. It's shock. It's breaking him. The jumbled, erratic thoughts in his head have come to an abrupt stop, as if a machine somewhere has been jammed and there is only one clear thing reverberating through all that he is.

He loves her, and she is gone. Just like every other person he has dared to touch, to love.

His reflection moves, a sudden jerk, and he looks up suddenly. His reflection is smirking at him, a cruel and taunting sneer. Dean startles and staggers back a step, lips parting in shock. His reflection gives a hearty laugh and smiles wolfishly, showing off his teeth. ''Here we are again, Dean,'' the man in the mirror says. ''Aren't you tired of feeling this way?''

Dean's heart is in his throat. He tries to look away, but he can't. He is not sure how to fight against himself.

His reflection steps closer, nearly pressed up against the glass. Dean is trying to snap out of this. It's not real. It can't be. His mind is playing tricks on him. That's all. ''You do this a lot, don't you?'' The reflection asks. ''Get the people you love killed?''

''I...'' His voice comes out a weak rasp and he can't manage to get anything else out past the lump in his throat.

The jovial smile fades and his reflection ignites in fury. ''This is your fault, you know,'' he - it - hisses. ''Everything is always your fault. She is dead because of you.'' He shakes his head and clicks his tongue, lips curving up. ''Why are you even still here? You should've let Josef - ''

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and the sound of his own cruel voice gets lost somewhere in the roaring in his ears and the pounding of his heart. When he opens his eyes, he is left staring at his sad self, no longer angry and full of blame. He looks down at his hands and all of the blood. He sighs.

He moves slowly, peeling off layers of bloody and sweaty and dirty clothing and stepping under the hot spray in the shower. His body feels old all of a sudden. He stays in the shower until the water runs cold. He watches the blood swirl down the drain with morbid fascination, watching the last traces of Ruby wash away. He makes a feeble attempt to jump start his brain and feel something, but shock doesn't work that way. It's like a wall. He could cut his finger open right now and he wouldn't feel a thing. He showers and dresses in clean, blood free clothes on autopilot, moving like a robot.

It is only after he has pulled on a pair of ripped jeans and a gray t-shirt that something small is able to filter into his mind. It seems so unfathomable. It doesn't make sense. How can she be gone just like that? It's not fair. It's not right. They never even... He sinks onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. They should have had a better chance. They should have had a life together. After everything they've been through, both together and apart, don't they at least deserve that? He laughs suddenly, a bitter cackle. ''Well, sweetheart,'' he rasps to the empty room and the ghosts over his shoulder. ''I guess we were doomed from the start, weren't we?''

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.

.

Dean Winchester has only one default setting. That default setting is Sam. More specifically, it's taking care of Sam. He may not be able to take care of himself, but at least he can take care of Sam. It's where he goes when he doesn't know what else to do. Right now, Dean wants to do anything but feel his own emotions. He can't think about Ruby, about Crowley, about the sorrow and rage bubbling in his gut. He doesn't want to. So, coddling his brother is the next logical step. It's what he's good at. Sam is grieving and more than likely, he's probably extremely blubbery, so Dean's gonna find him and he's going to do what he does best.

He sprints back down the stairs, free of blood but still feeling it everywhere on him, and looks around for Sam. He finds Lisa in the kitchen. She tries to comfort him and put him back together like he's fucking Humpty Dumpty. She tries to sew him back together with that ever present needle and thread of hers that exists in her kind and gentle smile, but he shoots her down this time. There's no Sam and no Bobby, but there's Ben. The boy is sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, looking lost and lonely. When he looks up and spots his dad, his eyes widen and he looks like a deer in headlights. ''Dad,'' he croaks out.

Dean accepts the hug Ben gives him and tries to say that he's fine - or at least that he will be - but he can't get the words out. He's not sure Ben would believe him anyway. He holds onto his son for a moment, and tries to take that one moment to stop thinking about Ruby. It doesn't work, of course, and the warm embrace is only serving to push against the walls of the dam, so he pulls away and asks if Ben has seen Sam. Ben tells him that Sam stormed outside, but eventually came back inside and stalked upstairs.

A strange and inexplicable fear starts low in his belly. He takes the stairs two at a time, calling out Sam's name. In the back of his mind, something clicks. ''Sam!'' There aren't a lot of rooms in Bobby's house, certainly not ones that are in working order. There is one guest bedroom, Bobby's bedroom and two others that are full of dusty old furniture, even dustier and older books, and things that must have belonged to Karen. There aren't a lot of hiding places. But the best place to hide, the one they always used to utilize when they were kids, is Bobby's bedroom. Mostly because it's Bobby's bedroom and nobody goes into Bobby's bedroom without his permission unless they're cruisin' for a bruisin'. When Sammy was a kid, he used to hide in there, under the bed, simply because he knew no one would have dared to go in there. ''Sam!'' The fear and the terrible feeling in his gut gets worse with every step he takes.

Dean bursts into Bobby's bedroom, practically falling into the room, and he swears his heart stops.

His brother is slumped against the wall with his eyes closed. ''Sam.'' Dean rushes forwards and falls to his knees in front of his too still brother. ''Sam!'' He reaches out to grab Sam's face. Shaking him gets nothing, and Sam remains still. ''Sam! Come on, man, don't do this to me.'' Dean slaps Sam's cheek lightly and when he still remains unresponsive, Dean fumbles for a pulse. Sam makes a noise but doesn't wake. ''Oh, god.'' Dean lets out a breath. ''Sammy... Jesus Christ...'' Sam's pulse is erratic, but there, and Dean is in full on tunnel vision mode.

Out of Sam's curled fist, Dean pries an orange bottle of painkillers and he feels bile creeping up in his throat.

''Oh, Jesus.'' He curls his fingers around Sam's shirt. ''Sam! Sammy, come on, kiddo, stay with me.''

In response, Sam makes another odd breathy noise.

The bottle is empty.

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There is no way to make this story anything other than what it is.

Pain and destruction and carnage. Missed opportunities and raw grief, pleasure and greed, sex and death, medication and isolation and folly. This is life, sweetheart. This is what you are. We are animals and this is our cage. These are the things that love is made of, and this...

...this is love.

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''You had a bottle of pills but I wouldn't let you swallow them.
You said Will you love me even more when I'm dead?
and I said No, and I threw the pills on the sand.''
- I had a dream about you