It took roughly seven hours for Dean to drive from Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin, to Greenville, Illiniois, not counting a stop or three for coffee, a burger, and to take a leak. Seven hours with nothing to do but guzzle coffee, listen to side one of Zeppelin II for the umpteen-thousandth time, and think. Too much time to think really. Just act, don't think. Advice his father had given him as a boy after he'd hesitated a moment too long on the trigger. A moment that could have proven deadly, if not for his father's quick action. Ever since then, Dean had tried to live but that motto, but this time, things were different. This wasn't a simple monster hunt, and he couldn't rely on instincts alone. Faced with the very real possibility of the Apocalypse, Dean had gone over all the options in his head a hundred times or more, but no matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn't see a way out that didn't end with him saying yes to Michael and finishing off Lucifer once and for all.

Dean knew it was very likely that saying yes to Michael could prove fatal, but unless someone had a better idea, it looked like he wasn't going to have any choice but to do just that. It wasn't the first time he'd embraced death, choosing to sacrifice his own life for the greater good. His life was inconsequential when compared to the lives of every human being on Earth, and while he knew he'd be missed, Gabriel had promised peace at the end of it, not only for those left living, but for Dean's world-weary soul.

He'd already said his goodbyes to Andrea, as painful as it had been, leaving at dawn, before she or Lucas could wake. It had been hard enough to say goodbye once; he wasn't sure he'd be able to do it again. If Dean had any regrets, it was Andrea and Lucas. If things had been different, he knew he could have made a life with her, but they both knew that was never to be, and they'd cherished every brief, precious moment they'd had together, but Dean knew time was running out. If he didn't say yes soon, Michael would eventually find Ayden and force her into being his vessel, and Dean couldn't allow that. There was only one more stop on Dean's farewell tour before he returned to Sioux Falls to tell his family what he'd decided. There was only one person left he needed to say goodbye to, and that was his mother.

His visits to the cemetery had been few over the years, sneaking off every now and then to visit when they were in the area, never telling Sam where he'd gone. What was said between himself and his mother's ghost was no one's business but his own. It had been a few years since he'd been here, but nothing had really changed. Dean brushed away a few leaves that had gathered around the stone that bore the name of his mother and the date of her death. Mary Winchester, December 5, 1954 to November 2, 1983. So young. She hadn't even turned thirty yet. Dean remembered that night like it was just yesterday, forever burned like the fire into his memory. He hadn't seen her die, but he knew what had happened. He knew as soon as his father had stumbled out of the burning blaze without her, terror-stricken and sobbing with grief.

Dean knew right from that moment that his life would never be the same again. How could it without the one person he loved more than any other" Dean stood quietly at the grave for a long time. There were no tears, not anymore. There had been a time when he'd thought he'd never stop crying, but he'd quickly learned that all the tears in the world, all the prayers, all the wishes, weren't going to bring her back. She was gone forever, but life went on. "Hey, Mom..." he said finally, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. "Looks like I'm gonna see you again sooner than I thought. I know you probably think I'm being stupid, but I don't see any other way. It's my fault this is happening, and I can't let the world burn because of me."

"I wish I could think of another way, but I can't." He frowned, drawing a breath and pulling a hand from his pocket to swipe an errant tear from his face, despite promising himself he wouldn't cry. "I've done my best to take care of Sam all these years, but I can't do it anymore. I'm sorry. Maybe Michael is right. Maybe this is just how it's meant to be. I'm tired of fighting, Mom. All I want is a little peace. Sometimes I think you were the lucky one. It's over for you. It's gonna be over for me, too, soon. I'm sorry I failed you. I hope you can forgive me someday."

The stone was silent, reassuringly so. But he did get an answer, and in a voice he had not heard since the day Ellen had fought against the demon possessing her to slice herself up rather than kill him. He could put a name to that sly, smirking tone only too easily. "Just a little peace, Deano' My father wants you to have a whole lot of peace, and isn't it just nifty that your sexy Auntie Meg is here to grant your little wish?"

Dean's entire demeanor changed when he heard that voice, a voice he'd know anywhere. Meg. That bitch. The one who'd been indirectly responsible for his father's death and directly responsible for the loss of Ellen's legs. He slowly slid a hand into one of the many pockets of his jacket, where he kept a bottle of holy water, just in case. Without Ruby's Knife or The Colt, there wasn't much he could do to hurt her, but holy water might buy him enough time to get away. "Meg," he acknowledged, turning slowly to face her, smelling the telltale scent of sulfur on the air that always gave demons away sooner or later. He wasn't sure how she'd found him, but he didn't have time to think about that now. "He's not your father, you know. He's not even a demon. He's never been human. He doesn't know sh*t about being human. He doesn't care about you. He's just using you until he doesn't need you anymore. So, please don't insult my intelligence by calling him your father."

The demon who had been dogging his and Sam's steps almost from the beginning laughed, standing nonchalantly at ease barely five feet away, her hands tucked comfortably in the pockets of her jeans. She wasn't alone, either; two others walked into view on either side of Dean, obviously of the same level as Meg if hallowed ground didn't affect them at all. "See, that's where you're wrong," Meg drawled, practically crowing with triumph. She knew she had him cornered, and even better, she knew he knew it. "Lucifer is the father of my race. He made us. Your great God may be a deadbeat dad, but mine walks the Earth." She laughed again, tossing her head carelessly. "And we're gonna win. We're goin' to Heaven!"

"Who are we wearing today?" Dean continued, ignoring her taunts, even if they did rankle him. He gave her a once over and clucked his tongue disapprovingly, well aware that two other demons had flanked him on either side. He knew he was probably screwed, but he wasn't going down without a fight, and he couldn't resist throwing salt in Meg's wounds. He'd hated her with a passion that equaled the love that he felt for his mother, and she was desecrating sacred ground just being there. "A dental hygienist from Hoboken" Nice try, but too skinny for my tastes." He laughed at her attempt to annoy him, even if he was feeling annoyed. "I think Heaven might have a little something to say about that. Did you come here to taunt me or is this a social visit?"

Before Dean had a chance to fight back, he found himself thrust into darkness - the dark, inky kind of darkness that held no inkling of light, completely and utterly black. Though he could see nothing, he felt some sensation of movement, like he was riding a merry-go-round at top spin, his head spinning dizzily, disorienting him further and making him feel sick. Cold dread wrapped its icy fingers around his heart, fearing the prospect of being dragged back to Hell more than any other fate that might await him. He knew from the incantation she'd just recited that his fears were well-warranted.

Yet his surroundings as they coalesced into his mortal vision once more were not the chains and mists and torture chambers he had once experienced and had prayed never to visit again. The inky blackness around him lightened just enough to offer a suggestion of space, the only color immediately to his eyes the deepest of whore-house reds mixed with dark shadows from which came the sounds of lustful sharings between souls and soulless. The two demons who had been holding him were gone, replaced with a new pair who stood behind him, scantily-clad and reaching out to touch, displaying the black of their eyes as openly as the womanly attributes they currently wore. Meg smirked, stepping back from Dean with his flash of holy water in one hand. "Welcome home, Deano."

The room lurched into view upon their arrival, threatening to dislodge the contents of his stomach, and Dean stumbled dizzily, grabbing hold of whatever was close at hand to help him recover his balance, which just happened to be the railing of a brass bed, garishly draped in a coverlet the color of blood. "This isn't home," he muttered, his voice raspy from screaming Cas' name behind Meg's hand. He turned to find a pair of scantily-clad demons standing behind him, and his eyes betrayed him again as he looked them over. There was something oddly familiar about them. "Nice try, bitch," he told Meg as he backed up a pace. "But I told you I don't do demons." Instinct led his hand to his jacket pockets, but Meg's goons had somehow divested him of his weapons. Not that it would have mattered. He knew they'd be no use to him here anyway, but he would have felt a little better knowing he was armed. "What do you want' You think keeping me here is going to stop Michael" He'll just pick some other schmuck to do his dirty work."

"I'm hurt," Meg pouted playfully, lounging back in a sprawling chair that on second viewing seemed to have been created entirely from oiled-up, leather-clad males who were only too happy to hold her in position over them. "I put a lot of effort into making this place as welcoming as possible for you. Don't you like the playmates I found for you, Deano' I know for a fact you've never been able to say no to them before." She smirked, the expression childlike and cruel on her angelic face, stretching her arms high to ripple her fingers over the muscular back she leaned against. "And as for Tweetie Pie and the God Squad" They don't know your brother like we do, pumpkin. He'll say yes to my father to stop him from taking that cute little sister of yours instead, and then guess what? She comes down here where Michael can't get to her. And we win. Isn't that all kinds of fun?"

"There's one thing in your little equation you forgot, Snookums," Dean replied, eying the pair of demonic whores warily, while addressing Meg. "If you think the God Squad is going to sit idly by while Lucifer has his little party, you've got another thing coming. They yanked my *ss out of Hell once. I doubt it will be much of a problem to do it again. All I have to do is call and I'm off like a dirty shirt." He snapped his fingers, as if he wasn't concerned in the least, hoping Meg wouldn't call his bluff. Even if the angels did hear him, he wasn't sure they'd be able to find him. The Enochian sigils that covered his ribs were both a blessing and a curse. "How'd you find me anyway' Lucky guess?"

"That's just the thing, sweetie, you're not in Hell," the demonness smirked over at him, disgustingly confident in the intel Lucifer had provided her with. "Heaven has their beautiful room, we have ..." She looked around appraisingly, following his wary gaze to the two demonically tempting females perched on the edge of the nearest bed. "I guess, since it's you, this is the Lust Room. Sure you want to keep it in your pants" They won't mind. In fact, I'll bet they know a thing or two the real ones don't." His query about how she'd located him drew a snort of a laugh from Meg. "Oh please. You're a creature of habit. We knew you'd fold eventually, and when you did, you'd go on your little tour of reconciliation and goodbye. You've already done it once, Deano. We were just waiting to see you show up in Wisconsin."

"Who did your decorating, Meg" It's a little too 19th century bordello for you, don't you think?" He remarked as he idly pushed over a carafe of what appeared to be brandy, sending it smashing to the floor. Or blood. It was hard to tell with the lighting. His eyes narrowed when she mentioned Wisconsin, and he jerked his head toward her, panic flaring wildly. "What about Wisconsin?"

She looked around the dark, sultry room. "You'd prefer a little more light?" The demon seemed to concentrate for a moment, and the light level rose, but all that served to do was to highlight just how accurately recreated the faces and forms of the two tempting demonic whores close by truly were. "All these years and you never learned her name, Deano?" Meg added in taunting wickedness. "Strange for you. I thought you were all about being the gentle, caring lover; Sam's the wildchild in bed."

If the demons knew where he'd been, did that mean the angels did, too' Had Gabriel kept an eye on him, or was he too busy watching out for Ayden" What about Cas" He had no idea where Cas was or what he was doing. Probably trying to track down God again. He'd told Sam he'd be back in three days, and he'd already been gone two. All he had to do was bide his time until someone came looking for him, and try to stay away from temptation while doing it. His eyes narrowed further as she taunted him with thinly-veiled threats aimed at Andrea and Lucas. "I'm gonna love burning you, bitch," he told her, his voice dripping venomous loathing.

"Mmm, keep talkin' dirty," she crowed wickedly, crossing one leg over the other. "Makes my meatsuit all dewy." She nodded toward the demons who were reaching for him, one to trail fingertips down over his cheek, the other to draw a hand up beneath his jacket. "Don't you like them, Deano' I figured since you were gonna be down here a while, might as well be among friends, right' And don't forget, I wore Sam for a whole week. There are things I know about you that not even poor misguided Castiel knows."

If it wasn't for the black eyes, he might have succumbed to temptation, but so long as the two women looked demonic, he didn't have to worry about his body betraying him. He realized with a jolt why they'd looked familiar, even in the dim light, but whether they looked like Cassie and Andrea was beside the point. Appearances were deceiving, and he knew from experience that beneath the illusion, they were as hideous in appearance as any other demon. He shook the demons off, slapping a hand away from his face and backing up two more paces. "Touch me again, and I won't be so gentle," he warned the pair. With little room for maneuvering, he'd find his back up against the wall soon, with no place to go.

"Hey, no worries, baby," the demon wearing Cassie's face said calmly, drawing her hands back to loop an arm around the other demon's waist. "We're here as long as you are." As the pair backed away, Meg let out a loud peal of laughter. "Aw, man, if only Azazel could see you now," she mocked the hunter who had exorcised her not once, but twice, over the years. "Running away from figments of your own imagination."

"You can hide behind that meatsuit all you want, but I know what you really look like. All I have to do is remember." He watched the pair warily again, knowing they couldn't possibly be Cassie or Andrea, no matter how much they looked like them. They weren't figments of his imagination either, not with eyes as black as pitch. Alastair had never tried this brand of torture, preferring to inflict the agony of blades to that of sexual tension. "Azazel is dead," he reminded her coldly. "I killed him, remember?" He glanced at the spilled brandy, almost wishing he hadn't tipped the decanter over, but booze was as much a temptation as sex, and he was determined not to give in. Dean's eyes scoured the room, looking for anything he could use for a weapon or a means of escape. He knew how to dispatch angels, but demons was another matter. Still, Meg had hinted that they weren't in Hell, which meant they were still somewhere on Earth. If only he could get rid of her, he might stand a chance of escaping.

It certainly was a performance, both for him and for Meg. The demon wearing Andrea's face and form was only too easily convinced of her irresistible play-acting, her pride and ego stroked and inflated by the assumption that she had seduced Dean Winchester into giving into his lust barely an hour after he had been brought to the Room. Pinned back against the wall, she broke her lips from his with a gasping, feral grin, proving herself with each step toward abandon less and less like the true Andrea Dean held close to his heart.

Turning his back to Meg was a risk, but a calculated one. They both knew she wasn't going to kill him or she'd have done it already. She was keeping him alive for some reason and playing cat and mouse with him, but two could play at that game. Crushing his body against the demon, he ground his hips against hers, letting her feel for herself the effect she was having on his body, if only to momentarily distract her. Breaking from her lips, he gasped for breath, his lips leaving a burning trail of kisses against her neck until he once more reached his targeted destination - her ear. Once there, he nibbled at her earlobe, teeth tugging gently, his breath warm against her flesh before whispering against her ear once again. "Exorciz"mos te, "mnis imm"nde sp"ritus, "mnis sat"nic pot'stas, "mnis infern"lis advers"rii, "mnis l"gio, "mnis congreg"tio et s"cta diab"lica, in n"mine et virt"te Deus, et p"ter D"mini."

The demon didn't stand a chance, too caught up in her own arousal to pleasure to notice in time what it was he was doing. Suddenly black eyes widened in furious alarm, her mouth opened to shriek with agonised anger, and a moment later, Dean held nothing but mist against the wall. No smoking out, not here, not these constructed temptations that wore no meatsuit in the first place. First she was there, and then ....gone. The room itself seemed to grow colder with that dispelling, the second of the temptations drawing back from Dean with discernible fear, dispelling itself rather than be cast out. A slow steady clap of palm on palm, repeated over and over, filled the expectant silence. "Congratulations, Deano," Meg purred in a taunting voice from behind him. "You just exorcised your only pleasant company. It's just you, me, and your boner now, pumpkin."

Dean watched as first one, then the other demon slut disappeared into so much thin air, an almost smug grin on his face, rather proud of himself. "I've still got it," he declared to no one in particular. Certainly not to Meg, though she was applauding his efforts, albeit sarcastically. "You want to be next, bitch' 'Cause I can do this all day."

She laid her hands on her hips, eyeing him up and down, her gaze lingering on the unfortunately obvious evidence of his own involvement in that intimate encounter. She tsked lightly, shaking her head. "All we want is for you to enjoy yourself here, Deano." That playful, childlike, dangerous smirk appeared on her face once again as she snorted with derisive laughter. "I could always have the real Andrea fetched down here for you. Of course, she'd have to be possessed for that to work, and you'd have to explain to her why her son is under guard by demons back home, but I'm sure you'd rather have the real thing, huh?" The smirk faded into serious warning. "Or would you rather just sit tight and stop twisting your panties while the world goes to Hell, just like Lucifer plans?"

He ignored the physical pain that came with his own denial. In truth, it was nothing compared to the torment he'd suffered at Alastair's hand. "I'm not here to play your games, and it's only a matter of time before Michael figures out where I am, so let's cut the crap, shall we, or would you like me to continue in Latin?" Whatever Lucifer's plans were, he knew big brother would come to the rescue sooner or later. He also knew Meg could make good on her threats to Andrea if she wanted to, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing that bothered him. "Or maybe you'd like me to summon Michael, right here and now, live and on stage wherever we are."

"Oh, yes, let's try that one, shall we?" Meg suggested, batting her eyes wide as she looked him over. "Let's try and summon an archangel to a place another archangel has had constructed purely for your use. That spell I used to get you here" My father gave it to me. There's enough mojo here for me to silence you forever without endangering your life at all. Want to see who's quickest off the draw?" There was a distinct lack of humor in her voice and face now; Dean was beginning to irritate her, and that wasn't a good place for the hunter to be.

"Let me see, how does it go again? Crux sancta sit mihi lux..." he started, taking a step toward her, eyes narrowed, taking that challenge. He knew she had the advantage, but he'd be damned if he was going to take it lying down. "Non draco sit mihi dux. Vade retro satana," he continued.

Her expression tightened, a smile forced on her lips as he stepped toward her, far too familiar with that particular exorcism. "You really think it'll be that easy on my turf, dumplin'?" she asked him pointedly. One hand lifted the hem of her shirt, showing off a binding link burned into her vessel's flesh. It was the other hand he should have been watching, however. It rose, and with a sweep of her fingers, an irresistible pressure took hold of the hunter to slam him hard against the wall opposite. "The sound of your voice is beginning to grate."

She'd irritated him right from the get go. There were few Dean hated more than Meg. He knew he couldn't really do her much harm, not here anyway, but it was too tempting a thought not to try. Slammed against the wall with enough force to knock him senseless, Dean collapsed to the floor with a loud thump, looking up at the now swirling form of Meg standing over him not more than a few feet away. His fingers clawed the floor in a weak attempt to snag a shard of broken glass, the only thing he could find that might serve as a possible weapon, the edges of his vision turning gray as he fought against unconsciousness. "Cas..." he muttered, more out of habit than desperation, eyelids fluttering as he struggled against the rising darkness.

Footsteps tapped against the floor, scraping over the broken decanter as Meg crouched down beside him. One hand curled about his jaw, lifting his face up so that hers would be the last thing he saw as he drifted into unconsciousness. "I really should have killed you in Chicago," she mused thoughtfully. "You can't even play the game when angels are on your side."

It was the last thing he heard before he surrendered to the encroaching darkness, feeling sick with the feeling that he'd failed again, that he'd let everyone down, and that those he loved best would most likely suffer for it. I'm sorry, he apologized silently in his head, the last thought before everything went black.

((Humongously humongous thanks to Ayden's player for the above scene. Awesome, as always. A ton of fun. :grin: Stay tuned for more coming soon!))