Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ordo Realitas
Entry #546
Agent: Charlie Bradbury
Occupation: Specialist - IT

Hey, agents! This is Charlie Bradbury writing. I'm from Goiânia, and I was called upon by the Minas Gerais branch of the Order about a month and a half ago.

This entry that I'm writing serves as a small guide for new agents who may read this document in the future. I want to keep record of everything I've learned about the paranormal in a simple and easy-to-understand way (to make it easier for me too).

First of all, what is the paranormal? > There are two realities that we know, ours and the “Other Side”. This “Other Side” is where everything that goes beyond what we naturally know comes from. The human mind is capable of many crazy things, and what comes from the Other Side is due to human fear. Weird, right? When they say “words have power”, or “you attract what you fear”, they're not joking. If you know urban legends, mythologies, or even day to day life things like horror stories, all of this can materialize if the fear is strong enough and on a large scale. Like a tulpa! But they are not necessarily the same thing, so I won't go into that. Forget about the tulpa for now. 

What are the elements? > This part was the most interesting to me, because it works like "Rock, paper, scissors"! Imagine a cycle in which one element is stronger than the other, which is stronger than the other, and so on. Luckily, there are only 4 elements that come from the "mother" element: Fear. That's right, baby, fear is the supreme element. The elements are the components that energize whatever is formed on the Other Side. We have "Blood", "Knowledge", "Energy" and "Death"; respectively, one becomes stronger than the next, until it goes back to the beginning. Each element has different priorities, which makes them easily identifiable if you have good training!

> Furthermore, the elements do not only create, but also transform. They are able to influence and alter what already exists, depending on their composition. Rituals and enchanted items have this same effect.

Which are the elements? > Blood has this name because the materialization of this element in our reality has the appearance and texture of an organism's blood, it is red, and has a strong odor. What comes from the Other Side with origins in Blood usually has a very fleshy appearance, like the muscles and fibers of a living body, something very disgusting and grotesque, with sharp claws and teeth, extremely sharp senses, and an absurdly high thirst for blood. This element is synonymous with ferocity, violence, and impulsiveness. feelings, when felt in the most intense way, are conducive to the effectiveness of the element in something or someone. Blood is stronger than Knowledge.

> Knowledge comes mainly from the concept of the vastness of reality. Do you know the fear of knowing the whole truth of the universe and collapsing? That's exactly it. It's as if the Other Side registered everything that involves it, everything about its creation and its functioning, and the more that is discovered, the more the individual loses. Deep, right? What comes from Knowledge predominates the use of logic, strategy, reasoning — and the consumption of consciousness. Its materialization consists of gold items, golden sigils, representations of eyes (that see the Other Side), old papers, etc., etc. It is a symbol of the balance between realities. Knowledge is stronger than Energy.

> Energy is synonymous with chaos. Pure chaos. It does not follow the rules of reality, much less those of nature. Its materialization consists of everything that can generate energy: copper cables (electricity), colors — many colors, everything neon, vibrant! — fire, wind, water; it is linked to transformations, as it is unpredictable. It is a symbol of anarchy and irrationality. Energy is stronger than Death.

> Death is the representation of time, symbolized by spirals that carry with them vitality, memory, the perception of space-time. When it materializes here, we call it “sludge”, as it has a sticky and black appearance, and this strange liquid messes with the minds of those who interact with it. Death is stronger than Blood.

> So, to recap: Blood = impulsiveness and intensity; Knowledge = rationality and logic; Energy = chaos and unpredictability; Death = time and vitality. Cool, right?

> And the most interesting thing yet! A person who has a certain level of exposure to the paranormal, that is, after experiencing a lot and having their mind expanded by the Other Side, can choose to perform a ritual called “Transcend”, in which they create a connection/affinity with the element they desire.

What is the Ordo Realitas, or just the Order? > There are several different organizations spread throughout the world that fight against the paranormal to reduce its effects on our reality. The Order is one of them, originally from Brazil. There are bases of the Order all over Brazil, and each one has a leader who receives the title of “Verity”. At the base here in Minas, our Verity is Robert Singer (or Bobby, to his close kins, and he already loves me, so ;-)), and his wife, Ellen Harvelle; both are leaders of the base, but Bobby is the real boss. 

What are the training classes for agents? > The classes are different training divisions depending on the individual's proficiencies. There are three in total: combatant, specialists and occultists. They are kind of self-explanatory, but let's go. Combatant are those who are on the front lines, direct attacks or using punches or their favorite weapons. They are not afraid to put themselves in front of danger for those in need. Specialists are the ones who stay in the background, their skills involve more intellect than hands-on skills (like me!). Finally, occultists, these are more complicated. Occultists are those who gradually give up pieces of their mind to the Other Side in exchange for being able to use the paranormal abilities that it provides (so they have some sort of powers and all), but it is EXTREMELY dangerous and, if used incorrectly, can cause great damage. I will go into this subject in more detail later!! 

> Being part of one class or another does not limit you to being one way or another, in the end, the more skills you have, the greater your efficiency will be in any place. Besides, no one is exempt from a good fight either. When necessary, it is always good to know how to fight or use a weapon. 

> At our Order base, I discovered that there are not many occultists working around here. It turns out that the use of the occult is very much linked to those who use the paranormal precisely to cause damage. There are people who worship the paranormal, and act to increase incidents that make people frightened.

Now, I want to present the context of the moment in which I am writing this. 

The reason I was called to join the Order, among other reasons, was so that I could help in the search for one of the best agents at our base who was kidnapped: Dean Winchester. He is the son of Mr. Verity and older brother of Sam Winchester, also an agent and, lately, the leader of the investigations in the rescue of the older one. 

A little over a year ago, Dean made a pact with a Demon to save Sam from a ritual that had been had been rapidly killing him, of demonic origin. Only someone from the cult of Hell would know how to remove the ritual, but in exchange for saving Sam, Dean had to “sell his soul”, as they call it. Dean had one year left from that day, before the cult came for him, and he spent all the time he could with Sam and Mr. Verity looking for ways to free him from the pact. But there was nothing they could do. 

In the meantime, Ruby appeared. She claims to be a former Demon, an occultist who was tired of the torture and cruelty of Hell, and would do anything to help the Winchesters save Dean. Sam told me that it sounded like a lot of nonsense at first, Dean didn't trust her at all, but Ruby went all the way to try to stop the cult from getting to him. 

At the moment, Ruby has been helping in the search for Dean, she has been by my side and giving me tips on how to look for information about Hell, since she knows how things work there (at first I was a little offended, does she think >I< don't know how to hack into every system?), but I have to admit, many of her specifications were important for me to take over from there. 

I'm not the only hacker in this place, Ash is a funny guy and great with computers too. We're kind of a duo! We work together to bring accurate information to Sam so he can organize the missions in search of Dean. I made friends with Jo Harvelle very quickly, she is VERY cool, has this whole tough yet sweet personality, and is usually the one who takes the reins of the rescue teams of the older Winchester (who is her best friend). 

Hell is active everywhere in Brazil, they make pacts like the one they made with Dean with anyone desperate enough to fall for their talk. They hide very well, finding the main headquarters of this cult is a hassle. But who am I, if not the most badass programmer in Brazil, huh? 

Anyway, we continue tracking the cult's movements and looking for clues about Dean. It's been 4 months, and I may not know the guy yet, but I want the opportunity to do so. 

That's it for now. Keep this file safe! 

See you soon, bitches! Charlie out!

Chapter Text

The paranormal doesn’t come to our reality easily , but when it does, it comes nasty, messy, dangerous.

It is born out of the blood that’s boiled, tears that’re spilled, screams that echo through generations in a promise to tear you apart when it finds you.

What should be normal is now considered luck. To live a life not knowing of the paranormal is considered luck. 

The truth is that, the stories and fairytales you’ve heard as a kid? They’re probably real, out there and kicking. The boogie man, vampires, big bad wolves, zombies, they’re all real — and the worst part? They come from the human mind. 

The membrane — also known commonly as the ‘Other Side’ —, is where these creatures are created. They are born from many factors, but all in all, they are born from fear. The human fear of checking under your bed for any monsters, of walking alone on the street or on a park in the middle of the night, of hearing your name being called out of nowhere; even from watching an apocalyptic movie, reading a horror novel, whatever will give you the material to feed the ever growing dread and fright in your head. The more strength you give it, the more it will take from you.

And it takes, and it takes, and it takes, until you’re nothing but wholly consumed by the Other Side.

The chaos, the grief, the crisis, the rage, the hunger.

You give it, and it takes.

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.

And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.

Dean’s lighter was the first thing that came to his mind as his lungs took in his first breath of life for what had seemed to be an eternity.

He looked around, it was dark, very, very dark. At least the air was fresh, he recognized the strong smell of wet dirt — he lay on the grass of a forest. How did he find himself thrown in the woods? 

What was the last Dean remembered? 

He rolled from his stomach to his back, arfing for air. It felt like he’d been underwater for hours and only now he could emerge.

Or worse, it felt like he’d been trapped between the flames of hell, deprived of any oxygen.

Hell….

He had been in Hell.

Not the biblical one, but surely one as bad as that. 

He remembered the flames of chaos, the bitter and cutting laughter from the shadows, the trapping neon cables, the smell of sulfur.

He remembered the blood, the pleadings filled with agony and despair, the chains, the electricity.

“Damned Demons,” The little voice in his mind cursed, but there was no use. 

Wasn’t he just like them, at that point? His hands were as stained with blood as anyone’s in that burning, rotten place. He could deny all he wanted, but the more time he spent with his back to the grass, the more the truth solidified itself in his mind: Dean Winchester was no better than any cultist.

How much time had passed since he’d been taken? He recalled the events all too detailed in his memory, engraved in it like a thick scar. However, the way he had escaped and gotten there, God knows where, under a sky that threatened to rain very soon, he hadn’t a clue.

He just knew he had to get out of there. 

The hunter painfully rose from where he lay, each and every part of his skin throbbing with an unfamiliar sensation. He grimaced with the burn and ache from his bones to his skin, it felt disorienting and it could drain all the littlest energy that was still left in him. He had to focus, he should be used to the pain. Being out there in the woods was like offering himself as a meal to the claws of a beast.

He rummaged through his pockets in search of any of his belongings. There was no cellphone, no keys, no weapons, not even the small lantern he always had fastened on his belt.

But there was his lighter.

He tried to turn it on, cursing once again when no spark seemed to set.

“Son of a bitch.”

His throat scratched from the use of his own voice. He coughed twice, three times, hitting his closed fist to his chest. That had been either from spending too long without speaking, or from using it exaggeratedly.

He could hear the screams in his head.

Were they theirs or his own? 

He remembered screaming a lot.

He shook his head, a poor attempt to keep away those thoughts that had his feet rooted where he stood. He should find a shelter, he could think about all this when he was protected from the rain that was already dripping on his head.

If he was lucky enough, the miracle that had saved him and brought him back outside would help him make it safely to some dry place.

He had never wished for his leather coat as much as he did now. He was soaked, his soggy boots made each step he took more unbearable than the last. He could already feel the damn cold he would catch with that icy breeze that was beating against him.

At least he was no longer in the forest, and nothing bad had happened to him meanwhile. He had managed to find a stone path that led to an open road and, further ahead, a few meters away, a convenience store. Dean sighed in relief.

One step, another step, another.

His knees could have given out at any moment, with the cracking sounds, but he held on until he finally reached his destination.

As he got closer, he saw that it was a gas station. Not as big as those on the road like Graal, with 50s decor and colored lights on the outside, but it was good enough for the job.

There were no cars there, but the lights were on. What time was it? He couldn't tell, maybe late at night, or early in the morning. He felt chills when he stepped onto the concrete floor of the gas station. He thanked whoever was listening in his mind for finding a covered corner. Now he just had to wait for the sun to rise and—

"Hey, man! Are you okay?"

Dean looked back, where the voice was coming from. The country accent was like a comfort to Dean because it gave him hope that he wasn't so far from home or the Order. From inside the convenience store came an attendant in a simple uniform and apron. He seemed to be a young adult, a man in his early twenties. The hunter extended his arm, giving a thumbs up. The truth was that he was far from “feeling good”, but what was he going to say to the poor guy? Normally, he would use his charm to get something, like food or supplies, on other occasions he would just enter the place and take what he needed, discreetly. But now? He was so tired and helpless and, worst of all, without money, that none of these alternatives would lead to anything. 

Even so, the young attendant came to meet him. He studied Dean's state, seeing his black t-shirt glued to chest, his worn, muddy and soaked jeans, and how he was shivering. 

Dean hugged himself, as a way of warming himself, but it was no use. His teeth chattered as if he had been bathed in an ice bath on a winter night. Not that it was very cold in Minas Gerais at this time of year, really, but the thought alone was enough to drive him crazy. 

“Do you need anything? Come in! You'll get sick if you stay here in the cold!”

The little tag on his apron read ‘Alfie’ . Well, without arguing, Dean nodded and followed Alfie into the little shop.

Dean looked around, the white light from inside stinging his eyes; it took him a few seconds to get used to the brightness.

The sticky sound of his wet boots against the smooth floor made Dean's face contort in discomfort. He should apologize to the boy for dirtying his shop.

Despite this, Alfie didn't seem to mind, approaching Dean with a bottle of water and a clean towel.

"Here, you must be thirsty."

He smiled at Dean in a friendly way, raising both hands, offering to help the hunter. He resisted the urge to correct the boy by calling him ‘sir’. Please, he thought, don’t call me sir, I’ll feel old. Instead, he kept quiet and accepted the items from Alfie’s hands with a weak smile of thanks. 

“What happened to you that made you look like this?”

“I’m broke, kid.” Dean coughed. “Thanks for the water, but I can’t pay you, ‘m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, sir, I’m just trying to aid you. Did your car break down? Do you need a tow truck?”

“It’s not that, it’s complicated.”

“Do you need to call someone?”

That was a great idea, why hadn’t he thought of that before?

Dean nodded once more, drinking the rest of the water in one gulp. His throat, previously dry, was grateful for the refreshment. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, joining Alfie behind the register. 

Alfie handed Dean the cordless phone so he could dial any number. Initially, he tried calling the first name that came to mind: Sammy. 

Come on, Sammy, answer it. 

“Leave a message after the beep.”  

“Shit.” He ran his hand over his face “Hey, kid, can you tell me where we are? 

“Huh? Belo Horizonte. Are you not from around here?” 

Dean waved his hand in front of the boy, dismissing the question. He took a deep breath, relieved to know he was in his city, in the capital. He couldn’t be far from the base. 

“How long is it from here to the city?” 

“Hum, about half an hour, I think.” 

“Okay. Is there a restroom here?” 

“Yeah, there is! Further back in the store, you’ll see a door with a restroom sign.”

“Perfect, thanks.” Dean smiled at Alfie, more than grateful.

When he entered the restroom, the first thing he did was take in his state. He used the towel Alfie had given him, wiping the dirt on his arms with the cloth, drying his hair and face, then taking a good look at his features.

He looked normal, the same as always. The same freckles, the same long eyelashes, the same crooked nose and sparse beard. He seemed almost normal, if not for some faint additional knicks, quite imperceptible.

The same green eyes.

But no matter what he saw in his reflection, no matter how “normal” he seemed, nothing, absolutely nothing, could erase the image that filled the mirror when he looked at himself.

All I see is that demon.

You gave in.

You gave up and gave in to them.

What will they think of you when you get back?

You're no different from them.

He hesitantly lifted the hem of his shirt, but the most surprising thing was that his abdomen had been entirely fixed. The scars left by the beastly zombies’ lacerations were faint and clear, almost unnoticeable if he was in a good mood. Not just those, but also all the others left by the previous tortures in that prison. He ran his fingers over the newly stitched skin, the sensation not unfamiliar, but still, there were so many marks of claws and punctures, whips, that decorated his torso... he didn't know how to deal with it. Well, like any other day, maybe. His time in Hell hadn't left his body or mind free from scars, quite the opposite, but there was no way he would gain a new body or mind, anyway.

Whoever had worked on healing that damage on Dean, he would have to thank them when he found them.

He felt his left shoulder starting to burn, and soon noticed the outline of a shape on his skin beneath the wet sleeve stuck to his bicep. He lifted the sleeve and his eyes widened in disbelief. What the hell was that?

A… scar? A burn mark? It was shaped like a hand. A hand marking his shoulder, like keloids. The skin marked by the palm was red and raised. What an agony. Not only that, but when he narrowed his eyes to focus his vision, he saw small and countless golden dots in the red area. Again, what the hell .

He turned to the closed restroom door when he heard the metal knocking, pulling his sleeve down in place.

“Sir? I called a taxi for you, I just wanted to let you know. He’ll be here in a little while.”

Dean didn’t know how to repay the boy’s kindness. But he could at least thank him.

“You didn’t have to, kid.” Dean opened the door and Alfie smiled at him.

“It's okay, sir. I'm happy to help. If there's anything else I can do, just let me know.”

“You're a really good guy, Alfie. Thank you a lot, I mean it.”

Dean hugged the young man with one arm, patting him on the back twice and then letting him go.

“Do you know where you need to go? You're not going to call a ride without a destination, are you?”

Dean laughed softly.

“No, I know where to go. I'm from around here. It's just that something bad happened back there, I lost my wallet and my cell phone. It's a pain in the ass. But everything's fine. I just don't know how I'm going to pay for the ride…”

Alfie then went to the cashier and opened the drawer, taking out a fifty reais bill.

“What's this?”

“You don't know what a fifty reais bill is?”

“No, I know, I'm asking why you're giving me this?”

”So that I can pay for the trip, it should give me some change, and also, if you want to buy food, but if you need anything, you can get it from here, it's no problem.”

Dean frowned, confused by so much hospitality in that little convenience store.

“Why are you helping me so much?” The tone in his voice was genuine.

”Because you seem like a righteous person, and I told you, I like to help those in need. I'm not going to leave you with no way to get home.

Dean's expression softened. His chest tightened at the young man's words, “You seem like a good person.” Alfie had no idea how wrong he was, but he had no reason to refuse support from someone who was offering himself so willingly. It seemed more than a coincidence, having Alfie there to help in the way he needed at that moment was more than he could ask for. Anyway, “don't look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Dean didn't believe in God, not like Sammy or his mother, but if there was one, he would like Alfie to be rewarded for his kindness. 

His smile was simple as he handed Dean the note. 

So, Dean spent the next hour watching the cable TV that was above the cash register, on the wall. It was playing an Ant Boy movie and the hunter remembered the times he spent nights like that awake in the hotels where John would leave them. 

“That's a really shitty, little movie,  ain’t it?”

Alfie laughed.

“I never paid much attention, to be quite honest. It's just background noise.”

Dean nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a car stopping at a gas station. Alfie asked for the license plate and confirmed that it was the taxi he had ordered earlier.

“Thanks a lot, lil’ man.

“Stay safe, okay? This is my number, if anything happens and you’re able to call someone.” He handed Dean a folded piece of lined notebook paper.

“Will do.”

He waved to the young attendant and left the establishment, quickly getting into his car.

Alfie watched Dean leave with his ride back on the road. It was four in the morning and the boy breathed happily.

He took out his cell phone and selected a specific contact, tapping his pen on the table behind the cashier.

“Hi, I have news!”

“ Hello, Samandriel .” The deep voice on the other end of the line greeted him, “ Did you find him? ”

“Yes! Dean Winchester is safe, he's returning to the Order, from what I understood. The phone number he called was for Samuel Winchester’s.”

“Great. Good job, Samandriel.”

The call ended, and Samandriel smiled to himself, proud of having ensured Dean Winchester's safe return home.

Dean tried hard not to sleep during the trip, though he couldn't help but need to take short naps to ‘rest his eyes’. It served for nothing, after all, with every speed bump or pothole the taxi went over, Dean jumped up and down. 

And it wasn't like his mind could quiet down long enough to drift to unconsciousness, anyway. He knew that, as long as he was alive, those visions and memories from his time in Hell would make themselves visible beneath his eyelids, like a movie playing over and over again, every time he closed his eyes. 

Sure enough, two hours and a few minutes passed, and Dean arrived at his destination. 

"The Roadhouse." Dean read the sign of the establishment in a sigh. 

He thanked the driver, paid him the fare and closed the passenger door behind him. 

What time was it, again? He had checked earlier, on the clock by the car radio, that it was already after six thirty. 

Jo must’ve been inside by then. 

He waited for the taxi to leave and entered the bar. He opened the door and was greeted by the ringing of the small bell above the entrance. He looked around and frowned when he noticed that there was no one inside. It wasn't unusual, since it was still very early, but not even the bar owners were there. The lights were off and all the chairs were placed on top of the tables. Maybe they just hadn't arrived yet. 

"Jo?" He called, voice loud. He went to the bar to see if there was anyone or anything behind it, but there was nothing. "Ellen?" He was met with only more silence. 

He decided to go to the jukebox in the corner of the room and started pressing some numbered buttons. 

Before he could continue, he felt the barrel of a cocked gun being placed against his back. He hadn't heard footsteps or the sound of anyone moving, how could he have been so distracted? 

“Who are…” The growling feminine voice, so familiar to Dean, stopped abruptly with a soft gasp as the hunter turned to look at her “…Dean?”

“Blondie.”

Dean couldn't help but smile at the sight of his best friend's doll-like black eyes and straight blond hair. God, how he'd missed the girl. She had several pockets on her waist and a backpack slung diagonally over her jacket with even more pockets. She was dressed just like she would when on a mission.

He took a step forward as if to hug her, but was interrupted by a violent spray of water in his face.

He turned his head to the side and spat out the water that had gotten into his mouth, unamused.

"I'm not possessed either."

Jo's angry eyes softened, as did all the muscles in her face. The girl dropped the shotgun on a table and grabbed Dean tightly, tighter than expected. Dean wrapped his arms around her, his chin resting on her shoulder.

"What- how- Goddamn it, Dean, how did you get here?! My God, I didn't..." Jo pulled away from the hug, studying Dean's face.

Dean smiled weakly, visibly tired, but no less relieved. “Got a cab— ow !” He received a punch on his right arm, more painful than he would’ve liked to admit. 

Yeah, deserved it. 

“You scared everyone to death, you bastard! Where the hell did they take you?! Are you okay?! Are you hurt?!” 

“Hey, hey, Jo. I’m fine, I’m fine, I promise. You can check on me, but it’s okay.”

Jo gently placed her hand on Dean’s cheek, running her thumb over his cheekbone and feeling the softness of the skin. Then, she squeezed the same cheek with her pinched fingers. 

“It’s so good to have you back.” Jo smiled that smile that showed her teeth, charming as always. 

Dean returned the smile, not as big, but still showing all the affection possible, while rubbing the palm of his hand on his sore cheek. 

“It's good to be back... Hell wasn’t the nicest place for a vacation, gotta admit. And how are the others? Bobby, Sammy? Ellen?”

Something in his stomach churned with anxiety, the fear that something might have happened to his family while he was away was worse than the torture he had endured inside the cult. A thousand times worse.It’s all he thought of inside the car.

“Everyone's fine. Well, as good as it gets, with the mess you created down there.”

“That I created? What does that mean?”

“Everyone's so agitated trying to find you, Dean. The entire base.”

His chest twisted so hard he thought he would stop breathing.

“I was going on a mission myself to look for you just now.”

“You're not serious.”

“Are you kidding? In what world would I not go after you, you dingus?” Jo slapped him on the back of his neck, “This isn't even the first mission I've gone after you.” She sighed, “I'm just relieved that you're here and in one piece, more than anything. Things are not the same without you.”

Dean didn't even know what to say, all the words died in his mouth. He didn't know why, but he couldn't put together a single sentence to answer her, not one that could be genuine about his reaction to everyone's concern there. So, he did what he does best, he avoided the problem.

Dean let out a teasing huff.

“That’s cute, did you miss me that much?”

“You're a fucker, you know that?” But the blonde's words contained no venom, just a weak smile being held back, feigning irritation.

“So I’ve been told. I could use a drink now, is the bar open?”

“I think we should go downstairs and tell the people you're back. Then we can have a celebration up here, how about it?”

“Deal.”

Dean turned to the jukebox and dialed the numbers again.

Three times 6.

Three times 7.

Once 3.

Twice 3.

Three times 7.

The sound of something like a hatch opening sounded from under the music box. Jo lightly tapped her foot on the wood of the cabinet and it moved to the right, giving way to a few steps that led to a lower floor.

“Do your knees still work?”

“C’mon, what do you think? ‘Course they do.” Dean gave his signature smile, it was a lie Jo knew very well.

Growing up after his diagnosis of fibromyalgia did complicate a lot of things, especially as a hunter. What kind of hunter cannot rely on their body? That’s more than a weakness, it could be a death sentence. Oh, but what did that stop Dean, in the end? The man was nothing if not persistent. 

Dean began counting the steps in his head as they went down, even though he knew how many there were by heart. One step, then another, then another, and more, and more. 

“Has a lot changed in these last… um…“

“Four months? Kinda,”

Four months. 

Wow.

He knew it’d been a little while, but hearing it from someone else's mouth sounded so much worse. Four months inside that scorching rot. Trapped in Hell. 

Listening to them. Giving in to them. 

They're not here, Dean, they can't hurt you anymore. 

You can't hurt them anymore.  

“Dean?”

Jo shook his shoulder lightly, waking him from his trance. Dean blinked hard, shaking his head softly. 

“I'm fine, blondie. It's okay.”

“You almost tripped over the last step, it doesn't look like everything is okay.”

Jo was expecting to hear a response from her best friend, even if just a snappy retort, but she didn't get any.

“Did you hear what I said about the changes?” She gently asked

“You mentioned anything?” He scratched his temple, a bit embarrassed for not having paid attention.

Jo hummed in agreement. 

“Some new people were hired, IT people, rookie hunters and others more specialized. That’s basically it, but what really affected everyone was the search for you.”

Dean looked down, not knowing how to identify that feeling in his chest. 

He laughed dryly. 

“That must have been a drag, huh? I’m sorry y’all had to stop your work to look for me.” Dean genuinely apologized, even through a sarcastic facade.

“Stop that right now, mister.” Jo stopped on her track, brow furrowed assertively. “I know you and I know that your little head loves to create problems where there are none.” She turned her head, seeing that Dean didn't raise his own, “Don't you dare think that it was a waste of time to go after you. You know better than that, Dean. And, just so you don’t panic any further, we didn’t have to stop any of our usual missions, no one had to give up their roles to help us, but everyone moved to do so willingly. They— we wanted you back as soon as possible.”

The hunter turned his head to look into Jo's eyes, smiling slyly and softly. He knew better than that, and how. If his family meant anything, it was determination. Never abandoning, and always going after the lost ones, guided by love. 

She smiled back, knowingly. 

The girl pressed the elevator button when they reached the end of the floor's corridor. 

"You're going to like my new friend." Jo raised her eyebrows up and down, with an excited smile. 

"New friend, huh? Who was the poor thing this time?" 

"Dude, I'm about to throw hands." Dean knew that was true, but he couldn't help but laugh. "It turns out that Charlie loves me and I love her. She's a real charmer, you'll see." Jo frowned. "But don't even think about flirting with her, I'd beat the shit out of you. Specially since she plays in your team, so fuck off." 

Dean snickered, "Noted, Rapunzel." It was so much information that Dean just answered immediately. 

"Good to know." 

On the way down in the elevator, they remained quiet, even though they wanted so, so badly, to catch up and talk about everything that had happened. However, they thought it would be better to get together with the rest of the group to clarify the whole situation. So they could hug and make sure they were okay. Right now, to make sure, Dean laid his head on Jo's until the elevator reached the basement. 

He was nervous, he didn't like so much attention on him. He had already confessed to Bobby once that he didn't even like it when he was at a birthday party. Well, he pretended to be charming with a sharp tongue, but being the center of attention made him feel like a fifteen-year-old teenager directly under the spotlight. And he didn't like that. 

"It's going to be okay." Jo squeezed his hand gently, bringing him back to reality. 

Dean just nodded, and then the elevator door opened.

Jo wasn't lying, the scene she saw was one of pure hustle and bustle. Agents going here and there, leaving doors, sitting down and getting up from desks, some carrying piles of papers, others cups of coffee, but most of those there were more than familiar faces. 

When the elevator door slid to the side, those present had not yet noticed the presence of the pair. Jo gave him a look, asking for permission, and Dean granted it. 

The blonde clapped her hands twice, loud enough for the sound to reverberate through the hall. 

Everyone looked at them and, upon seeing Dean there, stood up in excitement and relief, exclaiming his name and thanking those beings they believed in. Dean was surrounded by hugs and handshakes, pats on the shoulder and so many, so many genuine smiles to see that he was back. 

He was back. It seemed unreal. 

He was home. 

Dean's mind wanted to make him look casual and composed, but the emotion was so strong and so contagious that it was impossible to contain the smile that was already stretching his lips, the one that made his eyes shrink and his dimples appear. Jo remained by his side, at all times, with her arms crossed and a clear expression of pride. 

"Dean, brother!" A big, strong man approached them, as soon as the commotion was dissipating and the agents returned to their posts. 

"Benny?" Dean turned to the direction of the voice and was enveloped in a tight hug, in disbelief. "You here?" 

"Guess who was recruited into the family by shortie there." He winked at Jo, who rolled her eyes, feigning tiredness. 

Dean laughed out loud, extremely happy with the news. 

"You better respect me, vampire boy. I'm still your team leader.”

“Are you on this blonde’s team?” Dean pointed with his thumb behind his shoulder, towards Jo. 

She responded to the insult with a light kick behind his knee, slightly unbalancing Dean. 

“Quit nagging me.” But she herself laughed. 

“And has this combination worked? She and I have barely managed a mission without her wanting to slit my throat out of anger for something I say.”

“You don’t ever cooperate either!”

Benny laughed, throwing his head back. 

“As incredible as it may seem, yeah. Not without her also wanting to rip my head off, but it works.”

Jo sighed loudly, with a mischievous smile. 

“Okay, vamp boy, is Mr Verity here?”

Mr Verity. 

Bobby. 

Dad . 

He was going to see his father again. 

Suddenly, he felt more excited than ever before. His heart could jump out of his throat.

“There in his office, sorting out the notes for the last mission he asked.”

“The one you were leaving for just now?” Dean turned to Jo, who shrugged uncertainly.

“Must be. Well, thanks, Benny! We're going to take the baby here to see the rest of the fam.”

Benny took off his beret, as a reverence, and made room for the pair to continue. 

“We’ll catch up later, yeah?”

They walked through the hallways, Dean greeting more people who were happy to have him back, safe and sound. 

And then he saw, coming out of the door of the boss's office, a familiar figure. He was looking at the other side of the hallway, searching for something and, when he turned his head in Dean's direction, his eyes widened. 

“Bobby.”

His compressed chest finally released. All the air he had held in his lungs was let out in a loud sigh. 

“Dean…”

Dean made a move to go to him, but was surprised by Bobby already pulling him into a tight hug, the tightest, with his arms wrapped one over his shoulders, the other around his back. He felt protected, safe. 

He buried his head in his father's shoulder, holding back the tears that threatened to dampen the fabric of the white shirt underneath. They remained hugging until Bobby pulled away, enough to check the boy's face. Dean smiled, a little embarrassed by all the attention in the middle of the hallway. Bobby looked at Jo, curious. 

"He showed up at the bar just now, I was getting ready to leave."

"Did you—"

"Holy water? Yes, sir. That's him." Jo nodded, happily. 

"That's my girl." He half smiled, but wholly proud of her. And then he looked back at Dean, with all the affection, concern and relief of a father seeing his son finally come home. "Shall we go in?" 

Dean rolled his shoulders, feeling all the tension that had built up in his body dissipate. He nodded once, following Bobby inside, with Jo right behind. 

Inside the office, there was a short woman, about Jo's height. Dean smiled, recognizing her right away. "Oh, God, Dean !"

Ellen ran around the desk, wrapping Dean in a bear hug. He tried to remember a day when he had been hugged as much as this one. 

Not that he was complaining, far from it. 

"Hi, Ellen," He replied, running his hand through the woman's long brown hair. 

Ellen's expression softened impossibly. She caressed his face like a mother would. A gesture that had been missing in the hunter's life but that was filled with Ellen's love as much as possible. 

“How are you, boy?”

“I’m alright, El. Got here safe, as strange as it sounds.”

She chuckled, her eyes watering a little, "I guess we have a lot to talk about, huh?" 

The four of them were together in that room, but someone was still missing.

"Where's Sammy?" 

"Haven't you seen her yet?" Bobby’s brow furrowed.

Dean shook his head negatively. 

“I just got here, I came straight to your office.”

“What are you waiting for then, kid? Go see your brother! He must be really agitated.”

“Where can I going to find her?”

“In her room or in the training area, one of those for sure.”

“Cool, perfect.” Dean felt his heart race at the thought of seeing his brother again. He turned to Jo. “You coming with me?”

The girl shook her head, just smiling.

“It’s your time with her, we’ll wait here.”

Dean nodded once more, tapping on the door frame before running through the hallways with a smile forming on his lips with each step.

He dodged a few people on the way, said quick “Hi!” to those who shouted his name, tripped when he had to turn into the next hallway until he reached the dormitory area.

In front of that hallway, he saw a young woman, wearing braids and a winter hat with cat ears. 

“Maggie!”

“Dean? Oh my God, it really is you!” Maggie ran up to the man and hugged him lightly and quickly, smiling excitedly, “Wow, the boss is going to be so happy to know you're here! Have you talked to him?”

“Mr Verity? I just saw him,”

“Sam! He's been in charge of all the search missions for you, investigating activities of possible cults related to Hell, or paranormal creatures, disappearances in the region, anything that gave any sign of you.”

Dean analyzed Maggie's expression, and when he saw that what she was saying was nothing more than the pure truth, he let out a soft laugh. 

“Do you know where he is now? Is he in his room?”

“If I'm not mistaken, he isn’t. He said something about checking the security recordings of some street in the research room just now.”

Dean took a deep breath. Cool, more running. It was a good thing he hadn't gone to the training area, which was still a couple of wings further back. 

"Okay, thanks, Maggie. Good to see you." 

"Good to see you too, Dean." She smiled, nodding so he could continue on his way. 

Running was no longer just a mere physical activity that his twenty-something body could handle easily. And even back then it hadn't been that easy. His knees creaked with each step he climbed, but the tiredness was worth it when he heard his brother's voice getting clearer as he approached the research room. 

"Char, open that video over there. Yeah, that one." 

Dean wanted to cry just hearing it. 

"Zoom in on that guy." 

"Doesn't look like Dean." A jovial female voice replied. 

"Who doesn't look like me?" Dean asked, entering the room which its door was open. 

There, he saw three people crowded around one of the computers.

There was Sam. 

Sam was staring at Dean like he was seeing a ghost, and after everything that had happened, it was a miracle that wasn't the case. 

He didn't move for a few seconds, until Dean took his first step and, in response, received another spray in the face. 

“C’mon, man! If I was possessed, they wouldn't even have let me in, alright?" 

Sam laughed in disbelief, running his hand through his hair before running and almost knocking Dean over with the force of his hug. 

That was what Dean was missing. 

His little brother. 

Dean thought his nails were going to dig in his palm, he had a tight with the grip on Sam's shirt. He hugged him as if his life depended on it. They stayed there for a long time, in each other's arms. No one else in that room mattered to Dean. 

They walked away, Dean put his hand on Sam's face, looking for any new scar or detail he hadn't noticed, until he saw something stuck in the older man's hair.

"Hair clips?"

Sam seemed to take a few seconds to understand his brother's question, his lips stretching into a tentative smile.

"Oh, it's just like  when I was younger, remember?"

Dean smiled slightly. Of course he remembered.

"When I came back from the pharmacy after your class and gave you some pink clips and headbands as a souvenir?"

"Yeah, you said I could stop hiding and be more free, starting small." Sam replied proudly.

And then Dean noticed.

"Are those the same clips? Really?" Dean laughed when Sam nodded. "I can't believe you kept those, it's been like fifteen years."

Sam shrugged.

“It was a gift, you keep those. And I… I missed you, I wanted to have something to remind me of you at all times, while we were looking for you.”

And there came that feeling again. That strange tightness in his chest. He weakened, clearing his throat and, with a short movement of his head, he admitted the thought he hadn’t realized was so disconcerting to him.

“Thanks for not giving up on me”

Sam's expression softened. Dean would have thought it was an expression of pity, if it came from anyone else, but coming from Sam it was nothing more, nothing less than reaffirmation. “Of course we wouldn't give up on you, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Dean still couldn’t believe he was really out. That he got to see his family again, be in their presence again, bask in the warmth of their embraces and smiles. He was sure he was done for in the pits of Hell.

And then, when he heard someone clear their throat from behind, the world expanded to something beyond just the two of them, in that space. Oh, right, there were other people in the room.

A short woman with wavy dark hair, dressed in leather like a biker, was leaning with both hands behind her back on the computer desk they had been looking at earlier. Sitting in the chair was a redhead with long hair and messy colored bangs, red-framed glasses and a strange but unique combination of a white, holey t-shirt over a long-sleeved, striped shirt, curled up in herself with her feet on the seat cushion.

“I thought you two were going to be there forever,” The brunette commented, her eyebrows hinting at sarcasm.

“And you are?”

“Have you forgotten about me, airhead?”

With squinted and suspicious eyes, he tried,

“Ruby?”

Ruby nodded once, a face that slightly mocked him.

“What the hell is that bitch doing here, Sam?” Dean whispered loudly to his sister, obviously alarmed.

“I’d forgotten how much of a gentleman he was.” The woman rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Last time I checked,“ Dean began, holding back as much fury he could, “You attacked me and Sam while Lilith used your appearance to torture my brother and let the beastly zombie take me.”

“Dean…” Sam tried to intervene. 

“So you’ve checked very badly, because it was Lilith who used the ritual to change her appearance after she took me back to Hell by force.” Ruby got up from where she was leaning on the table and walked closer to Dean “Listen, Dean, now is not the time for us to argue about why I'm here. I think the most important thing is to understand how you're here.”

Ruby looked at Dean as if expecting understanding, ‘Am I right or am I right?’ her eyes seemed to ask. Dean looked at Sam, once again hoping for an explanation, but he just agreed with what the brunette had said. 

“Dean, Ruby is right. We need to understand how you were able to get out of there, unless you managed to get out by yourself?”

And it seemed that, in Sam's eyes, there was a small glimmer of hope, maybe that the older man had managed to escape on his own. Dean looked away, snorting without any humor.

As if he was strong enough to be able to do something as heroic as that.

Sam looked down, understanding the message, but not judging.

"I'll explain everything about Ruby later. Right now, we focus on you."

"Are you really going to let this ‘Demonia’ walk around the base?"

"There's no feminine for ‘demon’." The redhead interrupted, in front of the computer.

"I know, Sherlock. And who are you?"

"Charlie Bradbury." She turned her chair to the three of them and made the alien greeting with her hand, smiling. "You're just as they told me."

"Real charmer," Jo had said.

Dean nodded slowly, then stopped to think about Charlie's words.

"Thank you…? What does that mean?"

"Dean." Sam caught his attention again. "Have you talked to Mr Verity?"

"Huh?" It was strange whenever Bobby was called Verity to him, especially his brother. "Oh, yeah. He, Jo, and Ellen are in his office." He looked at Ruby skeptically again.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to set off a bomb here without your supervision."

"You couldn't do it even if you tried."

"If it makes you feel any better," Charlie said again, taking a sip from her thermos. "I can keep an eye on her."

Dean didn't even know this Charlie girl very well. But then Sam said it would be okay, and Ruby promised not to get into trouble, she seemed serious about it. Besides, there were people waiting for the brothers somewhere else.

Dean thought about it for a second more and nodded, "Okay, you better keep an eye on her, Red. But you better explain this Ruby thing to me properly, Sam.”

Sam raised his hands in surrender and just followed Dean to their destination. 

“Yeah, these little marks here are definitely sigils of Knowledge,” Sam examined the weird scar on his brother’s shoulder with a kind of magnifying glass. 

Dean grimaced at that. Great, he had been cast a ritual, just what he needed. 

“Dean,” Bobby called the man’s attention, “What do you remember?” 

The hunter swallowed hard. 

What did he remember, besides everything? 

Besides all the torture, the rips in his own skin, the punctures, the lacerations, the screams and the cries. The pleas. The smell and texture of blood, his own blood dripping and squirting from his own body. The blood of the people who met the end of his weapons. 

What else, besides that, and more? 

“Nothing,” He lied.

“Nothing?”

Dean shook his head, negatively, clicking his tongue twice.

“I think my mind created a barrier against the trauma. It wouldn't be strange, right? I already have a certain mental fog because of fibro, I don't know.”

“Could be.” Ellen agreed, with her arms crossed “Or maybe the Demons used some kind of memory loss ritual on you?”

“From the records we have of rituals like that, they all have and effect only about an hour before the casting.” Sam replied thoughtfully.

“So this ritual wouldn't be able to erase four months from Dean's mind, would it?” Jo questioned.

Dean watched the hunters discussing what could have happened with the fighter's supposed memory loss. His heart seemed to accelerate with each passing second, his breathing quickened along with it because, yes, Dean remembered everything.

Everything .

He could already remember the feeling. The pain. It started with small needles all over his body.

“Dean? Hey, Dean?” Jo held his arms, worried. 

He hadn't even noticed that his eyes were burning and watering. She dried them with the hem of his shirt raised. 

“Hi, I'm here. Sorry.” He gave her a tight smile. 

Bobby's eyebrows were furrowed, staring at his son's abdomen. The scares that adorned his skin were strangely contoured in faint, small spirals — a signature from a Death ritual.

“I still wonder how you got out of there without any open injuries. It's so unlikely... Especially with the ones that Sam reported seeing the beastly zombie inflict on you.”

“Which makes me think that it wasn't a Demon that took Dean out of there. It wouldn't make sense, we know that Demons who betray the cult are punished, even hunted down. If they had released Dean, for whatever reason, it wouldn't look good for that person. 

“Sam's right, I was thinking the same thing.” Ellen approached the boys, observing the palm-shaped scar on Dean's bicep “What I'm thinking is that this scar looks like it could be a side effect of some ritual. Someone could have used a Knowledge ritual on you. Is there any way we can identify which one it is, if it really is one?” The woman looked at Sam.

The specialist's expression changed to a thoughtful one, as if he were revisiting each and every book in his gigantic mental library. Until that expression turned on like a light bulb.

“Yes! But we would need the help of an efficient occultist to do that.”

“And that won't be Ruby!” Dean went on, restless.

“I wasn't going to mention her, chill.“ The taller one assured, “The problem is that we don't have many occultists walking around the Order…”

“Wait a second, I know who to call.” Bobby walked behind his desk, where Dean sat on top, “I know an occultist affiliated with the Order who works a few hours from here.

The other four agents looked at each other, surprised by their boss's speed.

A few seconds of silence, waiting for the call to be answered.

“Pamela Barnes? This is Mr Verity, Robert Singer.”