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❰❰ ୧ ⋅ ˚ ₊ ·┊ೃ ' 🎭  029.
┊❝ THERE IS NO DISCHARGE ✩ ‧ ₊ ૪
↳  ‧₊˚ •° in the war ━━ ❜

Insomnia, Paranoia, Hallucinations, Disorganized Behaviors. If Bowie went to a psychiatrist right now, and laid down his issues on the table in alphabetical order; they'd ship him off to a low-rate version of Girl, Interrupted and label him a schizophrenic in religious psychosis. Not that he'd ever see a therapist any time soon. In order to stay awake, Bowie drove Bobby's blue truck all the way back to Lawrence. It wasn't ideal but four redbull's and a stack of cassettes can get you far.

Bobby spent the car-ride researching in the passenger's seat. He called every contact he had. A faded yellow mixtape blasted on full volume, an old one Bowie made for his own fourteenth birthday present, covered in dino stickers and sharpie doodles.

Ironically, for a man with troubled hearing, music had always been Bowie's favorite distraction. A trait he shared with his brother, Dean. While the eldest Winchester dabbled in 80s rock and country, Bowie found his comfort in the symphony. It was the only music he could hear perfectly, and for a long time; it was the only music that steadied his heart and grounded his mind.

If Bowie tried hard enough, he pictured himself on a beach. In this mental paradise, he could hear everything. The waves brushing against the shore, coating the sand. Children laughing. Bells on bikes chiming. Bowie would sit in the sand, feeling it mold around his feet like a hug. He'd stare out at the horizon, where the sun rose right above the waterline in a series of colors.

All the weight lifted off his shoulders, like it never existed. That's where Bowie goes when he closed his eyes and let the symphony play. Some days, the dream felt so real.

"No, no. It ain't just a regular possession." Bobby voiced in frustration, turning the music down to hear the words on the other line. In seconds, Bowie snapped out of his personal heaven, his eyes zeroing back to the road as he adjusted the truck.

Reality sucks.

Bobby struggled to open a granola bar with one hand, balancing a book in the other, all while keeping his phone between his shoulder. "That ain't it, Rufus! It's not like the demon crammed it's way down his gullet, it's eaten at his soul, yeah—yes, like a parasite."

Bowie watched him struggle for another second before reaching over and grabbing the granola bar from his fingertips. He kept his eyes on the road, opening it with ease over the steering wheel, before handing it back to him.

Bobby takes it back with annoyance, continuing his call. "Well, what do you mean you've never heard of it? What are ya good for?" He hangs up, snapping the phone shut with an attitude. Bobby broke the granola bar in half and hands the other to Bowie, "What a damn idjit."

"Can't blame 'em. Whatever's going on with me is a foreign concept to every hunter, psychic or paster out there." Bowie reminds him, giving his piece to Rumsfeld in the backseat, scratching the dog behind the ear.

Bobby thumps Bowie's head at the act, "We won't leave any stone unturned; that's for damn sure."

Bowie drummed his fingers on the wheel, "Have you heard from Sam?" He checks his mirrors, gnawing at his bottom lip, "John, even?"

"Nah, Dean ain't answering either. I'm sure they're fine, deep in the hunt." He tried to reassure. Bowie goes to speak, but Bobby seemed to already know what he was thinking, "Don't. Whatever dream you had last night—"

"The window was wide open; the Devil's trap was cracked." Bowie listed off, "I might not remember but this feels. . .different. I think I was feeling someone's pain, o-or causing them pain."

"What? So, first you're the human version of a phoenix and now you're sayin' you can feel people's pain? Come on, Bow, you ain't the Messiah." Bobby scoffs at the thought, "You have a demonic sickness, w-with some side effects!"

"Or, we're ignoring the real answer." Bowie snaps, "I might become some mutated demon. Maybe I was witnessing myself hurt the people I love and It's trying to block it out of my head." He rolled his shoulders back, "All I know, is that it takes me all my willpower just to make my own decisions. Do I want to swerve this car? No. Does It want me to? Yes, one-hundred percent."

"Or maybe this is all that Yellow Eye'd demon pullin' strings to make you go crazy."

"I know what I feel." Bowie corrects quietly.

Bobby nods, digging his knuckle against Bowie's soft curls. "We'll figure it out. The second we're done with Missouri we can go find our boys together, all right?"

Bowie let out a sigh through his nose, relaxing his shoulders slightly, "All right."

He raises the music up.

Bobby's phone rings.

Bowie groans, turning the music down.

"Singer." He picks up his personal phone.

"Bobby, don't say anything just listen to me." Sam's panicked voice rang through. Bobby's eyes widened a noticeable inch, letting Sam continue. "Is Bowie with you right now?"

"Yes." He replies short, sneaking a glance at Bowie, "Why?"

Bowie noticed it and shot him a look.

Sam let's out a sigh of relief, "I-Is he okay? Is he safe?"

"Yes. Why?" He repeats more firmly.

"Look, I need you to get to a scrapyard, I'll send the address. The Impala is there, the Colt is in the trunk and we need to get to it before anyone else. Look, the demon got us good. We can't lose our only card." Sam commands.

"I can't just-, I'm busy." Bobby warns, "So whatever's going on-."

"Dean's in a coma. Yellow Eyes got away," Sam admits, gnawing at his bottom lip before adding: "Bowie was there, said that John sold him in a deal for me. W-We had no idea, I swear. We think a demon is possessing him, o-or was I'm not sure. Neither of them are awake yet, so I'm cleaning this up on my own for the moment."

Bobby stiffened. He looked at Bowie in the corner of his eyes, watching his son distract himself with Queen. He tried his hardest not to react with his face, knowing Bowie would clock the panic in seconds. The anger rises in his fist, squeezing around the burner phone; "Balls."

"But we can't tell him anything. Yellow Eyes might still have a hold of him and if he knows about the Colt. I hate to say it but Bowie could be. . ."

"He ain't." Bobby preached confidently, "Whatever you think-."

"I don't know what I think." snapped Sam, trying to ease his anxiety. "Both my brothers are in danger right now, and I want to help both of them but I'm the last man standing with a crazy demon on the loose. If Bowie has mirrors in his eyes, we can't strike on that demon to save Bow without him seeing us first."

"I'll get it done." Bobby sighed, snapping the phone shut.

"Get what done?" Bowie asked immediately, "Who was that?"

Lying. Bobby was good at it; in fact, it's all he did for a living. Lying to Bowie? The experienced hunter realized in that moment, that he's never actually lied to the boy. Bobby approach in raising someone has traumatized as Bowie to just be as honest as possible with everything. Whether it was how he felt, what was going on, or what he genuinely needed.

Bobby Singer was the only person in Bowie's life that's never looked him in the eyes and lied.

However, when you're tiptoeing the line of protecting someone you love, is a lie necessary? Bobby knew that if he told Bowie the truth, he'd drop everything to help Sam and Dean. He'd abandon himself, to help the people who've abandoned him.

"Ah, just one of my contacts." Bobby replied, keeping his eyes forward.

"But that was your personal phone." Bowie detects, "A-And I don't want to be an ass but only like five people have that number, my brothers being two of them. I'm the third, Rufus is probably the fourth-,"

"Lucky number five," Bobby cuts in, "Listen, son, I'm gonna need you to drop me off at the nearest bus stop. I gotta take care of something important."

In one glance, Bowie noticed multiple things. Starting by the way Bobby drummed the phone on his knee – a habit they shared. How red Bobby looked; his eyes dark with rage he couldn't seem to hide. From the way his lips thinned, to the way he refused to look at him.

Bowie noticed every detail in one glance.

"More important than this?"

"Equally as important. It's a lead on how to help you."

"From a mysterious caller that you can't tell me about?" Bowie's voice raised a treacherous octave. His jaw clenched out of instinct. "Bobby. Was that Sam or Dean?"

Bobby debated his choices. It was either betray Bowie's trust to save his life, or watch him crash and burn.

"It wasn't them, but this lead might help everyone." He settled.

"That's an indication that everyone needs help." Bowie began to ramble, "Besides, you just said that the second we're done with Missouri we can go find Sam and Dean together. Now you want to go somewhere else, which doesn't sound like togetherness, this sounds like not. . .together. .ness." He scrunched his face up at the lack of better words.

"Bowie, this could answer a lot of questions. Does it really matter where the call came from?" Bobby sighs.

Bowie scoffs a laugh, "Please. You raised me to question everything."

"Balls," Bobby raised him too damn well. "Look. I'm just gonna need you to trust me on this, can you do that? I also raised you to follow as many leads as possible."

"What if I freak out?" Bowie swallows his nerves, clenching the wheel. "What if I really do swerve the car and die to avoid destroying humanity? What then?"

Bobby chuckled, "You get more dramatic with age, son. Dyin' doesn't seem to be a problem with you anymore. It won't happen."

"I'm serious." Bowie grumbled.

"I'm serious," Bobby placed a hand on his shoulder. "It won't happen. You're braver than you believe, stronger than you seem━."

"Don't quote Winnie the Pooh at me." Bowie groans, embarrassed. "I read those books when I was like nine."

"Hey, that little schizophrenic boy seeing talking pigs knew what he was talkin' about." Bobby defends, "I'm just sayin' you got this. I'll keep you updated every step of the way, you know what you're doin', trust me."

"Fine," Bowie swallowed his worry, "Okay, you're right. I-I trust you." He gave Bobby a gentle smile, looking back to the road with ease.

Bobby leans back, guilt gnawing away at him.

Bowie dropped Bobby off at the nearest bus station. He took Rumsfeld with him, leaving his lore books behind in case Bowie needed them. For the rest of the journey, he was on edge. His hearing aids were working overtime against the loud music on the radio; put all the way to the max. He was now six more RedBull's down, bags of gummy bears on the floor.

Finally, by 9am, Bowie pulled into Missouri's dirt-driveway. The Psychic was on a chair on the front porch, reading the newspaper. He slid out of the truck, shrugging his duffle-bag over his shoulder. Bowie kept his head down with a bashful expression, ready for the scolding Missouri would give. He attempted to smile at her, but the woman quickly deflected the gesture with a slap of her hand against the back of his head.

"Ow." Bowie rubs his neck.

"Bohemian. Now I know out of all your brothers, you were the last one I'd expect to be in this position!" Missouri gave him a disappointed frown. "Now, come inside before you drop; you're paler than a vampire."

Bowie raised an eyebrow with a mocking grin, "You really know what to say to a guy, don't you Missouri?"

Missouri looked him over, studying him, feeling the energy around him. When they loved eyes, she shivered at his thousand-yard stare; not a single spark in his eye. "You got something evil attached to you, boy. It's feeding off of ya. This isn't a normal possession; those kinds don't make it so personal. But this thing? I can tell it wants you dragged off the map and ripped apart."

Bowie follows her inside, "What can we do?"

"Well, we can start strong with some breakfast." Missouri already had pancakes and ham on the stove, ready to go with coffee brewing. Bowie tried to protest but the plate was put in front of him in seconds, all objections thrown out of the window when the smell of ham filled his nose, making his stomach rumble.

"I don't have anywhere to be." Bowie gave in, grabbing the syrup.

Missouri sat across from him, a warm cup of coffee in her hands. She eyed Bowie, watching him scarf down two pancakes in a matter of seconds. She gave a look of disgust for his lack of manners, "It ain't going anywhere. Does Bobby starve you?"

"He feeds me so much that he says he spends more money on groceries than ammo." Bowie replied through a mouthful of ham.

"He also said that whatever's got a hold on you isn't letting you tell us the full story about what happened the night you made that deal. He told me about your drawings last night." Missouri concludes, crossing her arms, "In witchcraft, Witches can hex someone with a jinx that keeps their enemies' mouths sealed; to avoid loose ends. Maybe whatever curse you have, is more magic than demonic."

He slowly puts the fork down, swallowing the last bit of food in his mouth; "Would explain this physically agonizing NDA going on. When I sleep, it takes over. When I'm awake it fucks with my head, makes me see things I know aren't real. I can feel it eating at me, like a parasite." He leans back, "The real question, is why would a powerful demon like him, need magic?"

"Well, usually when a demon possesses a body, it's just using it as a Host. The person never has the kind of control you have," She thinks for a moment, "Maybe this demon wants you exactly the way you are. It doesn't want to be a separate entity; it wants to be you."

"That's unsettling." Bowie muttered.

"If it's true, the only way to break that magical tie is to kill the person who cursed you."

He scoffs a laugh, "I don't know if you've been following the Winchester bandwagon but that's what we've been trying to do for months, years even."

"Then we need to find a way to suppress it." Missouri replied. "Fight magic with magic."

"You can do that?"

"Boy, I ain't a magician! I don't pull rabbits out of hats!" Missouri defends, glaring deep.

Bowie raised his hands up in surrender, "Okay, well do you know someone that can help with that?"

Missouri falters, "No."

"Great, so this is all pointless." Bowie groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes. He was so tired. "You have no idea what this thing would be capable of."

"Well, if our theory is correct, it's what you could be capable of." Missouri corrects.

Bowie paused his movements, his hands faltering away from his face. In that moment, he was faced with a harsh reality. Bowie was a ruthless killer that got away from War by the skin of his teeth. If he never went to college, if he never found his courage; he'd be a different man.

Years under John's boot would've turned him into a heartless, cold-blooded soldier. If he never had his heart, his free will, his guilt? Then he would've been unstoppable. The perfect weapon with no real morality and a kill streak so high it would send shivers down the spines of every Hunter and Monster around the globe.

That's the man Azazel wanted.

But Bowie could never be that person.

He had to remind himself why he strayed from that path. He had to tell himself over and over that above all else; he was still his mother's son. Compassionate, sincere, helpful. Bowie was put on this world to save lives, not take them.

"I'm not a bad person." He announced, trying to convince himself.

"But you know how to do bad things," Missouri reminds him, "That's what it wants. No morals."

"I made a mistake," His voice wavers, "I just want to fix this before I put anyone else in danger."

"I'm not sure where to start. It's not like we can ask the parasite to come out and tell us how to kill it." Missouri frowned, "Unless you want to try an exorcism?"

"You want to rip a band-aid off a bullet wound?" Bowie answers sarcastically.

"For this circumstance, yes."

"If it's leeching off my soul, and we try to remove it, what if I die?"

"I'm not sure, nothing like this has—,"

"—has happened before, I know." He sighed, closing his eyes to gather his thoughts. He didn't have many options on the table. Bowie stands up, walking around Missouri's table to her shelf; his eyebrows twisted in concentration. His fingers moved in a smooth rhythm; mimicking a pianist before he snatched her tarot cards. "Let's start with what you know."

Missouri scoffs. "You're serious? I'm not stupid. You know tarot cards like the back of your hand. What could I tell you that you don't already know about yourself?"

"I've never done a tarot reading on myself." He admits, sitting across from her. Bowie pulls a face of embarrassment, pushing the plate away for space, "It made me some cash in college. Drunk people pay for anything." He shuffles the deck of cards with quick hands. "Either way, it didn't matter. I'm not a psychic, or a witch. I don't even know if the shit I pull from the deck makes sense."

Bowie hands the deck back to her. Missouri sighs: she looks down at the cards in hesitation. What good does any of this do? She wanted to help him, of course she did. But it's never this simple. Whatever was going on with Bowie was beyond anything anyone on Earth has ever seen. What could these tarot cards tell them about that?

"Let's get started, then."

| . . . ❜ 🎭 ࿐

Sam Winchester was revved up, his rage and exhaustion setting fire to any kindness he had for his father as he entered John's hospital room. Unlike, Dean, who laid dormant in a coma.

"Good, you're up." Sam began sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest. He opens his mouth to speak, but John shoves his insurance card at the youngest. "Elroy McGillicuddy?" He rolled his eyes, credit card scams.

"And he's two loving sons." John tried to ease the tension, but it only made Sam more frustrated. "So, what else did the doctor say about Dean?"

"Nothing. Look, if the doctors won't do anything, then we'll have to, that's all." Sam shrugs like it was no big deal. "I don't know, I'll find some hoodoo priest and lay some mojo on him."

"We'll look for something." John agrees, "But, Sam, I don't know if we're gonna find anyone."

"Why not? We found that faith healer before." Sam narrowed his eyes.

"That was one in a million."

"So what? We just sit here with our thumbs in our ass?" He scoffs a laugh, "You really know how to take care of kids, dad."

"I said we'd look." John cuts in, "All right? I'll check under every stone." He hesitates a glance, before adding; "Where's the Colt?"

Sam leans back, finally seeing through him. "Your son is dying, and you're worried about the Colt?"

"We are hunting this demon, and maybe it's hunting us, too. It already got to Bowie, that gun may be our only card." John tried to reason.

"And who made sure it got Bow?" Sam snaps, "Because I don't know about you, but I'm ready to discuss the elephant in the room."

"What are you talking about?" John turned his head.

Sam stands up, seething. "Yellow Eyes. I know he was letting you listen. I know that you sold my brother to  him in exchange for more time with me, before what? I'm not sure yet, but what I am sure of? Is that you abandoned Bowie again. You hurt him, again! I can't keep letting you get away with this!"

"It's all lies." John smooths over, "All lies from a demon who wants to make us weak. Bowie got possessed because he's weak-minded. It's trying to play tricks on us!"

"Funny, since you were possessed, too." Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Where's the Colt, Sam?" John's voice grows commanding and dark. "Tell me."

"In the trunk. They dragged the car to a yard off of I-83." Sam clenched his jaw.

"All right, you got to clean out that trunk before some junk man sees what's inside." John orders.

"I already called Bobby. He's like an hour out, he's gonna tow the Impala back to his place."

"Okay, then you go meet up with Bobby and you get that Colt and bring it back to me." John orders again. "And you watch out for hospital security."

"I think I got it covered."

"Here." John hands him a piece of paper, "I made a list of things I need, have Bobby pick them up for me."

"What's this stuff for?"

"Protection."

Sam hesitates to leave, "That demon, he said he had plans for me and children like me. You have any idea what he meant by that?"

"Nope. No clue."

An hour or so after, Sam meets Bobby back at the scrap yard where the Impala sat. They stood beside each other, staring at the destroyed car. He looked around for any sign of Bowie, frowning deep when his brother was nowhere to be seen.

"Dean's gonna be pissed." huffed Sam, walking around the mess.

"This just ain't worth a tow." Bobby admits, lifting the front hood; which immediately broke off the car. "I say we empty the trunk and sell the rest for scrap."

Sam looked down at his broken laptop, shaking his head, "No. Dean'll kill me if we do that. When he gets better, he's gonna want to fix this."

Bobby gave him an annoyed look, "There's nothing to fix. The frame's a pretzel, the engine's ruined. There're barely any parts worth salvaging."

"Listen to me, Bobby. If there's only one working part, that's enough. We're not just gonna give up on. . ." He falters the words, looking down at the Impala.

This car felt like a symbol. The Impala was the only stable home in Sam Winchester's life. Growing up on the road meant growing up on those leather seats. The Impala held the good memories and the bad ones. It's not only Dean's prized possession; it was the only thing that reminded the brother's where they came from. The memories alone were enough to roll up his sleeves and nurse the Impala back to health.

Maybe, in this moment, the Impala was also a different symbol. One that gave Sam hope that Dean will recover from his coma and that Bowie would be saved from whatever darkness pulled him away.

Bobby understood, "Okay. You got it." He hesitates for a second, before adding.

"Where's Bowie, anyway?" Sam questioned.

"He's on the road, tryin'a figure out what's wrong with him." He answers. "You really think this is a good idea? Keepin' Bowie from what's going on?"

"You said it yourself; we're keeping him away from the fight. He's too much of a loose cannon right now, and he's gonna hurt himself." Sam replied firm.

"Yeah, and now his big brother is in a coma." Bobby gave him a look. "I don't like lying to the boy, and I want him to get help as much as you do, but the more I stand here without him, the more I worry about keeping him out of the loop. He might think we're doin' it on purpose."

"Yellow Eyes might still be possessing him." Sam reminded, "I don't care how defensive he gets, we're doing this to help him."

"I don't think it's that simple-."

"My dad is the reason he's in this mess." Sam cut him off with a snap, his emotions getting the better of him. "Everything that's ever happened to Bowie, is usually Dad's fault. So, no. . .I-I'm not going to ask Bowie while he's on his last straw to help me save them, again. I can handle this."

Sam understood, that after all the fighting, after all the hateful words they threw at each other. Bowie was right. Being treated like a grown up on a hunt meant making hard decisions, even if it was against your belief. Sam needed to prove that he could fix this alone.

Sam pulls out the paper from earlier, handing it to Bobby to change the subject, "Here. Dad asked if you could get this stuff for him."

Bobby read it over, freezing up. "What does John want with this?"

"Protection from the demon." Sam noticed Bobby' falter, "What? What is it?"

"Nothing-."

"Bobby. What's going on."

The old hunter gave a sigh, "This doesn't protect squat. It summons the thing right to ya." He admits.

When Sam returned to the Hospital, he knew exactly what he wanted to say to his father. He busted through the double doors, walking right up to his father's bed with a clenched jaw.

Unaware, that his big brother's spirit was standing right next to him, trying to talk.

"Sammy, tell me you can fucking hear me, man!" Dean speaks in Sam's face, silenced by the veil between life and death. "There's something in the Hospital. You gotta bring me back and we gotta hunt this thing! Sam!"

"You're quiet." John calls out to Sam.

Sam looked deadly amused, seeing through his father's concern. He threw the duffle-bag on the bed, "You think I wouldn't find out?"

"What are you talking about?"

"That stuff from Bobby. You don't use it to ward off a demon, you use it to summon one!" Sam snapped at him, "You're planning on bringing the demon here, aren't you? Having some stupid macho show down!"

"I have a plan, Sam."

Sam throws his hands up, "That's exactly my point! Dean is dying, Bowie is possessed, and you have a plan! You know what, you care more about killing this demon then you do saving your own son! O-or making amends with Bowie!"

"No, no. Guys, don't do this!" Dean begs.

John points a finger roughly, "Do not tell me how I feel. I am doing this for Dean!"

"How? How is revenge going to help him? You're not thinking about anybody but yourself. It's the same selfish obsession and you crossed a line when you sold Bowie straight to the thing that killed our mom!" Sam bellows at the top of his lungs.

"Come on, guys! Don't do this!" Dean pleads.

Dean could feel himself dying, and although he wanted to tear into his father for what he did to Bowie — he wouldn't be able to if he didn't get out of his coma. He needed his family to work together one last time.

"That's funny. I thought this was your obsession, too! This demon, killed your mother, killed your girlfriend. You begged me to be a part of this hunt!" John yelled back. "Now, if you killed that damn thing when you had the chance, none of this would've happened!"

"It was possessing you, dad. I would have killed you, too! I could've hurt Bowie! You were both possessed."

"Yeah? And your brother would be awake right now."

Sam falters, "Go to Hell."

"Shut up!" Dean snaps.

"You know what? I should have never taken you along in the first place. I knew it was a mistake—,"

"I said shut up!" Dean bellows, throwing the glass cup off the hospital table, the water splashing on the floor.

Sam and John stop arguing, all eyes on the glass. Sam worries that he was the one that caused the glass to break, that his abilities are going haywire with emotions. Something in John's eyes feared that possibility too.

"Dude, I full-on swayzed that motherfucker." Dean breathed out in shock, even though he knew nobody could hear him.

His surprise falters with pain, his spirit flickering. He drops to his knees, holding his stomach. Nurses are running past the door, talking to each other in controlled panic.

"Something's going on out there," John jerks his chin to the door, signaling for Sam to go check.

Sam follows the path to Dean's room, pushing people out of the way just as another wave of nurses entered. The heart monitor was beeping at abnormal speeds, charging up the defibrillator. Sam watched Dean's chest rise from the shock, but it did nothing. Still no signs of a pulse. They try again at 360 watts, and still nothing.

"No, no please." Sam choked a sob, watching from the door. He couldn't image a world that his brother wasn't in. In that moment, Sam wished for Bowie to be with him, to help him through this.

Dean's spirit rushed into the room, "What the Hell are you doing to me?" He ran towards the ghostly figure above his body, "Get the Hell away from me! Stay back!"

Dean grabbed at the Reaper, trying to pry it off. When it noticed Dean, it shoved him back. In a glitch, it flies away to the next room. Dean chases after it, leaving Sam to watch as his brother's heart rate steadied.

"We have a pulse," The nurse announced, "We're back into sinus rhythm."

Sam only hoped that Bowie was having more luck with whatever he was doing.

| . . . ❜ 🎭 ࿐

Bowie taps his fingers on the table, trying to think of his first question. "Who am I?" He asked out loud, pointing to the first card he saw in the spread.

Missouri flips the first card up. "The Hermit," She announced; "It could mean the search for truth, inner guidance." A frown appeared on her lips, "But it's reversed. Which means loneliness and isolation. That you've lost your way."

Bowie bites the inside of his cheek, pulling at his fingers. Sure, even he knew that. He wanted to know what he was. Who was he destined to be? Azazel called him 'Bohemian, the God Killer. Prophesied to destroy humanity or save it.'

Clearly, that went far beyond the path he's straying from.

"What could I be?" He rephrased the question softly. Bowie points to another card.

"The Emperor." She announced, flipping it up. "It could mean structure, leadership. Unyielding power."

Bowie swallows his anxiety, "Avoidable?" He picks up a card, placing it down on his own.

The Wheel of Fortune.

He didn't need her to recite the meaning. Missouri knows that Bowie knew what it meant. She could tell by the way he leans back in his seat, the way his shoulders sag down like he's given up, accepted it.

"Inevitable." He mutters.

Azazel did want him to aid an Army of Demons, but he didn't refer to Bowie as a Leader. He called him a right-hand man; the kind of person that does the dirty work a Leader wouldn't do. Unyielding power? Could that refer to the comparison Azazel made? About Bowie being the Second Coming. That God had crafted Bowie himself for a higher purpose.

Missouri collected the cards, "That's enough. This isn't helping us understand anything. We need to go into your head."

"You don't want to know what's going on up there." Bowie mutters.

"No, you don't." She gave him a look. "But we have to. Unless you want to keep walking around with a Demon sucking your brain like a Zombie."

With more encouragement, Missouri was able to convince Bowie to get into a chair. Tied by the wrists and ankles with ropes soaked in Holy Water, Bowie waited. The lights were off, candles were lit in a circle around him, but the room still felt cold.

For a moment, his eyes trail up to the ceiling where a Devil's trap stared back, bright red. Missouri sat just inches in front of the circle, a silver stopwatch in her hand.

"Okay, Bohemian. I'm going to attempt to enter your subconscious. I'm also recording this tape so we can go back to it later."

Bowie slowly looked back at her, his face gentle. Fear flickered in his eyes, but his face never gave it away. "Go easy on me, all right? I'm a sensitive guy." His joke ran dry on his lips, his smile falters.

"I just need you to keep your mind as clear and calm as you can." Missouri whispers her words, dragging them as a way of psychosis. "As I could backwards from ten, I want you to picture yourself in a room. Can you do that for me?"

Softly, Bowie let his eyes close. His eyelids felt heavy, stinging in pain from the lack of rest.

"10. ."

He's standing in a long hallway of an unfamiliar place. Six doors, three on each side, all wooden and locked. The seventh door was straight ahead, metal. Chained up.

". .9. ."

He takes one step down the hallway, then another.

"8. ."

He stops between the first two wooden doors. He looks left; Dean's name written in cursive across the door. He looks right, Sam's name.

Bowie's shoulders ease just slightly, the tension trying to escape from his body.

". .7. ."

He kept walking, his pace agonizingly slow. His body shook in terror.

"6. ."

He stops again, looking right. Kit's name across the door, his heart broke. He looks left, Katherine. Keeps his head down.

". .5. ."

Again, the last two wooden doors. John's name. Bowie hesitated, his hand reaching for the door handle of his mother's name.

Bang! The seventh door echoes. The sound picks up, each slam like a War drum, shaking the chains. Bang! Bang! It was so loud that Bowie covers his ears.

"4. ."

With a breath of courage, Bowie grabs the chains by the middle. He extends his arm back, breaking it with a tug.

". .3. ."

Bowie lets out the breath, the banging never easing up. He placed his hand on the handle.

"2. ."

Now. Or never.

"1."

Bowie pushed the door open. The banging stopped almost immediately. The room was too dark to see into from the doorway, so he grabbed a candle off the wall. He walks in deeper.

His body slumps down against the chair, his head rolling back, his pupils moving rapidly behind his eyelids.

"Bohemian, what do you see?" Missouri stands up, worried. "Can you hear me?"

He waved the candle around slowly. The walls were stone, wet with moisture. No windows.

"Stone room. No sunlight." Bowie tells her in heaves, his tone coming out in soft slurs. He shifts around, looking up, "Chains on the wall. Attached to the ceiling."

"Where are you?" Missouri frowns.

He looks around, noticing little things; like the sigils carved by fingernails on the walls, or the tallies in shaky lines. The smell was intoxicating, sulfur. Everything looked straight out of a serial killer's basement.

"I don't know."

"Is there anyone in there?"

At her words, Bowie felt a sudden chill down his spine. He looks around the room, walking backwards as he tried to adjust his eyes. A presence so massive could be felt behind him, an entity, a shadow. Dark smoke blows from his back outward, developing him in the feeling. He follows the line of smoke, watching it fill up an already dark room with the kind of evil that made you blind.

Slowly, Bowie turns around, his hands shaking. What he saw made him frozen in place, his eyes slowly trailing up the creature's transparent body.

"Yes." He whispers in terror, his eyes moving rapidly behind the lids.

"What do you see?" Missouri dared to step forward, her toe just inside the Devil's trap.

The concept of Death itself, staring into the eyes of Bowie, the embodiment of True Faith.

"I-I see. . ." Bowie sucks in a breath.

"Me." The entity's voice was a deep, mechanical rasp; the kind of rumble only compared to Satan's wolves waiting for the command to kill. The parasite wearing Bowie's version of face, peeled from the sides and stitched onto the parasite that inhabits him. This version was pale and dead. Those red eyes on him shined behind the mask; nightmare fuel. staring down at him with the kind of evil you couldn't shake.

It towered over Bowie, staring down at him with the kind of evil you couldn't shake, giving a painfully wide smile, jaw unhinged and dangled.

It leans down, the torch being the only barrier between them.

"Missouri. . ." Bowie's voice trembled.

She leans forward, "What's wrong?"

"Help me." He says only in his head, his own shaky breath causing the fire to flicker. Bowie couldn't seem to look away, tears burning down his face uncontrollably.

It smiled, then blew the torch out.

"Bohemian? What's wrong!"

Bowie seizes up, his mouth hanging out. Missouri panics, hesitant to step instead the circle. His movements looked painful, fighting against the rope. His skin began to sizzle against the Holy Water. She was surprised the chair didn't fall over.

"Bowie, get out of there!"

A distorted laugh rips from his throat. It was so sinister that Missouri steps back in fear.

"Who am I speaking to? Who are you!" She yells.

Bowie's eyes open, pitch black. Tears stream down his face but It can't stop laughing; yet Bowie's mouth still hangs wide open.

"What is your name?"

It spoke in a foreign tongue through manic laughs.

"Leave this body!" Missouri cried. "Leave him alone!"

Bowie's laughter cuts to a dead stop, his face immediately slacking in an eerie stare. It stares at her for a long moment, breathing heavy like a wild predator.

It starts to hum a song; Bowie's soft hums were such a striking comparison to It's deadly eyes on her.

"What are you doing?"

It hums louder, jutting his body forward, scaring her; wanting to make her feel small even when he was the one tied to a chair. It was trying to scare her, to show her that these burning ropes couldn't hold what It's capable of; toying with her.

It scares Missouri. She doesn't know what to do. Even if she called Bobby, it would be too late. Whatever's got a hold of Bowie will break free and tear her to shreds. Holy Water didn't seem to work; Missouri wasn't one to keep a pistol on her, either. She couldn't put him to sleep, so what could see do?

"I don't know how to help you." She admits softly.

| . . . ❜ 🎭 ࿐

Sam enters his brother's hospital room with half a plan. He glanced at Dean, who still laid dormant in a coma, hoping that his soul still lingered. He let out a tired sigh, trying to remind himself that the steady rhythm of the heart monitor was a positive thing, and that Dean would pull through just fine.

"Hey," Sam gently smiled at his comatose brother, hoping the action would send Dean comfort where he was.

Dean Winchester, who's soul hovers just beside the youngest, frowned. "Bowie should be here." He mutters.

He was on the hunt, and he could really use Bowie's brain. Somehow, Dean knew that Bowie would've found a way to see him past the veil, he'd sense the creature and help him find a way to stop it.

Sam gave a sigh, "I'm thinking maybe you're around, and if you are. . .don't make fun of me for this, but um, there's one way we could talk."

He pulls out a Ouija board from a brown bag.

Dean let out a groan. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me!"

Sam couldn't hear his complaints. He sat on the floor of the hospital room, opening the board and placing his hand on the planchette, "Dean? Dean, are you here?"

Dean reluctantly takes the floor, sitting across from Sam. "God, I feel like I'm at a slumber party. All right, Sam, but this isn't gonna work."

Dean placed his fingers on the planchette, too.  With little to no doubt, he drags the piece across the board to the painted 'YES' in the corner. Both of the brother's gasp at the same time.

"I'll be dammed." Dean mutters.

Sam let's out a thankful laugh, looking up to the sky. "It's good to hear from you, man. It hasn't been the same without you, Dean."

"Damn straight." Dean grinned to himself. With a bit more courage, he began moving the planchette across the board, trying to spell out a word. It moves from B, to O-.

"Bowie?" Sam asked. The planchette slides to yes. "He's fine last I heard. When I saw Bobby, he filled me in, says Bowie doesn't remember what happened."

Dean falters in relief. At least Bowie was alive, that's a start. He knew it wasn't Bowie's fault; he just wants to help him.

"But, Dean. Whatever's going on with Bow, it's serious. We can't let him do this alone." Sam finished.

Dean moved the planchette, circling yes. "We got his back." After a moment, he starts to move the piece again.

Sam watched it move; H, U, N-, "Hunt? What, hunting? Are you hunting?" The planchette moves to yes, "Dean, it's in the Hospital, what you're hunting? Do you know what it is?"

"One question at a time, dude." Dean concentrates.

"What is it?"

The planchette moves across the board, spelling out a word that the brothers have hunted only once before. The first time, Dean was on the brink of death and Bowie's heart really did stop at the creature's touch.

"The Reaper." Sam shutters.

"I don't think it's killing people, I think it's taking them." Dean explains, "You know, when their time is just up."

"Dean, is it after you?" Sam feared the answer. When the planchette moves to yes, the youngest falters. "If it's here naturally, there's no way to stop it."

"Yeah, you can't kill Death." Dean concluded.

Sam leans back in defeat, "Man, you're uh. . ."

"I'm screwed, Sam."

All of Dean's life, he knew his story would end bloody. He'd die with a gun in his hand, at the hands of the monsters that he spent every waking moment hunting. It was a noble death; he told himself that he settled with that fact a long time ago.

And yet, as the monster creeps near, and his fists are raised for a fight – Dean was scared to die.

Sam discards the board, shaking his head. He stands up, "No, no, no. There's gotta be another way. Dad will know what to do."

| . . . ❜ 🎭 ࿐

Bowie tilts his head at Missouri, watching her squirm.

"You can't let this take over you." She tells him, trying to get through to Bowie's heart, "You need to fight through this; come back, Bohemian."

He smiled at her, whistling the same tune. With an effortless grunt, he snaps the Holy Water ropes, breaking the chair in the process. He stood up, smiling sweetly at Missouri.

The woman yelled, stepping back.

Bowie ran out of the seventh door, the torch discarded behind him. He's running down the hallway that was now stretched a hundred yard, warping and twisting in ways that made him dizzy. The demon's laugher bounces off the walls, making his ears ring. He didn't know how to wake up, and everything around him felt all too real.

The torchlight fades with each step, developing him in a series of kaleidoscope colors.

He opens the door to his left, slamming it shut. He tried to catch his breath, closing his eyes. The smell of Chinese Food hit his nose. When Bowie opened his eyes, he was in Katherine Donovan's apartment. She had Halloween decorations up, and a candy bucket at the foot of the door, next to his shoe. The sound of Hocus Pocus was playing, the climax of the film.

He looked down at his attire. He was wearing a Super Mario Brother's outfit; Mario specifically.

Bowie takes slow, cautious steps. His heart was hammering in his chest, knowing that everything was a memory. Katherine pops her head out from around the corner, adjusting the corset of her Sarah Sanderson costume. "What-, I thought we were gonna match this year!"

"Katherine," whispered Bowie. He knew it was fake and yet his steps closed the distance between them. He grabbed her firm by the waist, burying his face in her hair. She smelled the same, felt the same; soft and safe. One  hand rubbed up her spine, resting around the back of her neck.

"Woah," Katherine froze in surprise, a gentle blush crossing her face. She slowly wrapped her arms around his neck, savoring the feeling. "What's gotten into you? You stay seven feet away from people at all times."

"Just–," Bowie closed his eyes, he pulled back just slightly, examining her face, wanting to burn every last detail in his mind. He softly brushed away the blonde fringe on her forehead, staring into her eyes, "You were right about everything. I never should've left, we don't even talk anymore. It's all my fault."

"Slow down, we hung out yesterday." Katherine soothed, her eyebrows knitting together, waving a hand under his nose. "Do you smell toast?"

The walls around Katherine's apartment began to rot, black vines coming through the floors, growing through the furniture. He was running out of time, he couldn't hide in his good memories forever.

He steps back from Katherine, his hands interlocking their fingers together. Bowie wished he could savor the memory, to hide in it forever. His mind wasn't strong enough, so he let her go at the last second, "I need your advice. If you were fighting yourself, how would you do it?"

"Like a shifter?"

"No, like a one v one with an asshole alterego."

Katherine thought for a long moment, "I broke my wrist once, if the Katherine I was fighting was an exact replica I'd probably aim for that.."

"Your own weak spot?"

"You wanna win, right?" She grinned.

His kneels down, tapping the wood on the floor, running his finger on the magical barrier of the Devil's trap. He didn't say words, just hummed. Missouri could tell Bowie was thinking; watching his eyes dance around the room before landing dead on her.

She swallows thick, sensing that things were about to get a lot worse.

Slowly, Bowie looked up at the ceiling, then down at the floor again.

"What are you doing?" Missouri shakes, she followed his gaze.

Bowie tapped the wood once more, finding the right spot before he punched through the hard-wood floor, causing Missouri to scream at the sudden action. He rummaged through the hole in the floor before ripping out a heating pipe. The heat escapes from the broken pipes on the floor; stem rising from the floorboards. Bowie examined the pipe, weighing it in his hand.

Bowie grabs what's left of the chair and standing on it. Missouri's ceilings weren't super high, but even then, the pipe was long before for Bowie to reel his arm back and slam it so hard through the Devil's trap, it cracked the ceiling down the middle and caved in.

Missouri yells, running out of the way of the debris, crawling for the door.

He jumps off of the chair right in front of the door, blocking Missouri's path.

She panics when Bowie dragged her deeper into the room by her hair, tugging her up so he could look down at her. He held her against him, his eyes never leaving her horrified face.

"Bohemian, stop!" She sobbed, "Don't do this! We just wanna help you, son!"

He raised his hand to strike, and in a last attempt to brace herself, Missouri reached for a silver tea-tray on the table. She holds it over her face, the distorted reflection of Bowie's face made him hesitate to deliver a final blow.

His face shifts into multiple expressions, before dropping Missouri and stumbling back.

Bowie felt like he was being sucked through a warm hole. Katherine's face began to melt, her apartment burning like wax as he stumbles back into his own conscious mind.

Bowie reached up, letting out a throat-ripping scream as he clawed at his ears until his hearing aids fell on the ground. He continued to scratch at his ears until they were raw and bloody, the high-pitched ringing made the monster inside him scream in pain.

Missouri watched him fight against himself, crashing into walls and shelves like a wild animal. His weakness was his hearing, and only he could handle the violent noise that came with utter silence.

Missouri scurries to grab the Holy Water rope from the floor, grabbing his wrists and tying them together in record time. While he continued to scream, she tugged the rope around the table leg, keeping him in place. Bowie gasps for air, as if he's woken up from a bad dream.

"Bohemian?" She steps forward cautiously, still shaking. "Bohemian, stop screaming—."

"Get out! Get out of my head!" Bowie screamed at himself, slamming his forehead into the wood at a rapid pace.

"It's over. It's over!" Missouri yells over him. Bowie lets out a breath. Immediately, Missouri holds him in her arms. "It's okay."

Bowie let out soft whimpers, rocking himself back and forth, "We can't do that again."

"We won't. I promise."

"Please tell me you got something."

Missouri shook her head. "It spoke in a foreign language, kept humming this strange song."

Bowie looks up at her, his eyes going soft. He tried to reach up to touch the bruise forming on her face. "Missouri, I hurt you."

"It's fine—."

"I'm so sorry," Bowie sobbed, resting his head on the table, "I'm so sorry, Missouri."

"Bohemian." She firmed, snapping him out of his pity party, "Enough." When he finally calmed down, she was still hesitant to let him go.

Bowie looked hurt, seeing the panic in her eyes. How could he convince someone not to be scared of him when he's downright horrified of himself, "Missouri, let me go."

She nods, untying him. Bowie rubs his wrists, murmuring a soft thank you. He grabs the recorder off the table, rewinding it to the start. He listens, and when it was over he rewinds it and listened again.

He stood up. Missouri steps back. He clenched his jaw, rewinding it over and over. He glanced at Missouri when her fearful voice rang through the recording but besides that Bowie continued to focus on his task.

"Why did you make that deal?" She asked brokenly, staring off into space. "Who in their right mind would willingly want something like this?"

Bowie shook his head, unable to tell her the truth. It hurt, letting them believe what they saw on the outside. He felt like he deserved it. He made the wrong choice at his lowest, most vulnerable moment in his life. He was disappointed in himself, too.

"It's Hebrew." Bowie stops pacing, keeping his back turned so Missouri couldn't see the tears forming in his eyes, so she wouldn't know that her words hurt. "Ancient Hebrew, it translates to God Killer. That's what it told you."

"Jesus..." She breathes out, holding her chest as if her heart would leap out of it any second.

Bowie scoffs a laugh at that, clenching his jaw. "The song it's singing is from the 30s, Run Rabbit Run by Flanagan and Allen. It was popular during World War II. On the surface, the song is about a farmer chasing after a mischievous rabbit." Bowie puts the recorder in his pocket, keeping his back turned. "In reality, the rabbit symbolizes the soldiers. . .the farmer represents the enemy or oppressor, urging individuals to escape the clutches of persecution or war and find solace in freedom."

"So, what does this all mean?"

Bowie finally turned his head to her. "It's warning us. It is the farmer; we are the rabbit. It wants us to know that whatever I become...it could destroy the world."

Missouri looked at him in a different light. She couldn't hide her fear any longer. For Bowie it felt like she was looking at a stranger, a murderer. Subconsciously, she reached for the Holy Water on her lap with a twitchy finger, even though they both knew it wouldn't work.

It took all of Bowie's strength not to give up, knowing another person has turned against him.

"I should go." He spoke just above a whisper, he couldn't tell he spoke if it wasn't for the rumble of his vocal cords that fought back the urge to cry, "Thank you, for your help. I'm sorry I made a mess of things."

"We still haven't figured out how to stop it." Missouri frowns, standing up when he began to collect his things. "Maybe letting you go off on your own isn't the best-"

"I'm starting to have a good idea." His hand hovers on the doorknob, taking a last look behind him; "If Bobby or my brothers comes looking for me, tell them. . .tell them I had to go my own way, all right?"

"Where are you going?" She calls out. "Bowie, stop!"

Bowie doesn't hear her. He walks to the truck, putting his duffle bag in the backseat before pulling out of Missouri's driveway.

He could see her through the rearview, staring after him on her porch. Bowie forced his eyes away, keeping his gaze on the road.

His hands shook with anticipation. With his options slim to none, there was only one thing on Bowie's mind. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He didn't want to be a soldier, a puppet, a pawn in any game. He was tired of hunting, of fighting and running.

Bowie regretted going with Dean that night.

It hurts because all Bowie ever wanted was to have a family that loved him. A family that fought for him as hard as he fought. He wanted to be understood, and as selfish as it made him feel, he wanted to be someone's first choice.

That being said, he had that. Bowie realized that now. He did have that life with Katherine and Stevie. He had a plan for the future, a safe place to live.

If only he didn't crave more, it blinded him. Bowie wished more than anything to turn back the clock. To appreciate his life more, to just let go of his past.

But we all want something we don't have, and Bowie was chasing a dream that could never be reality.

He knew his brothers won't stop fighting until Azazel is dead, dragging him down with them. Bowie knew that John would be there every step of the way, ready to torment him in every way. He knew Azazel wouldn't let him go, not until he used him for everything he had.

With all that being said, Bowie's arrow pointed him to the only option everyone else refused to consider.

He needed to take himself off the board, for good.

Bowie drove for what felt like hours with no real destination. His heart hammers in his chest, he could feel it trying to resurface.

His phone rings and Bobby's name lights up his phone. Bowie sighed, taking his eyes off the road to lean over and grab it. He goes to hang it up, only for him to look up at the last second to see a person in the road, staring right at him.

"Shit!" Bowie rapidly turns the wheel, his tires spinning out as he attempted to drive around the person. The truck comes to an abrupt stop. Bowie his breathing heavy, fisting the wheel as he glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Oh, hell no."

Bowie gets out of the car, rounding the truck with a glare. The person in the road was a man with rich blue eyes and short brown hair. He was taller than Bowie and wore a creme colored trench-coat over a button-up suit. The man looked at him as if he was the problem, which made Bowie even more upset.

"What the hell is your problem, man?!" Bowie snapped, closing the distance, "Do you have a death wish or something? I could've killed you!"

The man tilts his head slightly, his head tilted down at Bowie with an amused glint in his eyes. Outside of that, the man remained expressionless, "Unlikely."

Bowie intakes a frustrated breath, looking at the man with wide eyes, "You can't just walk in the middle of the road!"

"What road?" The man questioned.

Bowie frowned and with a blink he was no longer on the highway, but on a beach. The waves brushing against the shore, coating the sand. Children laughing. Bells on bikes chiming. Bowie and the mysterious man were standing in the sand, bare feet molding around his feet like a hug. He glanced out at the horizon in shock, watching the sun rise right above the waterline in a series of colors.

Bowie stumbles back, grabbing at his ears. His hearing aids were still on, and he felt awake; yet he can hear every little thing. The shock subsided and panic filled his chest, running up to grab at the collar of the mystery man, glaring deeply, "What the fuck did you just do?! How did you do that?!"

The man didn't flinch, allowing Bowie to shove him around. "I can't let them know I'm here. I needed to take you to a place where we can talk."

"Who is they!?" Bowie snapped, eyes wild. "What are you, huh?! A demon? A witch?"

"Someone who wants to help you." The man answers far too calmly for Bowie's liking.

Bowie roughly lets the man go, running his tongue across his bottom lip to calm his nerves, "You better start talking or I'll—," He reached for the gun on his belt, only to find nothing there. Bowie hesitates, "I don't need a gun to kill you."

"No, you do not." The man gave a small nod of agreement, his eyes racking up Bowie's figure in a way that made Bowie's face redden, feeling exposed. He didn't even know this man and yet, Bowie felt like he was seeing right through him. "You could walk the sea with your shear will. I'm not underestimating you, Bohemian."

"No, you're just fucking with my head." Bowie scoffs, running his hands over his face. He let out a manic laugh, "You have no idea how shit my month has been, my year, even—"

"I do know, that's why I'm here." The man reassured. He reached into his trench coat pocket, pulling out a pair of black leather cuffs. It was engraved in symbols Bowie had never seen before, "Raphael is praying on your downfall, but you have people rooting for you, Bohemian." He holds the cuffs out to Bowie, "I'm rooting for you." He finished in a mutter.

Bowie doesn't take them, "Who's Raphael?"

"Not important yet." The man dismissed.

"Oh, I'm starting to think it's important." Bowie scoffs, kicking at the sand, "What are those?"

"These will help you stay in control." The man explains, "I made them myself. You're straying from your path, and I need to make sure you don't."

"What do you know?" Bowie grumbled.

"I know that you were attempting to drive until you found a corn maze and walk until you couldn't anymore just put a bullet in your mouth." The man replied sternly, "I know that it would've done nothing but delay the inevitable. You would've given your parasite full control of your Host."

"How do you know that?" Bowie whispers softly, feeling embarrassed.

"Because I know you."

Bowie tilts his head at the man, eyeing him. He was trying to find hints of deceit; but there was nothing. "Then you know what I am, don't you?"

The man hesitates, "Yes."

"What am I?" Bowie demands. When the man said nothing, he took a stride forward, their faces inches apart. The man looked away at Bowie's piercing gaze, but Bowie wouldn't allow it. He grabbed at the man's blood collar, giving it a tug, "Tell me."

"You are the second coming." The man explained, "You are destined to save the world for damnation. You're destined to bring God out of the shadows, and rule Heaven by his side. You are. . .everything."

Bowie shook his head, "No. No, that's not me—."

The man furrowed his brow, "You've been chosen. You've been given a gift—"

"This isn't a gift!" Bowie snapped, "It's a fucking curse!"

"That's what Azazel wants you to think." The man tried to reason, "He wants you to give in to darkness, but you. . ." He lets out a breath, "You are the embodiment of light."

"And what are you?" Bowie demands. "You one of Raphael's flying monkeys?"

"I am destined to follow you, not him." The man admits, "I'm creative for you. To protect you."

"Well, you bet on the wrong horse."

The man gave a small, unnoticeable smile. He held the cuffs up again, "I don't think I have."

Bowie looked down at the cuffs again, this time he slowly reached for them, rubbing the leather under his thumb. He didn't understand. Why would anyone be in his corner? Why would anyone care what happened to him? For just a moment, Bowie falters, looking at the man like an abused dog being touched by loving hands for the first time. He prided himself on knowing when danger was near. Yet, when he looked at the mysterious man, he felt nothing but. . .understanding and safety.

"Why are you helping me?" Bowie muttered.

"Like I said, I'm destined to—."

"Bullshit," Bowie shook his head. "If we have to hide here so no one can find out, that means you can get into some serious trouble with whoever leads you. Why risk it? Why help me?"

The man frowned deeply, "Do you not think you deserve to be helped? Do you really not think that there are people out there that want to see you succeed?"

"No." Bowie replied immediately, "I don't."

"A shame." He replied, "That you can't see what I see in you. What the world sees in you."

"What do you see in me, huh?"

"Someone worth breaking the rules for." He answers immediately, "I just need you to promise me that you'll keep this between us. Not a soul."

Bowie hummed, trying to catch the man's eye. When their eyes lock, Bowie let's out a breath he didn't know he was holding. They looked at each other for what felt like eternity, not that either of them seemed to mind.

"I'm good at keeping secrets." Bowie whispers soft.

"I should take you back to your brothers, they need you." The man steps back, "We'll meet again soon."

As the man began to walk away, Bowie felt a panic rise in his chest. He tried to close the distance, "Wait! I-I don't even know your—," He blinks, no longer on the beach. He was standing in front of a hospital, the truck parked right behind him, ". . .name."

His hearing had gone back to mute, and the cuffs were now on his wrists. The new cuffs made him feel like a completely different person. His mind stopped screaming, the presence of another completely gone. It was almost if the parasite never existed; but Bowie knew it was all a mental facade. He tried to wrap his head around everything. The blue-eyed man never left his mind, not even when he walked into the Hospital, searching for his brothers.

The nurses and doctors barely acknowledged him when he entered, he had to wave down a receptionist who seemed completely reluctant to help him. He was panicked, hoping his brothers weren't badly injured.

"I'm looking for my brothers," Bowie explains, "Winchester. First name, Sam o-or Dean." 

The woman sighed, rolling her eyes as she tapped on her keyboard. After a few moments of awkward silence, the woman turned back to Bowie, "Room two-oh-five, second floor." 

"Thanks," Bowie muttered. He took the stairs up to the second floor, feeling an eerie presence watching him.

He counted the rooms as he walked down the hall. He was speeding, the worry eating at him. Why didn't his brothers call? If either of them was hospitalized, wouldn't they want him to know? God forbid they were both in danger. The only brightside would be that John was the one hurt.

His fears had been answered when he stopped in front of room 205. Bowie felt the air leave his lungs, his worst fear being a harsh reality when he saw Dean lying dormant in a coma. Bowie's knees buckled at the door, his eyes burning with tears when he saw the breathing tube in Dean's mouth.

 "De," His voice broke, running to his older brother's bedside. Bowie immediately grabbed Dean's cold hand, running his thumb along his fingers, "Oh god. Dean, can you hear me? Wake up, Dean. Please, wake up, I'm here now. I'm here. You gotta wake up." He pleads, tears pooling in his eyes, "Dean?" 

He closed his eyes, trying to will himself to heal Dean from whatever pain he was in. He felt nothing at his fingertips, and it made him cry in frustration. 

"What happened?! What did I do to you?!" Bowie sobbed, grabbing at Dean's shirt as he cried into his brother's chest, "Dean, I'm so sorry! Please, please wake up. I need you. I need my big brother! Don't leave me like this!" 

Bowie was unaware of Dean's spirit. Dean was leaning against the wall, watching with tears in his eyes as Bowie cradled his unconscious body. Dean couldn't stand it anymore, pushing himself off of the wall and rounding the bed, putting his hand on Bowie's shoulder even though he knew Bowie wouldn't feel a thing. 

"It's not your fault," Dean muttered, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "It's not your fault, Bow. I'm glad you're here, I need you too." 

Bowie looks up, feeling the heaviness on his shoulder. He looked back, only to find nothing. Dean's eyes widen slightly, squeezing tighter. 

"Can you feel this?" Dean emphasized, "Can you feel me here?" 

"Dean?" Bowie whispers. 

Dean smiled, "Bowie? You freak; I knew it! It's me! Can you sense me?!" 

"I'm here, Dean. I'm here!" Bowie whispers into the air, "I'm here, man. I got you." 

Before Dean could speak, the door opens to reveal Sam, holding John's journal. The youngest froze when he saw Bowie standing beside Dean's unconscious body. He wanted to be upset, but deep down Sam knew that he needed Bowie more than ever.

"Bowie?" 

"Sam," Bowie breathes out, letting Dean go and running up to throw his arms around his little brother. Immediately, Sam hugs back, resting his face in the crook of his brother's neck. Bowie pulls Sam closer, squeezing so tight he was scared to break Sam's spine, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?!" 

Sam allowed Bowie to analyze his wounds, letting Bowie touched his face and chest to make sure there was no damage, "W-What are you doing here? Did Bobby tell you—." 

"Bobby?" Bowie pulled back just slightly, frowning, "Bobby knows what's going on?" 

"Don't be mad, I begged Bobby not to tell you." 

"Why?" Bowie reeled, "Dean is hurt. I deserved to know that—." 

"You were there," Sam looked away, "You were there when Azazel got the jump on us. He. . .he was possessing you." 

Bowie clenched his jaw, "So, I did this? I hurt Dean—." 

"No, no. We got into a car accident. It was a demon, this wasn't you." Sam reassured, "I was just scared Yellow Eyes still had a hold on you. If he was still possessing you, I thought that maybe he could see our plans, what we were doing. I had to protect everyone; I had to make sure we were two steps ahead." 

"It's okay," Bowie muttered, pulling him back into a tighter hug, "I am so sorry, Sammy. I would've never hurt—." 

"I know," Sam firmed, closing his eyes to savor the hug, "I know it wasn't you. Dean knows that, too. It was my call; I was trying to make sure—." 

"It was a good call," Bowie nods, his hand lingering on Sam's face. He was proud. More than proud. Sam smiled, pride swelling in his chest. In that moment, Bowie respected him as a hunter. But it was more than that. It was a big brother seeing his baby brother for what he really was, a grown man. A grown man who can make the tough choices. "It was a big call, and you made it. I'm not upset, I would've done the same thing. We just have to figure out a way to help Dean." 

"John's missing," Sam admits. "He's not in his room." 

Bowie clenched his jaw, "He won't get far, I'll make sure of it." 

"Maybe there's something in Dad's journal that could help." Sam pulls out the leather journal, immediately handing it to Bowie. 

"You guys make my heart melt," Dean wiped a fake tear, knowing his joke wouldn't be heard. He falters the facade, a genuine smile on his face as he leaned against the bedpost, "Thanks for not giving up on me, guys."

Bowie flips through the pages, sitting on Dean's bed. Subconsciously, he throws Dean's comatose leg to the side to give himself more room, crossing his legs at the ankle as he rapidly read the pages. 

"I gave Bobby a list of things earlier. Stuff for a summoning spell, best guess is that Dad ran off to summon the demon to him. He has the Colt, too." Sam informs.

"Are you shocked?" Bowie scoffs, "You should've lied to him, said Bobby didn't have a thing." 

"I know," Sam looked down at his shoes, "I-I don't know why I went through with it. I tried to reason with him, really, I did. I don't know why I didn't just say no." 

"It's not your fault, he's your dad." Bowie replied gently, "You might hate him, but you'll never hate him enough. You just don't know differently when it comes to his command." He stops on a page in the journal, "But you will, I promise." He points his finger at the summoning spell, "He's injured, so he didn't go far. I'll check around the Hosptial. Stay here, in case he comes back." 

"Did you find something?" Sam pressed.

"No. John's here, I can just feel it." Bowie vows.

Sam nods, standing up and taking the journal. "What are you gonna do if you find him? What if he already summoned it?" 

Bowie turns back, a small grin on his face, "Then both of them are about to hear the biggest temper tantrum of their lives." 

Bowie ran down the hallways of the hospital, searching every room. Every locked door was met with a swift jerk of his arm, breaking the lock to peer inside.

Bowie worked his way up, then back down to the basement. There was no stopping, no inhale, no blink. Bowie wasn't going to stop until John was found.

Asking every person, he saw if they recognized his description; the second they looked slightly hesitant, Bowie ran off to the next person. 

He had spent months trying to find the man that ruined his life, and Bowie would be dammed if he let John Winchester slip away. 

His fingers grabbed the doorknob of the boiler room, pressing his whole body weight into the wood until he bent under his pressure. 

The doorknob slammed into the concrete, Bowie stumbles into a gruesome scene. Two Demons in the bodies of two doctor: guarding the door. 

A Janitor stood feet in front of John, who held the Colt up in a panicked defense. Bowie stumbled forward, his eyes locking with John. 

The surrogate pointed the gun between Azazel and Bowie, not knowing which one to threaten first.

"Ah, my prize possession is here." Azazel motioned to Bowie happily, "I didn't call but I guess you know exactly when you're needed."

The demon guards looked at Bowie, and the man couldn't help but wave awkwardly. The demons turned to each other in confusion.

Bowie pulled the door off the handles, throwing it at the demons. They stumble back in surprise, before charging straight at him. 

"Or not." Azazel clenched his jaw.

Bowie ducks under the first demon's swing, tackling it into the second demon. The second demon pulls out a blade, slashing it at Bowie's figure. Bowie slides onto his knees, grabbing the second demon by the ankles and slamming it into the first demon. 

Both monsters stumble into each other, causing the second demon's blade to pierce into the first demon's stomach. It began to sizzle up, but Bowie didn't think it was enough, reaching up to grab the demon by the neck and thrusting it into the knife multiple times. 

When the first demon dropped, Bowie turned his deadly gaze to the second demon. The monster stumbled back, raising its hands in surrender. Bowie stalks forward, grabbing the knife from the tip with his palm, before pulling it out of the demon's hands. He flipped it between his fingers before shoving it deep in the skull of the Host. The light in its eyes flickered, before it dropped on the floor right beside the other body.

Bowie stumbles right into John's gun, closing his eyes for just a moment. He was ready for John to pull the trigger, even after showcasing all the moves that John drilled into his mind. 

With hesitation, John lowers the gun and Bowie let's out a sigh, turning back to Azazel breathlessly, balancing the knife between his knuckles, "Am I interrupting something?" 

"Johnny boy thought he could trap me." Azazel explains, holding up his hands. "You know, I took you for a lot of things, John. Suicidally reckless wasn't one of them."

"I could always shoot you." John smirked.

"You could always miss, and you only got one try, dontcha?" Azazel laughed, "Especially when you're itching to put a bullet in 'Mian, too."

"Oh, I don't wanna trap you." John lowers the Colt, "I wanna make a deal." 

Azazel tilts his head, "It's never unseemly, making deals with devils. Right?" He looks at the Bowie.

Bowie steps forward beside John, "I don't know, I think I'm handling it pretty well." 

Azazel looks back at John, "How do I know this isn't just another trick?"

"It's no trick," John promised, "I will give you the Colt and the bullet. . .but you gotta help Dean. You gotta bring him back."

Bowie tilts his head in surprise. Apart of him though John was selfish enough to fight Azazel on his own, but the other part of him knew that this was exactly what John would've done. 

Sacrifice himself for blood, making sure that Sam or Dean had a fighting chance.

"Why, John, you're a sentimentalist." Azazel mocked, "If only your boys knew how much their daddy loved him. . .if only Bowie ever felt that devotion."

"Don't try and drag me into this, Azazel. It won't work this time," Bowie snapped.

"It's a good trade, "John answers, "You care a hell of a lot more about this gun than you do Dean."

"Don't be so sure," Azazel firms, "He killed some people very special to me. But still, you're right. He isn't much of a threat and neither is your other son, of course." His yellow eyes turn to Bowie, "You on the other hand, are very dangerous. Who gave you those cuffs, huh? Who dared to help you against me."

"Someone you couldn't handle," Bowie defends. He had no idea who that mysterious man was, but any foe to Azazel was a friend to him, "You're out of cards."

Azazel looked to John, "You know the truth, right? About Sammy and the other children."

"Yeah. I've known for a while."

"But Sam doesn't, does it? You've been playing dumb."

Bowie frowned, "What truth? What's wrong with Sam?"

"Can you bring Dean back? Yes or no." 

"No," Azazel smirks, "But I know someone who can. It's not a problem."

"Good, and before I give you this gun, I'm gonna want to make sure Dean's okay with my own eyes." John commands.

Azazel sighed, "Oh, John, I'm offended. Don't you trust me?" He scoffs when John does, "Fine."

"So, we have a deal?" 

"No, John, not yet. You still need to sweeten the pot now that Bowie's got a shiny new toy." Azazel laughed. "There's something else I want as much as that gun, maybe more."

"What's that?" 

"You're life." Azazel grinned.

"No," Bowie spoke, "You've got everything you need."

"It's either that or Dean rots." Azazel snapped.

Bowie looks to John.

"Fine." John answers.

"You can't be serious." Bowie snapped.

"You need to promise me you'll protect them," John turns to Bowie, "Promise me." 

"They want you, not me." 

"They got you; that's enough for me." John shook his head. "Promise me you got them."

Bowie looks between John and Azazel, debating his options — which were slim to none. All he ever wanted was for John to be out of his life for good, he just wished it wasn't due to foul play. 

"I got them." Bowie vowed.

"A deal's a deal." Azazel smiled, before disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

Bowie turns to John, the two of them suffering in the tense silence. The realization that John was finally about to meet his end, was a bittersweet understanding. Without words, they walked out of the boiler room and back to the second floor.

Dean was sitting up in the Hospital bed, listening to the doctor explain that every injury Dean had was suddenly healed. As if he was never hurt in the first place. Sam was smiling wide, not wanting to hide how happy he was.

"Bowie," Sam looks to the door, where Bowie and John stood shoulder to shoulder. "You found him." 

"He found me," John confirmed, stepping into the room, "How you feeling, dude?" 

"Fine, I guess. I'm alive." Dean answered in a tired drawl.

"That's what matters." John smiled.

 Dean's eyes drift away from his father. "Bow, I-I'm glad you're here."

Bowie smiled, sitting down at the edge of Dean's bed, "I'm not going anywhere." 

"Where were you last night?" Sam firmed, glaring at John.

"I had some things to take care of."

"Well, that's specific." Sam seethed. "Did you go after the demon?" He looks to Bowie, "Did he go after it?" 

"No." John looked away.

"You know, why don't I believe you right now?" Sam steps forward.

"Sam," Bowie stood up, stepping between them. He placed a hand on his shoulder, "No more fighting, not right now. Dean's alive, can we focus on that for two seconds?" 

"You're defending him?" Sam whispers.

"Never." Bowie promised, "But for once, there are more important things."

"You know, have the time we're fighting. I don't know what we're fighting about, we're just butting heads." John tried to ease.

"That's a problem, because you should." Bowie snipped at him slightly

John sighed, "Look, Sammy, I've made a lot of mistakes, but I've always done the best I could. I just don't want to fight anymore, okay?" 

Sam falters, not expecting John to talk the way he was, "Dad, are you all right?" 

"Yeah, I'm just a little tired." John looked between Sam and Bowie, "Do you guys, mind getting me a cup of caffeine?" 

Bowie knew John wanted a moment to talk to Dean, so he grabbed Sam by the sweater and gentle moved him out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

With a sigh, Bowie leaned against the wall. He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to collect himself.

Sam steps forward, grabbing Bowie by the wrist. He frowned deeply, holding up his brother's hand, "Your knuckles are bruised, did you fight someone?" 

"Can you stop Sherlock'ing for a second?" Bowie groaned, pulling his hand away, "I need some weed."

Sam scoffs a laugh, "Rather you do that than drink until you throw up." He looks at the door before rolling his shoulders tiredly, "I'm gonna go grab Dad some coffee, do you want one?" 

"Nah, just. . .make it quick."

Sam nods, turning the corner and out of sight. A few minutes later, John steps out of the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes immediately land on Bowie.

"Bow—."

"I don't forgive you," Bowie cuts off immediately, "Whatever you're gonna say, whatever your last words are, I don't wanna hear it. I'll just keep hating you and that will never change." 

"I'm sorry," John looks down. "I'll never be able to make it up to you." 

"There's nothing to make up," Bowie shrugs, "You always be you, and I'll always be me. The only thing we'll ever have in common is that we both love them."

"You think I made a mistake? Making that deal." 

"I think this is your perfect ending." Bowie vows.

With a nod, John began to walk back to his room, "Keep fighting, Bohemian. You're good at it."

Bowie scoffs, opening the door to Dean's room. He falters slightly when he noticed Dean's panicked expression.

"Dean? You okay?" 

Dean flinched slightly, shaking his thoughts away. "Y-Yeah, just something Dad said." 

"What did he say?" 

Dean hesitates, shaking his head again. "Nothin' just a bunch of stupid stuff. Did I mention that I'm glad you're here?" 

"Yeah, but you can say it again." Bowie smiled, sitting beside him. He looks around the room, before laying back across Dean's legs, making the eldest groan slightly, "I'm sorry if I'm the reason you're in this mess."

"You're not." Dean promised, "Yellow Eyes is the problem. So, whatever hold he has on you, we're gonna figure it out." 

"I made a deal," Bowie spoke, his eyes widening. He said it. He said the truth and nothing inside of him held it back, his eyes fleet down to the cuffs in surprise, before looking back at Dean, "Yellow Eyes had me at my lowest, he brought in Jasper to let my guard down. He gave me a choice. I killed someone—, not just anyone, I killed one of my assaulters. Yellow Eyes gave him to me on a silver platter and I took the bait."

Dean listens with intent, his face twisting in bitter understanding. He reached over to squeeze Bowie's shoulder, "I-I would've done the same thing."

"You're not mad?" 

"I'm tired of blaming you for everything." Dean sighed, "I'm the one who's sorry. I ran right up to Dad and hugged him when you were bleeding out. I should've put you first and I didn't."

"Maybe we all have part of the blame."

Dean smiled, "Makes it easier to deal with."

The moment is ruined when Sam runs into the room, breathing heavy. Coffee was spilled on his pants, tears burned in his eyes.

"Sammy?" Dean sits up, "What's going on?" 

"I-It's Dad, he's—, j-just come quick!" Sam cried.

Bowie watched as Sam helped Dean up, but he didn't move from his spot. As Sam and Dean rushed to aid John, Bowie leans back in the bed, drifting his eyes to the ceiling. 

The weight in his heart slowly lifted from his ribs and in that moment Bowie knew.

John was dead.

And he was free.

[ 13,877 WORDS ] 

what can I say? I have no words. we finally got a first glimpse of some bowie/castiel content, john is finally
dead, bowie can finally talk about the deal. a very bittersweet start for act two!