Author's note: Beware of this part. Near the end, there is some pretty graphic descriptions that might make some people uncomfortable. The section that starts with That Night leads up to that. You have been warned!

***

The garage was big enough, but it was also cluttered with all sorts of junk. Lucy glanced around for a moment, then turned back to face Bobby. "This will do. But we need to lose the clutter," she said.

"That'll take time," Sam said.

Bobby jerked, then glanced back over one shoulder. He hadn't heard Sam come in. "Warn a guy, will you?" he growled, then turned his attention back to Lucy. "As I said, it'll take a day or two to clear out this clutter," he added.

"And as I said, I can take care of that if there's nothing here you wish to keep," she countered. "But first things first," she added and glanced around. "I need containment sigils on all walls before I do anything else. Can you help me with that, Sam?"

Sam frowned. "Uh ... I have no idea what a containment sigil looks like unless you're talking about the key of Solomon."

Lucy chuckled. "No, the key of Solomon is to keep demons in, not out," she said and briefly glanced around. She found some paper and an old pencil and drew a very simple symbol on it, a circle with four protruding bars, and handed it to Sam. "This is Altas. It needs to be as big as you can get it," she added and pointed to the long walls. "Four on each long wall, two on each short wall." She glanced around, fixed on something and retrieved a can of black paint. "In this color," she added and handed Sam the can.

He eyed the can, then the sigil, then focused on Lucy. "Can't you just ... make it appear?" he asked.

She gave him a look that would probably have been funny under other circumstances. "Any show of power while I'm here has to happen within the confines of the containment sigil," she said, "or every demon within a hundred mile radius will be bearing down on this place within the next ten hours."

"Oh," Sam muttered, arched an eyebrow and then sighed. "Do you have a brush?" he asked and turned to face Bobby.

"I'm sure there's one around here somewhere," Bobby countered. "Can I help or is that against some cosmic rule?" he asked, directing that question at Lucy.

She smiled. "No, it's not against the rules," she said.

Bobby found two brushes and another can of the same type of paint and they set to work on the brick walls of the old garage. It took some time, but eventually they finished the job while Lucy just stood in the relative middle of the area among piles of old cars and broken furniture and watched them work.

"There. That should do it," Bobby suggested and set both the can of paint and the brush aside.

Lucy glanced around at the twelve sigils painted on the walls and nodded her agreement. "Yes, that will do," she agreed. "Now ... is there anything in this place that you need?"

Bobby glanced around for a moment, then shook his head. "No, this is all just old junk that I've never had the time to get rid of," he said.

"Good," she said.

The only windows the garage had were high up and they were so dusty that they let in little to no light. When Lucy closed her eyes, the electric light bulbs dangling from the ceiling dimmed and every shimmer of light was sucked out of the garage, leaving them in the blackest darkness Bobby had ever witnessed. "Pe‑deaeoh‑lu seeweayz oh‑luaeoh," he heard Lucy say.

(Clear this place.)

The noise that followed this was deafening and generally reminded Bobby of a trash compactor big enough to crush a house. Moments later, the light returned and Bobby took a step back in surprise at realizing that everything down to the smallest screw was gone. There was nothing left. The floor, walls and ceiling were clear of dust and cobwebs and the garage generally looked like it had just been erected.

"And now for the fun part," Lucy said with a smile. She cracked her neck and both Sam and Bobby pulled back to the door, both feeling safer with an escape route within reach.

Once again, the lights dimmed, but not all the way. It was still possible to see Lucy. "Ha‑luah‑seeae‑pe‑see seeweayz z‑haoh‑peae," Lucy said, spreading her arms out to the sides, palms facing the ceiling. "Naeae‑ha oh‑de‑de ah‑seewae‑luz ahee‑see. Zaeoh‑de oh‑de‑de ae‑fe‑see‑luoh‑fe‑peaez."

(Protect this place. Keep all others out. Seal all entrances.)

Bobby stared at her in the gloomy light of the garage, then glanced at Sam. "What the hell kind of language is that?" he asked, a frown furrowing his brow.

Sam watched her intently, slight concern in his eyes. "I have no idea. It doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard before."

"Seeweayz eayz zoh‑fe‑pe‑seeeeoh‑luoo," she continued. The air in the old garage started to ripple with static electricity. "Teohnae eay‑see pe‑deaeoh‑fe."

(This is sanctuary. Make it clean.)

For a moment, the air almost crackled with electricity, then the feeling faded and Lucy lowered her arms again. "It's ready," she said and turned back to face them.

"What was that language?" Sam asked.

"The ancient language," she countered.

"That was no Latin," Bobby inserted, a little annoyed.

Lucy smiled vaguely. "Latin is a baby language compared to this. I speak Kandarian," she said and focused fully on Bobby.

He stared at her. "That's what the original Necronomicon was written in. Or so I've heard," he said and Lucy nodded.

"Yes, a demon translated it. The Necronomicon was never supposed to find its way into human hands. It upped the ante and generally caused the present situation that Azazel abused to the limit," Lucy said and sighed, obviously dissatisfied with the whole thing.

"Which demon?" Sam asked.

Lucy focused on him. "The demon's name is not important. That it was forced to do a human's bidding is. And I do believe you've had the ... pleasure of running into said human. Or rather ... what used to be that human."

It took a moment for Sam to realize what she was saying and he paled considerably when the truth sank in. "Ruby?" he asked.

"None other," Lucy agreed and her eyes darkened lightly while the lights in the garage dimmed again. Discontentment in her seemed to cause a dimming of the light as well as when she used her powers. Bobby had no desire to know what happened if she got angry. And he had no doubt that she was capable of great anger. Ruby was obviously not on her list of useful demons if her reaction was anything to go by. "That little bitch has caused us a lot of trouble and with her ability to retain her ... well, freedom is too strong a word, but independence would fit nicely ... she has been impossible to control. It is about time, I think, to reel her in once this little ... charade is over." Lucy focused on Sam again and her eyes cleared.

"Charade?" Sam asked, a little annoyed with her right now. "This may be a charade to you, but it's not to me. My brother means everything to me," he added.

"Oh, I know," she agreed. "Which is why I agreed to do this. Personally, I don't want you on our side. You may not possess the demonic influence any more, but it doesn't take much to turn that around. All you have to do is want it and it can all be yours."

"I don't want it," Sam assured her curtly. "I want my brother back."

Lucy's eyes narrowed a little. "Then you shall have him. I have explained the risks to you, of course, but if your mind is set ..."

"It is," Sam said without hesitation.

"Tomorrow night, when the moon is full," she said and shifted her attention to Bobby. "And, if you at all can, it would be good if you could find a way to ... support Sam."

"How?" Bobby asked. He didn't like this, but was beginning to feel a certain amount of respect for Lucy. At least she seemed to take steps to protect Sam, although he felt that it was more out of respect for Dean that she did this.

"He will lose a lot of blood," she said. "And, as far as I recall, these are not the dark ages any more. There should be a way to resupply him with what he loses along the way?"

Bobby just stared at her for a moment, then glanced at Sam. "What's your blood type?" he asked.

Sam blinked. "Uh ... AB. Just like dad."

***

After a few phone calls, Bobby had moved heaven and earth to get Sam the help he needed and that in the shape of a friend called only Hector, who apparently had the expertise to do this and was a hunter as well.

He turned up about an hour later with a blood supply that would adequately replace whatever Sam might lose and since Lucy had been pretty clear about the amount – as in all of it – Hector had added a little extra to that.

"AB you said?" he asked.

Sam nodded and watched the guy, who looked Mexican and spoke with a slight accent, draw some blood from him to verify that he wasn't giving Sam the wrong blood type. He cross-checked, then nodded to himself.

"So, we're set then?" Bobby asked.

"As much as we can be," Hector agreed and turned to face him. "Now will you tell me what the hell is going on here?"

Bobby glanced at Lucy, who was sitting on a chair at the other end of the table in the dining room, watching them quietly. She hadn't said a word since Hector had arrived and obviously Hector had no problem with her. Sam glanced at her, then looked back up at the two men facing each other and he could tell by the look in Bobby's eyes that Bobby was about to lie through his teeth.

"It's a complicated thing, Hector," he said and made a face. "The matter of fact is ... Sam's brother here died and this lady," he continued and nodded toward Lucy, "can bring him back. It's gonna be a bitch to watch from what I understand and it's vitally important that the ... uhm ... ritual is not interrupted in any way. Which is why I called you and not Jackson. He's too jumpy."

Hector eyed him closely for a moment. "And what exactly is it you want me to do with all this blood?"

"To accomplish this ritual in the right way, there will be bloodletting involved," Lucy said and rose. "Sam's blood, more specifically. To prevent him from dying at the end of this, he needs a constant supply of new blood. And the more compatible it is, the better."

Hector glanced back at her. "Madre del Dios," he muttered. "And what exactly is it you want me to do?"

(Mother of God)

"Stand by with bags of blood and make sure there is a constant supply until the ritual is done," Lucy said.

"Jesús Cristo," Hector growled. "Are you trying to kill the boy? Bloodletting is ... barbárico."

(... barbaric.)

"And yet it is the only thing that will work," Lucy countered dispassionately.

"This is ... adoración del diablo," Hector said. "No haré esto."

(... devil worship. I will not do it.)

"Usted no tiene ninguna opción," Lucy replied and smiled vaguely at Hector's surprised expression.

(You have no choice.)

"Usted habla espanol?" he asked.

(You speak Spanish?)

"Hablo todas las idiomas," Lucy replied.

(I speak all languages.)

Hector glanced at Bobby, worried now. "What demon games are these?" he asked quietly.

"No games," Bobby assured him. "I'm asking for your help. Sam is adamant about going through with this and I won't let him without this backup."

"You will see things you will not like," Lucy said. "Things that go against ... your religion," she added and shifted her gaze to the cross around his neck. It made her smile and Sam cringed lightly. It was a fair assumption that Lucy wouldn't have a problem with holy water or anything else that could generally kill or scare a demon. "Usted va a ayudar?"

(Are you going to help?)

Hector eyed her for a moment, then crossed himself. "On my mother's grave," he muttered, then nodded. "El dios de mayo me perdona."

(May God forgive me.)

Lucy arched an eyebrow and sighed lightly, then turned her attention to Sam, who had been watching the whole thing without saying a word. "You should rest," she said.

"I can't," he countered and met her eyes dead on.

Lucy eyed him for a moment, then strode over to him and slipped a hand behind his neck. "But you should," she insisted.

He stared at her for a second and then everything turned black.

***

That night

Nothing but candle light illuminated the old garage and in the dimness Sam felt he could see the symbols on the walls move, the circles turning slowly, glittering a dark silver in the flickering light.

The sigil carved into the floor by demonic fire, the sickly green flames that had danced over the concrete floor to cut the intricate pattern, loomed darkly beneath him. He knelt at the edge of it, his hands positioned at the starting points, turned so his wrists faced inward toward the grooves. Lucy had promised pain and he had no doubt it would come soon.

The sigil snaked out in both directions, the groves forming its lines about to fill with his blood. It was the ultimate blood sacrifice which would normally mean that he would die in the end, but Hector had already attached the shunt to his neck and the first bag of blood dangled on a holder next to him, ready to be opened to resupply him with blood in step with the blood he lost. It would wear him out, would leave him weak for days after, while his body re-acclimated itself to the new supply of blood, but it would all be worth it if it meant he got his brother back. The only thing that worried him was what this would do to Dean.

He raised his head and looked in on the center of the sigil, the place where Lucy had indicated that the recreation of Dean's physical form would take place. It was roughly the outline of a human form, carved into the floor like the sigil itself. The grooves were connected to the rest and would fill with blood while Lucy did whatever she needed to do to re-establish his brother's body.

But it would all start with the soul. She would pull his soul into this building and Sam's blood would basically rebuild his body around the soul. And Lucy had said it would be painful to the extreme and that once it had begun, no interruption was allowed.

"Deae‑see eez xae‑raeay‑fe," Lucy said. "Waeoh‑lu teae, zahee‑de ah‑bae seewae kukae‑haoh‑lu‑seeae‑kuk."

(Let us begin. Hear me, soul of the departed.)

A sigh shivered through the room and the sense of static electricity rose again, rippling through the air much more readily than the first time. Obviously, the gates had been opened.

"Maheay‑fe eez."

(Join us.)

"Peah‑teae xoh‑pen seeah deeay‑baeae."

(Come back to life.)

"Z‑seeae‑ha xoh‑pen ah‑jaeae‑lu seewae seew‑luaezwah‑de‑kuk."

(Step back over the threshold.)

"Ahxaeoo teae!"

(Obey me!)

Lucy, who stood at the other end of the sigil, barefoot and in flowing dark robes, lowered her head a little while her eyes became swirling seas of a star-filled sky. "Raeay‑jaeae ooahee‑lu deeay‑baeae‑x‑deahah‑kuk," she snarled.

(Give your life-blood.)

Sam jerked when both his wrists were slit from the heel of his hands and halfway up his lower arm and the blood started oozing down his arms and into the grooves. It spread with a life of its own, rolling along the grooves, spreading outward. It hurt, but it wasn't as bad as Sam had feared it might be.

"Luae‑pe‑luaeoh‑seeae ooahee‑luzae‑de‑bae," Lucy said, her tone demanding, dark, powerful.

(Recreate yourself.)

The sigh repeated itself, deeper, faster and Sam raised his head to stare in at the center of the sigil again. The air there shimmered as the blood reached the center and spread throughout the rough contours.

Hector turned up next to him and opened the valve to the blood supply. Both Bobby and Hector had been allowed to stay if they didn't speak or do anything to disrupt the ritual.

"Luae‑raae‑feae‑luoh‑seeae! Xae‑peah‑teae qwah‑deae!"

(Regenerate! Become whole!)

"Eay peah‑te‑teoh‑fe‑kuk ooahee!"

(I command you!)

Already Sam was beginning to feel the strain of the blood leaving his body. He was beginning to shiver while cold sweat broke out all over him. Some of it mingled with the blood continuously seeping from the gaping wounds in his arms. And still he could not keep his eyes off the events taking place in the center of the sigil.

The blood began to creep up over the shimmer in the air, forming the rough outline of a body in deepest darkest red. For a moment it looked like a complete body covered in blood, then the blood collapsed inward and enveloped the skeleton. It was morbidly fascinating to watch and scared the crap out of him at the same time. With every new burst of blood oozing into the outline beneath, a human body was being rebuilt step by step and Sam suddenly realized why this had to be hell to go through. He could see the organs forming, got a brief glimpse of the brain hiding inside the solidifying skull. Everything started moving before it was completely done and Sam suddenly wasn't so sure this was a good thing to bring someone back from the dead this way.

He shifted his gaze to Lucy, who stood there with her arms spread out to the sides, her palms facing the ceiling, her head thrown back, and he got the feeling that she was enjoying the torment, the anguish this was causing.

The fear this raised in him hastened his heartbeat and increased the flow of blood oozing from his wounds. He swallowed hard when his vision started to waver. His arms suddenly felt very sore and very weak, but if there was one thing he could not do, then it was to give up or give in to the suddenly very urgent need to close his eyes and lie down.

With a groan, he let his head drop and tried to force his heartbeat to slow down, but he was scared now, scared and in pain, and none of it helped. And then the sounds began.

At first he had no idea what he was hearing. It sounded odd, wet, strangled. Then he raised his head again and focused on the evolving shape in the middle of the sigil and if ever anything would cause him nightmares, this was it. Not even halfway fully formed, his brother was aware and Sam could not even begin to imagine the agony it had to be.

***

Bobby had watched the proceedings with only concern for Sam in mind, but he had not really expected the ritual to become this outrageous. Hector, who stood next to him, crossed himself repeatedly while watching the transformation taking place in the center of the garage with wide eyes.

What got under Bobby's skin wasn't so much the step by step recreation of a living human being, but the sounds he was now hearing; sounds from a not fully formed throat lathered in blood. The halfway gurgled imitation of keening which spoke of unfathomable agony made his blood run cold and despite his lack of belief in a higher good power, Bobby found himself almost inclined to copy Hector's attempt to protect himself from the pulsating evil that occupied this space right now.

There was no doubt in his mind that Lucy was feeding on the agony, that it was fueling her, and it raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He had seen too much evil in his life to let this mar him for good, but he was certain there would be some restless nights ahead of him.

The worst part of this ritual was that there was no way back now. If the ritual was interrupted now, this half-thing that would eventually become a living, breathing human being again would continue to suffer the torments of Hell until someone put it out of its misery. Bobby closed a hand over the gun he always carried with him and swore he would carry out this deed if something went wrong. And he would do it quickly. But until then, he would have to endure this soul-rending display as best he could. If for nothing other than for Sam. He could not even begin to imagine what the kid had to be going through, having to witness this.

The nature of the sounds changed, became more audible, more human, and the agony was now evident. With lungs now fully formed, it wouldn't take long before the writhing shape on the ground inside the sigil would be able to fully voice the pain. And Bobby feared that moment. Not for himself but for Sam. What would it do to the kid's psyche to see his brother suffer so much?

As if in reply to that unspoken question, the shape inside the sigil arched off the ground while flesh formed and muscles drew themselves across the shivering mass. The first hints of skin appeared, covering the body slowly, meticulously, yet the keening sounds were all that escaped.

Hector dropped down into a crouch, one hand covering his mouth and Bobby had to draw his attention to the fact that another bag of blood was almost empty. On shaky feet, Hector made his way over to Sam and replaced the bag, then hunkered down next to the kid. "El dios de mayo le protege," he said quietly.

(May God protect you.)

It was at this moment that Bobby realized how close to a collapse Sam was and he rushed over to support him as best he could while motioning for Hector to keep him on his hands and knees from the other side as well. Thus supported, Sam watched the slowly evolving form while tears ran unhindered from his eyes and dripped into the blood still flowing from his slashed arms.

The shape inside the sigil, covered in blood, dropped back down on the floor and lay still, all sounds ceasing.

For a long, breathless moment nothing at all happened. Then Lucy lowered her arms and every single candle died at once, dropping the garage into suffocating darkness.

Sam sighed lightly. "Is he ..." he whispered and went limp in their arms.

"Is it over?" Bobby demanded.

"Yes," Lucy replied.

"Then give us some damned light so we can help Sam." Bobby couldn't help the anger in his tone. He would never forget this night and he would never forget the expression of rapture on Lucy's face either.

The light bulbs dangling from the ceiling sparked to life, shedding merciless, cold light over the scene and Bobby was stunned to realize that Sam's wounds had closed up on their own. He left the kid to Hector after making sure he was only unconscious and still breathing. Then he rose and stared in at the shape lying in the center of the sigil. A glance at Lucy confirmed that he would not interrupt anything if he stepped forward, because she nodded once.

Bobby stepped into the sigil and hunkered down next to the naked form covered in blood. "Jesus Christ," he whispered and reached out to touch Dean's cheek. He was warm enough to be alive and he was breathing, but obviously as unconscious as his brother.

He again looked up and fixed his eyes on Lucy. "Will he be okay?" he asked.

"He's here, isn't he?" she countered. "Breathing, alive. Just like I promised," she added.

Bobby rose and stared at her. "Fine. You've done what you came here for. Now get the hell off my land," he snarled.

Lucy met his eyes, smiled briefly and then strode across the floor to the door and disappeared through it. Bobby didn't care a bit how she got back to Whitefish, if that was her destination. Personally, he wished her back to where she originated from and cursed her for her self-indulgence at the same time. Then he went over to retrieve the blankets he had brought and wrapped one around Dean while Hector did the same with Sam.

The two men glanced at each other, but neither could think of anything to say. There was one thing Bobby was going to do, though. As soon as it was light out, he would call a good friend and ask him to level this garage. This building would never be used for anything again.

***