Dean stared across the street at the young woman standing on the corner, holding up her sign that read "The End is near." He had to say, she lacked the zeal that he was expecting out of a fundamentalist who would stand on the street corner with a sign. The whole time he had been watching her she hadn't said a single word about the world ending. Instead, she seemed to be far more focused on how itchy her ankle-length wool dress was. Her expression told him that she was anything but thrilled to be there. If anything, she looked bored.
He crossed the street to where she stood, and he saw her fist tighten around the handle of her sign, perhaps in recognition, or perhaps because she saw the focused look on his face. She didn't try to run away or avoid him, so maybe she didn't know who he was. Maybe she wasn't really what he was looking for, but it was worth the try.
"I'm Dean Winchester. Do you know who I am?" he asked with no prelude. She raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Yeah. You're shorter than I'd imagined, though," she answered flippantly.
"Listen, I need you to bring your angel buddies and let them know that I'm here."
She stared at him for a moment before laughing. It was that humorless laughter that only came when something was completely ridiculous and there was nothing else to do. Dean Winchester—the Dean Winchester of her migraines was standing before her, asking her to call the angels. The only thing that could make the situation more ridiculous would be if Sam and the rest of the gang showed up.
"Sorry," she said through her laughter. "I can't do that."
"Excuse me?" he asked, anger creeping into his voice. Couldn't she see what he was doing? He was trying to save the damn world.
"I said that you're just going to have to find someone else, because this prophet isn't going to do it."
He grabbed her wrists and pulled her into the alleyway behind them. He pressed her against the wall, trying to keep back his anger. He knew that if she was in serious danger, and archangel would appear to protect her. But there was also the risk of him getting killed—again—in the process, and that was pain he wasn't willing to deal with…again. But then, if it saved the world…
He pulled out his pistol and pressed it to her temple. She continued laughing the whole time, as if it didn't matter that she could be dead with a single jerk of his finger. "An archangel will appear to protect you if you're in serious danger. You could just save me the trouble and call them."
She nodded and he let her go. She took several steps deeper into the alley, still laughing. While Dean stared at her in confusion, she pulled a cell phone from her pocket and dialed a number. She drew several deep breaths, trying to calm her laughter, but the minute she heard the voice on the other end of the phone, she started laughing even harder. Finally, she forced out the words, "Dean is here with me. Chicago. In front of Lou's Diner."
Dean closed his eyes and sighed in relief. It was going to be over soon. He would make his demands— Sam, Bobby, and Cas would be looked after; Ben and Lisa would be kept safe; the Impala would survive the Epic Battle—and then Michael would take over and he could rest. He could finish what he had started when he tortured souls in Hell, and his loved ones would be taken care of. He was so close to finishing things…
He felt a heavy and familiar hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes. He had been expecting Zachariah or maybe Michael wearing a new meat suit. But he hadn't expected his little brother. Sam was there, standing in front of him, a hand on his shoulder. Beside Sam, Bobby sat in his chair, looking mightily pissed off. But the one that looked the angriest was Cas. Anger and bitterness had twisted his features, making him look downright scary.
And then there was the girl, who was still laughing. She was laughing so hard that her abs ached and she couldn't breathe. She was laughing so hard tears were streaming down her cheeks. Everyone stared at her.
"I fail to see how this is humorous," Cas commented, his voice bitter.
"It's not," Sam and Dean said simultaneously.
"Oh, but it is," she gasped. "I've been seeing you guys for years now in my lovely migraine-inducing visions, and now you're all here. I mean, I'm the daughter of a Pentacostal minister from Tulsa, Oklahoma. Shit like this doesn't happen to me. If I recall, the verse is 'your young men will see visions, and your old men will dream dreams.' I'm not exactly a man—"
"The line prior is, "In the last days, God says, 'I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy," Cas reminded her.
"Well, let's just say that feminism hadn't made it to that church yet. And you're all here. And what are the chances that of all the prophets you would manage to find, you somehow found me. Way to make a girl feel special. Now, I'm thinking we should take this some place more private. I'm in the motel up the street," she suggested.
"That would be great," Sam said, giving his brother a look that made it perfectly clear that he had no choice in the matter.
"You're just going to walk off with her? You don't even know her name. She could be another whore of Babylon," Dean reminded them, conveniently ignoring the fact that he had been completely willing to trust her a few minutes ago.
"There's only one whore of Babylon," she snapped. "And you killed her. So, can we not compare me to the evil bitch that was trying to help end the world? Thanks."
"I know all the names of the prophets," Cas said sharply. "Erin Esther Anderson was on the list."
"Erin Esther Anderson. That's a mouthful," Dean commented under his breath.
"It's better than Deborah-Ruth or Mary-Elisabeth Magadelene. Thank God my mom fought Dad on that decision. He was hell bent on me having a biblical name. So Mom convinced him to make Esther my middle name. You can call me Erin," she called over her shoulder as she lead them down the street.
She didn't speak unless one of them spoke to her first—there was too much history between them all, which mean that the tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. When she pushed open the door to her motel room—thankfully, it was on the first floor—they poured inside, though she could see the wariness in their eyes. Sam was the last one inside, and to say that she was surprised when he touched her shoulder would be the understatement of the century.
"Thank you for calling me," he whispered. She smiled sadly at him.
"You're welcome. I'm sorry that it came to this." Sam nodded sadly, knowing that he had played a role in things coming to this. He was partially responsible for Dean's despair, for his brother's desire to give in and let Michael do what he will. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to change into something more comfortable."
She dug into the duffel bag that was almost as big as she was, grabbed some clothes, and disappeared into the bathroom to change—leaving Team Free Will alone in the bedroom. Immediately, Dean turned towards to his brother. Before he could speak, Sam cut him off with words of his own.
"You want to tell me what the hell you're doing?" he demanded.
"I'm finishing this," Dean answered. "I'm finishing what I started. Things are…they're too big for us. If I say yes to Michael, he can stop the apocalypse—"
"But not before millions of people die," Bobby said. The idea of the loss of human life clearly disgusted him. What had happened to the Dean that wouldn't let Ruby sacrifice the virgin? What had happened to the Dean that didn't want to sacrifice one for the good of many? How had Dean fallen so far?
"We can stop the apocalypse. We just have to find the right way to do it," Sam said, his voice full of hope. That was the problem with Dean; he didn't see any hope, any way out of the situation that didn't involve saying yes to Michael. Well, Sam wasn't giving up. He had to have faith that he could be redeemed, and maybe this was it. If he could stop the apocalypse and save his brother, maybe that would be enough to redeem him for what he had done. Maybe. Probably not, but maybe.
"And how is that? We've been looking for months and haven't found a damn thing. God doesn't give a rat's ass, and Michael is the only chance we've got left. If Lucifer does reign Hell down on us, if he does win—"
"He won't, because I won't say yes," Sam insisted.
"If he does, if there's some loophole to be found…If the world burns, it's on me. It's my fault for not letting Michael in, and I'm the one that has to live with that. All those people, that's on my conscience."
"And the millions that will die if you say yes to Michael? What about them?"
"Pamela said that heaven wasn't so bad."
"And you said it was bullshit. You're just looking for an excuse," Erin said, stepping from the bathroom. Gone was the itchy, ankle-length wool dress and long braid. Instead, she wore jeans, a black shirt, and boots. To complete the outfit, she grabbed her leather motorcycle jacket from the closet and let her long red hair flow freely down her back. She hardly looked like the Pentecostal preacher's daughter anymore. She looked like she was ready to kick some ass.
She crossed the room in two seconds flat and stood toe-to-toe with Dean Winchester, staring him down. "You don't get to say yes."
"And why not?"
"Because it's not fair. It's not fair that you get to say yes, let Michael in, and check out for the rest of the showdown. Because I don't know what you're telling yourself, but when Michael comes to finish things, it's not going to be pretty for the rest of us. We're the ones who are going to have to live through the pain and the fear and the death. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let you check out on that one. It's not fucking fair that you get to sit back and relax while it happens. If I have to be here for this, so do you."
"It would save—"
"And what about Sam? And Bobby? And Cas? They'll have to go through it, too. I know that you have every intention of having them taken care of, and you told that Lisa chick that she would be too, but they'll still be here. They'll still have to witness that, and trust me, it's a hell of a lot of blood and pain—everything that you don't want your brother seeing. Every day, it'll get harder and harder for Sam to say no. Lucifer will promise him things—the same things you're going to ask for, actually. But you left him—"
"I'm saving him!"
"You can save him by saving yourself," she said quietly.
Dean studied his brother, who was standing there, eyes glued to the two people arguing in front of him. When she had called Sam and told him that she was a prophet and the Dean was coming to see her, he had been skeptical. But then she told him about his ordeal with Madison, and about the sleepless nights after Dean had died—and she had such compassion in her voice. She told him about how she got his number—she had seen it written on Bobby's refrigerator in a vision—he knew that she was telling him the truth. She was trying to do what was best for him and for Dean, for whatever reason. He didn't know why, not really. Sure, she didn't want the world to end, but then who did? There was another reason—his gut was telling him so—and until he found out what it was, he was going to keep her around. Plus, having a prophet around could be incredibly convenient.
"Well, I guess someone should go get us a room then," Dean said quietly, though he didn't sound happy at all. Erin breathed a sigh of relief and looked over to Sam, who was smiling tiredly at her. They had stopped him, if only temporarily. They had bought themselves time. Maybe not much, but it was time—time that they would use to stop the apocalypse.