Zephaniah was gone again. Since she had come to live with the Winchesters in the bunker, there had been no kidnappings, but three times now, Zephaniah's fears had gotten the best of her.

"Garth hasn't heard from her," Sam sighed. "No record of her or anyone matching her description in any of the hospitals or jails in the area."

Dean sighed too, rubbing his temples. He checked his phone for the millionth time; nothing.

"Come on Zeph. Where are you?"

Of all the different kinds of pain Zephaniah had endured in her lifetime, she could only think of one that bested watching blood flow over her newly-healed skin. Just has she had when she endured torture before, however, she stood her ground and refused to show any sort of emotion.

"You will break," the angel sneered. "Eventually."

Zephaniah thought about when Dean was still a demon and had tortured her in Hell. This was nothing compared to the physical and emotional pain she had endured at Dean's hand. As much as she hated thinking about that time, it was what got her through each new bout of torture.

She had run away from the bunker twice before, out of sheer paranoia. Zephaniah just knew that something was tailing her, and for the sake of her new family, she left. Dean had been frustrated the first time, but mostly relieved that she was all right. The second time she was gone nearly a week, and Dean's relief hadn't overcome his frustration and anger with her then.

"You didn't leave a note or anything! Did it ever occur to you that I've been there when you've been taken? That I know the kinds of things that are waiting out there for you? For fuck's sake, Zeph!"

She glared back at him, angered and hurt that, despite knowing those things, he couldn't begin to understand how she felt. "The only reason you know those things is because you've been the one doing the torturing before – remember?"

Dean had walked away then, and Zephaniah knew that the hurt reflected in his eyes matched the hurt she felt over his lack of understanding. They had worked it out, and Zephaniah promised to never leave without telling him again. She could only imagine how ready he was not to forgive her this time.

"I won't give my permission for possession," she told the angel. "Torture me all you want. It's nothing new."

The angel shook his head. "That's not what we want from you. If we didn't need you, we'd keep you here, to keep you out of Hell's reach, however."

"Then what do you want from me? Why the torture if there is no purpose?" Zephaniah countered through gritted teeth.

The angel raised his brow. "I thought they had informed you; no wonder you haven't broken. My apologies, dear girl." He snapped his fingers, and immediately the chains were gone and her skin was restored to its woundless condition. "We want you to help us, Zephaniah."

Zephaniah smirked. "How do I help you? You're angels. Far more powerful than I am."

"Can't argue there. Let me start from the beginning. My name is Josiah, and I've been placed in charge of this … mission, we will call it. We're soldiers by nature, us angels. Strategy is out strong suit."

Zephaniah shook her head. "I don't understand."

Josiah smiled kindly. "I know you don't; let me help with that. The Winchesters have been our allies more than once, but they'll soon unleash something that the world is not prepared for, Zephaniah. Dean will begin to lose control, and Sam will take drastic measures to save his brother, as he has always done."

"And where do I come into play?"

"Dean. You're one of the closest people to him now, perhaps even closer than Sam or Castiel. Your bond was forged while Dean was still a demon – you accepted him at his absolute worst. That means something to Dean that even he cannot describe. We need you to use that bond, Zephaniah, to keep him from making a terrible mistake but you need to do it without him knowing you're working with us."

Zephaniah shook her head. "I can't do that. Not to Dean. He isn't just some pawn in your everlasting war with Hell or Death or whatever. He is a Winchester, damn it! And moreover, he means more than that to me, for me to just betray his trust like that."

"You are the only one who can stop what is coming," Josiah emphasized. "Dean must be stopped, at all costs. Whether you persuade him away from the path he is going down or kill him and he becomes a demon again, Heaven doesn't care."

"Heaven doesn't care if Dean Winchester is a demon? Do you hear yourself?"

Josiah took a menacing step towards her. "Zephaniah, you may not want to believe it, but the world will continue to turn if Dean becomes a demon again."

"Not my world," Zephaniah replied calmly. "If this is how it's got to be, then I'll stay away from him."

Josiah chuckled. "You couldn't if you tried."

"Watch me," Zephaniah replied, narrowing her eyes at him.

A moment later, she was gone.

A few glasses of whiskey had coaxed Dean to sleep, but he was perfectly aware of the mattress sinking down next to him. He forced his tired eyes open; there she was. Zephaniah was next to him, in the flesh and no worse for the wear.

"Where were you?" Dean pleaded. He forgot about how angry he was and placed a hand against her cheek. Zephaniah leaned into his palm.

"Heaven," she replied. "The angels had me."

Immediately, Dean was searching her body again for wounds, for signs of torture, for anything that would give him a hint of what happened to her in Heaven.

"Dean," she said, taking his hands in hers. "I'm okay. They wanted to talk. They didn't want me. Not this time."

"What did they want?"

But instead of answering his question, Zephaniah dropped his hands long enough to go for the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head. She stood from the bed to push her pants down her legs, then took Dean's hand to pull him to the edge of the bed to sit. With a smirk on her face, she reached for the whiskey bottle on the night stand and took a good swig. Dean's smirk matched hers as he kissed across her abdomen. He reached the hemline of her panties and tugged it down just a bit to continue kissing into more intimate territory.

Zephaniah moaned quietly before stepping away from him. "Do you remember the first time we were together? When you had me against that wall in the hotel …"

Dean remembered. It was one of a few good memories he had of his time as a demon. Staggering only a little bit, he followed her to the far wall, picked her up and pulled her legs around him. He removed Zephaniah's bra before trailing nips and kisses from the hollow of her throat and down her sternum before turning the attentions of his mouth to one breast, and then the other.

Her breathing was heavy and her pupils lust-blown by the time Dean removed her panties – a technique he could still carry out with expert skill, demon or not – and knelt in front of her. Zephaniah ran her fingers through his hair as his tongue began to explore her newly exposed flesh. He had been going at it for a few minutes before he realized how quiet she was being; it wasn't something she had been concerned with since he had been cured.

"No good?" Dean asked, rising from between her legs and nibbling at her ear lobe.

Zephaniah rid him of his shirt, and then his belt. As she unbuttoned his pants, she gave him a positively mischievous grin.

"You're telling me you don't miss having to make me scream at all?"

Her hand dipped into his boxers to stroke at his hardening sex; Dean returned the favor by dipping two fingers into her wet entrance.

"I don't make you scream now?"

"You do," Zephaniah assured. "But this time, I'm going to make you work even harder for it."

Dean remembered well how crazy it had made him the few times he had her when he was a demon; apparently, it still had a very similar effect on him. He withdrew his fingers, forced her hand out of his pants, and carried her over to the bed where he plunged those same two fingers back into her while he sucked and nipped at her breasts. He knew when she climaxed because he could feel her walls flutter around his fingers, but she still didn't scream.

"You're in for it now," he warned, pushing her against the mattress before discarding his pants and boxers. Zephaniah giggled as Dean softly ran his lips up her body; the moment he claimed her mouth with his, he pushed himself into her.

Her sharp intake of breath told Dean that he was close to making her scream. He pulled her close against him and thrust in and out of her in an effort to pull the vocal proof of pleasure from her throat.

Dean was nearly to the edge when she finally called his name, probably loud enough for Sam to hear. Dean didn't care. Feeling her tighten even more around him pushed him over the edge, and he was further spurred on by knowing that the soft, smooth curves he was gripping at now belonged only to him.

Afterwards, they showered together and then laid back in the bed. The physical activity had rid Dean's body of most of the alcohol, but he still found himself ready to sleep. He breathed in deep and stroked through Zephaniah's wet hair.

"I was so worried about you," he confessed.

Zephaniah nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to leave you again. I never want to leave you."

"Then don't."

Zephaniah licked her lips and sighed. She traced over The Mark on his arm. "It may not always be that easy, Dean."

"Sure it is," he said, his eyes fluttering shut. "You stay, Zeph. Just stay."

Rolling over to spoon back against him, Zephaniah nodded against the pillow. She wanted to say something else, but the tears were already threatening to fall. Crying was something she still fought as often as possible, and tonight was no different.

Once Dean was asleep, Zephaniah eased herself off the mattress and went to the main part of the mattress.

"Castiel," she said out loud. "You're busy, I know but I – I need to talk to you. Please."

It took several minutes, but eventually, the angel appeared. "Zephaniah, hello."

"Hi," she greeted in return. "Did you know that the angels had me?"

"I did," Castiel replied, not looking proud at all. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Nothing you could have done, I'm sure. Do you know what they're asking me to do?"

Castiel frowned. "I assumed it was the usual request for possession."

"No. They want me for something else – something that could put Sam and Dean in danger. I told them no."

"You refused the angels?"

Zephaniah dropped into a chair. "I did. They thought I knew but there was some kind of confusion, and they tortured me for a bit before an angel named Josiah –"

"Josiah," Castiel nearly-growled. "Do not join efforts with him, Zephaniah. His idea of what humanity needs is severely skewed, no matter how true and good his intentions are."

That was what she feared. "I suppose that tells me everything I need to know, then."

Castiel gave her a single nod, and then he was gone. Zephaniah looked down at her hands in her lap before looking around the bunker. Once she had come here, the feeling of home had been almost overwhelming. Now, the feeling of losing a place she had learned to call home – and the people in that home – were even more overwhelming.