So, I've organized this a bit. I never should have uploaded it in two parts, it didn't make sense.

What follows is four sequences that come before the actual story, optional but recommended reading.

"Don't you ever miss the Apocalypse?"

"No, why would I miss the End of Days?"

"I miss the simplicity. I was bad. You were good. Life was easier. Now it's all so messy. I'm kind of good, which sucks. And you're kind of bad - which is actually all manner of hot."

Prologue Part 1: Yellow Eyes

May 16th 1860, Fort Collins Encampment, Colorado.

"I finally found the bastard."

Samuel Colt came back sober - which only ever meant one thing, he had some new doomed idea for finding old yellow eyes.

It was a warm fall day on the Fort Collins camp in Colorado. The place was a gold mine for a hunter who was looking for work because every single man at this camp was superstitious, dumb and loved to hear their own voice. Most of these folks were here for the gold which had been turning up in pails for the last few months, everyone who didn't have or didn't want a job within a few hundred miles was making their way here. This influx of people in a previously sparse area meant a lot of land had to be 'procured' from the local Indians.

Samuel was drawn to this area by some old 'Fifty-Niner' because people were disappearing. Anywhere from a couple boys from the big city looking for a quick buck to an entire farming community that abandoned their land in the hopes of striking it rich. Of course, the first thing that came to everyone's mind was skin walkers or demons and Samuel was eager to oblige them. Elisabeth was certain that the disappearances could be more easily and rationally explained as people who are unfamiliar and unaccustomed to the area getting lost or straying too far into Indian land.

Elisabeth and her father had scoured the land for something that would explain the disappearances, the first thing on Samuel's mind was of course demons. His theory was disproven when they followed a tailor and his family to the river and back – they were attacked by the local Indians, evidently they didn't actually plan to sit back and watch while their lands were inundated with Americans. The reality of the situation was that it wasn't a hunter's problem - and judging by the increased military presence even over the short term of their stay the situation was clearly destined to escalate until a full scale war breaks out between the two sides.

"That's what you said two months ago." Elisabeth was getting over her blind devotion to her father at this point, she turned twenty a couple weeks before but, neither she nor her father remembered the date. It wasn't long ago that she would jump at the chance to try and find the demon that killed her mother but, after five years of shoddy leads and grueling travel schedules she was just about fed up. Fantasies of running away to just about anywhere else were frequent but, despite his irrationality she still cared for the old man.

"This time is different." He rebutted.

She scoffed to herself, recalling hearing the line a dozen times before. She used to think it was confidence in his voice but, now that she was older she recognized the difference between confidence and indignant pigheadedness.

"I almost had to drown the black-eyed bastard in holy water but, he gave in."

If he had said 'salt funneled half to death' she would have heard that a dozen or more times, too.

"Says yellow eyes is headed to Sunrise, Wyoming."

The demons were interested in inciting whatever conflict they could amongst the Indians and the settlers, there wasn't room for debate on that issue. It was in their best interests to create conflict because they needed to create more demons, after all. Apparently Samuel had managed to catch one of them off guard.

"We have already been to Wyoming and he wasn't there." It wasn't a fond memory of hers, Samuel not only managed to piss off every lawman in the county but, yellow-eyes never showed. She debated trying to reason with him, to tell him that he needs to give up this mad crusade before he gets them both killed but, if he didn't listen the last fifty times why would he start now?

Samuel wasn't discouraged by her protest. "But, not Sunrise. Pack your stuff, we ride in twenty."

"We came all this way just for this?" Elisabeth remarked on the old barn in front of them. It looked like it tried to burn down and then failed, like the fire consumed the dirty, old wood until it simply couldn't subsist on it any longer and died. The sliding door was the only feature of the morass of old timber still intact in any mentionable way. The air was smoky and thick, it smelled of wood smoke with just a hint of gunpowder.

"I don't understand, the map led me right to this spot." He first reached into his jacket for a map but, when he felt his flask he reconsidered. "Maybe we're just early. I say dig in and wait." He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig of the warm, dark rye.

"There isn't much sulfur in the air, and I'm pretty sure what I smell is gun powder. I don't suppose anything I say will persuade you that we're wasting time out here?"

He looked down at her with narrowed eyes but didn't speak.

They left the horses out of sight and started to set up the usual battery of traps. They couldn't risk using their holy water because they wouldn't be any more water for miles but, they had plenty of salt and chalk.

Elisabeth pointed out the loft to Samuel, who agreed it would be the best place available to lay low and wait for old yellow eyes. They waited behind a column for a couple hours before Elisabeth grew impatient enough to protest again.

"This is pointless, no one's coming." She opened her mouth to continue her rant but, Samuel shushed her.

"I hear something."

Footsteps. Not many, one or two guys at the most. Either her dad was right or this was a hell of a coincidence. They had rode ten miles past the last trace of civilization, the barn looked like it had been abandoned since before she was born.

"Stay here."

She didn't know how to react. It had been years since she actually feared that they would run into yellow eyes, he shouldn't have been able to come near her. She clutched her shotgun close to her chest and tried to calm her breathing while her dad crept out of their hiding place to confront the intruder.

"Looks like you got me." She heard a man speak calmly. She hoped that he was stuck in one of her devil's traps but, she was too afraid to come out of hiding and look.

"You came alone?" Her father's confidence waivered. Something isn't right here, why would big bad himself come alone?

"Yes. I just came to pass on a message." The man paused. "Retire."

"You and I both know that ain't going to happen."

"I knew you wouldn't do it willingly." She barely heard him snap his fingers before she was overwhelmed by the sound of the roof collapsing. She clung to the pillar behind which she hid and looked out.

Samuel had to jump to dodge a large rafter that crashed to the ground next to him. Whoever, wherever the man was before – he was gone now.

Her father shimmied down the ladder to the barn floor.

"What is he doing there?" Castiel burst into Naomi's office. "And why am I being told to stand down?"

She looked up from her desk, unmoved by his intrusion. "There was a change of plans, Castiel. She is no longer important." Her eyes returned to her work.

"I won't let him harm her." Cas spoke severely.

Naomi's eyes narrowed but she spoke evenly. "Yes you will. The decision has been made there is another bloodline that is of greater importance now."

"What of the gun? They will need it." Cas didn't really care about Samuel, he was a brute of a lout of a man and yet for reasons Cas was not privy to he was given the talent to create a gun that can kill almost anything.

"Samuel will not perish but, we are not interfering more than we have to. The girl will likely die." Again with the even, uninterested tone. Like it was nothing.

Cas approached Naomi's desk. "Why? She doesn't have to and she doesn't deserve it." Cas wasn't expecting a real answer but, he was compelled to try to protect Elisabeth - this was probably the first time anyone did.

"Because, it is an event which will shape Samuel in a way we desire." Her gaze returned to her desk.

Cas couldn't believe what he was hearing. "For what? I swore to protect her!" He slammed his fists on her desk. "First, we turn a blind eye to the demons trying to incite a war amongst the humans and now I'm supposed to stand by and let Azazael butcher her?"

Two angels appeared at both of Cas' flanks.

She rose from her desk and looked Cas in the eye. "It is obvious you are incapable of being objective about this issue."

Cas felt them grip both his arms. "It isn't a lack of objectivity that tells me this is wrong!" Cas yelled. "I've stood by for centuries while we watch demons kill innocent people and for what?"

Her brow betrayed her stone cold gaze, she was irritated.

"Remove him."

"Hello Elisabeth."

She froze, the voice wasn't familiar but, she knew who spoke. She spun around trying to locate the body that goes with the voice.

"Elisabeth, we've never been formally introduced. My name is Azazael. Your father and I go way back." His words were soft and even. He waited to reveal himself until after he spoke, he was hidden by the shadows of the loft, next to a window.

"I -" Her voice broke. "I know who you are."

"Good. Good." He smiled wide.

"Cr- Crowley said I had ten years." She took a deep breath in a hopeless effort to steady her voice. "My soul for ten years away from you. It's only been two."

"Ah, yes. Fergus is a very skilled salesman, you see he only promised that he would make his best effort to keep you and your daddy out of my way." Azazael's grin transitioned into a mocking caricature of concern.

She recalled the twenty foot scroll that Crowley had thrown at her, the scribbles were barely recognizable as English. "He… he can't do that. That's lying!"

Azazael dismissed her objection with a scoff. "What do you say we go find your daddy, hmm?" He extended his arm and pulled her toward him telekinetically.

Elisabeth screamed and tried to grab the pillar but it was no use. When she reached him he gripped her by the back of the neck so hard it made her feel light headed. She tried to scream but only a whimper left her lips.

They were both shocked when they heard the fluttering of wings.

"Put her down." Cas did his best to feign confidence in the face of hell's tyrant.

"Ah, Castiel, so good to see you again. I had no idea heaven had any interest in these two." He looked at Elisabeth briefly before his eyes returned to Castiel. "I didn't think angels had much interest in this backwater country at all."

"Leave Azazael. I won't ask agai-" Cas was interrupted by a blinding flash of white light, an instant later he was gone.

Azazael looked around briefly before returning his attention to Elisabeth. "Well, I guess divine assistance is off the table, hmm?" He dragged her toward the edge of the loft.

"Elisabeth!" Samuel called out, he had the gun drawn and was carefully looking around the wreckage of the barn for Azazael. She should come when called, where did she go? "Elisabeth!" He yelled louder this time.

"Looking for this?" Azazael was behind him. He threw Elisabeth to the ground.

"Elisabeth!" Samuel ran up to his daughter but was stopped when he felt his rib cage being crushed telekinetically.

"Now, let's talk again about your retirement." He slammed Samuel against the wall. "Elisabeth, tell your daddy you don't want me to burn you alive like I did with your mother."

Elisabeth rolled onto her side but said nothing.

"I said." He snapped his fingers and Elisabeth's arm caught fire. "Beg him."

Elisabeth screamed, she rolled on the ground and slapped at her arm but the fire kept burning. Use the gun, Dad, we're not going to get another chance.

"Stop!" Samuel yelled. He tried with all his might to align his gun with Azazael but he couldn't move at all. "I'll end you!"

"Wrong answer." Her other arm caught fire. "I really am going to have to kill her, aren't I?"

"Dad!" Elisabeth screamed.

"It's going to be okay Liz." He tried again to move his hand to no avail.

"No. You see, that's where you're wrong." With a snap of his fingers she was consumed by flames

"No!" He bellowed. "Elisabeth!"

Azazael dropped him, he fell to the floor hard but managed to hold on to the gun.

"Don't worry Samuel, she isn't dead. Yet. I'm going to take her back to hell with me."

While he spoke Samuel aligned his gun with Azazael's head but, before he could take the shot he heard the fluttering of wings and his vision was engulfed in white light.

"Where am I?" Samuel was very disturbed by the unwanted jaunt. He found himself in a rundown wooden shack, the air was thick with sand and dust but, the interior appeared spotless. The structure groaned in the wind outside.

Zachariah released him from his grasp. Samuel pulled away with a jolt and fell against the table on the far wall of the room.

"This is an abandoned hovel a few hours outside Sunrise Wyoming." Zachariah paused, amused by the man's fear.

"I almost had him! Why did you -" He stopped yelling when he realized the gravity of the situation. "Are you going to kill me?"

Zachariah approached a chair at the other side of the room and sat. "Kill you? No. You're here to serve a purpose."

"Why did you bring me here? Who are you?" Samuel snapped.

Zachariah drew a long breath. "I can't answer that."

"Can you save my daughter?"

"Yes." Zachariah responding simply, not giving the question any sort of consideration.

After a prolonged silence Samuel couldn't take the snide dismissal any longer. "Will you?!"

"No."

Every fiber in his being wanted to yell; to unload the pent up rage he felt at the smug bastard. His anger quickly transitioned to sorrow, his daughter was dead – or worse – and this man who had saved him had no intention of helping her. "Why?"

"Because she has a role to play."

Prologue Part 2: Robot

Takes place just before s8e17.

He looked up at them, it was painted in their expressions that they knew why he was here but, instead of fighting him they cowered. He almost yearned for it now, engaging these pockets of resistance in one sided combat. It was the only chance he had to make up for everything that he had done, after all it was his fault that heaven was divided and he had to do whatever he was told in order to fix it. In a part of him deep down that he never let see the light of day he found himself starting to enjoy it. It was a chance to challenge himself, to improve his technique further, to get ready for the coming war.

"Castiel, don't do this!" Begged his younger sister. She wore a middle aged woman with red hair, cowering behind the desk of this abandoned adult education center. It was an outpost of sorts, the battle hardened disenfranchised angels who disputed Naomi's reign were holding out in this run down old cave, hiding like roaches. Every time he stamped them out, more seemed to crawl out of the woodwork.

Huddled beneath her was a young boy, bleeding grace from a wound on his chest Cas had inflicted days earlier.

"You made your intentions clear." He looked down at the wound on his arm, a mark of their previous encounter. As he reached down to finish the kill of the injured angel one of their comrades made the mistake of interrupting him. Cas left the boy alone while he painted the walls with the fool's blood but, when he returned to finish the job the remaining two were gone. Locating them had been a challenge that earned him the wrath of his commander but, he had become quite proficient at tracking them down.

"Jehoel will stop you." She spat.

With a flick of his wrist he dislodged the blade from inside his sleeve and grasped it firmly. In the blink of an eye he was behind her, before she had a chance to turn to him he plunged the blade through her neck. A croaking groan escaped her lips in lieu of the expected scream as she died. He pushed her forward onto the desk where she charred the wood with her fallen wings.

Turning his attention lower he heard a groan of protest from the injured angel. He wore a child, as if he was trying to garner sympathy. The boy had seen a dozen years, perhaps less but, he had also killed a number of his own brothers and sisters – or so he was told.

"P- Please, Castiel." The boy sputtered.

"I have to." He grimaced at the sinking feeling in his chest, this phenomenon was getting more frequent as he thinned the ranks of their enemies. "You've been compromised."

With a snap of his fingers the boy exploded, the only trace he had ever existed was a fine red mist on the walls. Compromised. He turned the word over in his head over and over. It was the only explanation he had ever gotten, and he wasn't allowed to go back to heaven and question her. He was to come when called and execute her orders without question if he ever wanted to set foot in paradise again.

We just want to be left alone. They had told him, as if he would believe their word. Every single one of them would try, when given the chance. They would claim that they defected because they wanted nothing to do with the coming war. Naomi told him of their intentions, that they intended to organize a resistance, unseat her and retrieve Michael and Lucifer from the cage. That they wanted their big brother back in charge and were willing to incinerate the earth to do so.

Why would they hide on earth, then?

That didn't matter. He was a soldier and they were at war. He was alone, his friends had abandoned him. The rescue was harrowing and narrow but, his brothers and sisters liberated him from the wintery forests of Purgatory. They told him he was left there by Dean, that his friend had left him in that nightmarish expanse because of what he did. They also told him that he would have to pretend that nothing had changed, as the Winchesters may eventually be of use to them.

"Castiel."

With his trance broken he noticed that his surroundings had changed, he turned to find himself on the other side of Naomi's desk. She used to bring him comfort, she would always assure him that he was doing what needed to be done and she would chase away the rotten feeling he got in the pit of his stomach by killing his brothers and sisters. This time there was no comfort to be found in her eyes, her cool glance reminded him of the guilt she often used to motivate him. In order to earn his place among his family, he had to serve as her assassin.

"I have another assignment for you."

"No." He felt the immense pressure of disobeying, like he was being swept away by the tide. Despite the pain he felt from doing so – as if something intangible clawed at the back of his eyes – he couldn't do this anymore. "No more killing."

She dropped her brows and adopted a severe tone. "You will do as your told."

It was deafening, her words echoed in his mind, assaulting all his senses at once. "I…" He groaned, falling to his knees. "I will n–" The room was spinning and he couldn't feel the ground beneath him, he could feel himself falling into the cold, inky darkness.

He had to obey, she wasn't going to give him a choice. "I will do as I'm told."

Prologue Part 3: Sacrifice

Takes place after s8e17

She found herself in an alley, gradually transitioning into consciousness as her body woke up. A weight was certainly planted on her chest; that was the only explanation that came to mind as to why she felt so utterly useless. Looking down there was no such incredible circumstance, she was just lying there defeated in a cold, wet alley. With an incredible amount of effort she managed to lift her head and shoulders, propping herself up on an elbow. Her legs still hadn't awoken from the shock.

No Cas in the back seat, that means your tablet's long gone.

"Cas, I'm still here. Where are you?" She called out into the cold night. It wasn't that she was unaccustomed to plans going awry but, this time she hadn't had the luxury of planning. It was obvious to anyone present that the dynamic duo and their feathered friend weren't getting out of that situation alive without help. It wasn't a delusion that led her to put her ass on the line, there was a decent chance that he wouldn't be prepared for her to shrug off a minor blow with an angel blade. Unfortunately, as was often the case when Crowley was involved, things didn't go according to plan. He knew he didn't need to use his blade to kill her so he didn't – not until she struck him first. She couldn't believe her misstep, two inches to the left and Crowley would be history but, her battered body failed her. An arm broken in no less than three places was prohibitively difficult to effectively aim and because of it Crowley walked away.

Looking down at her legs she saw her other hand gripping part of her abdomen which had no sensation left. Her fingers were caked together with dried blood and the waist of her jeans stained crimson. Right, she thought, you were just on the business end of an angel blade. A peculiar feeling coursed through her veins, an abrasive solution from the introduction of that damned blade into her body. Even after months of dragging one of their blades along her flesh she had never gathered the courage to stab herself and see what it would be like.

She reasoned that staying here wasn't an option, someone would find her eventually if she remained out in the open, Crowley was in a hurry but he would likely send grunts that she was in no shape to fight off. The first thought was to just leave this broken vessel behind and find another but, it became appallingly obvious that she was trapped. The more damage she healed on a particular body the harder it was to extricate herself and this one had some serious mileage on it, the blade in effect tethered her. She tried to concentrate on somewhere else – to teleport somewhere despite her broken body. Cuba's nice this time of year, she thought. After a few failed attempts she tried somewhere closer. Just get away from here, then we will worry about finding that stupid angel.

With concerted effort she managed to move herself and her crippled vessel some distance away from where she was. Looking around it was appallingly obvious that she was still in some dank alley. "Cas you stupid, feather-brained bastard, get over here!" She called out into the night, knowing full well it was useless. Angels don't hear the prayers of demons. Even if they did, he had no reason to retrieve her, what possible use could she be? They'd had some fun in the past but, at the end of the day she was still just a demon to him.

Forcing her legs to respond was a chore but, she managed to find her way to her feet. Walking on broken legs was tricky but, not something she hadn't done in the past; the trick was not putting weight on the wrong spot. The only shelter she could see within walking distance – she figured she could get another twenty feet before keeling over – was a dumpster.

"Great. That's great." She muttered to herself while hobbling along the wall to the dumpster, every step was a journey but, she was driven by an overwhelming urge to hide. After what could have been hours she finally made it to the garbage bin and fell to her knees next to it.

"Damnit, Thursday, where the hell are you?"

Looking down she saw blood trickling over the hand which clutched her abdomen, along her forearm and dripping onto the pavement. She wallowed in self-pity for a few minutes before she finally summoned the nerve to open the door of that dumpster and crawl in. Bracing herself, she slipped her leg in cautiously, hoping she would manage to catch herself. Clinging to the side with all her strength she lowered her first leg in carefully. With her thigh rested on the edge of the dumpster briefly and looked in. Empty. Lucky me. She lifted her other foot off the ground and immediately regretted it, without her foot on the ground to steady herself she fell forward into the dumpster, bashing her head on the lid before falling into the deep container.

The landing was rough and inelegant, she ended up absorbing the brunt of the impact with her shoulder and rib cage. Air was crushed from her lungs leaving her breathless and unable to voice her protest with a string of four letter words. Fortunately, she still had little sensation left in her abdomen, the fall elicited only a renewed dull ache. The lid of the dumpster had evidently decided she had not suffered enough because it slammed shut on her other foot.

She cursed under her breath while she tried to pull her foot in. A familiar numbness began to sweep over her and she struggled to keep her eyes open, the pain was receding which was never a good sign. Despite the fact that merely breathing was a chore she felt compelled to pray to him one last time.

"It's okay Clarence." Before finally surrendering to unconsciousness she found herself trying to regain composure for an angel that wasn't coming.

"At least I did this one thing right."

Prologue Part 4: Goodbye, Stranger

Takes place during s8e22. There was no indication that I could find about how long Cas ran with the tablet for, so I guessed.

Cas emerged from the hallway and approached Sam in the common room. "I like this place. It's orderly."

"Oh, give us a few months. Dean wants to get a Ping-Pong table." Sam smiled somewhat reluctantly, he looked genuinely happy to see Cas, but there was something intangible under the surface of his demeanor. Despite the subterfuge, it was refreshing that at least one of the Winchesters was pleased to see him.

"I've heard of that. It's a game, right?" Cas always had difficulty speaking with Sam and this time was no different. The boy was rarely in good health and always uncomfortable or troubled about recent events. To say the younger Winchester had seen better days would be an understatement, he almost looked as if he was suffering from profound blood loss but, Cas knew it wasn't quite that simple. "I wish Bobby could have seen this place."

A pang of regret crossed the Sam's face, Cas realized too late his mistake in bringing up the father figure that he had cost them. "Yeah, he would have been happy here."

"Sam, there's something you should know. When I was under Naomi's control, she made reference to a coming war. It wasn't the war with hell."

"What? Then who?"

"I don't know. We need to–" Cas grunted, the pain in his gut mounting.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry I–" He leaned against the table, the exertion of sitting up was grating. Trying to divert attention from his current state he brought up the obvious. "You're damaged, Sam. More so than last time."

Sam took time to respond and when he did his voice was weary, as if recounting a story he had rehearsed in begrudging anticipation of telling. "Yeah well, I don't think anyone around here is better off since you last saw us." He paused and leaned back in his chair. "Me… Dean… Meg… You. It's a real mess."

He felt his brows raise at the mention of her. "Meg?" His thorny rose; just thinking about her put a vacant smile on his face. "Where is she?"

Sam's jaw twitched. "Uh, Cas. Meg's dead."

"N- no. She…" Cas' smile melted away as he lowered his vision to the table in front of him. "That's impossible." She can't be dead. I would have noticed… wouldn't I?

"We saw it Cas. Crowley stabbed her with an angel blade. She's dead." There was palpable sympathy in Sam's voice but it landed on deaf ears.

Cas clenched a fist momentarily before letting it go. "Why didn't she run?" He looked up at Sam without seeing him. How could this have happened? How did Crowley know where the crypt was without her? As much as those questions vexed him, it didn't matter anymore. He ran with the tablet to keep her and the Winchesters safe and evidently it had the exact opposite effect. Once again he tried to act in the best interests of the people he cared about and managed to fall flat in spectacular fashion. And that wasn't even acknowledging that he failed to protect the tablet.

It was all such a mess.

"She couldn't. If she had ran Crowley would have got Dean and I – or maybe even you. She died protecting us. All of us."

"She's not dead." Cas looked up again, he heard confidence in his voice but, had no idea where it came from. "I'll find her."

"Cas, don-"

With a flap of his wings he was back in the alley where he left Meg, his wounded vessel clawed at him for flying but he didn't care. The alley was poorly lit, even in the early afternoon most of it was shrouded in shadow, a few ineffective bulbs illuminated small sections of the vast brick maze which sprawled outward in all directions.

It was a gruesome scene, the bodies had long since been removed by someone but, Cas could tell where they used to lie. A dozen dead demons were laid low here, maybe more but, none of them were Meg. A few were killed by her and Sam's hand, however most were killed by Crowley's – evidently he hadn't ended up being any better about butchering his own kind than Lucifer. He began absent mindedly trundling around the scene, looking for signs of her.

"Meg!" He called out. While following the side of the building he saw something that he had been hoping and praying not to see – Meg's blood.

It had long since washed away in the rain that had fallen that night but, it was everywhere. There were small flecks here and there from one hell of a one sided fight – indicated by the fact that no one else's blood was present. A small pool used to lie no more than a hundred feet from where the Impala was parked, it was in clear sight and certainly wasn't far enough away from the Impala for Sam to have misinterpreted what he saw. If Crowley did in fact kill her then why is there no trace of her body?

He scoured the city for signs of her. Hospitals and clinics were the first and most probable place for her to turn up but, after searching all of them there wasn't a trace of her. There was a time when he was able to pluck her from anywhere in the world effortlessly; when no distance between them was insurmountable. Now, in his current state, she could be five feet or five thousand miles away and it would make no difference.

She would try to stay out of sight, he told himself, somewhere enclosed or nearly so; clean and comfortable would be a preference she may not have been able to afford. An alley or a building adjoining an alley was the most promising option however, in a city of this size there were thousands of spots fitting that description within a mile of where she was injured. It was reasonable to assume she was mobile but, it was difficult to decide upon a search radius with no knowledge of the extent of her injuries.

Based on the amount of blood left behind and the fact that Sam genuinely thought she died it was reasonable to assume that her injuries were quite severe and therefore thoroughly searching a small radius would be the most likely to succeed. It was difficult to keep track of where he had been, the alleys were nearly indistinguishable. After searching and doubling back down the nearby alleys for hours Cas decided to expand his search outward, to look for more distant places she could have found refuge in. It was entirely possible she was still able to teleport short distances even after being wounded by Crowley.

Almost a mile from where the trail had ended he found what he was looking for, there was a trail of her blood starting in an alley behind a stout, run-down office building. The trail started spontaneously, led straight to the wall of the building and continued along it. The drips ended at a huge garbage bin with a door on top which was easily big enough for her to hide in. What he saw didn't feel right, he knew her – she would try to go to an expensive hotel to sleep off her injuries, not a dumpster.

Cas approached the dumpster with no small amount of trepidation. Her wounds were severe; there wasn't much hope of finding her alive after two weeks, especially if Crowley also noticed her body wasn't where he left it. After placing a hand on the door of the dumpster he paused and closed his eyes. Turning back was becoming more and more appealing, why are you out here? Do you really think she is going to turn up alive after all this time? He lifted the door and after a few moments he gathered the courage to open his eyes.

Nothing. There was another pool of blood which was never cleaned up but, still no body.

He closed the door slowly before falling to his knees, the delusion of finding her still alive crashed down around him. That's her blood, and there's a lot of it.

"Meg…" His voice was a whisper, a barely audible protest to the loss. He looked back at his life – the path that had brought him to this point and led far into the obscured, unknowable distance. He could come to no other conclusion; this was all his fault, she never would have had to get involved if he had just gone back to earth with Dean. Shame had driven him to forgo thinking – his need to do penance for what he had done to heaven and earth had blinded him to the obvious. Of course the angels didn't forget about him in Purgatory, he was a powerful ally to whomever forced rescue upon him – a banner to rally behind and a fearsome soldier. He had always thought the consequences of that choice were his to bear.

The lights in the alley flickered and burst in response to his toil; he had to keep himself in check to avoid drawing unwanted attention. It was unthinkable, the situation he was in, an angel mourning the loss of a demon. He was supposed to revile her, to hate what she represented – a twisted version of god's proudest creation but, he couldn't. When he looked at her, he didn't see some twisted, black eyed monster like he was supposed to nor was she just some faceless enemy. She was his friend, his caretaker, his companion; she trusted him and gave her life because she believed in him.

Standing had become a chore so he twisted his back and pressed his shoulders against the dumpster. As he settled into a comfortable, seated position he felt a wet spot on his shirt where he rested his arm and looked down to see blood soaking through his shirt and jacket. The wound that had been precariously healing was ripped open, the pain he was sure he should be feeling didn't even register.

This doesn't change anything, he thought. I came here to find her and I will – she is out there somewhere. A hundred ideas flooded his brain at once, he had never thought about where a slain demon ends up before. She's probably back in hell, he thought. I broke Sam and Dean out, I can get her out too. It was a nice delusion for a few seconds before he realized how long it took to get Sam or Dean out, and in both of their cases he knew exactly where to look. Hell is vast and treacherous, and a slain demon could end up just about anywhere – assuming she is there at all. He wasn't anywhere near strong enough to use Crowley again, and he had little confidence that he could-

Come on, Thursday. Get up.

His train of thought was derailed when he heard her voice, he looked up and saw her standing in front of him, looking down at a sad excuse for an angel. With that voice which was always so silky and soft, she picked up what remained of her brooding angel. She spoke the way she spoke to him in the hospital when he was afraid, bringing back a flood of memories from when the melody of her voice kept him going. Not even death could stop her from being there when he needed her.

Her dyed blonde hair was still unkempt and stained with blood, but her clothes were clean. The bandage on her wrist was familiar – he had wrapped it barely two weeks earlier. Cas looked at her in disbelief for a moment before he pushed against the dumpster and lifted himself to his feet.

She levelled her head with his. That's better. The corners of her mouth twitched upward briefly but, she didn't smile.

Cas forced himself to meet her gaze, to look at her and fake some measure of confidence in order to impress this construct of his own mind. He couldn't believe the state he was in; he was an angel, he was supposed to be immune to feeling loss. How many was this? How many had laid their lives at his feet, willingly or otherwise for his ambitions? A hundred? A thousand? The loss of family and friends had shaken and swayed him in the past but, she was something else entirely. This wasn't her fight, it was never her fight but, she sacrificed herself all the same.

Now go. Find that tablet. Save the world.

"But, what about you?" His voice was shaky, he found himself trying to make a brave face, to act like he wasn't broken, shattered and lost without her.

She exhaled slowly before responding in a labored tone. Sorry, Clarence. Won't be with you at the end.

He wanted to tell her he didn't want to go – that he was tired. In that moment he didn't care that she died protecting him so that he could continue the fight. All it took was a look and she knew exactly what to say.

Make me proud.