Hey, ya'll! It's Alethea. I have three things I want to say.

1. If you're an atheist who instead of saying 'Ohmygod' says 'Ohmypie' like Rachel and I, please review and let me know.

2. I don't have so many followers for this story yet. If you like it, please, please, please review or favorite or follow, and I know I'm really not one to talk because there are plenty of stories that I absolutely loved that I didn't do any of those things on, but it makes my day and my week, and I binge on pie to celebrate. Who am I kidding, I'd binge on pie anyway, but I need a reason to justify it, right? So review, favorite, follow! Thank you in advance!

3. I obviously know that Cas is going to come back in s13 (and sorry for the spoiler, but I was so thrilled when Jared let that slip), and I have a pretty concretely formed idea about how. If you'd like me to write that one, detailing how Cas comes back and then the beginning of his relationship with Dean, please review and let me know.

After Cas's grim prediction as to the fate of our children, we try to figure out what to do.

Maybe while the angels were grounded by Metatron, we could've gotten away with having Nephilim children. We could've stayed under the radar and been ok. But now Heaven's been taken again, and presumably the only reason we were hidden before was because we made our home in the Bunker and barely took the kids out of Lebanon.

But now that Hesediel is raising an army against us to kill our children, even the Bunker, with all it's warding, won't hide us now.

I consult Sammy for help, as well as Gabe, and my mom, and no one has any suggestions. Gabriel, for once in his extremely long life, is solemn, understanding probably more than I do just what we're up against.

"It's going to be a war," he informs us quietly. His trademark snide grin is absent, and that clues me in even more to just how serious this is. "We're fighting an army of hundreds, and it's going to be them against the seven of us. Maybe your other friends if they're willing to march to their deaths."

I realize that in the seven, he's apparently included Johnny and Joanna. "Five."

"What?"

"There are only five of us," I say louder, my mouth dry. "And there are only going to be five of us, because I'm not asking my friends to die for me."

Gabriel swallows, meeting Cas's eyes across the wooden table. "Joanna and Johnny are going to have to be in the war as well. They're who we're fighting over after all."

I prepare to laugh, sure that he must be kidding about putting my two children, both under the age of seven, on the front lines. But then I see that Cas's mouth is set in a hard line, and I realize that Gabe wasn't joking. "Absolutely not! They're kids! Even if we did put them in a fight, they wouldn't know what to do! they'd be more a liability than help."

It seems pretty obvious to me that having children on a battlefield does not seem like a good idea. How could anyone think it would be? Kids require constant attention, and mine and Cas's (especially Joanna, who's growing more opinionated and headstrong by the day) are hard enough to keep up with here in the Bunker, where they're contained. Having them in the middle of a war, dashing around while two feet above them angel blades are clashing and spells are being cast just seems idiotic for everyone involved.

It's Cas who explains, his tone morose and apologetic. "The reason the other angels are hunting our children-"

"For pie's sake, don't call it hunting," I plead. It tarnishes the word to call it 'hunting'. Hunting is good. Hunting means ridding the world of monsters that hurt people, that kill people. Hunting is a job that requires selflessness, a job that's thankless and necessary to keep humans from being murdered by vampires, werewolves, demons and the like left and right. They're not hunting my children; they're stalking them.

"The reason the other angels are coming after our children," he corrects grimly, "is because they're powerful."

I scoff before reminding him, "But they're harmless, especially for now."

He nods. "For now. But when they get older, they're going to be nuclear bombs of power. And not necessarily good power."

I wait for someone else to object to that. For my children's grandmother or uncles to say that they're well-behaved, that they're good kids, that we're raising them to have better morals than even we have (ha-ha. That's not hard, is it? One of their parents has opened Purgatory, and the other one accidentally jump-started the apocalypse. Also, we both have astronomical body counts). But no one speaks, so I have to vouch for my kids' not-waiting-to-start-apocalypse-(number whatever the fuck we're on now)-ness.

"You really think that our pigtailed little girl, is going to destroy the universe?" I ask angrily, baffled at how Cas, their father who loves them just as much as I do could possibly think that. "And Johnny, far from killing all the angels in the world, probably couldn't even kill a bumblebee because he won't be able to catch one on those chubby legs."

I can tell that Cas is biting on the inside of his lower lip, a nervous habit he's developed in the years that he gradually humanized. But all he says, in a feeble attempt at humor, is, "Hopefully, Johnny won't harm any bees."

To which I respond, "Yeah, I know how much you care about bees. But you're not trying to get them to fight in a war, so clearly you don't care about your kids quite so much."

Then I storm out.

It takes a few minutes through the underground corridors to reach the bedrooms, specifically the off-shooting hallway that holds three bedrooms occupied by my little family. It's about ten, so both kids are sleeping (the best part of a parent's day). I open Joanna's door first and peek in to see that after Cas and I left her to fall asleep, she apparently got a book down from her bookshelf, because a thin paperback (seriously, I have no idea how a kid with my DNA is so fucking smart. Unfortunately, she's smart enough to use it against me) in her hand.

I go in quietly and pry Ralph S. Mouse from her hand, placing it on her nightstand so it'll be there when she wakes up. Then I give her a kiss on the forehead and leave, heading to Johnny's room next door.

He's asleep in a little pile, his arms under his chest and his little butt in the air.

I love them so much. And Cas does, too, I know that, and that's why it hurts so much (uch, and now I'm admitting and recognizing my feelings. Ok, moment over, back to being stoic and chick flick moment free.) that he thinks the best thing to do, the only thing that could give us even a prayer of winning the impending war, is enlisting our children as soldiers.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and as I lean back into Cas, he lets his hands fall to my waist.

"Does Johnny count as a Nephilim?" I ask, observing my still-scrunched-up son as he sleeps happily.

"Yes, I think so," Cas says softly. "Because I used my Grace to transfer his soul to Mary. He retained some of it, which he could potentially tap into when he learns to control it."

"So we could lose both of them," I sigh sadly. There's a long pause before I say, "I'm sorry."

"I know, Dean. This is all very stressful, and you didn't mean it."

"Yeah, I definitely didn't," I promise. "I know you love them. And I love you."

"We've beat apocalypses before, and we'll see the other side of this one," Sam says, and we turn around to find that he's come up behind us. "All of us."

Pie, I hope so.

-Remember what I said at the beginning? No? Well, the gist of it was please, please, please review and validate the countless hours that I spend rewatching Supernatural, reading other people's fanfictions to get inspiration, and editing and reediting my Word document until the chapters are just how I want them.

Any read is appreciated, but I'll like you even more if you review.

Review, review, review, review, review!