Abaddon pulled the hood back from the ragged figure's face. Sam lowered the crystal, the breath rushing from his lungs. Mallory stared back at him, her expression blank and her eyes empty. Her hair was gone, shaved down to stubble over her scalp. More black symbols twisted up her neck and across her face. A tarnished metal disc was imbedded at each temple, tendrils of dark infection spreading from the wounds.
"Mal," Sam whispered. She didn't react, her face never changing. "Mal?"
"Oh, she can hear you," Abaddon said. "There's just nothing she can do about it."
"What did you do to her?" Sam snarled, taking a step forward. Dean grabbed his arm.
"Sam, careful," his older brother warned.
"Yes, Sam, careful," Abaddon taunted. "There's just no telling what I'll do to her." He stroked the back of his hand down Mallory's cheek. An animal sound ripped its way free of Sam's throat, and John had to help Dean hold him back.
"That's no way to behave," Abaddon chided. He snapped his fingers and Mallory raised one hand, curling her fingers around her angel-sword. She held the blade across her throat. Sam stopped struggling. "That's better," Abaddon grinned. He placed both hands on the cane in front of him. "Now we can all talk like reasonable adults. Isn't this so much better?"
"Why?" Dean ground out when it appeared Sam wasn't capable of words. "Why her?"
Abaddon laughed. "Why not her? I mean, after all, I get all of this lovely angel's Grace." He reached out again and caressed Mallory's shaved head as if petting a cat. "It's just so...useful." He smirked. "Why don't we give them a demonstration, darling?"
Mallory lowered the angel-sword from her throat and stepped forward. Then she seemed to blur, moving too fast to see. Dean and John were flung to the ground, rolling and skidding over the red stone. Sam was down on one knee, Mallory standing behind him. One hand was tangled in his hair, pulling his head back. The silver blade now rested against Sam's throat, pressed tightly enough to indent the skin.
Dean rolled over and saw what was going on. "Mal!" he called. "Don't do this. You don't want to do this."
"I told you, she's not in control anymore," Abaddon said with a patient sigh. "You really are as thick as they told me."
"Mal," Sam said softly. He could see her face, feel the tension in every muscle. The metal of the angel-sword was fever-hot against his skin. "Mal, it's okay. It's gonna be okay. You just have to fight him."
"Sorry, that won't work," Abaddon informed him cheerfully. Mallory pressed the blade tighter against Sam's throat. A line of fire burned under his jaw and a line of warmth trickled down his neck.
"You son of a bitch," Dean growled. "Let her go!"
Abaddon pouted at him. "What? That's it? You managed to single-handedly stop the Apocalypse and that's all you give to save her? Come on, Dean! Show some imagination!" He shrugged theatrically. "Oh well. Makes my life easier. I was going to kill you all anyway. Mallory, sweetheart, go ahead and start with Sammy there."
Mallory prepared herself to drag the blade across Sam's throat.
"Wait!" Abaddon called out. Mallory paused. "I almost forgot the best part." He bounced on his toes a few times. "I'm going to have Mallory here kill you all as bloody and painful as possible. But, before you die, I just want you to know that after your deaths, the last remaining Winchester will be raised here, in hell, by me." He beamed at them proudly.
"The hell are you talking about?" John growled.
Abaddon widened his eyes in a parody of comic surprise. "You don't know?" he gasped. "Oh, Mallory, you bad girl. You didn't tell them?"
"Tell us what?" Dean demanded.
Abaddon smirked. "Mallory is pregnant."
The revelation exploded into silence, everyone frozen in shock, including Crowley. Dean jerked his head over to stare at Mallory, who was as blank and unmoving as ever. Sam, however, looked pale, his eyes huge. One hand had closed over Mallory's sword-arm, but if her previous show of strength was any indication, it wouldn't do any good.
Abaddon looked around at them, his expression mildly disappointed. "What? No protests, no bargaining? Nothing? Come on, people! John, we're talking about your grandchild, here. Not willing to make the same sacrifice you made for your son?" He swung around. "Or how about you, Sammy? Would you trade your soul for your child's?"
"I'll do it," Sam said before the demon was even finished talking.
"Sam," Mary started, but fell silent. Sam's eyes didn't waver from Abaddon's face.
"I'll stay," he said. "Let her go."
"Now we're cooking with gas," Abaddon said smugly. He strolled over to Sam and crouched in front of him. "You really would do it, wouldn't you?" he murmured, using his cane to tilt Sam's face to either side, examining him closely. "You'll stay here in torment for eternity to let her and your spawn go free." He clucked his tongue. "I have to say, Sam, that kind of self-sacrificial devotion is really pathetic. You must have daddy issues or something."
"Go fuck yourself," Sam growled between clenched teeth. "Do we have a deal or not?"
Abaddon leaned in close until his face was only an inch away from Sam's. He sucked in a deep breath, considering Sam's words. "Hmm... Nope." He whirled to his feet, wearing a huge grin. "I was just playing with you. Mallory, kill them all."
Everything happened at once. Mallory slashed the blade across Sam's throat and dropped him, gagging and bleeding, to the floor. She raised the dripping sword and prepared to launch herself at Mary. John raised the Colt and aimed at the girl. Dean lunged forward, trying to knock the gun out of his father's hands, and Crowley tried to find a discrete exit.
Then the ground began to shake, dust trickling down from the ceiling. Abaddon frowned and looked up. Mallory froze, as if Abaddon's attention was required for her take any action. Sam lay at her feet, still alive as he choked on his own blood. Cracks began appearing in the ceiling, spreading out like spiderwebs. Light shone through the gaps, pure, white, and clean.
"No," Abaddon growled. "No! This is my domain! You cannot be here!"
The world exploded into white light. Dean felt himself flung off his feet but strong hands caught him and held him tight. There were voices, loud, commanding, deafening. The beat of massive, feathered wings. Stone crumbling. Then he was airborne, wind whistling past his face. He fought with all his strength not to black out but he felt as if his skin was burning and he'd left his stomach back in hell...
When his vision cleared, the first thing he saw was the ceiling of Bobby's kitchen and his mother's face leaning over him. "Dean?" she called, sounding as if from a great distance. "Dean?"
"Sam," Dean gasped, and pushed himself up on one elbow, looking around the kitchen. Bobby and Kadmiel were restraining Sam as he struggled and thrashed, very much alive and well and showing no sign of his injury except for the blood sheeted down the front his shirt. Dean turned to see what had so upset his brother.
Anna held Mallory down on the kitchen table with John's help. She bucked and fought with every ounce of her strength, but never made a sound. Balthazar had her head pinned down with one hand and was clawing at the metal disc at her temple. His teeth were bared in pain and smoke rose from his fingertips, but he didn't give up. With a cry, half pain and half triumph, he pulled it free and flung it onto the ground. Mallory's back arched and the light above her exploded, showering sparks onto the four of them. Balthazar turned her head over and scraped at the other disc.
"Dammit, Kadmiel, will you keep him quiet?" Balthazar snapped without looking up from the girl.
Kadmiel touched Sam's forehead and he went abruptly limp, collapsing half on top of Bobby. "Oof," the older hunter grunted, trying to support Sam's weight. The angel stooped and easily picked Sam up in her arms, carrying him out of the kitchen. Dean watched her go with wide eyes.
Balthazar hissed in anger as he scrabbled at the metal imbedded in Mallory's flesh. His fingertips were already red and blistered but he continued to pry at it with his fingernails. Mallory struggled with strength far greater than her size, managing to free her arm from John's grip and clamping her hand around Balthazar's throat.
"Anna, little help here?" Balthazar wheezed, trying to loosen the girl's hold on him. Anna lunged over the table, pulling Mallory's arm down and pinning the girl down with her own weight.
"Hurry up," she barked.
Balthazar braced Mallory's head with one hand and dug his fingernails into her skin until he could feel blood oozing and smell burned flesh. Then he ripped the disk free. Mallory's entire body convulsed and a scream tore from her throat. Light bulbs throughout the house popped and sparked before the electricity went out altogether. The black runes on Mallory's skin dissolved and vanished. She finally went limp.
"Bugger all," Balthazar panted, shaking his injured hand out. Anna got down from the table and bent over the girl, brushing her fingers over the wounds at each temple. The injuries vanished, leaving circles of pink, new flesh. Anna looked up at her brother.
"I'll take care of her." She gathered Mallory into her arms and blinked out of existence. Balthazar dropped down into one of the chairs with a sigh.
Dean stared at the angel for a moment. "Hey, Balthazar?" he asked slowly.
The angel raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Yes, Dean?"
"How come you're not dead?"
Balthazar laughed. "Ah yes. As usual, Dean has a firm grasp of the obvious."
Mary helped Dean sit fully up. Dean glared at Balthazar. "Dude, you tried to take on Raphael," Dean reminded him. "How are you not wasted?"
"Michael stepped in at the last moment," Balthazar replied, all trace of humor gone. "He sent Kadmiel and me for re-education. We were there until Cas found us and released us."
"Oh." Dean rubbed his eyes. "Sucks, man."
"It's no worse than what you went through," Balthazar said briskly. "Right. Well, seeing as you look taken care of, I've got to be off. War to fight and all that."
"Wait—" Dean dropped his hand but it was too late. Balthazar was gone.
Bobby cleared his throat. "Well, welcome home," he said. Mary, Dean, and John all stared at him.
"How long?" Mary asked, sitting back on her heels.
"Four hours," Bobby replied. He looked around at them. "Y'all look like crap."
Dean glanced down at himself. His clothing was torn and filthy, spattered with black blood and smeared with red earth. "I feel like crap," he muttered.
John stepped away from the table and brushed ineffectually at his jacket. He frowned, flickered a few times, and then his clothing returned to normal. He reached under his jacket. "Shit," he muttered. Mary looked at him questioningly. "I dropped the Colt when those angels grabbed us," he said with a sigh.
Dean shook his head, too tired to dredge up any emotion. Mary and Bobby helped him to his feet. He wanted a shower, but the thought of climbing up the stairs was too much at the moment. He dropped into the chair Balthazar had vacated and buried his head in his arms on the table.
There was a quiet click as a glass met the tabletop by his elbow. Dean looked up. A pair of enormous brown eyes stared at him from the androgynous face of a bald ten-year-old. The kid was wearing teddy bear scrubs and looked like a brisk wind might knock it over.
"Who are you?" Dean asked, exhaustion stealing what little tact he possessed. The kid smiled shyly and reached out to grab hold of Dean's wrists, unfolding his arms so the kid could turn Dean's hands palm-up. The skin there was reddened and blistered from the oil lamp. Dean had completely forgotten about it in all the commotion. The child stared hard at the injuries for a moment, and then they began to heal before Dean's eyes. Once the skin had returned to normal, the kid dropped his wrists and leaned against the table, looking as tired as Dean felt.
Bobby walked over and put his hand on the kid's shoulder. "Should you be doing that?" he asked with a frown. "You're barely strong enough to walk around, much less heal people."
The kid looked up at Bobby with a serene expression and patted his hand where it rested on the kid's shoulder. Bobby sighed and nudged the child toward the door to the living room. "Go on, then." The kid padded out.
Dean pointed in the kid's direction. "Bobby, who the hell is that?" he demanded.
"Angel," Bobby replied. "Name's Sophia. Anna brought her around a couple of hours ago. Apparently she pissed Raphael off and he did a number on her."
Dean picked up the glass of water Sophia had brought him and drank half of it in one go. Mary wiped her palms on the front of her thighs. "I'm gonna check on Sam and Mal," she said. As she passed Dean, he reached out and stopped her.
"Do you think Abaddon was telling the truth?" he asked, looking up at her. "About Mal?"
She hesitated. "I don't know," she finally said. "We'll just have to wait and ask her."
Dean nodded. After Mary left, Bobby and John both sat down at the table with Dean. "Who's Abaddon?" Bobby asked.
"The new leader of hell, now that Lucifer is in the Cage," John replied.
Bobby looked from John to Dean and back. "You up to starting from the beginning?"
"Break out a six-pack, we'll tell you the whole thing," John replied.
XxxXxxX
Mallory woke up suddenly and all at once, emerging from a dreamless sleep fully aware. She immediately recognized her surroundings. It was her bedroom at Bobby's house; where she'd stayed during her month-long blindness. The sheets still smelled exactly like she remembered. The sun was peeking through the window; dawn was a few hours old.
She sat up slowly, pushing the blankets down, to find herself dressed in one of her own t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts. She stared down at herself for a moment, eyes traveling over any exposed skin. It was clean, if pale, and clear. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood up, crossing over to the mirror on the wall.
The image that confronted her was barely recognizable. She'd lost what little weight she'd managed to gain over the past four months. Her scalp was covered in short, soft stubble that blended in with her skin. The loss of her hair made her eyes look enormous, pale and haunted as they were. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
She heard footsteps from the kitchen and the quiet murmur of voices. She tilted her head curiously. There should be no way she could hear those noises from here. She discovered that if she kept listening, she could hear Dean snoring from the living room.
Mallory stepped into the hallway, pausing a moment before setting off towards the stairs. She ran her fingertips along the wooden paneling on the wall, having memorized every bump and crack. The carpet felt exactly the same under her bare feet as it always had. She inhaled deeply. Old spice, whiskey, and coffee.
The stairs didn't creak even though she made no effort to stay quiet. The voices were clearer now: John and Mary. Dishes clinked quietly and there was the sound of liquid pouring. Mallory stepped through the doorway into the library. Sam was on the couch, stretched out to his full length with one arm hanging over the edge, knuckles brushing the floor. Dean was on the cot. He'd kicked his blankets onto the floor.
Mallory slipped past them and through the living room, hesitating in the kitchen doorway. John was sitting at the table. He'd flicker every few moments, like bad reception on a television set. Mary was making coffee. "...It hasn't actually been that hard," she was saying. "You'd think a lot would change in almost thirty years, but it seems like the important things stay the same." She turned away from the counter with a mug in each hand and caught sight of the girl. "Mal," she said, sounding surprised. "You're awake."
Mary put the cups down on the table and crossed over to Mallory. John turned to examine the girl. "How do you feel?" Mary asked, reaching out to put her hand on Mallory's shoulder. Mal flinched before she could make contact, taking a quick step backwards. Mary pulled her hand back. "It's okay, sorry," she apologized quickly. "Are you all right?"
Mallory frowned as if in confusion, reaching up to press her fingertips against her temple. The skin there was still pink, newly-healed. She screwed her eyes shut and flinched hard, face pinched in pain. "Mal!" Mary called, moving to steady the girl but Mallory again ducked away from Mary's hands, desperate not to be touched. Then she blinked again, face clearing. She looked around the kitchen in bemusement, giving Mary and John a quizzical stare.
"Mallory," John said slowly. "Are you okay?"
The girl whipped her head around in the direction of the doorway a moment before Dean stumbled through, rubbing a hand over his face. "Coffee?" he mumbled. John picked up one of the mugs on the table and held it out in his son's direction. Dean brightened and headed over. As he passed Mallory, he swiped his hand over her shaven head. "Hey, kid."
Mallory spun away, chopping her hand down on Dean's wrist and dropping into a defensive stance, fists raised to protect her face. Dean froze. "What did I do?" he asked, glancing uncertainly from Mallory to his parents.
"I don't think she wants to be touched," Mary said quietly.
"Oh," Dean said. "Sorry." He edged around Mal and accepted the coffee from John. He looked over at Mary. "You get any sleep?"
"A little," she replied. At Dean's disapproving look, she shrugged. "I had it easier than you and Sam. And Mal," she added, nodding at the girl, who'd relaxed as soon as Dean was out of arm's reach. She continued to watch them silently.
"Any of the angels stick around?" Dean asked, sitting down across from John.
"Sophia is asleep in the other bedroom," Mary told him, leaning against the counter to sip at her own coffee. "Kadmiel and Anna stayed long enough to make sure you all were sleeping all right. Apparently the war started in earnest while we were gone. Heaven's a battlefield now."
"Awesome," Dean muttered.
Mary shrugged and put her coffee down. "I sent Bobby for groceries, but I might be able to scrape something together. Mal, you hungry?" She turned to look at the girl. Mallory tilted her head, giving Mary an unreadable look, and then shook her head. Dean frowned at her.
"Hey, are you all right? You look a little out of it."
"Dean," Mary chided. "Just leave her alone. She needs some time, that's all."
Dean wasn't convinced. "Yeah, all right."
Sam appeared in the doorway behind Mallory. "I smelled coffee," he said, looking around. His gaze fell on Mallory. "Hey." Before Mary could warn him, he placed his hand on Mallory's shoulder. "Good to see you up."
Mallory didn't flinch or try to pull away. She merely looked down at Sam's hand resting on her shoulder, and then up at his face. "I had a nightmare," she whispered, barely audible. Sam squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.
"What about?" he asked sympathetically.
"I killed you," she replied, still whispering.
"It wasn't real," he reassured her, ducking his head to look her in the eye. "Okay? I'm alive, I'm right here. This is what's real. Right here."
"You've said that before," Mallory protested, moisture pooling in her eyes. Sam frowned down at her in confusion.
"What? No, I—" He stopped himself, realization dawning. "What did he do to you?" he asked roughly, reaching up to touch her cheek. She turned her face away almost in shame, a tear overflowing. "Mal...what did he do to you?"
She swallowed. "He makes me kill you," she said thickly. "Over and over. You, and Dean. Mary. Bobby. Claire. Everyone. He won't let me stop. Sam, it never stops, and I can't..." Her breath hitched and she stumbled to a halt. Sam cursed mentally and took her by both shoulders.
"Mal, it's over," he told her intensely. "The angels got us out of there. We're home. I promise."
She shook her head. "It always happens like this," she told him unhappily. "But it just starts again and I—I have to kill you all over again."
Sam looked over to his brother and parents for help, but they looked as lost as he felt. He turned back to Mal. "Do you have your sword?" he asked her.
She frowned at him in confusion. "What?"
"Do you have your sword?"
"Y-yes," she stammered.
"Summon it," Sam ordered.
"Sam, I don't understand," Mallory said, shaking her head from side to side.
"Just trust me," he told her. She hesitated for a long moment, and then the angel-sword appeared in her right hand. Sam closed his hand around her wrist and lifted her hand until the point of the sword rested against his chest.
"Sam, what the hell?" Dean burst out.
"Shut up," Sam snapped. He looked down at Mallory, who was still in distress.
"Sam," she said.
"It's okay, Mal," he assured her. "Do you see? You don't have to kill me. Abaddon isn't making you do anything anymore. You're out. You're home."
She stared at where the blade's tip puckered the material of Sam's shirt. She gasped suddenly and stepped backwards, breaking free of Sam's grip. With a twist of her wrist, she banished the sword. "Oh, God," she whispered. She reached up to her temples, feeling the smooth skin and complete lack of anything metal. "We made it?"
Bobby opened the back door at that moment, stepping into the kitchen with an armful of paper bags. Crow pushed past the old hunter and made a beeline for Mallory, bumping his head against her stomach. Mal dropped her hands to fondle his ears, a faint smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. Bobby paused in the doorway, looking around at them all.
"So everyone's up, huh?" he grunted. "Well, shift. If you want food I'm gonna need room."
They were in the living room after breakfast when Castiel showed up. Nobody really felt like doing anything. John and Bobby were at the desk, going over John's old notebook and adding things here and there. Mary and Dean were cleaning guns on the coffee table while keeping an eye on the silver melting in the fireplace. Sam and Mal sat on the couch, Mal practically in his lap and watching as Sam sketched various Enochian wards, occasionally offering a correction. No one noticed the archangel until he cleared his throat. Everyone jumped, hands reaching toward the nearest weapons, until they realized who it was.
"Cas," Dean said, scrambling to his feet. Castiel offered Dean a tired but genuine smile.
"Hello, Dean. It's good to see you."
"Yeah, you too, man. Heard you got upgraded."
"It is a heavy responsibility," Castiel confirmed. There was the sound of shifting feathers and papers rustled throughout the whole room. He tilted his head at Dean and then sighed. "You are upset. Why?"
"What made you think that sending Mal and Mom after us was a good idea?" Dean demanded. "And don't give me any crap about politics."
Castiel pressed his lips together. "The seals on the Cage are gone, Dean. If an angel attempted to open it, they would risk freeing Michael and Lucifer. Living human souls had the greatest chance of extracting you from the Cage without releasing the archangels."
"Oh," Dean said, the wind taken from his sails. "So, how's the war going?" he asked lamely.
"I can't stay long," Castiel replied. "I only wanted to make sure you were all well. Anna told me..." He trailed off and looked over at Mallory. She returned his gaze silently. He crossed over to the couch and spoke to her quietly in Enochian. She replied tersely in the same language. The archangel shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said in English.
"Not your fault," Mallory told him.
He took a deep breath and nodded. "I have to go. If you need me, call. I will answer when I can or send someone."
"Wait, Castiel," Mary called. The angel turned to look at her. "Abaddon told us..." Mary hesitated and looked over at Sam and Mal. "Abaddon told us Mallory was pregnant."
Castiel's head whipped around to stare a moment at the girl. Then his gaze darted to Sam. "I promise you I did not know," he said quickly. "I would never have let her go if I had."
"I know," Sam assured him. "But is there...can you..?"
"Yes." Castiel knelt in front of Mallory, reaching out toward her. He paused. "With your permission?"
Mallory didn't speak, but shifted her position to give Castiel better access. She flinched but didn't pull away when Castiel placed his hand on her stomach. Everyone in the room held their breath for the next few seconds until Castiel looked up.
"You are indeed with child," he told Mallory gravely. Her face tightened and she looked away. "The fetus is only a few days old," Castiel continued. "But it appears to be healthy."
"Thank you," Sam told him softly, pulling Mallory back toward him. She dropped her head onto his shoulder.
"Congratulations," Castiel said gravely. Sam nodded.
The others exchanged awkward looks. It should be a happy occasion, but Sam and Mallory looked so grim that they weren't sure how they should react. Castiel seemed to pick up on the tension because he abruptly got to his feet. John sighed and stood as well.
"Time to be getting back?" he asked the angel. Castiel nodded.
Dean frowned, looking from his dad to his friend. "Wait, what are you talking about?" he demanded.
"I'm not staying here forever, Dean," John told him gently. "I don't belong here anymore."
Dean whirled on Castiel. "But you can bring him back, right? You can do that now."
Castiel shook his head. "Dean, I am sorry, but I can't."
"Why not?" Dean yelled. "You're a fucking archangel now!"
"And there are rules," Castiel replied evenly. "Resurrecting human souls arbitrarily is wrong. It goes against the order of things."
"Well, if it were me you'd bring me back," Dean pressed belligerently.
"No, I wouldn't," Castiel said softly. That stopped Dean cold. He stared at the angel, his mouth working soundlessly. "It is not my place to play God, Dean," Castiel continued. "I am fighting for free will. For you to be able to live without heavenly interference. It's what you want, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but," Dean started, but John laid his hand on his shoulder.
"He's right, Dean," John said. "It's best this way."
Dean looked like he was going to protest, but then his shoulders slumped. "Goddammit," he muttered. John laughed.
"Take care of your mother, you hear?" he said, pulling Dean into a tight hug.
"Yeah," Dean replied. When they pulled away, he gave his father a lopsided grin. "Gonna miss you."
"You, too," John told him.
Sam unfolded from Mallory and crossed over to hug John. "Thanks, Dad," he said simply. John patted Sam's cheek.
"I'm proud of you, boy," he said roughly. "Treat that girl of yours right. You'll be a good father."
Sam swallowed hard and nodded, unable to speak anything more. John turned and extended his hand towards Bobby. "Keep up the good work, Bobby," he said.
Bobby stood and shook John's head firmly. "Well, I have to cover your shift, now, don't I?" he replied gruffly. John laughed again. Then he finally turned to his wife.
"Mary," he began.
"Shut up," Mary replied, and kissed him. When they could speak again, she added, "I'll see you soon."
"Not too soon," John corrected, and stole another quick kiss. "All right, angel. Guess I'm ready."
Castiel nodded and put his hand on John's shoulder. They vanished with a whisper of wings and disturbed air. Dean stared at the moment where they had been for a moment. "And we were just starting to get along," he complained. Mary laughed softly and swiped and her eyes before rubbing her hands briskly.
"Well, no point in sitting around. Work to be done."
That's when Sam realized Mallory was gone.
He found her by the pond Amitiel had been so fond of, sitting on the flat rock with her knees drawn up to her chest. He sat next to her and said nothing. The silence stretched for several minutes. Then Mallory lifted her chin off her knees.
"So...I'm pregnant."
"Yeah," Sam replied.
There was another long silence, again broken by Mallory.
"How the hell did that happen?"
Sam sighed. "I have no idea."
