Title: Consequnces.
Pairing: Lisa/Deanna, past Deanna/Castiel.
Spoilers: Up to the end of season 6.
Words: Too many. Way too many.
Warnings: Mentions main character death. The C word. OCs. Homosexuality of the lesbian kind. Violence. WIP. Mentions of non-con and torture. A tragic lack of Cas in the first few chapters.
Summary: Post Swan Song: as a Winchester gives birth, history tries to repeat itself. Always-a-girl!Dean.

This is the unbeta'd version of this chapter, so bare with me, please? I will replace it with the beta'd one as soon as I get it in. Until, then, try not to let your eyes bleed.


Deanna's eyes reacted on instinct, flickering over him frantically, searching for any injuries or whatever. She knew-- knew and fucking believed with everything in her- that this wasn't her baby brother but that didn't change the fact that every inch of her very being urged her to act, to grab him, and hug him so tightly that he'd have to deal with fractured ribs, and she'd have to put up with his bitching.

Until things were their fucked up version of normal again.

It couldn't be him. If Sam had come back, he'd have come to her, and she wouldn't have stumbled into him on the edge of fucking Minneapolis. No matter what her instincts told her, it wasn't Sam. For a moment, Deanna wondered if someone had brought him back, like Cas had her, but she dismissed it abruptly.

There was no one with enough power to pull Sam out of the cage who gave a crap. Hell, Death had encouraged her to let him fall into the pit.

But goddamnit- goddamnit- it was a good fake; it looked exactly like her Sammy. Deanna knew every square inch of him; every freckle, every birth mark, every scar because she'd been there for just about every one of them, and every single inch of skin on this...thing was an exact copy of Sammy.

Her chest seemed to fracture, and bone-deep agony poured through the cracks, filling her completely. And then, her temper ignited in a flash of white-hot fury, burning until it was blue, and then adding gasoline until the world was turning to ash. It rocked through her with such a blazing intensity that she could almost ignore how much thinking of Sam killed her.

Sam's smile faded from his face at her silence. "Deanna," he said, worry filling his face. It didn't look quite right. "Why aren't you with Lisa? What are you doing her-"

Deanna stirred all of her fury up, closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at him, and struck out, punching him in the nose. There was a sharp crack, and Sammy cried out in pain, big feet stumbling backwards. Exactly like it happened in her nightmares, only she wasn't the cause of his pain. Most of the time.

Her fist must have hurt, and the blood must have been warm, but Deanna couldn't feel it as she opened her eyes, shoved the Not-Sammy into the motel room, and slammed the door shut. His hands were to his face, and his eyes were wide and shocked, blood leaked from his nose, staining his fingers.

The fury rose up inside of her, and she grabbed a fistful of his plaid shirt, hurling his 6'5 body into the nearest object with a snarl of rage. The nearest object turned out to be a wall, and she slammed Not-Sammy into it with enough force that the ceiling shook, his eyes rolled in his head, and a picture from the other side of the room fell to the floor with the sound of shattering glass.

She jolted her wrist in a deliberate movement, and a silver knife slid down her arm, into her hand. Deanna raised it, pressing it to Not-Sammy's throat. Bile rushed to her mouth at the sight, and she forced it back down, trying not to show her waver.

"Deanna-" Sam's eyes were wide, and his mouth was parted with disbelief.

Deanna really fucking wished her fury was an all-consuming blaze, because, shit, it hurt. Hearing him say her name, hearing...it hurt, it hurt a lot, fuck, she couldn't kill this thing when it looked like her little brother.

"What the hell?" she snarled at him, so harsh that she sounded like their- like her dad after a couple shots of whiskey.

"Deanna, put the knife down."

Deanna swore internally, glancing at the man hovering in the corner of her eyes; he looked exactly like Samuel Campbell. Well, crap. Was her dad gonna pop out of the bathroom next, holding hands with her mom?

No. This was a trick, a shapeshifter of some kind, not a Djinn mind-rape.

The hair on the back of her neck rose as Samuel stepped forward with his hand raised in a seemingly placating gesture. It pissed Deanna off even more.

She made a quick estimate of how close he was, and turned sharply towards the man, removing the knife-holding arm from Not-Sammy's throat, slashing it through the air as she moved. Samuel Campbell recoiled as the silver blade nicked his skin, blood welling up from the cut.

Not-Sam jerked under her arms, trying to move forward, but Deanna slammed him back against the wall, and returned the knife to his throat, not quite looking at him.

"Deanna," Not-Sam gasped. "It's me. I swear. Put the knife down, and I'll explain everything."

"How about I don't," Deanna said furiously, glancing between the two, a hard look in her eyes. "And you tell me what's going on anyway? And, if I don't like it, I'll kill your worthless asses."

"Deanna-"

Samuel cut Not-Sam off with a shake of his head, and even though it wasn't really her Sam, it brought a bitter aftertaste to Deanna's mouth. Way back when, she'd sometimes wondered if Sam would have respected her more if she'd been born Dean.

"We don't exactly know what happened," Sam said, drops of his own blood falling into his mouth. "I remember falling into the pit after..." Sam swallowed, eyes flickering down. He remembered Lucifer bending her over the Impala and smashing her face in. "Next thing I know, I'm laying in that field in the rain."

The knife in Deanna's hand wavered. Her grip was sweaty, it almost slipped.

Sam's eyes flickered to the knife, seeing her hesitation, and pouncing on it. "When I was five, on, uh, Mother's Day... I decided that since I didn't have a mom, I'd have a big Sister's Day instead. I made you a card, and you made me swear not to tell dad."

Her arm slowly fell back to her side, and she stared at him with a stunned expression. She still had one of those cards, at Bobby's. The first one, clumsy and covered in way too much pink glitter, but it'd mattered, so she'd kept it. It was...stupid, but, yeah.

One of the cards could have been found, scattered across the states, because she'd lost a few, but he'd been five when he'd made the first one, and there was nothing on any of the cards to suggest that beyond his sloppy hand-writing.

"I'll prove it to you," Sam said, wiggling out of her loosened grip, and sliding away from the wall to stand beside her. Deanna turned to face him automatically. "Can I borrow-" she handed the knife to him silently, and warily backed off a little.

"Thanks," Sam said with a slight smile. He rolled up his plaid shirt, and dragged the knife across his skin. Blood welled up, and he rolled his sleeve back down. Sam handed the knife back to her.

Deanna accepted the knife back absently, staring at him intently.

"It's me," Sam swore, meeting her eyes.

From the pit of her stomach, a wave of utter relief rose up inside of her, and she felt her tension drain away. Her breathing hitched, and she shook her head mindlessly to herself. All of her anger and suspicion was obliterated in a storm of wild relief. She forgot Samuel, and Mary, and Ben, and everything other than her brother.

Deanna grinned, so wide and relieved that some of her hidden dimples became visible.

"Sam," she muttered, stepping forward. Her eyes drank him in with a new purpose; he looked more untroubled than she'd seen him in years. Healthy, except for the blood leaking from his nose.

Deanna was too relieved to feel bad about that as she leaned forward, and hugged him, throwing everything into it. Her grip was nothing short of crushing. Sam's arms came around her, and he squeezed back tightly.

Deanna closed her eyes, and breathed his familiar, calming scent in. The 10 month long unsteadiness in her stomach was notable in its sudden absence, a weight dropped off her shoulders.

"You're crushing me," Sam warned her, a couple of seconds later.

"Bite me," Deanna replied, but she let go, and looked at him again, unable to stop grinning. She wanted to pull him into another hug, her overcompensating masculine pride be damned. "How the hell did this happen?"

"We don't know," Samuel answered, drawing her eyes away from Sam. He smiled tightly at her, sizing her up. "You look an awful lot like your mother."

Deanna considered arguing with that, because she really didn't, but the violent collision of guilt and pain in his eyes gave her pause. "Thanks," she said instead, glancing between them.

"I tried praying to Cas," Sam said, causing Deanna to stiffen.

"Oh, yeah?" she said in her best netural tone. "What did he say?"

"He didn't respond at all." Sam looked agitated, and his huge form began to move. He half-turned away from her, scowling at the ceiling. "I spent weeks praying to him, trying to turn up any new leads on how this happened, but- nothing. So, we have no idea."

Sam turned back to her, but it was Samuel who put a hand on her shoulder, and enquired, in a tone of concern; "Deanna?"

"Weeks?" Deanna demanded when her voice returned to her, her stomach sinking in horror. She was suddenly certain that she didn't want to know, that this was going to hurt. "Weeks? Goddamnit, Sam. How long have you two been back?"

Sam hesitated, studying her expression. Suddenly, Deanna noticed how different his eyes were, lacking his natural warmth. And his movements were slightly... off. He'd been in Hell, and that changed everything about a person, but that didn't stop his choice from smarting.

"Round about...ten months," Samuel supplied. Deanna's head snapped around, and she stared at the old man's face. Samuel's eyes lingered on Sam for a moment, before he met her eyes.

"This whole time?" she demanded, glaring at them both. "Why the hell didn't you come find me?"

Sam rolled his eyes condesendingly. "Because you were happy, Deanna." His tone was arrogant in its assumption that he knew better than her, and it sparked Deanna's rage. "I saw you with Lisa and Ben. I didn't want to ruin that for you."

"Lisa's dead," Deanna cut him off abruptly, shaking off Samuel's hand, and backing away from them both. "Meg possessed her, and made her blow her fucking brains out all over the walls."

Sam's face twisted in a gross imitation of sympathy, and Samuel looked away from her, hand rising to rub at his face.

"Deanna, I'm sor-"

"Don't," she barked, shaking her head angrily. "I mean, what the hell, Sam? Did you lose the ablity to send a text message when you came back or what?"

"Look-" Sam began, rolling his eyes, dismissing her fury. Deanna couldn't handle it, all of a sudden. The betrayal, the fury, the disappointment, and the sickening relief rolled together, and settled uncomfortably on her chest.

"I-" Deanna was startled when she realised what she needed; time away from him, her brother. Goddamnit, what the hell was wrong with her? Her brother was back from the grave, and she wanted to get the hell away from him. Just- just for a little while. Until she could breath evenly.

The fuck was wrong with her? She shouldn't- it was Sam, her dorky kid brother, and he was back, but he'd lied to her, and fuck, what the hell was going on here? She could kinda understand Sam being back -what with all of the good he'd done, it made sense that he wouldn't be left to rot in hell- but why Samuel? Why now?

It was looking more and more like the kind of plan that was going to bite them all in the ass.

"You know what? I have to go," Deanna announced in a forceful voice, brushing past Sam and Samuel, ripping the motel door open, and runnin- retreating in a hurried manner down the hallways, to the stairs. "I'll call or somethin'."

"Deanna!" Samuel called loudly after her, but she didn't turn.

Deanna knew that if she even stopped for a moment, she'd lose her bottle, and run back to Sam, but she clung to the flames of her fury, lost herself in the haze until she found herself frozen in front of the Impala.

A thousand bolts of electricity raced up her body, and white-hot sparks of pain sank into her system. Her heart felt like it had been smashed by a mallet. Iron bands tightened around her ribcage, and her gag reflex spasmed.

Deanna stumbled forward, clutching the roof of her car, submerged in Sam's betrayal. She rested her forehead against the cool metal, and breathed unsteadily. Sam had deliberately kept her in the dark about this, and it was like a pack of hellhounds were working her over again.

Unable to control her own muscles, Deanna vomited onto the pavement next to the Impala. Staring down at a mess that could easily be blamed on Sam, she climbed into the car, threw the gear into reverse and peeled out of the parking lot.

Wiping the corner of her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket, Deanna glanced around the interior for something to distract herself from whatever the hell just happened at the motel. Sam. Samuel. Ten months of deception, lies and a life that she was not included in sat bitter in her mouth.

Also, there was the lingering taste of bile. Nasty. She shuffled the papers around in the glove box, keeping her eyes on the road, as she searched for her emergency flask—in case of, well, situations like this. Nothing. Groping down under the drivers seat, she was rewarded with an empty bottle of whiskey.

"Oh, Jack. Where'd you go when I needed you?" Deanna sighed. "Fuck."

She swung the Impala around abruptly, remembering a tavern on the other side of the motel, maybe five blocks away. Glancing back at the motel as she sped by only taunted her more, and caused her to stomp down on the accelerator.

What the hell? Sam's back, Samuel's kicking around again and where the fuck is Cas? Deanna thought, raging. That feathery douchebag has to know something about how those two were sprung from their hereafters. At least I'm not the only one he's ignoring.

The door to the tavern flew open with her angry shove, and she glanced around the room. It was smoky. Too goddamn smoky. Hadn't this state outlawed smoking in bars yet? Christ. She strode up to the bar, slapped down a twenty and ground out, "Jack. Straight."

Sizing her up, the barman filled the shot glass. He raised an eyebrow as she threw it back and slammed it down in seconds. "Another," she exhaled harshly. "How much for the bottle?"


Deanna was starting to loosen up a bit. Feeling slightly warm, she shrugged off her jacket and set it on the stool beside her. She'd slowed down with the shots, enjoying the burn as the whiskey ran down her throat. There was something familiar about whiskey, the way it wormed its way inside, making the mouth water and the stomach warm. The way it was cooling and smoky, woodsy and crisp all at the same time.

Just looking at the glass comforted Deanna. This is what she remembered; this is what she knew. She was finally feeling that she was back in known territory again. This was her turf, and she'd missed playing this game.

She turned around on her stool to check out the clientele and immediately wished she hadn't. From across the room she spotted the telltale sign of the leering jackass. A breed not unfamiliar to Deanna, and found across the country. She could spot them from a mile
away, and this one looked like trouble. She kept her gaze moving across the crowd, and finding no other threats, she returned to her companion for the night.

Deanna had always held her liquor better than most girls, but she was feeling pleasantly buzzed by the time her seventh shot sailed down her throat, making her throat and chest burn. Her mind drifted, caught in the backwash of a million thoughts, all skating around the issue of Sam.

When the thought of Sam did enter her mind, Deanna briskly poured herself another shot of whiskey, and tossed it back like it was nothing. She basked in the painful burn, and tried to pretend that was why her chest hurt.

Deanna didn't get why she'd pulled a Gabriel, and bolted. She didn't run from anything; not the Devil, not a room full of gods, not awkward family situations like this. She ran from friends gained from a music store, and houses with names carved into the deck, and blood-splattered walls.

Deanna clenched her eyes shut as the burn in her chest increased. Seconds later, she opened them, and poured herself another shot, tossing it back, savoring the burn. She was thinking, now. Time for another distraction.

Deanna glanced around the bar. It was a pretty seedy bar, and quite a few guys were looking at her, less obvious than the leering jerk from before. Automatically, Deanna's eyes found the sleezy-looking dude, talking to a blonde more out of her top than in it. He was watching her intently as she gestured with her hands, laughing at her own joke, preening under his stare.

Deanna poured herself another shot glass, unsure of exactly why she was still watching the two, but put it up to her instincts. Her shot froze half-way to her mouth when she saw the sleezeball subtly slipping a little white pill into the blonde's sparkly pink drink.

She processed this, tossing her shot back, sliding off the bar stool and pulling her jacket back on. She rolled her shoulders, and walked up behind the blonde woman just as she was lifting the drink to her mouth.

Deanna slapped the drink out of her hands, and punched the guy outta his seat, sending him crashing into the dude a few stools down. They toppled off their bar stools, and onto the floor with twin cries of pain.

"Jesus, lady!" the shocked woman cried in a thick, southern drawl. She started to rise from her seat in concern, eyes wide with outrage. "What's your problem?"

"You ordered-" Deanna squinted at the pink...thing on the floor, and couldn't identify it, "- that pink crap on the floor, not a Roofie Rollover."

"W-what?" the busty chick demanded in a high, shrieking voice that immediately pissed Deanna off.

The leering jackass stumbled to his feet with a groan. His lip was busted, and already swelling unattractively. He took one look at Deanna, and swung for her in a fury. Deanna grinned, side-stepping the blow with ease.

"C'mon," she jeered belligerently. "Do you have to drug all of your girls before you can hit anything or-"

The sleezy son of a bitch wasn't a big guy, shorter than Cas, but he was faster than he let on, and he was a lot stronger then she'd assumed. Taking advantage of her gloating, the guy lunged forward, and landed a rattling blow on the side of her jaw.

The force behind his fist made her reel backwards, the small of her back crashing into the bar. The brutal, blunt pain assalted her senses, the taste of iron kicked off a wave of adrenaline, and she grinned through the pain of her throbbing jaw.

Deanna was distantly aware of the blond chick backing away as she pushed off the bar. The bastard looked her over with a scowl, opening his mouth to speak. Deanna hit him hard and fast in the gut, winding him. She brought her elbow back as he staggered with a wheeze of shock, and smashed it into his cheekbone.

Not hard enough to break, but enough to bruise like a bitch.

The guy jerked violently, twitching like a fish outta water before retreating as quickly as he could, clutching his stomach, watching her with wary eyes. Deanna moved away from the bar, shaking off the pain in her jaw. They circled each other for a moment until the air was heavy with tension, and a grin was splitting her face in contrast to the uncertainty on his.

"Why don't you go on home, lady?" he hid his uncertainty behind a proud sneer.

Deanna shook her head laughingly, teeth flashing in a clear taunt. "It takes more than a pathetic limp dick like you to get me moving."

Fury replaced his uncertainty, but her fist still flew first, skimming his cheek, stubble scraping against her knuckles. He grabbed her wrist, and started to twist, but she belted him in the nose with her other hand. He recoiled with a shout, and she followed with another punch to the face, backing him into a corner, forcing him to react.

The dude caught her arm in a bruising grip before she could land her next blow, fury burning hot in his eyes, and swung her backwards to gain momentum before hurling her into the bar.

Deanna's legs slammed into the bar stools, destroying what little balance she could have kept, and she tumbled half-over the bar top. Her breath escaped her lungs in a pained woosh, and she choked on it, coughing. She didn't wait to get her breath back before going to slid off the bar top.

A rough hand grabbed her hair, and slammed her face into the bar. Deanna shouted in pain, unprepared for it, cursing violently. Her face throbbed violently, and she started to bleed from the inside of her cheek, from her lip, and from her nose.

The hand yanked her hair again, and her face collided with the bar again. The entire left side of her face felt like it was doused in gasoline, being set on fire.

"Fuck," she snarled. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a beer bottle not far from her face. The beer was sloshing around inside the bottle, and it gave her an idea.

The sleezy motherfucker pressed into her back, hauling her up from the bar top. One of his meaty paws curled around her hip, and his breath was hot on the back of her neck, mostly because that's where he practically came up to. She was getting her face hammered into a bar by a fucking Midget. Christ.

"I said you shoulda gone home, lady."

Her head was rattled, scattered in pain, so her comeback wasn't as good as it could've been. "Screw you."

The would-be-rapist twisted a hand roughly in her hair, and - choked on her elbow as she bent it backwards, jamming it into the hollow of his throat. The dude's body jerked against her back, spittle splattered into her hair. It made Deanna feel unreasonably angry as he staggered away from her, trying to gather his bearings. She grabbed the bottle, twisting round, and bringing it to the side of his face.

Skin gave way under the bottle as it smashed against his jaw, and the momentum sent the guy cleanly to the floor, his cheekbone broken, his face slashed up awfully enough to make him scream without pause. There were droplets of blood on the floor, and on the bottle, and on Deanna's hands, but that didn't stop her from kicking the guy in the ribs with her steel-toe boots.

The dude let out another shrill scream, and she kicked him again, and again, and again. A savage rage rose up within her, a red haze destroying any of the barriers holding back her fury; her blood pounded in her ears, her fists matched the pace. She was dimly aware of pained, terrified screams, and the hot, wetness of blood on her hands, and the crack of bone, but she didn't stop hammering the would-be-rapist into the ground.

Blood splattered onto her cheek, and her fist sliced through the air in a wide arch- a hand clapped down on her elbow, gripping painfully tight, hauling her away. Deanna reacted instantly; trying to pull her arm away, hurling all of her weight backwards into the dumb bastard with such a tight grip on her when that didn't work, twisting to press the broken beer bottle to his throat.

Deanna was dimly aware of feeling surprised that she was still holding the broken beer bottle, having forgotten about it in her blind fury, as she took her captor in.

Short. Blond hair. A tanned, naturally arrogant face. Deathly strong grip. An automatic wave of annoyance. Amber eyes flashed with an ancient fury, and Deanna came back to herself, removing the bottle from Gabriel's throat, eyes moving around the room.

The bar was trashed. Tables were turned over, chairs were smashed and shattered around the room. Bottles were broken, glass shattered across the floor. Her hair was wet with blood, a number of wounds began screaming for her attention.

The air - the room- was unnaturally still. Frozen in time by Gabriel, Deanna figured, eyes moving across the floor with a growing sense of anxiety.

Her blood became ice when several dark shapes on the floor caught her attention. Four blood-stained people, all beaten into unconsciousness. The brave few who'd tried to stop her. Some of them had been slashed by a bottle. The blood stained beer bottle slipped out of her hand, and broke into a thousand pieces at their feet.

The bar was completely silent. Deanna felt sick.

"Goddamnit," she breathed unsteadily, an ice-cold ball of horror lodged in her gut and refused to budge. "What the hell did I do?"

Gabriel was restraining her, body thrumming with power and fury against hers. His fingers dug into her arms, bruising. Deanna didn't struggle. "You flipped your shit," he said bluntly, unapologetically.

"Are they..."

"Dead? No, not yet."

Deanna thought of the witch she'd killed a few days ago, and the ghost of savage glee she'd felt, pummeling four people into a bloody pulp. Her stomach churned, and she twisted away from Gabriel to the best of her ablity, gagging.

"Ew," Gabriel whined, letting go of her abruptly as she puked on the floor. Twice in one day. He snapped his fingers, and it disappeared. Gabriel stayed a few feet away from her, eyeing her distastefully. "You know, you shouldn't feel too bad about this."

"I beat the crap out of three people for trying to stop me killing that dude!" Deanna turned on him furiously, rubbing her mouth with part of her sleeve that wasn't soaked in blood. Her arm ached when she moved it.

"Relax, princess. They were all dicks, anyhoo." Gabriel waved the issue off, and brought up another one to shut her up. His eyes were full of cold fury. "What you should feel bad about was abandoning your two kids because your brother is being an ass."

Deanna's angry retort froze on the tip of her tongue. The wildfires of her temper flickered, and extinguished in a wave of cold shock. Once again, Gabriel didn't give her time to feel guilty. "They're outside in car."

Deanna began to pace agitatedly, lifting her hand to rub at her mouth. She'd forgotten about the blood on her hands. The slick wetness on her face startled her slightly, and it kicked the dim throbbing from the left side of her face into a screaming frenzy. Her hands recoiled from her face, and she looked at them.

Some of the blood was starting to dry. Behind her, Gabriel snapped his fingers again. The blood disappeared, but he didn't heal her, and she didn't ask him to.

Deanna couldn't help but think that Gabriel had now seen her in some pretty low places; throwing herself at him after Lisa, and beating up a bunch of innocent people. It had been a while since the silence had been so frosty between them.

Gabriel was so tightly interwined with Mary's well-being that she actually felt the urge to apologize to him for...this. Which was stupid. She owed the poor people on the floor something, not that ass-clown.

Deanna blew out a breath, and admitted, "I fucked up."

"You sure did," Gabriel said with false cheer. "Leaving Mary and Ben on their lonesome in a town you know is being stalked by a Wendigo? I mean are you actually trying to be just like Daddy? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, I'm not impressed with the results of his 'parenting skills'."

Deanna's jaw went tight, and she bit down on her automatic defense of her dad. She rolled her shoulders back, and privately acknowledged that she'd deserved that one. There were a lot of things she could've said to him, but she settled on, "Why are they here?"

"It's time you all vamoosed from this lame-ass town."

"No," Deanna said stubbornly. "Sam's here-"

Gabriel sighed noisily, head tilting backwards. "It's like history's repeating itself all over again, and I hate repeats," he announced. Then, he looked at her, stepping closer. "Chew on this, princess. You come back from the dead, who is the first person you call? Other than your precious Sammy."

"Bobby," she said instantly, and then thought that one through. "Wait, you think-"

"Finally," Gabriel crowed in a loud, echoing voice.

"Bobby knows?" Deanna demanded. The thought hit her hard. Like Cas, she'd always assumed that Bobby would be honest with her. She'd almost come to expect this shit from Sam, but Bobby? After watching her fall apart for over a month, he let her carry on believing that her brother was in the ground? "And he, what, didn't tell me?"

"I'm sure it's just because they don't think you have the balls to make your own decisions," Gabriel offered helpfully. "And hey, technically you don't."

"Screw you," Deanna snarled at him, shaking her head. "Bobby would've told me. He had to deal with me for a month before I left for Lisa's."

There had been times in her pregnancy when she'd wanted nothing more than to call Bobby, and bitch at him about things like Every-Hour-sickness, and baby-books, and goddamnit, no coffee. Deanna wondered if things would've turned out different if she'd picked up the phone, instead of trying to forget that she'd ever been a hunter.

She'd been on the end of that before, from Sam when he was being Mister College, and it still ached distantly, but still. This was Sam, and if any living person would understand how much she loved her brother, it was Bobby.

"Why are you so surprised?" Gabriel scoffed, face twisting into a truly impressive expression of scorn. "Winchesters don't have bodies in the closet, you have graveyards."

The complete lack of surprise in his voice triggered something in Deanna, and she marched a few steps closer to him, mouth tight in anger. "How long have you known about Sam, anyway?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "I told you as soon as I found out he was still kicking. Now, as fun as this is, lets hit the road, Jack."

"I'm not just gonna skip town, and never see my brother again because he screwed up," Deanna snapped at him.

Gabriel opened his arms, and looked pointedly around the bar, eyes lingering on the maimed, unconscious bodies. Deanna looked away, grimacing. Her hands curled, causing her split knuckles to throb but she only clenched her fist tighter, soaking up the sharp pain.

"You aren't the only one to consider anymore, Dee-Dee. You've got two kids, who need you a lot more than your dorky kid brother. Go to Bobby's for a few days, clear your head, realize that Sam can't be your first priority anymore."

Gabriel caught her gaze, and glared at her, continuing, "Stop being your dad, and then get back in touch with him. Or don't. Long as you actually take care of the kid, I don't give a rat's ass."

The thought of leaving Sam in the dust hurt more than hellhounds, electric shocks and pissed off angels, but Deanna's head was clear enough to see the sense in most of what he was saying. Sam was an adult. The truth was like ashes in her mouth, but he didn't need her anymore. Not like Ben and Mary.

The second Deanna made her decision, she wanted to take it back, to cling to the delusion that Sam was still a kid, that he needed her, but she'd been all about tough choices the last few years, so she squared her jaw, crushed the urge to reach for another bottle of Jack, and nodded stiffly.

The cold fury in Gabriel's eyes disappeared, and his teeth flashed in a grin. "Being the helpful guy that I am, I grabbed all of your stuff, and- really, Dee-Dee? Red lace? I'd never have pegged you for a lace-girl."

The archangel leered at her playfully, but Deanna ignored him, reaching into her pocket for her phone, dialing an ambulance for the poor bastards on the floor.

When that was done, she walked out of the bar, towards the Impala, forcing herself not to look back. Gabriel followed behind her. He was talking, but she wasn't listening. The back door of the Impala was thrown open, and Ben rushed out, flinging himself at her legs. Deanna caught him automatically, and ruffled his hair.

"Hey, buddy. You alright?"

Ben pulled away, and shrugged, looking up at her. His eyes went wide, concern filling his face. "Your lip's split!"

"Uh, yeah," Deanna pushed him back towards the car, and dabbed at the blood with her sleeve. "Back in the car. I'll explain everything on the road."


Several hours later, Ben, Deanna and Gabriel stood outside a motel room roughly a hundred miles from Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Ben was chewing on some ceral, and Deanna was nursing a cup of coffee. Shockingly enough, she hadn't been able to sleep after finding out that her brother hadn't bothered to correct her impression that he was, oh, ya know, suffering in eternal agony.

Goddamnit. No matter how many times she turned things over in her mind, it still hurt like hell. It was probably a good thing that Gabriel had refused to shazam them to Bobby's and that Ben had been able to convince her to pull over into a motel because he was tired.

Normally, Deanna would've let him sleep it off in the backseat, and just kept on driving, but it was her messed up way of apologizing. She wasn't proud of what she'd done back in that bar but something about Sam knocked everything else out of orbit.

"Wait, so, if it wasn't one of the God-Squad, who the hell brought Sam back?" Deanna demanded, leaning against the slightly ajar door frame. Mary was snoozing inside, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Gabriel's answer was stalled by a maid coming out of a room a few doors down. The maid looked at their lurking forms in curiosity. Deanna noticed Gabriel's finger twitch slightly an instant before the maid's trolley toppled over.

As the resulting clatter filled the hallway, Deanna felt a sharp, instinctive pull inside of her. Her head whipped around to the motel room automatically. The door was shut, and she couldn't see inside but Deanna kept on frowning at the door even as the maid hurried grabbed her things, and wheeled the trolley past, her cheeks flushed crimson.

"Relax," Gabriel said, a strange light in his eyes; anticipation. "It'll take more than that to wake your kid."

Deanna turned her head, and narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "Damnit, Gabriel. What the hell did you do?" she demanded accusingly.

Gabriel's expression twisted into outrage, but Ben cut his bullshit-flow off before it could send Deanna off the edge again. Sure, she was hurt, but she was pissed at Sam and Bobby, too.

"How come you're so sure that it wasn't one of your brothers?" Ben asked Gabriel.

The blond looked down at him. "Angels don't really believe in secrets."

"Or personal space," Deanna muttered, keeping an eye on the door.

"But I've been out of the game for over two thousand years, and now that I'm back, I don't spent a lot of time hanging around with the family." Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. "It could be one of my brothers, but those mooks wouldn't fight their way out of a paper-bag unless they were ordered to."

"That's kind of pathetic," Ben remarked with a frown.

"You're telling me," Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Since you trapped Micheal and Lucifer in their own little play-pen, there aren't a whole lot of archangels around with enough juice to pull something like that off without smashing the cage to bits."

"Enough juice," Deanna repeated with a raised eyebrow. "That mean you could have pulled Sam out?"

Gabriel waved a hand, waving the subject along. "Without an entire Garrison of other angels to keep the demons off my ass while I tried to find the damn thing, hell no."

"And I'm guessin' there are no secret archangels with enough experience of Hell to breeze through there without being torn apart," Deanna said bitterly. "Which rules out that theory, and leaves us with demons."

It would sure as hell explain why Sam had ditched her again.

"Castiel has been to Hell before," Gabriel mused, turning the thought over in his mind, glancing at her. "And he has the motivation to haul the Sasquatch out of there."

"Yeah, but Cas isn't an archangel." Deanna caught the expression on Gabriel's face, and rocked back on her heels in surprise. "Cas got promoted, huh?"

Gabriel's answer was promptly cut off by Mary's quiet coo from inside the motel room; there was a delighted edge to the sound, sweet and affectionate. Well-versed in Mary, Ben and Deanna froze.

It wasn't the shrill screech they'd expected to hear when Mary realised she was alone, it was the sound the infant made when she saw Deanna after she'd gone out, or Gabriel when he came back from torturing some poor sucker, or Ben practically every time he re-entered her line of sight.

Someone was with her. Deanna reacted quickly, shoving the door open, and stepping into the room, drawing her gun automatically. The instant her eyes landed on the figure beside her daughter's cot, Deanna froze, eyes widening, heart twisting and turning in her chest from a painful collision of relief, love, panic, pain, anger. A crime scene of emotions.

A messy head of dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a bittersweetly familiar face. Wearing his usual tan trenchcoat and suit, Cas was leaning over Mary, staring down at her tiny form with an actual, honest-to-God expression on his face. His mouth was crooked, his eyes were dark and saddened. His long, pale fingers stroked their kid's face with a gentle adoration behind the action.

There was a flash of movement in the corner of her eye. Gabriel and Deanna recognised him easily, but Ben didn't. Deanna's hand came down hard on his shoulder before the kid could get another step closer to tackling Cas.

"It's alright," she muttered to him. He went stiff under her hand, but he fixed Cas with a wary stare.

Hearing her voice seemed to snap Cas out of his daze, his head whipped round, and he stared her unabashedly in the eyes. Just looking at him was like being sucker-punched in the gut, stealing her breath away, but actually meeting his eyes caused a wild shock of...something to rip through her with such force that Deanna felt a dim, distant worry for herself.

"Deanna," Cas murmured her name with the same old relevance that she didn't deserve, but there was a strong note of regret in his voice. Of apology.

It should've pissed her off, sent her flying another fit of temper, but it didn't. Deanna was stunned by his sudden appearence, estatic to see him again, and some part of her was laughing over the irony of seeing Sam and Cas again so close to each other, but all of the rage and hurt she'd been nursing over the last few months was absent

"Cas," Deanna responded after a pause.

Castiel rose to his feet, his stare never wavering. He remained frozen for a moment before moving forward, his first steps were tentative, but they gained confidence the closer he came until he was in her personal space, and they were staring at each other like nothing had changed.

Deanna wasn't sure how to feel about that, so she tried to ignore it.

"Deanna," Cas repeated her name, his eyes bore into hers. He hesitated, uncertain of how to say what he needed to. "She possesses some of my grace," as though, that was the surprising thing.

Deanna raised an eyebrow at that. "Yeah, well, she is your kid."

As far as comebacks go, it wasn't up to her usual standards, but the effect it had on Cas was undeniable; his shockingly blue eyes managed to get even wider, and he stared at her with something worryingly close to awe flickering through his eyes.

"I'm very sorry I left," Cas told her with a painful sincerity laying heavily in his words.

Riding the shocks of what felt like a fucking nuclear bomb being dropped on her, Deanna thought about how she'd always respected people who were straight with her, not into bullshit, and far from willing to beat around the bush; Cas mowed the fucking bush down with a tank, and trampled the remains.

"You don't get to say that to me," Deanna said, a little wild around the eyes. Cas didn't look surprise by her reaction, but his mouth tightened in a way that indicated pain, and the blue of his eyes deepened, somehow.

"Well!" Gabriel scared the friggin' hell outta Deanna by clapping his hands together once, causing her to look away from Cas. There was a sickly sweet grin on Gabriel's face in contrast to Ben's frown. "This is a conversation between Mommy and Daddy that the kiddies don't need to hear."

Gabriel made forward, but came to an abrupt halt half-way across the room. It took Deanna a second to realise why; Castiel's hand was gripping his wrist tightly, preventing him from picking Mary up. Cas glared at him fiercely, mouth set in a thin line, eyes hard.

"Relax, bro," Gabriel said cheerfully, dislodging Cas' white-knuckled grip with a little effort. "I'm just taking the kids for a turn around the park while you and Dee yell at each other."

Castiel looked at her searchingly, easing off a bit when she nodded. Gabriel rolled his eyes at them, a certain tightness to his mouth that gave his displeasure away as he picked Mary up. When Mary made a small, sleepy sound, Castiel looked at her. His form tensed with the urge to keep his long-lost kid close to him, but he didn't try to stop Gabriel again.

"Come on, kid." Gabriel reached for Ben, who was looking at her with a strangely anxious expression on his face. "I'll buy you an ice cream."

Gabriel, Ben and Mary disappeared with the heavy flutter of wings; louder than Castiel's had ever been. Even the bastard's wings were showy.

Deanna half-turned away from Cas, feeling the impending awkward conversation deep in her bones. Her guts tightened unpleasantly, and she started to pace restlessly.

Cas watched her silently, seeming to take great interest in every tick in her behaviour. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he moved forward to intercept her, standing in her path.

Deanna licked her lips nervously, and considered walking around him, away from him before she gave into that terrifyingly strong urge to lean forward, and lay her head on his shoulder like she was a normal chick, not a paranoid hunter with more temper than sense.

Castiel's blue eyes were crackling with power when she met them, a growing bitterness swimming in a pool of blue. Deanna couldn't look at him for long before wanting to do something kinda crazy, so she looked to the side, shoving her hands into her pockets to keep herself from grabbing him, swallowing.

"Deanna," Castiel said, his voice scrapping gruffly over the word.

"Yeah?" she closed her eyes, allowing herself to savour the feelings he provoked without a friggin' audience. It'd been awhile since she'd heard her name from him, and she hadn't realised how much she'd missed that- missed the small things.

"Could you excuse me for a moment?" Castiel asked, voice quiet and strained.

"Depends," she said, opening her eyes to stare at the wall in front of her blankly. "Promise to come back before the kid's birthday?"

His breathing hitched slightly, cracking in pain. She tried to contain her flinch from the sound of it, but a muscle in her jaw twitched in discomfort. The tip of Castiel's fingertip brushed against her shoulder, sending a volt of longing down her body, but she killed the feeling before it would take root and give her away.

The tender soreness disappeared from her face, her split lip healed, and the skin covering her knuckles became smooth and unbroken. Cas' voice was low and full of meaning when he spoke, "I promise."

Deanna closed her eyes as the flutter of wings sounded behind her. Her skin broke out in a wave of goosebumps, and she gritted her teeth on a snarl. "Son of a bitch."