In the hours since he had left the bunker, Dean had considered returning a handful of times. He knew that if he did return, it would be Zephaniah's undoing. He could not let himself be the death of her, so, despite the urge to stay close to her, Dean left the picture on her pillow and left with the Impala.

His plan was sketchy at best. The way Dean figured it, he was the only being with The Mark on Earth anymore. No one could kill him; he would come back as a demon again. As freeing as that experience had been, it had carried a lot of awful things with it as well. His only option was to go to some place where no one could find him, and where he could no longer harm anyone, be it directly or indirectly. He was going to need some help with that.

Dean drove to a bar several hours outside of Lebanon. He set up the spell to summon Death on the trunk of the Impala, then went inside to wait.

Zephaniah brought the picture to Sam as soon as she could move herself from the spot in Dean's room where she had been frozen for several minutes as she tried to process that Dean had left them in the time they needed him the most.

"Where could he possibly have gone?" Zephaniah demanded. "We are about to be in the middle of a war with Heaven, and he bails!"

Sam set the picture on the table and crossed his arms over his chest. "When are you going to realize that everything Dean does – okay, most things Dean does, is because he thinks it's what's best for you? He has done the same for me since he was four years old, Zeph. Dean take a burden on himself and he won't unshoulder it until he's the one who has taken care of it. My guess is, he's off trying to do exactly what you did when you lied and told him you weren't safe for him, or went off to Israel."

Zephaniah's shoulders slumped. "Why now, Sam? Why now, when we need him more than ever to just be with us?"

Sam shrugged. "I honestly don't know. All I know is that we have to be ready for this, with or without him, so when he does come back – and I know he will, he always does – we're still standing."

Zephaniah nodded. She picked up the picture and turned away from Sam, intent on taking the picture back to Dean's room. Before she could get more than a few steps away, the walls of the bunker began to shake. The floor beneath her feet was still, so Zephaniah knew it wasn't an earthquake. She shoved the picture in her pocket and, turning a deaf ear to Sam's yells for her to come back, ran to Dean's room for the Dies Irae.

She was going to need it.

The bartender refilled Dean's drink and asked if he was sure the person he was waiting on was going to show.

"Don't know why he wouldn't," Dean shrugged. "He always does."

"Not this time."

Dean turned towards the voice sitting next to him; it was familiar but he couldn't place it until he laid eyes on the vessel sitting next to him.

"Gabriel?"

With a snap of Gabriel's fingers, everyone else in the bar disappeared. "Long time no see, Dean. How's tricks?"

"I might ask you the same damn thing," Dean retorted. "And as much as I'm absolutely ecstatic about this little reunion, I'm waiting on someone. So you'll have to forgive me if I take a raincheck."

Gabriel tossed an empty peanut shell over the counter. "Right, Death. Not coming."

"Excuse me?"

"Death is not coming to meet you today," Gabriel said.

Dean raised his brow. "Any particular reason why?"

Gabriel turned on his barstool to face Dean. "Because today is not your day to die. It's not your day to run away, either. I know what's going on with Zephaniah and Nathaniel and the war that's coming. Do you really think that extracting yourself from the equation will stop it?"

"I do, actually. Isn't that what this war is about? Zephaniah refusing to help them stop me?"

Gabriel snorted. "If only it were that simple. Zephaniah killed three angels. She goes against the natural order of things at nearly every turn. I'm not saying I don't agree with her for the most part, don't get me wrong."

"Then what are you saying?" Dean pressed.

Gabriel looked him directly in the eye. "I'm saying that this war isn't just about you anymore. Nathaniel is a peacekeeper, and Zephaniah does not keep the peace. He wants to stop her. The only way to do that, is to take her down."

"But if she's killed, everyone around her dies, too."

"That's a risk Nathaniel is willing to take, for the greater good." Gabriel rolled his eyes. "My brothers have good intentions, but they're idiots in the way they go about things. Dad's not around to keep them in control, so they take matters into their own hands."

Dean finished off his drink. "You're saying I should go back."

Gabriel tilted his head. "I'm strongly encouraging it. We've got to account for free will here."

Dean shook his head and let out a small chuckle. "So why you, Gabe? Why the trickster?"

"I wasn't always a trickster," Gabriel reminded. "I was once the Messenger of the Lord. This is important enough, Dean, I've been called to that again."

"And what's the message? Don't give up?"

"Yeah, don't give up," Gabriel said, "because if you give up, Zephaniah is done for. She's right when she tells you that the two of you aren't soulmates – you're something more than that. When God saw that the chain of human events would eventually lead to this, you were already in the plan. He knew that you would need someone to fight next to you, and that it needed to be someone more than Sam. It was then that he created Zephaniah."

Dean's brow fell into a quizzical expression. "She was made for me?"

"She was made for you. The pull between the two of you is not only The Mark. Yes, The Darkness wants Zephaniah's soul, but the connection between the two of you was made the day you rescued her from that warehouse. You can walk away from Sam – you can, and you have. You've left him on his own, thinking it was what was better for him. Zephaniah on the other hand – you will always go back to her."

Dean thought on all of that for a few moments before sliding off the barstool. "Thanks, Gabriel. Let's just hope she believes me when she hears all of this."

Gabriel gave him a single nod, calling Dean back before he reached the door. "I would hurry if I were you."

The archangel didn't have to go into detail for Dean to read the meaning in the statement. Dean hurried out to the Impala, fishtailing out of the parking lot and speeding down the highway towards the bunker.

Castiel, Rowena, and Crowley had joined Sam by the time Zephaniah returned with her knife. They stood in a close circle, watching as the warding on the bunkers walls glowed before plaster and brick began to fall, breaking the sigils. Their glow faded out, and the door of the bunker fell with a loud thud.

A group of ten angels entered the bunker, and Zephaniah assumed that the one leading the group was Nathaniel. Her countenance portrayed strength and courage, but her heartbeat and rapid breath betrayed her.

"You can still give this up, Zephaniah. Your chance has not entirely passed. Heaven is still willing to take on your acceptance of the mission to stop The Darkness from being released," Nathaniel told her.

Zephaniah shook her head. "When I told Josiah I would not betray Dean the first time I was dragged to Heaven about this matter, I meant it. That answer was not a rash decision, an initial reply while I thought things over. My answer is the same."

"In that case," Nathaniel began, his angel blade slipping into his hand, "you put the fate of your life into our hands."

"So be it."

There was a moment of calm before Nathaniel struck out at her, as there always was before a fight like this began. The angels accompanying Nathaniel spread out to take on her cohorts, leaving their leader to deal with the true problem.

She was able to dodge most of Nathaniel's strikes. The ones he was able to land were painful but not fatal. Zephaniah couldn't get close enough to him to use the Dies Irae, and her frustration with that fact was quickly turning to anger. True to form, her anger spurred her on and she was able to land one solid gash to Nathaniel's arm.

"Not bad," the angel chuckled, "for a human."

He lunged at her again, and Zephaniah narrowly evaded the attack. Her instinct told her she needed help, but a quick glance around the room told her that the rest of those on her side were dealing with saving their own lives at the moment.

Zephaniah had to do something. Changing her grip on the knife, she ran at Nathaniel, tackling him to the ground. It was clear that the wound from the Dies Irae was draining his power, little by little, and Zephaniah could see that they were becoming more and more evenly matched as the blood continued to drip from Nathaniel's arm.

She had the blade in her hand poised over the angel's heart when her attention was momentarily stolen by the man coming down the stairs, running towards her and calling her name.

"Dean," Zephaniah breathed, unable to control the smile tugging at her lips.

Her distraction would be her downfall. Nathaniel took advantage of her divided attentions and shoved his angel blade into her side. Her eyes went wide as she fell away, gripping the site of the new wound, and the world around them began to quake like never before.

Seeing that the majority of the other angels had been overtaken, Nathaniel ordered those remaining to retreat with him. Zephaniah was nearly dead anyway; their job here was done.

The pain began to fade and fingers of cold crept over Zephaniah's entire body. She gurgled and coughed as blood welled up from her belly and dribbled out of her mouth.

"Zeph, look at me," Dean said, rushing to her side and pulled her into a sitting position. "Hey, look at me. You're going to be all right."

"It's over now," Zephaniah said between struggling breaths. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

More bricks and plaster fell from the ceiling. Lamps crashed from tables and books tumbled off of shelves. No one could stand anymore, as the ground beneath them tossed and turned.

"I'm the one who couldn't save you," Dean said. "I'm so sorry. This is on me. It's all on me."

"You can't stay here. You have to go," Zephaniah ordered him. She was beginning to gasp for breaths between words, and the rafters from the ceiling were cracking apart, preparing to come down on them any second.

"I won't leave you," Dean promised, kissing her forehead and pushing the hair out of her face.

Zephaniah glanced at his arm and saw it – The Mark of Cain. The thing that had gotten them here today. She could let them all die, let Heaven win, or she could sacrifice herself to save them all.

It took the last of the energy Zephaniah had to reach out and grip Dean's arm, her hand firm over The Mark.

"Yes," she said.

Dean frowned, and Zephaniah knew he didn't understand what was happening. That was all for the best, she decided, as reality began to fade, and Zephaniah slipped away into nothingness.

By some sort of miracle, the bunker was restored nearly the same moment that Zephaniah had uttered her last word. Dean still wished he could have made out what she was saying, that he could have made some sense of that last moment with her.

Her body was laid out on his bed now. He had sat by her for hours, waiting for it all to be a horrible nightmare. No matter how hard Dean prayed, how long he waited, Zephaniah did not stir.

The argument with Sam and Castiel over burying her or burning her was perhaps the most intense Dean had had with his brother and best friend. He refused to give her a hunter's funeral; burning her body meant that there was no bringing her back. Perhaps he would further damn himself in the process, but Dean knew that he could not go on without Zephaniah.

He returned to his room, prepared to carry her outside of the bunker where they had all agreed Zephaniah would be buried, but she was gone. Her limp body was no longer weighing on his mattress.

Panicked, Dean spun around to alert Sam and Castiel, but the very being of his concern stopped him in his tracks.

"Hello, Dean."

Zephaniah's smile was hers. Her voice was hers, and her hair and her body. The clothes were her own, the way she did her makeup. Dean's heart relaxed, until his mind could process the two things Zephaniah now possessed that had not belonged to her before.

Reaching for that familiar spot on his arm, Dean realized The Mark was gone. It was now situated comfortably just below Zephaniah's collar bone, given away by the low-cut shirt she was wearing.

Yes.

Dean replayed the moment just before Zephaniah died in his mind. Her grip on his arm, right where The Mark had been, and her last word.

Yes.

Zephaniah had said yes to The Mark, and then she had died – only for as long as The Mark would allow. She had come back, but the Zephaniah standing in front of Dean now was not the Zephaniah he knew. No, this was a new Zephaniah, one with The Mark of Cain burned into her chest and eyes Dean didn't recognize staring back at him.

Those demonic, black eyes.