Chapter Eleven: In Which Mary Gets a New Best Buddy

The plan had been simple. Step into the vacuum Azazel had left, get the reins on his pet project and figure out just how much she could get out of this one. After all, there were only two rules in Hell. One, even the most solemn event has to be more fun than the most exciting in Heaven. Two, do whatever it takes to get to the top.

The spot was vacant after Yellow-Eyes took the swan dive. One of these days, Ruby would have to shake Mary Winchester's hand.

Unfortunately, it took a little more than one knife to get there. It took gumption. Wits. Guts. And a wayward hunter with psychic powers and murderous streak. Ruby wasn't exactly sure how much she could juice him up, but with time, she'd have the perfect attack dog. And then, no one could stand in her way. Forget ancients like Alastair and Lilith, forget pathetic little upstarts like Crowley, Ruby would be the one they'd all be bowing to in the end.

Yes, the plan had been perfect. Sam was simple. All it took was a pretty face and a sob story and he was like putty. His pretty boy brother getting killed off? Bonus.

Of course, when you spend most of your time in Hell, your plans tend to go directly there.

"Please. Like something like you could ever climb the ladder."

Ruby gritted her teeth and threw her head back, eyes squeezed tightly shut. It was better not to. She still had a gag reflex, and as much as she could love to vomit all over Lilith, she was pretty sure she wouldn't take it well.

"You can't even comprehend the forces at work here, girl."

Ruby spat out a bit of blood. (Her flair for the dramatic, it seemed, couldn't be taken away).

"Enlighten me, then."

Lilith withdrew suddenly. Ruby put a lot of effort into making sure she didn't sigh in relief.

"You've got quite a lot of spirt, girl."

"Thanks. It means a lot, coming from you," Ruby said sarcastically, figuring she couldn't dig herself any deeper than she was already.

"How did you earn his trust?"

Eager to make their little break last as long as possible, Ruby laid out her plan, leaving out how easy it had been. Lilith nodded along.

"Clever, too. How would you like to come with me to the top?"

Ruby eyed her for a long moment, trying to see if she was kidding.

"Why?"

"Simple. I've got what you want—your life, power. And you have what I want—Sam Winchester."

"What's in it for me?"

Lilith leaned in, looking around conspiratorially as if someone else could hear them in the dark. "We're going to release him."

/

"There's a job up in Sacramento."

The day began, as every day in the past four months had begun, with Bobby presenting her with a case. And, just as every day in the past four months, Mary politely declined.

"No. Get Rufus to do it, he's already out there. Besides, it's too far."

Mary heard Bobby mutter something under his breath, probably 'I've seen you drop more for less' but he didn't argue. She flopped down on one of the chairs littering Bobby's cluttered living room and tugged a book off his desk at random.

She'd fallen into a grim little routine: wake up, call Sam's cell, not get an answer, eat breakfast, man the phones while Bobby did errands or research, force him to eat breakfast, eat lunch, call Sam's cell, scramble dinner together with Bobby, eat dinner, call Sam's cell, sleep. Rise, wash and repeat.

"You gonna get that?" Bobby asked, gesturing at the door.

Mary shook her head. Sighing loudly about ungrateful houseguests and useless Winchesters, Bobby got up and headed for the front of the house. Mary watched him go all the way to the door and pull it open.

And then her brain stopped processing.

Mary Campbell, hunter extraordinaire, suffered a minor heart attack as Mary Winchester, mother to two of the stupidest boys to ever live, threw herself out of the chair, tossed Bobby out of the way and launched herself into her son's arms.

The rational part of her mind was screaming. The dead stayed dead unless something sketchy happened. But the part of her that was one hundred percent mother bear, who wanted to believe nothing had gone wrong, won out. Mary buried her face in his shoulder and breathed.

Sweat and blood and salt from her tears, but he was solid underneath her hands, not a ghost or a memory. Mary heard him take breath after getting the wind knocked out of him and she knew that if she reached for the pulse point in his wrist, it would be there.

"Mary! Are you stupid?"

Someone's arms wrapped around her stomach and physically dragged her back into the house. Mary lost it, kicking and punching and doing anything she could to get back to Dean. Bobby was determined, though. He succeeded in hauling her back over the threshold and back to the relative safety of his foyer. Mary stopped fighting as soon as her rational mind took over. Bobby lightly dusted himself off, rolling his eyes, as he turned back to Dean.

"How?"

"I don't know."

She stared at him, trying to drink in the sight of him, even as Bobby splashed holy water in his face and took blood with a silver knife. Mary couldn't comprehend what she was seeing, but it didn't matter. He was back. He was alive.

"It's really you."

Dean nodded. Bobby pulled him into a tight hug. They stayed like that for a few moments with Mary still lingering in the doorframe, every coil of tension that had taken up residence in her chest melting away. She didn't know how and she didn't care. All that mattered was that her boy was alive.

"You're alive," she said at last when they had separated.

She hugged him again. The way he folded into it, she couldn't help but think that he needed the hug every bit as much as she did. After a few moments of Bobby awkwardly clearing his throat in the background, Mary released him and took a step back.

"Yeah, I guess so."

He looked past them into the house. It took Mary a moment to realize that he was looking for Sam.

"He's not here," she said before he could ask. "He's been off on his own. Hunting."

Dean's jaw twisted in the way it did when he was holding something back. Mary knew that a tirade about letting Sam hunt without a partner would be coming as soon as they were all settled in.

"Come on in, boy," Bobby said gently. "We'll find him, just you wait."

/

Castiel had spent the better part of the last few millennia observing humanity, but he had never had cause to walk among them before. The vessel was strange—it contained his Grace in a way that he had never experienced before. He wasn't very good at controlling it yet. Perhaps the exploding lights had been what had frightened Dean. He would have to try to not make that mistake again.

Mary Winchester's room was bare of any signs that she had actually lived in it. A suitcase, neatly packed, lay at the foot of the bed, ready to leave at a moment's notice. The bed sheets looked as if they had not been touched, and the bedside table didn't have anything on it.

The door opened slowly. She was looking over her shoulder when she walked in, so it was a few moments before she saw him.

"Who are you?"

"Hello, Mary Winchester"

She reached for the door. Castiel gently raised his hands in the air, trying to look nonthreatening. The woman backed up until her hand was on the door handle, but she didn't call out for help. Castiel couldn't help but admire her. She didn't want to put her family in danger.

"Castiel. I assume Dean told you about me."

She nodded. "You're an angel. You saved my son."

Her voice warbled a little on son. Castiel had rebuilt Dean Winchester from the ground up. He'd used threads of a black car and the smell of asphalt in the summer, what a pie tasted like fresh out of the oven, the kick of a gun when the bullet hit its mark. But most of all, he'd rebuilt the man from his family. He had seen Mary Winchester through her son's eyes. It was almost strange to see her standing in front of him, not tinted with the color of his memory.

"I did."

"Thank you," she said quietly, not quite looking at him. Then, "But out of curiosity, how did you save him? You know, in case I need to do it?"

His feathers, invisible to her eyes, ruffled. The singed ones seemed to recoil from her words, as if they could undo the damage.

"We flew into the Pit to rescue him."

Her eyes filled with tears that Castiel didn't understand. To the best of his knowledge, humans cried when they were upset. She'd just gotten her son back. How could she be upset?

"We?"

Forty years ago, Castiel and forty of his garrison had been given a mission-the Righteous Man. It was an honor, they had been told. He would bring about the destiny their Father had always promised.

He was a soldier, born and bred, but nothing could have ever prepared him for this. Sulfur burning at his lungs and throat. Hellfire bubbling over his skin, scorching his wings. They'd left a trail of bloody feathers in their wake, but no one pursued them. After all, why worry when someone dives into Hell? It had been the escape to worry about.

Every war had its casualties and this one was no exception. Their numbers had slowly dwindled until Castiel was the lone angel with blackened wings, half flying, half free falling. Almost too late, he had reached the Righteous Man. For a moment, Castiel had thought that he had stumbled on the wrong soul. He'd been wrong-warped beyond recognition.

It hadn't really surprised him. Almost no one could withstand Alastair for thirty years. Dean had fought him every step of the ascent, convinced that it was just another form of torture. Castiel couldn't blame him. The ascent had been much more painful than the descent. He'd had to fight off hundreds of demons on his own that would happily kill to sink their claws in the Righteous Man. Castiel didn't know how much Dean remembered about their journey up together. He hoped it wasn't much. It hadn't been particularly dignified.

"The others burnt," he said. "I was the only one to reach him."

Mary Winchester's eyes filled with those peculiar tears again. Castiel wished she would stop.

"Thank you," she said again, voice oddly strained.

And then she did something very strange. She crossed the room in four quick steps and wrapped her arms around him. Castiel stood very still, vaguely wondering if this was her idea of an attack. After a few moments where nothing harmful occurred, he determined it was affectionate, but still mildly uncomfortable. He patted her on the back a few times.

"Are you going to be sticking around?" she asked him, wiping the tears from her face.

"I will go where I am commanded to."

"Well, I hope it's here. We owe you a lot, Castiel."

Not quite knowing how to respond to that, he gave her a swift nod and vanished with a single flap of his still-aching wings.

/

"Why didn't you ever tell me that you met me?"

Mary sat up slowly, back protesting the hard motel mattress. Dean had flicked on the light, so she sat there blinking blearily for a few moments as he moved around the room, tossing her things into a bag.

"What the heck are you talking about?"

She got out of bed and pulled a sweatshirt that she had probably appropriated from one of the boys over her shoulders. As Dean tugged her rucksack off the table and on to his shoulder, Mary stuffed her boots on to her feet and laced them up.

"I'll explain on the way."

Mary chased him out into the parking lot. She didn't miss the absence of her van, which had at one point occupied the space next to Dean's car. Without another moment of hesitation, she flung open the passenger door and leapt inside.

"Angels can time travel."

Mary would have thought that after all these years, she would be totally immune to Earth-shattering revelations. She wasn't.

"They can—no way."

He nodded. "They threw me to 1973."

Mary did some quick math and didn't like what she came up with. 1973 meant Lawrence, Kansas. It meant Mom and Dad dead in the house. It meant the yellow-eyed demon and the worst decision of her life.

"Dad…I met him."

Something swelled in Mary's chest that she didn't have a name for. Pity? Affection? Disappointment? Dean gave a wry smile and tried to lighten the mood.

"He was, uh…" He gave a low whistle. "Good catch."

"Yeah, he was."

Dean tapped on the steering wheel. Mary suddenly realized that she had absolutely no idea where they were going or why, but it didn't really matter. She tugged the cassette out of the deck and put it neatly away.

"So, 1973. I guess you know, then."

She hadn't told Sam to keep the deal with Azazel a secret, but as far as she'd known, he hadn't seen a reason to tell Dean. Mary couldn't blame him.

"You made a deal."

"Yes."

Dean looked away from her, at the road flying by the window. Mary let him. He'd need a few minutes to process it. Heck, it had been nearly three decades and she hadn't processed it herself. It always felt as if it had been another person to seal the deal.

"Right. Well, more importantly, I figured out why Azazel was in the nursery that night."

Had Mary been driving the car, it probably would have come screeching to a halt. As it was, she had to settle for staring at him in dumbfounded silence, her head spinning. She'd thought they'd seen the last of him, but the reach of her deal touched them even now, with Azazel long dead.

"He bled into Sam's mouth. Wanted a master race or something insane like that. That's why all the psychic visions were happening. He had some sort of connection, like he was tuning into demon radio or something."

"He wanted…permission," Mary said softly, the terms of a long-ago agreement. "Permission to come into my house in ten years' time. He wanted permission to do that to Sam."

She wanted to throw up but she was pretty sure Dean would object to her messing with the leather. Instead, she tightened her hands into fists at her sides and leaned back into the seat.

Everything that had gone wrong in her son's lives could be traced back to that night. Granted, they wouldn't have existed at all without it, but Mary suddenly felt a childish surge of hatred towards her parents. The old anger and resentment that had fueled her teenage years welled in her chest. If they hadn't raised her in this life, if they hadn't insisted that she be just like them, none of this would have ever happened.

"Where are we going?" she asked, half curious, half desperate to divert the conversation.

"I talked to Cas." Mary blinked at the nickname, but she let it slide. "Sam's missing, but he went on his own."

"So what? Maybe he went to get a midnight snack."

Dean shook his head. "He told me something. He said Sam's on a dangerous path and we have to stop it. Or they will."