"We need to find a safe place," Dean said to the crowd that had huddled in the gardens after the discovery of Lilith's recent murder.

"Yeah? Where?" Meg stood close to Ruby who stood close to Sam. A drizzling rain began to mist down on them, deepening the chill of the morning. "We've still got until tomorrow before the boats come-all our leaders are dead. Yours and ours. We're free game now. Sitting ducks."

"Don't talk like that," Ruby said. "You and me will work on a spell-"

"-we agreed-" Dean said, pausing when Ruby put her palm against his sternum, to stop him from looming over her.

"We didn't agree to anything," Ruby said. "But there are other spells. Meg and I will find a way to target the killer. It'll be dangerous-we'll need something personal, something like his hair." Ruby drew her knife and flipped it leisurely in her hand, biting her lips. "Or we could set a trap. He's just as vulnerable as us right now. We wouldn't even need a blade that could kill demons. Anything with a sharp edge can do."

"Anything can be a weapon if you're holding it right1," Charlie sang under her breath, clutching very tightly to a piece of wood that would probably shatter on impact.

Madison strode over to her and kissed the top of her head.

"A spell sounds safer," Dean said. "Would it require a sacrifice?"

Ruby and Meg glanced at each other. "No, it won't. But it will require something personal of John's. Maybe some of his hair. Since he's been running around to god knows where, I don't suppose that you have a piece just lying around."

Dean really didn't want to do the thing that he was just about to do. It might not be his home anymore, but it was a place where he had felt safe once upon a time. And neither of these two women? Were safe. They didn't deserve to come anywhere near, especially when it was someone's personal beef with them that had gotten Sheriff Mills killed in the first place, and it was their desire for Lucifer to rise that had inspired the first massacre. He fought against the nausea as he tried to string his words together right. "There might be some at the old place. Maybe something you could use." He shrugged. Please say no.

"Okay," Meg said. "No need to lead the way-we already know it." She smirked and then strode down the muddy path, arms linked with Ruby's.

"Don't even think about it," Dean said, running after them. "If you think I'm letting you out of my sight, you've got another think coming."

"And if you think you're going alone," Sam called out to them, "you're even stupider than you look."

And, Mike or Michael or whoever he was (and Dean realized with a sinking heart that they were gonna need to have that conversation sooner or later) could not be outdone by Sam, so he too came trotting after Dean's heels.

With Dean disappearing behind those two demon witches, Gordon turned to the rest of them. "We should find a refuge. Ellen Harvelle's Roadhouse has long been a safe place for hunters. It's large, easily defended, with only two ways in and out that can be boarded."

"It also has some of the best beer this side of the island," Charlie said, "which I guess isn't saying much but god, do I need a drink." She laughed, then bit down the impulse so hard her tongue bled.

"We all do," Gordon said. "So let's get going."

They found Ellen and Jo just about opening for the morning, and their faces fell when they saw the weary souls came trudging in. With the rising light of day, Gordon realized they made quite a sight. Maggie and Charlie still had Anna's blood on their clothes, crusted on their hands. Kevin looked like he was barely keeping it together-in fact, he hadn't spoken a word for hours. Just like last time. It'd taken him months to even say good morning. Gordon patted him on the shoulder as he took a spare seat mutely. It'd be okay. Kevin would come round when he was ready.

"What's going on, Gordon?" Ellen said, giving him a steaming cup of bitter coffee. "Awful early for so many of you to be out drinking."

"We're not here for pleasure," Gordon said, sipping the drink, appreciating the way it scorched down his throat and warmed his belly. "But for sanctuary."

Ellen's eyes narrowed and flicked to Jo, who was sitting beside Maggie and Charlie, asking if they wanted anything, leaving when she realized they weren't going to be talking anytime soon.

"You're really gonna make me ask sanctuary from whom?" Ellen asked. "I'm not a dentist-don't make me pull the story out of ya."

So Gordon told her the story-or what he knew of it. The lists of the dead. The lists of the missing (presumed dead, obviously). The death of the sheriff.

The plate would have broken after Ellen dropped it when she heard that piece of news, but Gordon caught it neatly.

"So yes," he said, "we seek sanctuary."

She shook her head, and leaned against her bar. Jo with tall glasses of water stuck with lemon wedges, even though Charlie kept asking for a drink. "Maybe later, okay?" Jo said, her smile hitched on, strained, not genuine.

Gordon sighed. Girl could have been a great hunter if her mother had let her.

"You could have brought the killer here," Ellen said. "If Lilith was murdered in plain view and nobody saw it, then the killer could still be here, right now, invisible in our midst." She looked over at Jo, lips tight against her teeth.

"The witches are not here," Gordon said. "From my experience, witches are the ones most likely to kill sight unseen."

"And does Dean know this?" Ellen asked. "Does Dean know that you sent him off with the two you think are the most suspect?"

Gordon shrugged. "Dean's not a fool, and he can handle himself. He also volunteered to join them. And no, I don't believe that they are the ones who did this-merely that they are the most likely to fit the profile. Which is possibly what the real killer wants us to think." Gordon breathed slow, wished desperately for a cigarette, even though he was supposed to be quitting. "There is probably a third witch. We just. Need to find out who it is without turning the situation into another Salem. No burn witch burn today unless it's the right one."

"A third witch-in addition to John Winchester?" Ellen's eyes widened, her mascara already flaking.

"An accomplice," Gordon said. "I haven't told the group yet. No need to worry them until I have it sorted in my head."

"You should have at least told Dean," Ellen said, voice severe. "He deserves that."

Gordon straddled a chair, arms folding around the back of it. "Like I said, Dean's a smart boy."

Ellen snorted softly, then started cleaning a glass that nobody had yet drunk out of. "You been down to the old lighthouse yet? Checked to see if their radio is still intact? That way you could just radio the coastguard direct instead of waiting like idiots with thumbs up your asses for them to notice the sheriff hasn't called in lately."

Gordon jerked his head up. He thought he knew this island like the back of his hand. "What lighthouse?"

And Ellen told him.

Victor had hidden himself in the men's restroom. He turned the faucet on so that cold water streamed out-so that he couldn't hear the undercurrent of the voices, so that he could drown out the images and voices in his mind with the white noise of the water.

He watched the water flow-the way it rippled and dipped and curved. Made his eyes center in on it, so they wouldn't flit to the corners of the room, see the things in the shadow.

The door pushed open, and his concentration was ruined-but it was only Gordon.

"I'm sorry," he said when he saw the way Victor was leaning against the sink, elbows against the hard porcelain. "Didn't mean to bother you."

Victor shook his head. "Stay."

Gordon nodded, went over to stand beside Gordon. He reached out with his hand, and rubbed slow circles in his back.

Victor leaned into it, body shifting so that he was closer, until their thighs were pressed together. Gordon's hand slid up until he was gripped the nape of his neck, fingers caressing his skin, until he finally pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"You're alright," Gordon whispered. "You're alright."

And Victor allowed himself to believe it, just for a moment, because if there was one thing anybody needed to know about Gordon Walker was that he told no lies.

Ruby had already asked the boys to give them a minute, so they were alone for the most part.

"I think you're wrong," Meg said as they walked down the deserted streets. Maybe the rest of the town was sleeping still. Maybe they felt the shadow of evil. Maybe Azazel had already killed them all.

"It wouldn't be the first time." Ruby glanced side-ways at Meg and smiled. "You always think I'm wrong, and sometimes I am. Talk to me, sister."

Meg shrugged. "Azazel doesn't do magic. It's too refined. Takes too much patience. Hell, he didn't even do the heavy duty lifting of the magic that released Lucifer-just the slaughter part. Which means he got someone to do the spell for him, either willingly or coercively. But the fact is, no way he'd let himself be left vulnerable by his own spell. We're going to need something more than just any old weapon. We're going to need something that can kill something supernatural, a high level demon."

"Not puppy chow," Ruby said slowly.

Meg glared at Dean's back. "He won't like it-but this spell is gonna need to be bigger than a finding spell. Something big enough to smoke out Azazel in John Winchester's meat suit, something clever enough that John won't sniff it out because that man hated a witch, didn't he?" She sighed. "We're going to need something that witch doesn't need to activate in case we're not around for whatever dumbass reason-a spelled object instead of a spell."

"But not because we're dead though," Ruby said, her voice light.

"Like that, yeah." Meg folded her arms across her chest, leather jacket stretched tight against her shoulders. "We need something anybody could handle."

"Like a gun," Ruby said. "So many hunters, so many familiar hands."

Meg nodded, repeating the words back slow. "Like a gun."

Ruby shaped her fingers into a gun. "Bang, bang-"

"-my baby shot me down-"

"Bang, bang."

They bumped shoulders. "You really think that it's one of us?" Meg asked.

Ruby shrugged. "I don't care at this point. Whoever it is-clearly has an agenda that's on nobody else's desk. And that's dangerous. There's no telling what may happen next, or even who the next victims are. We need to put out this wildfire now."

"More like yesterday," Meg said.

They walked in silence before Ruby spoke again. "There's a real chance that we won't be able to find what we need at the house. It's been seven years since he lived there, and not even Azazel or John would be careless to leave something obvious. We might need to-fight him ourselves."

Meg snorted a laugh. "That'd be-suicide. I'm not into that."

"Not necessarily," Ruby said. "But we can't-we can't be too afraid to act, okay? If he's anywhere near us-we take what we can and run like hell to perform the spell. Forget everything else. Focus on the end goal. Everything else is just-chaff. Meaningless. Blah blah blah."

Meg looked at Ruby. "You don't think I can do that?"

"I never said that," Ruby said. "But think about it-who got chosen to play the long con?"

Meg kicked savagely at a clump of grass, and cursed. "You did."

"It doesn't mean I'm better-sure I'm better than some-but you and me? We're the same. We just do some things better than the other. Like me? I could never have made the shards of Abaddon's weapon into a sword. Just like I don't think I'm going to be able to spell the gun against Azazel." She paused, and put her hands on Meg's shoulders. "You need to do it."

Meg shook her head. "I can't. Azazel was like-a father to me. Before he disappeared. When I thought he'd just gotten himself killed." She fell silent. "He didn't treat me like Alistair did."

Ruby smiled at her sympathetically, cupping Meg's cheeks like Azazel had done, like Lucifer had done. Meg leaned into the touch and closed her eyes. "Patricide is the greatest betrayal, one of the strongest elements of magic. Anything can be done with the death of a father. That's why you need to do it. That's why it's need to be you. You're the only one-don't you see?"

Meg squeezed her eyes shut. "Okay," she said finally. "Okay. I'll do it."

"That's my girl," Ruby said, hugging her shoulders, as she gestured for the boys to catch them up, and then Sam was by Ruby's side, Dean on Meg's other side, and Michael, archangel Michael, on the fringe as always.

Just the way Meg liked it actually. Left him desperate, left him dumb and stupid. He'd already lost the fucking war, and yet here he was, dogging Dean like he was the only thing he ever wanted.

Sad and pathetic.

While Meg and Ruby were having their own personal conference, Dean kept pace with Sam and Mike.

Or, Michael, he guessed, wincing. He looked at him now, and wondered if there was anybody who hadn't lied to him at some point.

Benny hadn't.

Anna hadn't.

But for some reason, that didn't soothe the hurt. "Sam," he said, his voice hoarse. "I need you to give us a moment."

Sam paused, shifting his gaze from Dean back to Michael. "Why?"

"Because I need a moment, Sam." Dean lifted his eyes to Sam's face. "I need you to trust me."

Sam jerked a nod, and trotted so that he was a few paces.

"Well, Dean," Michael said, reaching for his jacket even as Dean swayed away from him. "If you wanted me alone, all you had to do was ask."

"That's funny," Dean said. " 'Cause I heard a rumor that you had a question of your own you wanted to ask me. Isn't that right, Michael, archangel of god?"

Michael huffed a sigh. "So you know."

"I know," Dean said. "I just don't know why you lied to me-pretended to be human, pretended to be some kid named Mike, pretended to love me."

Michael shook his head, his hands reaching for Dean again before he aborted the movement. "That wasn't pretend. I love you, Dean, I loved you since before you were born."

Dean's face twisted as nausea settled low in his gut, as he struggled to pace his breathing. "You know how creepy that sounds, right?"

"We are fearfully and wonderfully made, Dean," Mike said, his voice urgent. "And you were fearfully and wonderfully made for me-don't you know what an honor that is?"

Dean shook his head, taking a pace back from Michael. "No. You don't get to say that. I have my own life now."

Michael sighed, his arms outstretched in beatification. "But your life is meaningless now, Dean. I give it meaning. We give each other meaning. Without us, together-" the words broke off, as if there weren't words enough to convey the intensity and the depth of what he was trying to say. "Your life is a ghost of what it could be, of what we could be together."

Dean twisted a smile to his lips. "That's funny because I was pretty damn happy before I came back here."

"Then think," Michael said, "how much happier you could have been. You could be."

"You don't know anything about me-you don't know shit."

Michael's face was sad. "I know what's in your blood, Dean. I know what fuels your heart to keep pumping. Saving people, hunting things, the family business. You and me-" here he smiled, incredulously, as if he could barely believe it himself- "we were supposed to perform the ultimate act of salvation-defeat the devil, and bring heaven back to earth-"

"With an apocalypse," Dean shouted, "and it's only because of the Sheriff that the whole world wasn't laid waste."

Michael put his finger over Dean's lips, and he went cold-cold and silent. "That doesn't matter, Dean. Jody did what she had to do-as will I, and that's why I agreed. Killing the devil-would have ended it. Maybe-it would have even brought our Father home, now that he had an entire kingdom at his feet, the source of all evil, uprooted and destroyed."

"So that's what this is," Dean said. "One last ditch effort for Dad to come home." He shook his head, snorting. "Take it from someone who knows, pal. That never works. Not once."

"You know nothing," Michael said. "And even though our chance to perform the final gesture of grand salvation has been stolen from us-" his brow furrowed dangerously - "this earth still needs saving. This island still needs saving. After all, whoever killed the devil can become the new one, I suppose. Either way-heaven will come to earth. But it won't unless you say yes."

"Yes to what," Dean said even though he knew the answer.

"To me," Michael said. "Yes to me. I'm asking you Dean, let me in-let me help you. Help me save us all. It's the only way."

"I don't believe that," Dean said. "Not for a hot minute. We can do this-without you. And if you're not interested in helping unless you're wearing me as a meatsuit, then go screw yourself, because I'm not interested." He folded his hands over his chest. "I like this body. I like being the only one in it."

Michael shook his head, scorn making his eyes hard. "How can you be so selfish?"

"Shut up," Dean said, quickening his pace so that he could catch up with Sam.

"You okay?" Sam said.

Dean closed his eyes. "I don't think so, Sammy." But what if-what if Michael were right? What if he was being selfish. "Michael thinks that if he was possessing me-that he could set everything right." He looked up into Sam's eyes. "But I don't want that Sam, but-what if it is the only way. I don't want somebody else to die, because of me."

Sam shook his head. "He's wrong, Dean. He's just selfish-greedy and selfish." He sent a baleful scowl at him. "We'll take care of it, okay? We've always been enough before, and we will be again."

When they entered the house, they split up to cover the rooms faster and so as not to clutter it with any more hair or personal effects. Meg took the attic, Ruby the master bedroom, Dean their childhood bedrooms, Sam the downstairs, and Michael the garage.

Michael thought it was some kind of irony sending him to the basement, but he figured it wouldn't take long and he could join Dean in the bedroom-where literally anything could happen. He looked longingly at Dean until Dean turned away, a faint flush on his cheeks.

He could get Dean to say yes still. Even if there wasn't Lucifer to kill, even though the apocalypse had been train wrecked off the racks, that didn't mean they still couldn't be together.

Like he had hinted before, there would be other holy wars to fight.

"If anyone runs into trouble," Meg began.

"Just holler so we can come running and save your ass," Ruby finished, smirking as she exchanged a high-five with Meg.

This assignment was beneath him, and still flushed with the humiliation of Dean saying no to him, an archangel, he began to nurse a cold, hard edge of resentment as he rifled through the tools which only bore recent signs of use by Jodi herself, that conniving, meddling sheriff.

If only he had had seven years to work on Dean, as Ruby had for Sam. It wasn't fair.

But maybe God would understand.

The headlights of her sheriff jeep stared at him, almost accusingly. He should open the garage, take out the jeep, so he could have room to properly rummage about. He could probably hotwire it, he mused, looking around at it.

What a piece of goddamn junk.

He remembered when he rode chariots of god, brighter than the sun, drawn by creatures so fearsome even the angels had to hid their multitude of eyes in fear of their retribution.

Nothing like this. Nothing so human as this.

This body was wearing old, and thin, in a way that Dean Winchester's never would because Dean was perfect as he was-perfect, and made for him before the earth even spun around the sun.

He picked at his skin, blunt fingernails scrabbling at the skin that didn't fit right.

He couldn't be glad that she was dead, for Dean's sake, but he was glad, he told himself viciously, slamming a wrench into its toolbox so that it racketed about, clanging his anger back to himself.

So glad she was dead.

All of this could have been avoided if she'd just left well enough alone. Then Dean would have said yes long ago and they could have done all this unpleasantness properly.

Rattling the tools about as he was, he never heard the soft step behind him, or the smooth grace of the sword plunged into his heart, stopping him dead. His imperfect body crumpled against the hood of the sheriff's jeep.

Impersonal hands tied his wrists to the frames of the doors, windows rolled down so there was something to be tied to. His legs were tied at the ankle to the grill so that he was laid spread eagle on the hood-a pose Michael had long since cherished of Dean in his private moments, and that only those who had heard his drunken sad song of songs knew.

The figure who had killed Michael hid the sword in a tall bucket that contained mops and brooms before sliding into the driver's seat, opening the garage door from the button clipped to the viser, and backed slowly out. Another met the stranger, and they switched places. The other kissed the wires together so they sparked, revved the engines, and then, flipping the switch to turn on the good old red and blue lights (but no sirens, not yet), drove away with no one being the wiser, while the first lingered in the drive, watching the jeep disappear down the road.

It wasn't until they reconvened in the living room over an hour later empty handed did anyone know that Michael was missing-and they never did find the sword before they tore down the road on foot, following the thickset tire tracks that lead in the general direction of Ellen's roadhouse.

Kevin leaned against the window, his head heavy against the glass. He needed to take a shower. Maybe he wouldn't need to take a shower again, if things kept going as they were going.

He didn't want to die.

He thought about Channing, his mother. Thought about how he didn't know if he wanted to ask Channing to marry him, and how that was okay. About his mother.

He wondered if she'd find somebody. It had been hard, after his father.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He was so tired of John Winchester's hand lying heavy on his soul even now. Hadn't he taken enough? Hadn't he sacrificed enough.

Sirens rang in the distance, and Kevin frowned, pressing his nose to the window as his eyes looked up the road.

Was salvation come up last?

But his heart failed when he saw it was the sheriff's jeep and not the coastguard's because the sheriff was dead-which meant the person driving the jeep wasn't the sheriff and probably hadn't come to save them at all.

Whoever it was-it was probably John Winchester to finish what he'd started.

He frowned-his eyes landing on something tied to the front of the jeep, before nausea hit his gut and he dry-heaved against the sill.

Others had noticed, and they were clustered at the door, arguing to open it.

It didn't matter. Kevin wanted to tell them it wouldn't matter. John Winchester and Azazel would tear the island apart.

He didn't know this because he was some prophet like Cassandra, but he knew John Winchester, and he knew Azazel, and they were on a rampage, fueled by blood lust and anger and rage and who knew what else.

The jeep skidded to a stop. Smoke billowed from the insides, and if a figure went through it, none was the wiser because, for whatever reason, John Winchester didn't want to be seen.

Or maybe he didn't want to be a target, since demons were apparently fragile as humans these days.

Kevin was glad.

He didn't think he could survive seeing his face one more time.

The early afternoon winds cleared the smoke away, and the body was even more visible.

Mike, prone before god and man, and very much quite dead, stared up at the sky, eyes unblinking in the bright sun that shone down upon him.

A silhouette of wings scorched the metal behind him.

So he had been an angel. More than human. And now he was dead.

Kevin shook his head.

It should have been obvious, really.

Of course Mike was short for Michael, archangel who had first thrown Lucifer in the pit. Of course, he also would not be spared because it was just Harry Potter all over again, wasn't it? How could one live if the other didn't?

It was all so obvious.

He should have seen it coming.

Just like he should have seen the first set of murders and done something to stop them.

But he guessed that was the ultimate tragedy catch 22. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Kevin slid from his seat and drank whisky out of the bottle until Jo pulled it from his hand.

Chapter End Notes

1: Save Our City by Ludo [x] 2: Bang Bang My Baby Shot Me Down by Nancy Sinatra [x]