Bones was finally starting to accept that the events of the day were really happening. Booth was glad of that. In the long run it would be good for her to accept God. She was a good person, and God would love her even more once she began to believe in Him. She hadn't quite got that far yet, still trying to rationalise Castiel's miraculous healing ability and appearances from nowhere, using any explanation she could come up with, however tenuous. However, she had accepted the ghost as real with surprising quickness, quoting six or seven cultures with supernatural lore. Soon she would no longer be able to explain away Castiel's claims.

Booth had his own worries, though. Castiel did not fit in with the stories of angels he had heard his whole life. Angels of the Lord had did not wear trench coats and appear in interrogation rooms. The angels of his imaginings did not stare at him as though he was an alien and then return to arguing with felons. And angels of the Lord certainly did not get progressively more irritated every time he prayed. Did that mean that all of the teachings of the church were wrong? What if God, too, was not what he had been taught?

And then there was Dean Winchester. Booth's opinion of Dean had gone up about twenty points when he had been trying to talk Sam down, and then another ten when he had destroyed the ghost, but he still couldn't say he liked the guy. He may not have been a murderer, but any number of the other charges were legitimate. Credit card fraud, definitely, and escape from police custody. Theft. Breaking and entering. Assault. Dean Winchester might not be a murderer, and he might not be insane, but he was definitely not harmless. He was dishonest, and possibly even amoral. And yet God had seen fit to bring him back from hell, and place him in the care of an angel. Dean did not appreciate what he had. He did not deserve an angel.

Booth's musings were cut short by the ringing of his phone. Sam Winchester had escaped. He had blown a hole in the wall of the facility. He'd told them Sam had to be heavily sedated, and they hadn't done it, and now Sam was free to choke the life from someone else. He only hoped that Dean and Castiel were with him. Even if he didn't like Dean, the guy was brave, and he loved his brother, and if anyone could talk Sam out of murder, it was him. And Castiel could call on the power of the host and destroy Sam, if it came down to that. He hoped it wouldn't.

Fifteen minutes later, Booth and Bones were climbing out of the SUV beside the park where Sam had last been spotted. Bones had insisted on coming, and it worried Booth. He had tried to explain what Sam could do, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. He had settled for making her wear a bulletproof vest. Not that it would really help, but it made him feel better.

Across the road, Dean and Castiel and... was that Sweets? Climbed out of a beautiful black Chevy Impala. Dean had some kind of gun, and he looked different to before. Harder. Determined. In charge.

"Stay back," Dean ordered.

They followed him to the middle of the field.

Sam looked like he had in the lab, murderous and demonic and enormous. The ghost from that morning stood beside him. They seemed to be locked in some kind of standoff. Booth crossed himself and said a silent prayer. Castiel glared at him.

Dean was hissing orders, telling Bones that there would be some kind of remains around, and they needed to find them, sending Sweets back to the car for salt and shotguns and iron. Booth felt slightly inadequate, and could still feel Castiel's eyes on him.

Dean swung around to face him. "And you stop praying. You're distracting Cas. Hold this." He shoved the gun into Booth's hands. "If Sam looks like he's going to hurt someone, shoot him."

Up close, Booth could see that it was a high powered tranquilizer gun, but even so, the way Dean said it seemed kind of callous. But then he caught Dean's eye and he knew that it wasn't because Dean didn't care.

Sweets came back, staggering under the weight of a large sack of salt, a shotgun, and a bag of rounds. Dean immediately set him to work pouring the salt in a large circle around his brother and the vengeful spirit.

The spirit was not hurting Sam. It seemed to be whispering in his ear. Sam squeezed his hand into a fist, and the spirit dissolved, reforming behind him. Sam turned to face her. She lifted her knife, but didn't use it. A noise that could almost have been the wind swept across the field. Booth was suddenly shivering. He could see ice crystals forming in Sam's hair.

"Do it."

Louder. "Do it, Sam."

Sam did nothing.

"Do not deny your nature, Sam. The light-bringer will reward you."

Beside Booth, Dean murmured, "No, Sammy. No."

Sam moved slightly, and Booth saw her. A little girl. Younger than Parker. Couldn't be more than five or six. He cocked the tranq gun. Dean made frantic stay back gestures.

"He is part of you, Sam. You are part of him. Accept your true nature. Lucifer will be whole once more."

Sam bent over the little girl. Booth could hear her whimpering in fear.

"Now," ordered Dean.

Booth aimed and fired. The dart hit Sam's neck, and he wavered. Castiel was beside Sam, pulling the little girl away from him, and disappearing.

Dean was running to their right, crossing the saltline, shotgun trained on the ghost.

"Come and get me, you Satan-worshipping bitch!" He shouted, and the ghost rushed towards him.

Sam was still standing, veins throbbing in his neck. He turned to look at Booth, and Booth felt a deep rush of fear run through him. With shaking hands, he re-loaded the gun, aimed and fired, before Sam could lift his hand. Sam wobbled, but did not fall.

Not far away, Dean was shouting and swearing, and firing salt-rounds at the ghost, but he seemed a long way away as Sam loomed over him. Sam lifted his hand and concentrated, as he had done in the lab. A panicked thought rushed through Booth's head – where was Bones?

Nothing happened. The tranquilizers were setting in. And then Castiel was there, minus the little girl, and laying his fingers to Sam's forehead. Sam dropped to the grass. Booth dropped to his knees, breathing a sigh of relief, and thanking heaven for the escape.

"Dude, a little help over here," Dean called, and Castiel picked up an iron rod and ran to his side. Booth took up another. He wasn't sure where they'd come from; Sweets must have taken another trip back to the car. He ran over to help.

Dean was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and red streams were flowing into his eyes. Castiel swung his iron bar through the ghost, and she disappeared for an instant. Dean wiped his eyes and reached for the gun that had flown from his hand.

The ghost reappeared behind him, and flung Booth aside, securing non-corporeal hands around Dean's neck. Castiel swung the bar again.

Before the iron touched the spirit, a red glow swept through her, and she disappeared, screaming.

Dean sighed with relief, and lay back on the ground. Booth followed his example.

Bones and Sweets emerged from the bushes about twenty yards away. "Did we do it right?" Sweets asked.

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