At a bland motel in Indianapolis, Mick Davies sat down at his typewriter and set down his beer. He removed the cover, and typed Reporting in.

CONNECTION SECURED - PROCEED

This is Mick Davies, filing Status Update Bravo Three. As instructed, I've been attempting to make inroads with the American hunters. But unfortunately, there's been a few setbacks. In short, the American hunters have proven… difficult. As for the Winchesters… Well the boys are not yet on board but their mysteriously resurrected mother, Mary Winchester, seems more amenable.

WHAT DOES KETCH THINK?

Ketch likes her. Which is weird because Ketch doesn't like anyone.

ANY TRAIL ON THE MCBRIDE WITCH?

I think Mary has her tail. I'm pleased to report that she is willing to work with us once she has dealt with McBride. I'll pass on a few toys to help with that and I think it'll be a done deal.

GOOD. CONNECTION CLOSED.

Mick sighed. Apparently Toni was still pissed at him for breaking up her little torture party. He didn't care, it had been obvious to him from the start that you couldn't break a man who'd literally been to Hell and played host to the devil himself. No, a man like Sam Winchester had to be seduced, either literally or figuratively. Except Ketch and Toni were the only ones with any taste for using sex as a weapon, Toni had screwed that up royally and Ketch was strictly humans only and had apparently put Sam in the not-human category. So Mick had decided that showing the British chapter of the Men of Letters in a more favorable light, making Sam see that they could work together and teasing him with some of the more impressive toys and resources was the way forward. Where Sam led, Dean would follow. Mick had little time for Dean, the man was a competent hunter and Ketch seemed to have some grudging admiration for the man's skill. But he was nothing special. Sam on the other hand, was very special indeed. One might say… unique. But the edict from back home had been clear. Both Winchester men were to be brought in house. Especially Dean. Not for the first time, Mick found himself wondering why.

"Dammit, she's not coming," Dean said. "I think she double-crossed us."

"Maybe she's busy," Cas offered.

"Busy doing what?" Dean snapped.

"Reaping, I would imagine," Cas replied. He patted Dean's shoulder. "She'll be here."

"Impatient, aren't we," Billie said. Dean almost jumped clear out of his skin.

"Fuck!"

"I would take that as a hint," Billie said with an arch look at Cas. He gave her a puzzled look. She smiled and Cas was reminded of a shark.

"All right, enough chit-chat. The cards are in the basement. Come on." Dean stomped away towards the basement and Billie sashayed after him. Cas followed, brooding over the reaper's words.

When they reached the basement room, Billie took in the devastation with a cocked eyebrow.

"I can see why you needed some help," she commented.

"Right," Dean said. "That's the deck, there." She picked up the ebony and ivory box and examined it.

"I see. What an unpleasant object." She looked at Dean appraisingly.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Ever the conversationalist," she said. "Very well. I'll deliver this and be on my way."
"And the favor you asked for?" Dean asked.

"The debt is Gabriel's. You don't need to worry." She looked so delighted Dean began to get a very bad feeling.

"This isn't about Sam is it?"

She curled her lip in contempt. "Not everything is about you Winchesters."

She vanished and Dean huffed out a breath. "I hope we're doing the right thing here, Cas."

"Yes," the angel rumbled. "So do I."

Dean's phone rang and he saw his mom's number. "Hey, mom."

"Hey Dean," she said. "I spoke to Sam earlier, you guys split up?"

"It's a long story," Dean told her. "Everything's OK, don't worry."

"All right," she said. There was a pause. "Is Gabriel still hanging around?"

"I thought you'd worked out your differences," Dean said sharply.

"We did," Mary said dubiously. "I'm still not sure I trust him."

"Yeah, well, he'll get bored and take off sooner or later. How's the hunt for Constance going?"

"Slow," Mary admitted. "But the lead in Chicago was a solid one. I've been staking the place out, and she's definitely living there. And attending school. It's… really weird, actually. What is she playing at?"

"Beats me," Dean said. "So what's the play? Want me and Sam to come up and we'll take her out?"

"I don't know," Mary said. "I'd really like to get more of a handle on what she's up to first. I get the feeling going to school isn't some insanely deep cover."

"Neither do I," Dean agreed. "But I'll be damned if I can figure out how nursing factors into breeding armies of monsters."

"And still no word on Lucifer?"

"None. He's keeping a very low profile. Which… isn't really his style and I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Unless we're all wrong and Amara really did kill him." Dean rubbed his mouth. "Sam gets back tomorrow. You want us to call you then?"

"No, no, it's fine. Let me keep working here and I'll call you when I think it's time to bring her in."

"OK, mom. Stay safe."

"Love you, baby," she said. "Say hi to Castiel for me." She hung up.

"Mom says hi," Dean told the angel.

He smiled. "She still doesn't want us to help capture the witch?"

"No," Dean said. "She wants to try and figure out why Constance would suddenly put her world domination plans on hold to go train as a nurse. Which, other than the hot uniforms, I can't figure out either."

"You don't need actual training to wear the uniform, do you?" Cas asked curiously.

Dean gulped at the unbidden image of Cas in a nurse's uniform. "Uh, no. Look, uh, never mind. I'm dead on my feet here. Lemme catch a couple hours and we'll figure out a plan later."

"So, this letalis aqua is another thing hidden away in Necropolis?" Sam asked.

"Yes. It's a fountain, of sorts. The legend says that if you drink of the spring, you will achieve the pinnacle of power," Gabriel explained. "Unless you're human of course. Then you just die, hence the name."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, if a demon were to drink it, they'd become a Prince of Hell. If Castiel were to drink, he'd become an archangel." Gabriel looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure what would happen to a reaper."

"Could they become Death?" Sam suggested.

Gabriel's eyes went wide. "Perhaps. I don't know."

"What about you?" Sam's face had gone strangely blank, like he was suppressing his emotions. Gabriel didn't care for the look.

"What about me?"

"Could drinking this letalis aqua unbind your Grace?" Sam's voice cracked curiously at the end of his question.

Gabriel sighed. "I doubt it. I really don't know what it would do to me and I don't care to experiment. The power doesn't come for free, you know."

"I should have guessed," Sam said. "What's the price?"

"The legend isn't clear. When Necropolis was open, the only ones stupid enough to drink from it were humans, who dropped dead on the spot, and one demon."

"Who?"

"Asmodeus. That's how he became a Prince." Gabriel looked pensive. "Asmodeus is crazy. I don't know if that's the price he paid or if he was always nuts."

"Great," Sam said sarcastically. "So Billie drinks this letalis aqua and becomes as powerful as Death and madder than a box of frogs."

Gabriel laughed. "Nice image. Yes, that's possible. Which is why I'm thinking of double-crossing her."

Sam gaped at him in horror. "What?"

"Don't worry," Gabriel said. "I've got it all under control." He smiled encouragingly at Sam, giving him a lurching sensation in his stomach. Not real, he repeated in his head. Remember, it's not real. It didn't seem to help.

"What do we do when Billie gets here with the cards," Sam asked nervously, trying to ignore the feelings inside him.

"Maybe you should be elsewhere in the house," Gabriel suggested. "This can't be the only room."

"There are bedrooms upstairs," Sam told him. "And other rooms here on the ground floor."

Gabriel took a breath. "Why don't you settle in upstairs, in one of the bedrooms," he said.

Sam stared at him, the mere mention of a bedroom making him feel flushed. "Uh, OK," he agreed.

"Get some sleep," Gabriel emphasized. "I wasn't implying anything." Sam tried not to look disappointed. "You're not going to feel that way once we get Michael's Tarot locked down."

"All right," Sam agreed. "I guess you're right." He sighed. "Goodnight, Gabriel."

Gabriel squeezed his hand. "You'll thank me in the morning." Sam quirked a fake smile at him and headed upstairs.

The master suite was a luxurious and overdone as anyone who knew Magnus might have imagined. The bed was simply enormous, and Sam figured some clever spellwork meant that every time he and Dean had spent the night in the mansion, the sheets were mysteriously, magically clean for the next time they needed the rooms. He lay there, listening for the sound of Billie returning. There was a tightness in his chest he was honest enough with himself to admit was jealousy. Which he knew was totally ridiculous. But he began to drift and soon fell sound asleep.

Sam wasn't sure what had woken him but listening carefully, he could hear the sound of voices. With a feeling that he was being stupid and childish, he crept out of bed and opened the door.

"...was Michael thinking, making something like this?" Billie was saying.

"You know my brother," Gabriel reply came drifting up. "Always overdoing it."

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"Put it in this safe here. OK." Sam heard the door of the safe close. "Done. Thank you, Billie."

"I'll hold you to your side of the deal," Billie said. "Don't think you can wiggle out of it."
"Perish the thought," Gabriel said, sounding wounded. "I do wish you'd tell me why you want some of the letalis aqua."
"No, you don't," Billie said. "You think you should care, so you're making a play of it. But I know you better than that."

"No," Gabriel said. "You really don't."

"I'll be seeing you," she said.

Sam considered going back to bed, but knowing the cards were now in the house, even locked in the safe, made him edgy and nervous. Unfortunately, facing Gabriel was almost as nerve-wracking. Rallying his courage, he descended the stairs and returned to the library where Gabriel was standing, staring into the fire. He looked up when he heard Sam's footsteps.

"She's been and gone?" Sam asked.

"Yep," Gabriel said. "You know, I'm not sure we thought this through very well. How do we get back to the bunker? Is Dean coming to get us?"

"No, we'll drive," Sam told him. "In fact, I'd kinda like to hit the road now if you don't mind."

"Wait, I thought we didn't have a car," Gabriel said, his eyebrows coming together.

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "There's a car here. Dean and I try to make sure there's always one here for emergencies."

"But… you made me walk all the way to that diner!" Gabriel squeaked in outrage. "Two whole miles, each way!"

Sam gave a lop-sided shrug. "I felt like a walk. You assumed there wasn't a car and I didn't correct you."

"You tricked me!" Gabriel exclaimed. He looked utterly gob-smacked.

"Come on, it's not that big a deal." Except it was because maybe Sam would not have behaved so idiotically last night if he'd not been spellbound by the beautiful night and more beer than he'd have drunk if he'd been driving. "Are you really that mad?"

"I won't forget this," the archangel warned, but he didn't look angry.

"So, can we leave? I'd really like to put some distance between me and the cards."

Gabriel nodded, and followed Sam through the house to the garage where an old red Plymouth stood waiting. Sam activated the secret garage entrance and then climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. Gabriel got in the passenger seat and Sam drove out of the garage, the entrance closing automatically behind him.

"What time is it?" Sam asked.

"A little after 4am," Gabriel told him. Sam's face twisted as he made a quick calculation in his head.

"OK, I think we can try and do this in one straight shot if you want." Of course, Gabriel thought sadly, Sam probably didn't want to share a motel room with him, not now.

"Let's see how tired you get," he suggested. Sam's mouth pinched but he nodded and then turned on the radio.

Gabriel sighed inwardly, this was going to be a very long drive. He was going to have to leave the bunker, of course. Now Sam knew about his ridiculous, unwanted love, things were going to be far too awkward for him to stick around. He should be angrier at the young hunter for forcing the issue last night, but he was honest enough with himself to admit it had been partly his fault too. He should have distanced himself from Sam the moment he'd realized what was happening, not taken advantage of every opportunity to spend time with him, knowing each precious moment might be the last.

And then there was Billie and her insane demand for water from the letalis aqua. He wondered what she might do to him if he didn't follow through, and then wondered if he even cared. What was the worst she could do? Grace-bound or not, he was still an archangel. But she might take it out on Sam and Gabriel couldn't bear that. They should make him an honorary Winchester, he thought ruefully. He'd made himself as ridiculously self-sacrificing and willing to destroy the world to save Sam's sorry hide as Dean.

Pain throbbed in his chest as the magnitude of his loss pressed down on him. He stared out of the window, desperately trying not to let the tears that gathered in his eyes become outright bawling. He was millions of years old, for crying out loud! Why was he letting one human, with a lifespan like the blink of his eyes, tie him into all these knots? Thinking like that only made the pain sharper, so he pushed the thoughts away and tried to focus on something else. Lacking inspiration, he closed his eyes and forced himself into sleep.

The car was unnaturally quiet, even though the radio was playing. Sam was used to a fairly constant stream of chatter from Gabriel and for the archangel to be silently curled in his seat with his head turned away was almost painful. He'd expected to feel different this morning somehow, maybe seeing him as just a friend or even perhaps not even that. So he was surprised that he felt exactly as he had last night, he still found the angel incredibly attractive and he was still teetering on the edge of feeling so much more. Perhaps it was going to take longer for the enchantment to wear off, or maybe putting more distance between himself and the cards would be key? He didn't want it to be. Now, more than ever, he wanted to keep these insane, uncomfortable desires and feelings. He shouldn't, but then he was never very good at resisting things he shouldn't do.

Gabriel seemed to have fallen asleep and his head fell back to reveal the tracks of tears on his face. The sight almost made Sam lose control of the car. The archangel was grieving and it was his fault. He'd tempted and taunted him beyond endurance and the fact he'd had no idea Gabriel felt so strongly about him was no excuse. And maybe there was no reason to grieve at all, maybe these feelings wouldn't go away, maybe they really were real. But he didn't know for sure and it wouldn't be fair to pretend otherwise.

Sam wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. He'd been feeling increasingly lonely and dissatisfied with his life, wishing he could have someone to share it with the way Dean had Cas, even if neither of them was willing to actually make it a romantic relationship. And Gabriel was a shockingly perfect fit. Funny, smart, knowledgeable, and even without access to his Grace, Sam wouldn't have to worry about his safety. And the way he made Sam's mouth dry and his body ache with need… Sam shifted in his seat as his jeans became uncomfortably tight. Damn. He really needed to think about something else. A quick glance at Gabriel's tear-stained cheeks soon killed any sense of arousal.

What a mess. Sam had no idea what he was going to do, but one thing was clear. Gabriel was probably planning on skipping out as soon as they got back to the bunker. Somehow, he had to convince him to stay. All the other problems could wait.

Constance didn't look a day older than the last time Mary had seen her, more than thirty years ago. The nursing scrubs were more than a little incongruous however. She left her apartment every morning, bright and early and rode the bus to campus. She worked, studied, ate with other students. All totally normal student stuff, except none of the other students was a two-hundred year old witch from County Clare, Ireland.

Eventually, Mary realized that observing her habits was not going to yield any more information, so she changed her clothes and her approach. Checking over her fake Illinois private investigator's license one more time, she headed off to the school.

"Mrs Williams will see you now," the young receptionist told her, his floppy hair drooping in his eyes in a way that made Mary's fingers twitch. He showed her into a square office with a tiny window and a wilting collection of potted plants. Mrs Williams was a stout woman in her early fifties, with curly auburn hair and bright green eyes.

"Ms Parker, was it? How can I help you?"

"This is all confidential," Mary warned. "I can't stress that enough."

"Yes, yes," Williams said. "But you know, I'm limited as to what I can tell you. There are laws governing student privacy you know."

"I'm aware," Mary said wryly. "So, Miss McBride is in the midwifery program?"

"Yes," Williams confirmed. "That's a matter of public record, as I'm sure you've already checked."

"Of course. And did she say why she chose that particular specialty?" Mary cursed internally as she saw the woman's face shut down.

"Like I say, privacy. She wrote an essay as part of her application, all our students do. But I'm not at liberty to share that with you." She eyed Mary speculatively. "You know, it would be easier to answer your questions if I knew what you were investigating. Ms McBride isn't married or in a serious relationship, so you're not that kind of PI. So why are you here, Ms Parker?"

"All right," Mary said, making a show of giving in. "My employer believes Miss McBride to be the same woman who misled him into employing her to care for his sick wife, two years ago. Going under the name Bridie Constance. She made a mistake which caused the lady's unfortunate premature demise. If it was a mistake. There were some curious aspects to the case that made my employer think she might have been more actively involved in his wife's death."

"I see," Williams said, her lips pursing. "That's a serious charge, Ms Parker."

"I know," Mary said, making a solemn face.

"But if this is a criminal matter, shouldn't the police be investigating?" Williams looked like she was trying to catch Mary in a lie. But she was prepared.

"Of course. But my employer and I are genuinely not sure Miss McBride and Miss Constance are the same woman. Their names are similar, and they have very similar physical features. But that's hardly a positive identification. My job is to definitively ID Miss McBride as Miss Constance and then pass that information on to my employer, who will take it to law enforcement. Or definitively ID her as a different person and we move on, keep looking for the real criminal."

"Well, I'm not sure what more I can do to help," Williams said. "I can get you the names of some of her classmates. One of them might be willing to talk to you."

"That would be really helpful," Mary smiled. Williams nodded and left the room. She could hear her talking to her administrative assistant so she didn't have much time. But Williams had helpfully pulled McBride's file and had left it temptingly out in the open on her desk. Mary leaned over and flipped through it, taking shots of each page with her phone. When she heard the woman returning, she quickly closed it and sat down again, pretending to reading though her email on her cellphone.

"Here we are," Williams told her, handing her a sheet of paper. "Now if there's nothing else?"

Mary shook her hand. "No. You've been a big help. Thank you."

Hurrying back to her car, she sat and went through each photograph in turn. Modern technology still confounded her sometimes but boy was it useful. She located Constance's entrance essay and began to read.

The car swerved alarmingly, jolting Gabriel from his slumber. He looked over at Sam, whose eyes were wide and a little bloodshot.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"I'm tired," Sam admitted. "I think I dozed off for a second."

"How much further is it to the bunker?"

"Six hours, maybe seven." Sam looked exhausted. Gabriel frowned, he must have driven for at least fifteen hours straight.

"That does it, we have to stop. Find a motel, sleep in the car, I don't care. But you'll kill yourself if you keep going like this, Sam." Sam looked like he might argue and Gabriel held up a hand. "I mean it. I won't let you do this."

"All right," Sam grumbled. "I'll pull over at the next motel I see."

Gabriel pulled out his phone and called up the map. "Where are we? Sam, I don't see anything for miles."

Sam sighed. "How many miles?"

"At least sixty. You don't have another hour in you." Gabriel placed a hand on Sam's arm without thinking and the car lurched again.

"OK, OK. What about somewhere we can just stop and grab a couple hours. A state park or something like that. Or you can drive, if you want."

Gabriel seized on that idea. "Let me drive."

"OK," Sam said, pulling over. He climbed out and staggered around the car, and Gabriel scooted over into the driver's seat. He let Sam get settled and then accelerated away.

It was a measure of just how wiped out Sam was that he fell immediately into a deep sleep. Gabriel swallowed past the lump in his throat at Sam's peaceful expression.

The sound of someone hammering on his door jerked Dean from a confused dream about falling down elevator shafts and landing in swimming pools.

"Dean!" Cas said urgently from the other side of the door.

"Wha' issit?"

"Arariel's hurt." Cas sounded frantic. Dean dragged himself out of bed and opened the door, forgetting he was wearing his boxers and nothing else. The angel's eyes widened at his state of undress.

"Where is he?" Dean asked sleepily.

"Outside," Cas told him. "I need your help to bring him in here, the wards are repelling him and I can't seem to deactivate them."

"Oh, yeah, no you can't. I'll do it, hold on while I get dressed." Dean closed the door and located his jeans and a t-shirt before heading to the control room. The Men of Letters had been a paranoid bunch, that was for sure. As legacies, him and Sam could operate the wards but they'd yet to figure out a way to get the system to recognize Cas as a legitimate user. Once he'd lowered the wards, he headed to the front door to see Cas crouching by a crumpled figure on the ground.

"Cas, how bad is he?"

"Bad," the angel said. "Help me bring him inside."

Dean nodded and picked up the unconscious angel's feet as Cas lifted Arariel's shoulders. They awkwardly maneuvered him inside the bunker.

"Where are we taking him?" Dean asked.

"My room," Cas said. "It's the closest."

Once inside Cas's room, they laid Arariel on the bed and Cas began to examine him.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I'm not sure," Cas said. Dean watched as he touched the other angel with delicate fingers and suppressed a worm of jealousy that began to curl uncomfortably in his gut. Arariel, or at least his vessel, was a good looking man of around Sam's age, with softly curling sandy hair and a beautifully sculpted face that reminded Dean of old paintings of the archangel Michael. That was not a comforting thought.

"This is… I can't understand what's happened but his Grace is… cracked," Cas said in horrified amazement.

"Cracked?" Dean said. "That can happen?"

"Yes, but it's very unusual. Dean, can we lock the bunker down until we figure this out? I don't know who did this to Arariel and I don't know if they could track him here."

Dean nodded. "Good idea. I'll do it now." He dashed out of Cas's room and headed back to the control room.