Song Remains the Same

by R. W. Winters

For Alex Winchester, normal has never been in the equation. Mute since the nursery fire, she grew up on the road chasing ghosts with her brothers and father. When her voice is inexplicably restored and the angel Castiel appears claiming to be her guardian, both of their lives change forever in ways that Heaven and Earth never expected. Castiel/OFC - sisfic - S4-S9. AU.

25. Meet The Parents

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 25 / Meet the Parents

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
- Leo Tolstoy

---

The instant the door closed behind Alex, Cas suddenly had a rush of fear and resistance and had struggled again to sit up further, driven by the need to be able to function again and now. He foolishly hoped he would suddenly, miraculously be able to move and subsequently be able to go with her to make sure she was safe. But it was the same as before—the vessel pinged in pain all over, refusing to move. He let out the softest growl of frustration, barely able to contain the defeat he was feeling. He felt miserable and pathetic, completely inept, and Alex was out there alone. Completely alone.

In all his centuries he had never experienced such a sensation of utter failure. Nothing was working as it was supposed to, and it wasn't just limited to his vessel. He couldn't hear the celestial whispers that Dean referred to as 'angel radio.' Castiel now regretted listening to Dean and bringing the Winchesters back with him. He might have stood a chance at taking Anna on by himself. But he had foolishly listened to Dean and given in to his demands, thus endangering them all. There was a dark thought lurking at the edge of his mind that Anna might have already killed Sam and Dean both, and Cas had just let Alex go after them, perhaps to walk straight into a trap. The thought made him horrified at himself. He had placed them all in mortal jeopardy with his choice to listen to Dean's wishes. What had he done? He cursed himself internally.

Cas had wanted to command Alex not to go after them, not yet, and not alone—the danger was too great. He might have done so in the past. But now he knew Alex well enough to recognize when she had made up her mind. So he'd done the only thing left to do: sent with her a small part of himself, his blade. It was only a small hope of defending herself against Anna, but it was better than nothing.

Castiel thought again of her face as she took his blade with so much hesitation, then almost reverence, like she'd almost understood in a small way the significance of the gesture. Alex didn't know this—how could she, humans knew nothing of the sacred nature of the angel blade—but angels didn't give away their blades. Ever. They didn't loan them out. Each angel received only one, and only forfeited it upon death. Each blade was connected to its angel, and the angel to the blade. To give a blade away was considered an abomination. Castiel was sure that if his brothers and sisters in Heaven could see him now they would be shocked about how many rules he had broken in favor of helping the Winchesters. In favor of protecting Alex.

Cas struggled again, painstakingly pulling his legs over the edge of the bed. He felt such an acute sense of urgency. The reality of the risk to her life was pressing on him greater than before, and he needed to be where he could see her and know she wasn't in immediate danger. Refusing to accept his weakened state, he groaned in pain, pushing himself up with all of his strength, attempting to stand. He fell forward onto all fours, shaking from exertion.

---

2010

Dean stumbled, almost falling sideways—jolted by suddenly being sent forward in time, back to the future. He saw that he was in the motel room they'd been in before when they'd left for 1978… his mind was left to reel from what had just happened, but mostly, he had to know Sam was okay—because a minute ago he'd been dead, Anna had killed him and—

"Dean," came a voice, and there was a big hand on his shoulder. Dean turned in dumbfounded shock to see Sam there, looking just as confused as Dean was. Overwhelmed with relief, Dean grabbed his brother and hugged him tight. Sam didn't really hug back, he seemed disoriented, and when Dean let go, Sam was looking around the motel room in a daze. "What happened?" Sam asked. "I was—we were in seventy-eight and—Anna—she stabbed me and... I remember…" His look of confusion transformed into realization. "Did I die?"

Dean looked away, disturbed. "Yeah, you did. Anna killed you."

"Explain." Sam demanded intensely, almost threateningly.

Dean thought it over—it was a jumble in his mind, too—the entire thing—and it was pissing him off. "Okay, so Anna stabs you… you fall over dead in front of me… then Michael shows up, ganks Anna, makes Uriel go poof—"

Sam looked like he'd misheard. "Michael?"

Dean glanced at Sam broodingly. "He was using Dad as his meatsuit. Great, right?"

Sam's look of sheer disbelief and shock summed up Dean's feelings on the whole deal. Smirking humorlessly, Dean began to pace back and forth in front of his brother. "Yeah, I know. He said all this BS about the bloodline, how Dad was a vessel and not the vessel, how free will is an illusion… I'm destined to say 'yes'... blah blah blah. Then he fixed you, sent us back." Dean paused, stopping mid-step, suddenly realizing something. His stomach dropped, his heart clenched. He suddenly couldn't breathe. "Shit. Crap!" He looked at Sam in horror, then around the empty motel room, whirling completely, frenzied in his search.

"What?" Sam asked.

Dean looked at his brother in breathless terror. "Alex isn't here, Sam! She's still in nineteen seventy-eight! With Cas!"

Cold realization flashed across Sam's face, then anger. "Dean!" Sam exclaimed. "How?! Michael zapped you back too fast for you to tell him, oh yeah, my sister's here too, could you give her a ride back?!"

Hackles raising at Sam's blaming tone, Dean grew confrontational. "Michael was in my head man, I blanked for a minute!"

"You mean you forgot about her!" Sam corrected accusingly, shaking his head in abject horror.

At that comment Dean went cold, feeling like he'd been caught. Instead of admitting that Sam was right, he considered punching Sam in the nose. "I told you we should've left Cas alone, taken Alex with us!" He raged.

Sam held up two hands defensively, raised his eyebrows at Dean. "So now this is my fault?"

Dean ignored his brother's question and turned around, trying to see straight. Had he made the biggest mistake of his life by leaving Alex with Cas? How the actual hell was he supposed to get her back here? She was thirty-two years into the past for God's sake! Behind him, Sam seemed to have calmed down a little bit. "Listen Dean," he reasoned tensely. "I'm sure when Cas wakes up, he'll bring her back."

Turning abruptly, hostile, Dean stared hard at his brother. "And what if he doesn't wake up, Sam, huh? What then?"

Sam lost bravado, clearly realizing Dean had a point.

"I knew I shouldn't have let her out of my sight, dammit—" Dean knocked a lamp off the dresser beside him, repeating, louder, "dammit!" and trying to think, just think what he could do now, if anything. He was literally at the end of his rope. In total desperation, not sure if it would go through or what, Dean stood there, glared at the ceiling. "Cas!" he shouted. "Cas! Can you hear me you bastard? You bring my sister back to me right now!" There was a long pause, and nothing happened. "Cas?" Dean repeated, but with less power, more fear. Nothing. Dean looked at Sam, who could barely meet his eyes. Quickly crumbling, fearing the worst, Dean sank to one of the beds. "Jesus Christ, Sam. What the hell are we supposed to do?"

---

1978

Exhausted, Alex opened the motel room door and froze—Cas was standing (just barely) and gripping the dresser with both hands, looking like he was about to fall over. He looked up and saw her, his face washing over from pained exertion to relief. Alex was shutting the door behind her, already halfway over to him. "Cas! What are you doing?"

He wobbled a little, gripping the dresser tighter. "I was... preparing to come after you," he said, sounding disconcerted.

"On what legs?" Alex asked, dumbfounded—he looked like he was going to fall any second and her hands kind of hovered out in front of her near him, just waiting for him to topple over.

In response to her question, he looked down, then back at her questioningly. "Uh… these legs."

Alex, drained both emotionally and physically, shook her head, grabbing his arm and pulling it over her shoulder. "Cas—come on. You need to sit back down—" she said. He seemed unable to control himself very well, leaning on her weightily, his feet shuffling oddly as she took her other arm and wrapped it securely around his back and waist, basically supporting him completely as she walked him over to the bed. She grunted from the effort—he was heavy. She left for one hour and he was trying to kill himself by trying to come after her... when he was clearly not even able to stand unassisted! Unbelievable. She didn't need him risking his ass for her like that and it pissed her off that he would try it.

Cas, a little dazed, was looking at her—she could tell because his voice was right in her ear. "You're much stronger than you look," he said, and sounded slightly surprised.

She just looked at him sideways, tone bordering on annoyed. "That's what I've been trying to tell you," she said as they reached the bed. She helped him sit as he'd been before, leaning against the headboard, upright. His legs were still off the edge of the bed, dangling limply, but Alex had gone kind of catatonic, staring at nothing in particular.

"What did you discover?" Cas asked, looking at her intently.

Alex looked at him again and her expression was foul. "A whole lot of nothing. The house was empty and dark, no one was there. They either went somewhere or…" she trailed off. Agitated and fearful, she yanked her jacket off, threw it toward a knob on the wall. It missed. She reacted by bowing her forehead into the palm of her right hand, shutting her eyes, heaving a frustrated, overwhelmed breath. Her eyes flew back open when she felt his hand close gently around her left wrist. Cas was looking up at her with an intense, questioning expression—concern. The anger and helplessness faded a little, replaced by something else: fear.

Alex swallowed, feeling more vulnerable and afraid than she had in awhile. She looked at his hand there, closed around her slender wrist. Then back into his eyes, despairing. "Where are they Cas?" she asked, desperate for an answer. There was a long pause and she sounded scared and small to herself when she spoke again. "Was I too late? Are they…?" she couldn't verbalize her fear that they were dead.

She just wanted so desperately for Cas to tell her no, it wasn't too late, they were alive, not to worry. But Cas's hand dropped away, his gaze went into the middle distance in front of him, his jaw flexed tensely. "I don't know."

His answer seemed to make her chest tighter than before, and she felt a surge of hopelessness overcome her. She stared down at his legs as they hung awkwardly over the side of the bed. Almost angrily she bent and grabbed them, half-pushed half-hauled them up until they were in front of him on the bed, then she wordlessly walked away from the bed a couple steps, agitated, caged, at the end of her rope. She needed answers, she needed to know what was going on, she needed her friggin' brothers to be okay, safe and sound—but she had jack squat to show for her search, no clue if they were alive or dead or what. She'd done it in record time too, Dean would have been proud of how fast she'd found John Winchester in the phone book, hot-wired a car, driven the fifteen minutes across town. She'd been ready for a fight, to face down an enemy... but had found nothing. And the whole time she'd been out there, she'd been worrying about what if she found Sam and Dean in dead piles on the ground—what if she got back to the motel and found that Anna had come and killed Cas, who had been left defenseless without his blade. Crap, the blade. She'd forgotten.

She turned back around. Cas was watching her and she could see that he was worried, and maybe a little affronted, too. She'd slung his legs down kind of aggressively without explanation, like she was mad at him. She wanted to explain to him—as usual—because that pleased little look he got when he understood was one of the best things she could think of—but she felt like if she opened her mouth, all the pent up emotions she was holding inside: fear, anger, self-doubt would spill out into the open. So, wordlessly, she went back to the bedside and took the angel blade from where she'd had it in a belt loop behind her. In her hand, the cool metal seemed to buzz with an incorporeal energy and strength. She held it out to him, thought about saying a thank you, but that didn't seem like enough. He took it silently, then he laid it beside him on the bed, didn't even look at it. She followed the blade with her eyes, perplexed, then looked at him.

"We'll find them," he said, and his words surprised her, caused her to go totally still. She looked at him, feeling bare under his gaze, wanting to believe him, but not sure if she could allow herself to. Guilt and regret washed over her.

"I should've gone with them," she managed brokenly, so miserable and torn. Suddenly feeling like she just couldn't stand up anymore, she sank down, sitting on the edge of the bed, next to his waist, her feet remaining flat on the floor. She felt like she was going to suffocate or implode. "I'm so tired of feeling this way," she managed to say as she stared at her knees. "Like any friggin' choice I make doesn't matter in the end." She tried to laugh at herself, but lacked the energy. She could only let out a weak breath of air. "I made this big speech to Dean and Sam after the whole Gabriel thing and... about how I wasn't going to be a bystander, but look. I am. I always am." There was a heavy pause, where Alex had to fight away tears. "And they might be dead now. They might be dead."

"We'll find them, Alex." Cas repeated.

Alex looked at him challengingly. "How?"

His gaze faltered away. He thought hard and he seemed unsure at first. "In the morning. We'll go look together."

Alex resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "You can barely even sit up," she pointed out, a little harsher than she meant to.

Hurt flashed across his eyes and Alex immediately regretted it. "I know," he replied, and again looked away, unhappy. "I'm sorry. I've failed you."

Alex felt a surge of indignant anger at his words. "You've failed me?" she repeated. How could he think that? After all the stuff he'd done for her family, all the sacrifices and hell even dying for them? She felt insulted somehow that he would say he was a failure, and her temper was short as it was. "You haven't failed me, Cas," she told him angrily. "Everything you've done for me and my brothers is the opposite of that." It was all nice stuff to say, but she said it so aggressively, almost bitterly, that it lost any grateful tone it might have had. And before she could stop herself, she sealed the deal with one final bitchy comment. "You haven't failed me, so just cram the pity party, okay?"

Cas looked at her with a strange, wounded expression, didn't say anything for a couple of long seconds. "You sound like Dean."

Those four words somehow seemed to jab her in the gut, brought on a guilt-trip. She sounded like Dean? Dean who talked down to Cas? Dean who rolled his eyes at Cas? Dean who didn't treat Cas with respect or trust? Alex was appalled at herself and suddenly grasping for a way to explain herself. "I didn't mean—" she shook her head, out of words. "I'm sorry… I just..." she just what? She couldn't find the words and looked down, remorseful.

"You're upset," he stated grimly, and she looked at him again. He was looking at his feet. "I understand."

She realized in genuine surprise that he was right—and how mature, how intuitive that seemed of him—but he looked so miserable, so personally offended, that it momentarily made Alex want to jump off the planet. She was a jerk. She gritted her teeth together. This is why conversations were so hard and why sometimes she just wanted to give up on them completely—she got so caught up in her emotions sometimes that she didn't stop to think about what she was saying or what it would do to the involved party. She tried to think of a way to explain herself to him.

"Yeah, I'm upset… not upset with you though," Alex tried falteringly, wishing she could take back the thoughtless comments. She could almost see the wheels of his mind turning with self-loathing and she tried to catch his gaze. "How could I bet mad at you?" she asked. "I mean… after everything? And today you gave me your damn angel blade, Cas..." she didn't have to pretend—she literally was still floored by the gesture. More hesitant now, she looked away. "I kind of can't get over that."

"I couldn't go with you." He just clenched his jaw. "You needed it."

She studied him from the corner of her eye a minute longer. "It left you totally defenseless," she said, and he met her sidelong gaze with a hooded glance of his own.

His eyes flickered down, but then met hers again. "I wanted you to have it."

Her heart clenched with an unfamiliar warmth, as she felt like she heard all the things he didn't say just then. She had gotten the feeling that he valued her safety over his own in the past, but today, he'd proved that all over again. She felt largely undeserving and caught off guard, like, how the hell did I end up with this guardian angel who would give his life for me? It was a huge, frightening thought and it made her feel a thousand things all at once. But the biggest one was a growing sense of trust and… she could barely keep his gaze now… love. Her heart twisted up, her pulse hammered. Her entire body seemed to go on high alert as she realized how much she felt for him, and not just fleeting little confused feelings or shallow attraction. No. Genuine, deep, unmovable things. That word she'd thought just a minute ago. Love. Her confusion levels skyrocketed. How long had she felt like this?

"What's wrong?" Castiel asked, frowning in unease, his head tilting to the side at her silence.

She realized her face had frozen in an odd expression as she'd gotten lost in thought. Covering, she quickly flashed a nervous grin. "I, uh… just… thinking how I have the best guardian angel ever," she told him sloppily—and it was a sentiment she did feel—but said in a light tone that didn't reveal exactly how deep that feeling went.

His eyes slid to hers again, sullen. "You're attempting to compliment me," he stated. "But I don't deserve it." Alex looked at him with perplexed concern. He heaved a heavy sigh, staring ahead of himself unseeingly, a deep frown etched across his handsome features. "I'm a poor example of an angel. Attempting to serve a God I can't find. Heaven has cast me down. I've made… bad choices. Bringing the three of you here being one of them." He still wouldn't look at her. "I'm not the best anything."

She didn't agree. Not at all. And without thinking she leaned forward, grabbed his forearm. His eyes snapped up to hers. "You're the best angel I've ever met," she insisted intensely, then lost a little confidence as his brilliant blue eyes bored into hers. She'd grabbed him without thinking—should she let go, if this was overstepping his boundaries? Would this upset him like when she'd touched his hand at Bobby's? He just looked at her silently, frowning vaguely. And she didn't move her hand. However, it was harder to breathe now. "I mean maybe I haven't met a lot of angels, but I mean… still." She paused, voice softening. "You're the best one." She looked at her hand on his arm. He was looking at her hand, too, and Alex realized how damn quiet the room was and how uncomfortable it had become. His gaze was so intense and soft all at once and she wanted to kiss him so badly. Instead she stood up, became overly animated and a little showy, trying to make it casual again, trying to act like nothing had happened. "I mean, there was Anna, nice at first, turns out she's insane. And Uriel, dick. Zachariah—God, what a douche. Raphael, he sucked big time. Gabriel, hate that guy. Lucifer… don't even get me started on what an asshole he is." She gave a short barking laugh, but it was forced.

Cas watched her silently, his normal confused-perplexed-squinty-eyed 'what are you talking about' face on. She smiled a little for real at that, shrugged her hands out in front of herself, the pressed her mouth into a shrug. "I'm just trying to say that you're doing something right, Cas, okay?" she asked, then held up a mock-threatening finger and told him: "Now, get down on yourself one more time and I swear to your dad..."

He blinked a couple times, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips, but his eyebrows were still knit together. Like he understood that she was making a joke, but he didn't quite get it, but it still amused him. It was probably the cutest expression Alex had ever seen. Her affable smile couldn't hold up as she took in his appearance, his face, everything about him, the memory of kissing him—well not him, but the future version of him. She felt a pang of loss for something she'd never had, and unable to handle it, she turned away and went to the other end of the room.

He's your guardian angel, your friend, and that's all. She repeated this in her head several times as she stood in front of the silent television, trying to believe herself. "What... are you doing?" Cas asked after a couple seconds, and Alex, not sure what she was doing, tried to act purposeful.

"I'm—" she looked down at the television, reached for the knob. "Uh, turning on the TV." The picture quality was horrible and she slammed the top of the TV with her fist… maybe a little harder than she needed to. The static cleared a little, and she saw Robin Williams on the screen. He was dressed in a ridiculous outfit—rainbow suspenders over a colorful shirt. Alex recognized it immediately. Mork and Mindy. She smiled a little bit as she remembered. "Huh. I used to watch this show as a kid."

She looked back at where Cas sat on the ridiculous bedspread, underneath the plaque that said 'Love Conquers All'. Her smile faded. This was the part where she grew up and stopped trying to make this whole Castiel thing into something it wasn't. Accepted that his devotion and care was otherworldly and learned to be okay with that, not always selfishly longing for more. She could do that. She would do that.

"Mindy! My whole emotional life is flashing before my eyes!" Mork exclaimed in animated distress on the television set, and Mindy comforted him with don't worry, it was just a bad dream. Alex went back to the bed, and Mork was telling Mindy how he didn't have bad dreams, as his alien race had cut off the ability for bad dreams when they had cut off their emotions. Cue the laugh track. Alex remembered this episode, actually.

Cas watched her as she sat beside him on the bed, leaning against the headboard, her shoulder just a foot away from his. She glanced at him. He looked away, watched the television for a moment. "Who is the man with the hair like Sam's?" Cas asked, referring to Mork.

Alex looked at him sidelong, resisting the urge to laugh out loud. "Hair like Sam's? Oh he'd love that. Uh, that's Mork. He's an alien from planet Ork. He came to earth in an egg-shaped space ship. That girl's his roommate Mindy. But everyone knew they were more than that."

Cas took it all in, listening intently then frowned. "There is no such planet, Ork."

Alex did a bad job of hiding her amused smile. "It's a fictional show, Cas," she said. "Ork is made up. Mork is an actor named Robin Williams." Cas almost looked suspicious and Alex tiredly chuckled, watching Cas out of the corner of her eye. Watching him was almost as entertaining as watching the show. He looked at the screen intently, as if he were staring at an impossible math equation.

"But showing emotions is a good thing, Mork," Mindy was saying kindly.

Mork looked shocked. "But Mindy—that's a no no, no no for a Nanu-Nanu!" Laugh track. "Mindy, I've made a decision and I don't think you're going to like it very much."

"What is it?" Mindy asked.

"Well, I've gotta stop this before the emotions take me completely over, so… I've got this little door in the back of my mind… I'm going to round up all of my emotions put them behind that door, lock it, and hide the key… in my foot."

There was laughter from the audience, even though Mindy looked disturbed. "Are you saying that you won't feel anything anymore?"

"Right on, strike up the bland," Mork said really fast and determined, and stood up, put his hands at the side of his head. "Goodbye Mindy! I'm closing off my emotions forever."

Mindy jumped up after him. "Wait a minute Mork, don't!"

Alex yawned, not able to stop herself—she was really tired. This reminded her of the nights she and Sam had spent wondering where Dean and Dad were. They'd always had each other and whatever local television shows had been on. He'd always try to get her to watch that Beauty and the Beast show but it was so cheesy and stupid and Alex would beg to watch The A-Team or Miami Vice instead. She blinked sleepily, getting drowsy.

"Well you haven't convinced me that I need them," Mork was saying, "so on behalf of my emotions, I'd just like to say… goodbye, sayonara, ciao, ta-ta, catch you later Mama… and shalom! It's been nice feeling you."

"Wait a minute Mork, no, don't!"

Mork's face had become emotionless, his voice had become monotone. "It is too late. The door is locked. My emotions are shut off forever."

"Then so's the Mork who I like so well," Mindy lamented.

"Don't worry, we can go on having a non-emotional equivalent of fun," Mork droned. "There are certain advantages. Watch." He smashed himself in the hand with a little stone statue and Mindy cried out, asked if it hurt. "You bet," Mork said without any feeling. "Ow. It's killing me."

"So what's the advantage of that?!" Mindy asked.

"I can hurt myself all day without bothering other people," was the stoic reply.

Mindy looked confused, then hurt. "Mork, can that door in your head ever be re-opened?"

"Yes, but I can't do it, because what's behind there is far too dangerous."

Mindy became angry. "You know something, you are really DUMB."

"Nice try, but insults to a man with no emotions is like hay fever to a man with no nose."

Mindy got upset, said Mork ruined her birthday, then accused him of being cold, then got quiet… sat down… said it was like part of Mork had died. And she began to cry.

"If you think you can get to me by crying, you're wrong." He said, but then said her name, "Mindy," gently, worried. Then snapped to attention, his voice returning to monotone, however, it was more urgent than before. "Fall back, systems to May Day, control tear ducts, think baseball, baseball!" He was monotone again and sat down beside Mindy, who was still crying.

Castiel turned to Alex to ask a question—and stilled. She'd fallen asleep, head curled into the hard wood headboard of the bed, lolling uncomfortably in the space between it and her shoulder. Her mouth was open just slightly, some of her hair was in her face. She was fast asleep.

"Ah, once again, I am in control," Castiel heard Mork say emotionlessly. "I can deal with you as any other person." There was a long pause and Mork's monotone voice softened. "A person with invitingly soft skin. Rosebud lips. And sweet little eyes that leak cute little drops that roll gently down your cheeks..."

Cas heard those things and looked at the screen, momentarily confused, feeling strange. This Mork alien man's words struck him in a way that he felt resounding deep inside. He looked back at Alex's sleeping face. Soft skin. Rosebud lips. He swallowed, and briefly wondered if he should move off the bed, or if he even could muster the strength to—and then he realized that her head was slowly sliding down, tilting toward his shoulder and he froze, watching.

Her head stopped when her cheek hit his shoulder and Cas didn't move at all, because if he did, he might disrupt her rest. She shifted a little beside him and he felt a rush of protectiveness. The television was now just a hum in the background. He didn't look at it, not at all. He could smell the scent of motel shampoo on Alex's hair, feel the pattern of her breathing against himself. He didn't move a muscle for a very long time, even though his fingers itched to touch the skin of her face.

He could see her left hand, resting, draped across her thigh, and his eyes drifted across her scarred knuckles. Above them, a smooth white scar, maybe two inches long, arced across the top of her hand. He wasn't sure what these scars were from, only that they were evidence of the life she'd lived, the pains she'd endured. He knew that on the inside of her hand a dark scar slashed across the center from a wound inflicted in Gabriel's hell world. Each physical scar she carried was a reminder to Castiel of how fragile this human girl was. She was a strong soul, but contained within a vessel doomed to mortality. And he knew that her physical scars did not compare to the numbers of inner scars and burdens she'd collected over the years.

Perhaps he could do nothing to remove any scars that she had already received. But after he recovered from this temporary weakness, he was resolved to save her from the future that awaited and to keep her safe from the future in which he was the one who caused her death. Whatever he had to do, he'd do it to make sure Alex lived.

She shifted against him again, making a soft sound and Castiel felt his vessel flush all over with warmth. Perhaps he should have been more reluctant to be close like this to her. But he didn't feel that way. He... he liked it. Cas remained unmoving the entire night, watching over her, at peace despite everything else, because he knew she was safe and with him.

---

Drowsy and comfortable, Alex snuggled into the warmth beside her, sighing a soft, sleepy sound, feeling like she could stay in this half-awake state forever, feeling rested for the first time in forever, if a little sore from the weird position she'd picked to sleep in. She realized, listlessly, that she didn't have the nightmare last night. Hmm, that was nice. Maybe it was finally over. The shape she was cuddled into suddenly moved a little bit and her eyes shot open as she realized, remembering—she had been sitting beside Cas in bed watching TV and... then what?—she was staring straight at a button on the familiar beige trench coat. Panicked, she jerked upwards and found herself looking up into Castiel's face, which was just above hers. Oh my god. She had been sleeping… on him, basically on his lap! Quickly turning red with mortified heat, Alex just stayed frozen, hoping if she did, maybe she'd wake up and this would just be some kind of freaky dream.

"Good morning, Alex," he said, and she had the brief thought, I quit life. He was looking at her softly. She pushed away, embarrassed for numerous reasons, the most immediate being—had she snored? Drooled? Dean and Sam gave her crap sometimes about drooling.

"G-good morning," she mumbled, mortified, her eyes going all over the place, a dead giveaway of how damn awkward she felt.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked. And she knew it was just him being weirdly polite and courteous like he always was, but seriously, are you kidding me? Alex wanted to fling herself into a distant galaxy. She needed to disappear. She didn't answer his question, just slid off the bed, all business. There were bigger things to worry about right now.

"We need to go find my brothers," she said, and grabbed her jacket off the floor, shrugging it on. She turned around to see Cas standing up and she stopped straightening the jacket, hurried over to him, already knowing where this was going.

"I can stand," he said, looking immensely excited (for Cas, anyway). He then attempted to take a step and wobbled dangerously. Alex only just caught him as she reached him, bracing him with both hands. He'd grabbed onto her tightly, either arm.

"Okay, okay, take it easy," Alex told him, teeth gritted as she pushed him back up. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

He was stable again and they just stood like that for a couple more awkward seconds—Cas holding onto her as if for dear life and her hands flat against his strong chest. He seemed out of breath and Alex didn't know if this could get any more awkward for her. He was so... ugh. It was driving her crazy and she wanted to blush furiously at the thought of sleeping on him all night. "So. How about we go now," she suggested artlessly, wanting to leave pronto. Not only was she anxious to find her brothers, but she wanted to escape this embarrassing moment too.

"Yes. But..." Cas was looking down at his feet. "I think I need help walking."

"You think?" Alex asked sarcastically, moving to his side and pulling one of his arms around her shoulder.

Cas got a little proud smiles on his face. "That was sarcasm," he observed, and he sounded like a little kid who had gotten excited about spelling 'cat' right.

Alex couldn't help but crack an exasperated grin as she looked down, wrapped her other arm around his waist like before. "Yes, very good young grasshopper."

He paused, and sounded confused again. "I'm not an insect."

Alex had left the stolen car she'd used—a powder-blue Dodge Polara station wagon—behind the motel. She and Cas took about five minutes to walk the whole way, and he was highly ashamed of himself and his slow shuffle—she could tell. She put him into the passenger seat where he collapsed and had to pull his legs in using his arms pathetically. Alex said nothing, feeling for him. She'd been pretty messed up in her day too and knew how much it sucked to be held back by injuries.

She hot wired the car again (Cas watched with great interest) and they drove the fifteen minutes to the Winchester home. The entire way there, Alex was silent, thinking hard about Sam, Dean, Mom, Dad. Hoping to find them there, but not too hopeful in case it was the same as last night. But when they pulled up, she saw a new car in the driveway. The Impala. Her heart leapt in her chest and she parked her stolen car on the side of the street, suddenly breathless and shaking. Wherever they'd been gone to… they were back. Alex got out of the car, glancing constantly at the house for any sign of movement. She reached the passenger side, where Cas had pushed his door open and managed to get his feet on the ground. He braced himself to pull himself out of the car using the doorframe.

"Whoa, Grandpa," Alex said, thinking better of the entire thing and holding her hands in a stop motion. "You better stay in the car and be lookout." Cas paused and gave her quite the disgruntled stare. "Look at yourself, you can barely move!" Alex pointed out.

The angel was sullen, but not ready to comply. "I'm coming with you," Cas said, grunting as he found his full height. "Like it or not." And he started off without her, as if to prove a point. Alex was left to stare at him in slight surprise, close his door and mutter something about 'stubborn son of a bitch' as she went to catch up to him. She stayed close just in case his legs gave out or something. He was able to walk a lot better than even fifteen minutes ago, she noticed. That was good. Her attention turned to the matter at hand: she stared at the house across from her, heart racing in anticipation as they closed the distance. She had no idea what they would find.

The house was boxy, very sixties in its architectural style. It had a very small yard and a stoop of a porch. When they got to the door she stared it down, breathing heavily. She suddenly felt intimidated and afraid.

"What is it?" Cas asked her, noticing.

Alex steeled herself, eyes still on the door. "Nothing."

She took a deep breath then knocked three times and they waited for about fifteen seconds. The door opened and a beautiful young blonde woman stood there. Alex went still. Mom. Alex recognized her immediately from the photos—she was younger of course. And beautiful, so much more beautiful than the photographs showed. Alex stared at her, completely enchanted and dumbfounded. She forgot what she was doing.

"...Yes?" Mary asked, looking between them expectantly with a slight hint of apprehension. Alex swallowed. Mom was beautiful. Perfect. Young and pretty and so alive. "Can I... help you?" Mary asked, eyebrows furrowing at Alex's total silence.

"Oh—uh, hello," Alex said, and suddenly realized she had no clue what the hell to say or do—this was her mom. She hadn't even thought of making up a cover story, and internally began to curse herself for being so out of it. Mary was wearing a floral print apron... like she was baking. Alex glanced around behind Mom, saw nothing out of sorts. Mary was beginning to get weirded out, Alex could tell, and Cas was just staring at Alex, waiting for her to say something.

Alex busted out her best on-the-spot lie, trying to think of a way to get them in the house where she could see more and ask questions. "We," Alex said, gesturing between herself and Cas, speaking in an uncharacteristically perky voice, "uh, we are your new neighbors. Just moved in down the street. Thought we'd come over and… say hello!" Alex listened to how ridiculous she sounded. Surely to God no one would buy that crock of crap… but Mary's face broke into a pleasant smile.

"Oh, how nice!" Mary said, and stepped to the side, gestured for them to come in. Alex gave Cas a look from the side of her eyes, and hoped he got her meaning, which was 'don't say anything.' "Please, come in," Mary was saying, and then looked back into the house. "John, company!"

Alex paused, her stomach twisting at the mention of Dad and the knowledge that she was about to see him again. Mary had shut the door behind them and gestured toward the living room couch. "Please, sit down," she said graciously, and then seemed to notice Cas, who was moving very slowly and stiffly, walking on his own, but not well. Alex was staying at his side, hovering almost, making sure he made it to the couch.

Mary looked concerned. "Is... he all right?"

Cas sat down heavily. "Oh, uh yeah, he's… he's got ankle... arthritis... problems," Alex lied stutteringly as she sat beside Cas. The second she finished saying that, she realized how stupid that sounded, because Cas also looked physically ill. The arthritis claim wasn't enough. "And uh he's getting over a stomach bug," she said, feigning a nonchalant attitude. "It really weakened him you know?" she asked. Good God Dean would kill her if he could hear these ridiculous lies pouring out of her mouth. Dean—Sam.

Remembering herself, Alex leaned forward to ask Mary, who'd sat down across from her, about her brothers, to ask if she'd seen them—and then a familiar voice to her right startled her into silence. "Mary, what's going on?"

Alex froze at the sight of Dad approaching them from the hallway. He looked so much younger and lighter, not even like the man she remembered. But she still stiffened, sat up straight, the smile gone off her face.

"John, our new neighbors—" Mary stopped, trailing off, probably realizing she didn't know their names.

"Alex," Alex supplied, then nodded her head toward Cas. "And Cas."

"I'm Mary," Mom said. "And this is John." She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. "Alex. Is that short for something?" Mary asked in polite interest. It kind of sounded like she didn't like the name Alex from the way she said it.

This was so damn ironic. "Alexandra," Alex said, watching Dad's every move hawkishly as he came around to sit beside his wife.

"Oh, how pretty," Mary said, smiling again.

Beside her, John took a seat, put an arm around Mary, smiled pleasantly at them. "And Cas—that must be short for Casanova," John joked, but only Mary gave him a smile at the comment. Alex was working her hands oddly in her lap, trying to smile, but she couldn't even fake one. Cas's face was like stone. John frowned and looked at his wife, obviously feeling awkward, trying to make conversation. "Isn't there an Alexandra in your family, Mary?"

"Yes, my great grandmother," Mary said, also a little awkward. The clock ticked loudly in the silence.

This was going just fabulously. Alex cleared her throat and took in a deep breath. Being perky was exhausting. "You know, speaking of family, I was, er, I'm looking for my brothers. Sam and Dean? They said they were stopping by here yesterday but I haven't seen them since."

"No, sorry—" John said, shaking his head, then stopped, his eyes narrowing as he frowned. "Why would they have stopped by here?"

Good friggin' question. Alex stuck her tongue out enough to wet her lips nervously. "Because—uh—"

"Because they were trying to stop an angel from the future from killing you," Cas said, breaking his silence. John and Mary looked at him like he had two heads, then at Alex for an explanation.

She made a 'oh gosh, this happens all the time' face. "Don't mind Cas. Uh, he's a little loopy from the um, allergy medicine."

Mary looked at her with narrowed eyes. Alex could see growing mistrust behind the careful smile. "I thought you said he had a stomach bug."

Shit on a stick, she had forgotten that. "Oh, yeah, yeah, I did," Alex said, pretending to be totally confident and at ease, but inwardly scrambling, inwardly freaking out. She laughed a nervous little laugh, jerked her thumb toward a very unamused Cas. "He's got pretty bad allergies, to uh, everything..." Alex couldn't stop the bad lies from coming, a total mess under her parents confused gazes. "Grass you know and, and um also trees… bushes... it just all messes him up."

Crap. Crap! This could not be going any worse—Alex had never heard worse lies in her whole freaking life. Mary, however, seemed to be giving them the benefit of the doubt, standing up and giving them a smile. "Let me put on some tea."

Alex watched her mother leave. Mary could definitely tell something was up. Alex was inwardly cussing herself out for doing such a crap job of this. Dad was leaning forward over a knee, looking between them with a polite, if somewhat forced smile. "So, which house did you move into? I... don't remember one being for sale."

Of course not. "It's just a couple houses down," Alex answered vaguely, shrinking back a little under his gaze. He seemed to notice that he frowned slightly, then turned to Cas, apparently not interested in her anymore.

Dad was looking at Cas with a certain note of suspicion. "You got a job, young man?" Alex frowned at that comment—Dad had to be like twenty-five right now, and Cas looked like at least thirty-five… why did Dad call him that?

Cas looked at John without any expression whatsoever. "Yes, I am an ang—"

"An anesthesiologist!" Alex put in fast, and gave Cas a meaningful look, to which he only frowned, clearly not understanding. Alex wanted to stand up and shout 'why?!'—she was definitely not sure if this could get any more ridiculous and the universe owed her an answer as to why this was going so horribly. But she just kept a smile plastered across her face, hoping for the best.

"So, you didn't notice two guys around yesterday?" she asked, trying to keep her face and tone pleasant. "One freakishly tall one with a lot of hair? The other one kind of smart mouthy and overbearing?"

John looked at her oddly, and shook his head. "No, can't say I saw them." He was still looking at Cas, still focused on the previous subject which Alex was trying to sidestep. "An anesthesiologist, huh? That's pretty impressive." He looked at Alex kind of appraisingly, then back at Cas again. "Now, this may be a little improper of me to say, but—Cas?—you look a little too old for this young lady here."

Alex's mouth dropped open and she looked at Cas, who was staring at John bleakly. Is that why he'd called him young man a minute ago—because he thought the opposite? Also: "He's not my boyfriend," Alex said, then immediately remembered she'd said they were the neighbors, so what else would they be if not significant others? Crap.

Dad looked at her with a darkening expression. "Oh?"

"No," Alex said, shrinking inside, trying to think of something to save face. "He's my—my..." she couldn't think of anything.

Cas was speaking again. "I'm her guard—"

"My gardener!" Alex said, giving Cas an exasperated look and not even bothering to hide it.

John looked at them as if he wasn't sure if they were joking or not. "Your gardener?"

Mary reappeared just then, a cup of tea in hand. She held it out to Cas with a smile. "Have some. Hot tea makes everything better."

"I'm not sure that's true," Castiel said with narrowed eyes. Alex nudged him with her knee, and he looked at her, got a weird look from the side of her eyes. He looked back at Mary, expression still a little perplexed. He took the tea. "But thank you."

Mary sat back down after telling Cas again to 'drink up' and Alex tried to think of something normal to say or comment on. "Your home is lovely," she said, but honestly she hadn't noticed one damn thing about it. "Just the right size to start a family," she continued with false cheer.

Mary seemed to automatically beam at that comment, looked at John adoringly, who smiled at her, put his hand on hers. Alex's heart tugged a little, her facade wobbled. My God, they were in love. John was chuckling. "I can't wait to have a house full of boys."

Alex felt her smile fade a little at that comment. "John," Mary laughed, pushing him lightly, playfully.

"What?" he grinned. "I wouldn't know what to do with a girl."

"That's apparent," Cas muttered darkly. John heard that and frowned, and Mary too.

In fact, Mary stood up, smiled tightly now. "Alex, before you two go… can I get you to help me with something in the kitchen?"

"I'm... not good in the kitchen…" Alex protested.

Mary insisted. "It'll take two seconds, sweetie, now come on."

Okay, so they were about to be kicked out. And with no answers, either! Where the hell were Sam and Dean? Alex stood up, and John did too in unison, his hulking six-foot-two frame dwarfing Alex and Mary both. "I've gotta grab my jacket and head to work," John said apologetically, and walked toward Alex, held out his hand—and Alex flinched away by instinct. He frowned at her reaction, seemed taken aback. "Just… wanted to shake your hand, neighbor," John said, eyeing her cautiously, uncertainly.

Alex, recovered, feigned casual pleasantness again, reached out, shook his hand. "Right. Nice to meet you, John."

"You too, Alex." He seemed kind of guarded toward her now. Alex felt bad about it, too. This wasn't the Dad she'd known. Not at all.

John moved over to the couch and held his hand out to Cas, who still sat on the couch, holding his tea cup sullenly in both hands. He didn't make a single move. In fact he was looking at John with something close to loathing. John gave up, looking confused, and he walked back down the hallway. Mary clearly got the same awkward vibes everyone else was getting, but gave Cas a polite little smile anyway. "Drink your tea," she said, again, to Cas, then led Alex toward the kitchen.

Mom was super nice, making tea for the sick guy, insisting he drink it a couple times over—they walked into the kitchen and suddenly Alex was flying sideways into the wall. Mom slammed her there, holding her there with one hand—the other hand held a really huge hunting knife at Alex's throat. "Who are you?" Mary demanded. Surprised, Alex stared at her mom, more impressed with her than anything else. Maybe she should be alarmed that someone was threatening her life, but all she could think was that Dean hadn't been lying… Mom was badass! "I said who are you?" Mary repeated in a low hiss. "You've got hunter written all over you," she shoved Alex a little harder, demandingly. "Are you here to hurt my husband? What do you want?"

"I'm looking for my brothers like I said," Alex said honestly, and got another shove in reply.

"Stop with the lies and tell me who you are," Mary demanded.

Okay then.

In the space of one single second, Alex grabbed the handle of Mom's knife with one hand, slid her other arm between their bodies in unison even as she savagely bent the knife out of Mom's grip easily, she used her arm as leverage and whirled Mom around, slammed her against the wall—and suddenly they were just as they had been before, but now Alex was the one in control, the one holding the knife. Mary looked surprised more than anything else. Alex turned the knife away, raised her eyebrows meaningfully, showing her mom she wasn't an enemy.

"...Who are you?" Mary asked again, but quietly this time.

Alex drew in a deep breath. Hell, she had no other clue what to do, so she told the truth. "I'm Alex. Winchester." She stepped back, letting mom go. "Your… your daughter."

Mary's expression went from 'did I hear you right' to 'are you fucking kidding me' to 'wait…' in the span of three seconds. She opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped, looking at Alex carefully, scrutinizing her completely. For a brief second, Alex had this insane hope that Mom was going to look at her and see who she was, recognize her somehow… but that didn't happen. Mom's expression changed, went cold. "You're crazy," she said, and grabbed Alex roughly by her jacket—then her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell over unconscious.

"What the hell Cas?!" Alex exclaimed in horror—Cas had stepped in, touched two fingers to Mary's head, rendering the woman into an unconscious heap. "What did you do?"

"Michael," Cas said, breathing heavily, standing oddly. "He was here."

"Where?" Alex asked, suddenly stock still.

"In John."

Alex looked at him like he'd gone stark raving mad. "What?"

"I'm not sure how or why, but Michael used John—your father as a vessel."

"Her father?" Came a new voice. "The hell are you talking about?" John was there behind them, in the doorway, wearing a jacket and a freaked out expression—and then he saw Mary on the floor and fear flashed across his features, he took a step back, looked at Alex, then Cas in fear. "What did you do to my wife?"

"She'll be fine, John," Cas said flatly, uncaringly, then looked at Alex. "She put a dangerous amount of sedatives in the tea. Of course, they won't affect me. I don't think."

Alex gaped at Cas, then looked at Mom. Wow, that was double impressive. Sneaky.

"Who are you people?" John demanded.

Castiel drew himself up a little bit. "I'm an angel of the Lord."

John's expression darkened—an expression Alex recognized. "Buddy, drugs are bad," he said, and Alex suddenly saw, tried to warn Cas with a shout—she recognized when her dad was about to snap—John charged the couple feet between himself and Cas, slammed the angel up against the wall. Alex went up and tried grabbing John's shoulder to yank him off Cas, but John shoved her away, hard, and she fell down backwards. "What did you do to her?" John screamed at Cas, shaking him roughly. "Tell me, now!"

Cas just stared down at John his expression chilling, calm. "Do not presume to tell me what to do, John Winchester," he said lowly, and brought his two fingers to John's temple. "Now, forget."

John crumpled to the floor. Alex, shakily getting up from where she'd been shoved, looked at Cas in a mixture of disbelief and confusion. "Forget? Forget? You just erased their memories?"

He ignored her question, stumbled over to her. "Why didn't you tell me that your father mistreated you?" he demanded, and Alex took a step back, bumping up against the kitchen counter.

"What?" she asked, barely a whisper.

"You're scared of him," Cas said, almost angrily. "You were afraid when he tried to shake your hand."

"No I wasn't," Alex protested—possibly too passionately.

Cas just stepped closer, his expression so intense. "Did he strike you in anger?"

Alex went cold. "How dare you ask me that," she said, and it was supposed to be anger that she asked it with, but instead, her voice shook with total and utter fear.

Cas's frown changed from anger to deep sadness. Like he saw right through her, and knew the answer was yes. He looked so deeply affected by it that Alex couldn't keep looking at him. She swallowed painfully and spoke with a sharp, hard tone. "It wasn't… it wasn't a lot, okay? It was only when he drank a lot. And only when I deserved it," she said more angrily, then brushed past him brusquely, trying to shove her emotions down deep where they couldn't surface, because they hurt too much and she had thought she was done with this crap a long time ago.

Behind her, Cas hadn't turned around. They faced opposite directions. "How could a child deserve such a thing?" he asked quietly. He truly didn't understand. As he looked down at John Winchester's unconscious form, his fist curled tightly at his side in unadulterated anger. Ever since stepping into this house and seeing the man walk into the room, Castiel had been fighting fury and anger toward him. Because he'd known this man had undervalued his daughter, had failed to protect her and considered giving her away—but this new revelation he discovered just moments ago—that John Winchester had physically hurt or intimidated his daughter to whatever extent great or small—made Castiel feel like his blood was boiling beneath his skin, made him want to obliterate this man.

Alex turned around and looked at Cas, saw his fist, saw his angry stare aimed at her dad. He seemed entirely focused on John, breathing heavily, eyes heavy lidded and face like stone. "Cas." She said, but he didn't look away from her dad. She went over to him, grabbed his arm. "Cas! This guy right here—he's not the guy who pushed me around as a kid." He looked at her, his venomous expression fading. Alex's heart almost stopped when she realized his face right then—it was the exact same expression Dean had always had when Dad had gone off the rails and shoved her or yelled at her or, yes, a few times, struck her. Alex looked away, ashamed.

Cas's fist loosened, then relaxed completely, and he looked morose once more. Alex shook her head, let go of Cas's arm. This was a mess, a total mess. She put her hands on either side of her, palms facing in, frustrated. "Okay, just—just forget all this—" she said, chopping her hands forward, "Where the hell are Sam and Dean?"

He looked at her for a long, tense moment. "I won't forget this," he said, responding grimly to the first part of what she'd said. "But I'll respect your wishes if you don't want to speak of it again." He looked unhappy about it, but seemed to drop it, squinting around the kitchen, his eyes appearing to take in things that she couldn't see. "They're not here anymore," he said. "I'm fairly certain."

"How?" Alex asked.

"John and Mary's minds were tampered with recently, and Michael's presence… I can sense it… he must have sent them back."

"Their minds were tampered with recently? Wasn't that you just now?" she asked cynically.

He glanced at her. "No. Well, yes. But their memories were altered recently, before I even touched them."

Alex shook her head, unhappy. "Did you really have to do that?" It bothered her. And she hadn't wanted that moment with her mom to end… even if Mom had been about to kick her ass.

"I wanted to keep the timeline uncomplicated," Cas said simply, to which Alex gave him a look that said 'really?'

She didn't believe that for a second. "After all the crap about fate being unchangeable?" she asked angrily.

"There are certain rules which must be observed when dealing with time travel—" Cas was saying, but Alex, at the end of her rope, unintentionally channeled her oldest brother by cutting him off and shouting "bullshit!"

Cas's expression flickered as if in surprise, then became tightly drawn and Alex stood there breathing heavily for a couple seconds, then shut her eyes tight to keep it together. "I need a drink," she muttered before opening her eyes up again.

Cas looked surprisingly guilty, staring down at John and Mary. "I could… undo it..." he said, and his eyes falteringly came back to hers, waiting for her to tell him what to do. Alex looked at him in a mixture of unhappiness at him but also at herself. She was pissed that he'd done that, but... it didn't really matter if Mary and John Winchester remembered this weirdo couple in their house in 1978, did it? And when she thought it over objectively, Cas had said all that stuff about being an angel and then Mom had figured out something was up and attacked her in the kitchen—Dad walked in on it all… Alex's indignant anger was fading rapidly. Instead, she just felt sad, looking down at her pretty blonde mom on the floor. Then her dad, before he had even been her dad. This was beyond screwed up.

Cas squinted, put a hand to his head, and Alex glanced at him, then went to him—was he about to start spewing blood again? Then she realized he was listening to something, not in pain. "It's Dean. He's calling to me from 2010." He looked at her. "We should go."

Alex felt her eyebrows raise in trepidation, she looked at him apprehensively. "Cas, you can barely stand up now, how are you supposed to be able to make another trip?"

"It will be easier with just you," he said.

"Just as long as you're sure you'll be all right," she said, and looked at him carefully. He looked distinctly regretful, then met her eyes somberly.

"I'm not sure of anything anymore," he said, and if the mood had been lighter, Alex might have joked about him being emo. But he meant it, and she could tell. And it kind of worried her, honestly, all this talk recently about his 'bad choices' and uncertainty about making decisions, his insistence that he was useless and a failure. Something was going on with him. He paused, looked at her parents still forms on the kitchen floor. "I can still change it back."

Alex looked at them too. Memorized Mom's face. Looked around the kitchen at the gingham decor, the pretty blue teapot and matching cups neatly lined up on a shelf, the cross stitch that had a mother duck with ducklings stitched onto it hanging on an otherwise empty wall. Little pieces of Mary Winchester, little glimpses into her mind and heart. Alex let out a soft breath. "No. It doesn't matter. I remember." She faced him and took in a deep breath, nodded once. "I'm ready to go now."

He'd touched their foreheads when he brought them to 1978. But with just Alex, he just nodded somberly, reached out, and grasped her shoulder instead.

"Jesus Christ, Sam," Dean was saying, sounding like he'd reached the end of his rope. "What the hell are we supposed to do?"

Alex and Cas were in the motel room where this crazy thing had all started, and Dean was sitting on a bed, faced away, Sam beside him, turned away too. In front of Alex, Cas pitched forward and she staggered as he pretty much fell forward onto her. "Guys, help me!" she gasped, and both brothers whirled at the sound of her voice.

Sam, closer, got to her first, grabbing Cas's woozy form easily, getting him under one arm. "Hey. Hey, hey! Whoa, I gotcha!"

Dean caught him under the other arm a fraction of a second later, and looked at Alex with complete and utter relief on his face. "You crazy kids," he said, "You made it!"

Cas looked almost drunk, staring at something that wasn't there. "I'm—uhhh," he mumbled, and his eyes rolled back as his head fell backwards limply.

"Not again," Alex muttered, and then pointed at one of the beds, chagrined. Her brothers hauled him over to the bed and flopped him down, then turned to look at her. She looked from Cas's unconscious form to them. "Hi," she said tiredly, and smiled at them, relieved, exhausted emotionally, so glad it was over.

Sam came over and hugged her tightly and she protested a little, "Mffmfff, Sam!" her face smushed up against his massive chest.

"We, uh, got a little worried," he explained, letting her go.

"A little?" she asked fondly, rubbing her jaw like he'd hurt her in the hug.

Dean was still beside Cas, looking down at him intently, checking his pulse and breathing. "Seems okay," he said. Alex came over to thew other side of the bed. "How long was he out the first time?" he asked, seeming concerned about Cas.

"About three hour, maybe four hours," Alex said, watching Cas, remembering cleaning him up, remembering Candy Land, remembering sleeping next to him...

"So what'd you guys do when he woke up?" Dean asked, and even though he tried to sound casual, Alex heard the hidden, suspicious question.

She looked at him, completely deadpan. "We had lots and lots of sex." Dean's face went completely shocked.

Sam laughed out loud at that and Alex's serious expression gave way to a pleased with herself smile. Dean, of course, was giving Sam the evil eye, then made a face at Alex. "Ha ha," he rolled his eyes. "Very funny." He looked like he'd never heard anything stupider.

Alex looked at Dean challengingly. "What the hell do you think I did?" she asked. "I went and looked for you when you didn't show. Couldn't find you. Met Mom and Dad though." She shook her head a little. "Good times."

Sam seemed interested in that. "Did they remember us visiting?"

"No," Alex said. "They don't remember any of it. Cas took their memories when we left, too. Don't know how, he's so friggin' low on battery power." They all looked at the still form of Cas on the bed.

"I could use a drink now," Dean said. "Beers all around?"

"Beer's not gonna cut it," Alex muttered in a harrowed tone.

"Bring out the hunter's helper," Sam agreed and Dean rolled his eyes, but complied. He got out some plastic cups and a bottle of whiskey.

"What happened? With Anna?" Alex asked. Dean poured three generous drinks. She watched Cas quietly as he explained.

"Well, Anna's dead—Michael ganked her, didn't seem to like her plan to kill Sammy. Michael used Dad as a meatsuit." Dean chuckled darkly, handed a cup to Sam. "More on that later. My brain's fried. But the short and sweet version is that Mom's fine, Dad's fine, Sam's fine. And we didn't change a damn thing." He handed Alex her cup, looked at her, then Sam, then Cas. "Well… I guess this is it," Dean said.

"This is what?" Sam asked.

"Team Free Will. One ex-blood junkie, one dropout with six bucks to his name, one punkass kid sister, and Mr. Comatose over there. It's awesome."

"You're not funny," Alex commented, downing a huge burning gulp of whiskey. It helped her feel better immediately.

Dean shrugged. "I'm not laughing."

"What are you talking about, anyway? Team Free Will?" Sam asked.

"They all say we'll say yes," Dean said. "And it's getting pretty damn annoying."

"Annoying?" Alex questioned, looking at him sidelong. "What if they're right?"

Dean took another drink. "They're not."

There was a pause. "They might be," Alex said. She didn't like it, but she wasn't going to avoid it, either.

Dean looked at her, expression hovering between a glare and a grimace. "Don't say that, Al."

Alex shrugged and set her cup down on the dresser beside her. "I'm just saying. You've tried to change the past twice now. And neither time worked. Why's the future gonna be any different?"

"Geez, Miss Optimistic," Dean said. "Because I've decided. Maybe we can't change the past, but the future ain't written yet."

"Do you really think you can say no forever?" Alex asked. "Run from fate or destiny, whatever, forever?"

"Fate?" Dean repeated, like it was a bad word. "Please. Don't tell me you believe in that BS."

Sam, who'd been quiet this whole time, sipping his drink, finally spoke up. "Michael got Dad to say yes."

"That was different," Dean said immediately. "Anna was about to kill Mom."

Sam looked at Dean intently. "And if you could save Mom... what would you say?" He hesitated a long time, then looked at Alex. "If you could save… Alex, Dean... what would you say?"

"What do you mean?" Alex asked, her frown matching Dean's.

Sam shrugged, set his drink down too, looking at his twin with a great deal of apprehensiveness. "Sooner or later they're gonna try to use you against us. I mean, they already have a little," Sam said, referring loosely to the whole Lucifer thing. Alex looked down, feeling much worse again.

Dean took a deep breath, staring at his now-empty cup. "Why do you think I've been such a pain in the ass lately? I know that. I'm just waiting for someone to swoop in and take her from us. And I can never decide if she's safer with us or without and I can't friggin' take much more."

Sam frowned, looking at the bed behind Alex and Dean. "Whoa—where'd Cas go?"

They all looked at the bed—empty. "Friggin' angels, man," Dean said, aggravated. He went over to pour himself more whiskey as Alex looked around with a slack jaw.

"My life blows," Dean said, and raised his once-again full cup. "Here's to that."

Alex ignored him, staring at the bed for a couple seconds, then decisively grabbing up her duffel bag. She grabbed her phone out of the side pocket where she'd shoved it last, threw a "be right back" over her shoulder. She hurried outside the motel room, stood near the chipped metal railing there and scrolled through her contacts. Found who she was looking for and hit call. It rang twice.

"Hello, Alex," Cas answered.

"Why do you always leave like that?" she demanded without ceremony.

There was a pause. "Like what?"

"Without a single word or a goodbye," She said, sounding a little madder than she meant to sound. She tried to calm herself, took a deep breath. "You were passed out on the bed and then you just disappeared—I mean… are you okay?"

"Yes," his deep voice replied. "Perfectly fine."

"Perfectly fine?" she repeated. "Like last time 'perfectly fine'?"

There was another pause. "You shouldn't worry about me."

She paused, made a face, then smiled helplessly, watching the traffic passing out on the highway in front of the motel. "Yeah well. Too late for that."

"I see," he replied, and Alex felt herself growing introspective at dangerous levels. She felt like she needed to tell him something substantial, something meaningful.

"Cas—" she couldn't think of how to say all she was feeling and thinking. So she settled on, "I hope you feel better soon."

"Thank you, Alex." There was a long pause. "Should... we end the call now?"

Alex shook her head, smiling to herself. As usual, she found his social awkwardness completely perfect. "Sounds good."

She didn't hang up though. He had gone quiet again, then asked: "Is this the part where we hang up?"

She held back a laugh, just barely. "Uh, yes," Alex said. Another long pause.

"Now?" Cas asked. Alex was laughing now despite her best efforts—these funny Cas moments were always so out of left field, and she wasn't good at not being one hundred perfect amused by them. "Yes, now," she said, grinning. "Bye." She closed her phone. And the realized someone was standing behind her. She turned.

"Finally called that guy from the bar, huh?" Dean asked, giving her a toothy grin. Shit, how long had he been there, and wait—what guy from what bar? Oh wait. Yeah, some guy had given her his number last week. She didn't even remember what he looked like. She ignored Dean's question and rolled her eyes, hoping he wouldn't ask again. He took a swig of the beer he was now holding and came to stand beside her, leaning over the railing. He looked at her long and hard.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, guarded.

"You saw Dad. Met Mom. Trippy, right?"

"That's a good word for it I guess," Alex said and thought about it a minute. She smiled really faintly, remembering fondly. "Mom was… so beautiful. And kind of a total badass."

"Right?" Dean asked. He sounded so proud.

"I think maybe she might have been able to kick my ass on a good day," Alex said, grinning crookedly. "Wish I'd known her. Even just a little while." She looked at Dean with a more tense expression, her smile gone now. "You're lucky."

He made a soft little airy sound. "Not lucky enough." Dean paused, darkening, and Alex knew he was thinking about how Mom had died, wondering if he could have stopped it.

She picked at one of her nails in distraction. "Dad was… different."

"Yeah, uh. He was." They were silent for a really long moment. Dean seemed to sense Alex's internal thoughts.

"You'll drive yourself crazy if you think about it too much," he told her.

"Think about what?"

"What would've changed," he said. "If the fire never happened."

Alex didn't have to wonder. "Everything would have changed. Everything."

She oddly found herself remembering a very random moment from childhood—God, how old had she been… maybe seven or eight? She'd been small for her age then. Dad had been teaching them to shoot shotguns.

"Hold it tight into your shoulder or the kick can break your bone," Dad said, pulling the butt of the gun into Alex's shoulder tightly, yanking her arm up so that the heavy-to-her shotgun was straighter.

Dean, watching from the sidelines, looked uncertain. "Dad, I don't think she's—"

John gave his son a dangerous, silencing look. "Dean, we've been over this. Your sister needs to be able to shoot this damn thing if she's alone and unprotected, you hear me?" He turned back to Alex, who was struggling to hold the shotgun up. "Now line up the sights and fire and," he made a frustrated, impatient sound as she struggled, "for Christsakes, hold the damn thing into your shoulder like I told you."

She tried to do what he said, to stop pissing him off, to just do something right. The shotgun had been so heavy to her, and she had barely been able to lift it, let alone solidly aim it or anything. She'd squeezed the trigger and the gun went off. And she'd tried so hard to not cry from the immediate pain when the butt of the gun slammed into her little shoulder, but she hadn't been able to stop herself. Dad had looked down at her, seeming to be annoyed, disgusted that she was acting like that. "Stop that Alex. Don't cry about it. It hurts a little now but this will save your life someday, you hear me? This will save your life." He seemed to relent a little at the sight of her distress and patted her roughly on the head. He'd crouched down to her level. She remembered how strongly he smelled of alcohol. "Sorry, Alex. Maybe you're not ready for this, huh?" he stood up as if to walk off and a switch had flipped inside Alex.

Defiant, determined, she'd glared, cocked the shotgun (a feat in and of itself) and reassumed the aiming stance, already wincing. She'd fired another shot, and the pain had been even worse the second time. John—Dad—looked proud of her then. She did it a third time, barely able to hold back tears of pain. And finally she'd gotten a, "that's my girl." And then Sam said something and called Dad over. Dad walked away. And Dean, watching silently, saw Alex break down crying silently, cradling her shoulder alone.

The bruise and the pain had lasted for weeks.

"You okay? Alex?" Dean's voice startled Alex out of the memory.

"Uh, yeah. Just thinking," she said. He nodded. He seemed to get it. For all the times Dean was an asshole to her, they really did have an understanding when it came to certain things. And Dad was one of them. Alex cleared her throat, turning her head toward him. "You know, for a little while there, I thought you guys were dead back in seventy-eight. When I couldn't find you."

Dean looked at her, expression heavy, sad. He heard what she hadn't said. "I won't leave you, Alex, not forever. You know that."

Alex shook her head, cynical eyes going down into middle space. "I don't believe you," she said, being bluntly honest. "Everyone always leaves."

Dean took another swig of his beer. "Well, not me."

Alex shot him a threatening look. "Better not." She tilted her head to the side, thinking of something, and straightened up a little bit, poked him with her index finger. "Hey, also. You owe me a damn apology."

Instead of getting pissy or defensive or asking 'what the hell for' like she thought he would—Dean nodded and stared out in front of him. "For what Gabriel showed you. Yeah. I know. And I am sorry." There was a long pause. "I didn't mean it, I was just… trying to get Dad to take me with him." He sighed regretfully, and he sounded like he was talking to himself now. "The things I did to try and get on that man's good side." He let the thought go, turned back to her. "You're my kid sister and I'd do anything for you. You know that."

"Well, you should have apologized a lot sooner, jerk," Alex said, half-serious, half-joking.

Dean heaved a heavy sigh, getting uncomfortable. "I know. I just… these chick flick moments, man," he complained.

"Shut up," Alex teased, grinning at him, bumping his shoulder with hers. "You love them."

Dean's face changed and looked at her with maybe the most emotionally open expression she'd ever seen on his face before. He shook his head. "I love you."

Alex froze and looked at him in shock, not sure if she'd heard right. "You what? Are you… are you dying or something?" she asked. She wasn't really joking, either.

He looked a little crestfallen at her question. "Can't a big brother… tell a little sister… you know, that he loves her?"

Alex looked around for the hidden cameras. "Yeah... but you never say it, or I mean, not that often at least."

Dean set his beer down on the railing and leaned his hands both on it heavily. "I just don't wanna lose you. Or Sam."

"You won't," she said, confused by his quick apology, his expression of affection, and this cryptic statement about losing her and Sam. He turned his head and looked at her, then he reached for her, pulled her into a tight hug. Hugs from Dean usually comforted her. But this one just made her feel like something was really wrong.

---

That Night

In the dim light of the bedside table, the only one awake, Alex smoothed Dad's journal open, opening it to the first few pages; to the entries she'd always read the most. After seeing Dad earlier today… she felt like she needed to revisit these pages. The entries in the beginning were the most personal... they got more and more about supernatural stuff and less and less about Dad's thoughts as the journal progressed…. but in the beginning, it was just Dad, his thoughts, his worries, a glimpse into who he'd been before the hunt had overtaken him. Alex used to read and re-read some of these entries, because some parts of them had made her feel closer to Dad. She'd been able to tell from these that he'd really loved her once, that he hadn't always looked at her and seen her as an obligation.

December 4, 1983
Last night I was sitting in the kid's room, in the dark, and I heard these noises… Mike said it was the wind, and okay, maybe it was, but it sounded almost like whispering, like someone was whispering a name, under their breath, again and again… like something is out there in the dark, watching us… I stayed up all night, just watching them, protecting them. From what, I don't know. Am I protecting them? Am I hurting them? I haven't let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side – or from his brother and sister. Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside their crib, one arm wrapped around each of the twins. Like he's trying to protect them from whatever is out there in the night.

Sammy cries a lot, wanting his Mom. And Alex still doesn't make a sound. Sometimes her face scrunches up like she's crying, but no sounds come out. It scares the hell out of me and I don't know what to do. One twin can't stop crying, the other is just—silent. It breaks my heart to think that soon they won't remember Mary at all. I can't let her memory die.

December 11, 1983
Sammy has finally started sleeping through the night, and now that Dean shares a bed with him and his sister, he's out like a light as well. I'm not sure about Alex… before the fire, she always wanted to be rocked to sleep and I loved that time. She'd lay her little head on my shoulder and I'd rub her back. She would make these sweet little sleepy sounds in my ear. Now, she doesn't sleep unless she's sandwiched between her brothers. I sometimes try rocking her to sleep and she cries silently, won't hold still. It breaks my heart. I keep hoping things will return to normal, but they don't.

Alex paused sadly. That line in there about the sweet sleepy sounds. It always grabbed right at her heart. She'd always felt the love and tenderness of a father from him when she read that. That he loved to rock her to sleep as a baby and hear the sounds she'd made. The idea of him holding her close, her head resting on his shoulder in trust and attachment. Alex had all but memorized this entry when she was younger, because approval and affection were so few and far between from Dad. In fact, by the time she was old enough to read and write, he'd be all but emotionally dead to her. He'd kept her at arm's length pretty much until Sam left for Stanford. And then it had been far, far too late.

December 25, 1983
Didn't sleep again last night. Woke up in a cold sweat and realized it was Christmas. Where's Mary? That was my thought all night, and it stayed in my mind all day. Christmas without my wife seems unreal. Our celebration was clumsy… a crooked two foot tall plastic tree, a bunch of junk food stuffed in the stockings, and a pile of sports equipment for the boys… football, basketball, soccer. I didn't really know what to get for Alex, girl stuff was Mary's forte, and I got so depressed in the aisle of girl toys that I couldn't buy a thing.

I think about my reality. Mary will never see Dean hit a home run. She'll never see Alex learn to walk, or hear Sammy say his first words. She won't take Dean to his first day at school, or stay up all night with me worrying the first night he takes the car out. It's not right that she's not here, and that's all I could think about today—that and I really don't think I know how to parent alone. I'm so angry I can barely see straight – I just want my wife back.

The police have officially declared our case closed. What a Christmas present, huh?

Alex's eyes hovered over this line: I got so depressed in the aisle of girl toys that I couldn't buy a thing. Alex remembered the first time she read this journal entry and saw that line, she'd felt so guilty for being a girl; for being something that reminded her dad of his dead wife. After reading that, Alex had gotten upset (understatement, really) and brutally ripped all the arms and legs off her Barbie dolls, gotten the scissors out to cut her hair off. Dean had found her and calmed her down, stopped her from cutting off her hair. Held her tight while she cried in silence. Alex shook her head now, realizing how ironic it was, how Dean had done all the stuff a father should do for her throughout the years. He'd gotten on her case about her abysmal grades (she hadn't cared about school), he'd gotten pissed at her when she mooned around in teenage despair. He'd protected her and Sammy from dad's drunken rages. Her throat hitched as Alex thought maybe the reason she and Dean had always been so close was because they knew their Dad's anger better than Sammy did. They had always turned to each other for help making it through.

Alex turned the page and hesitated. She didn't like to read this entry, but she always did anyway, unable not to. She didn't even know why Dad had kept it in there, honestly. There were a lot of torn out pages, but this one had stayed.

February 8, 1984
Today I don't know what happened. I was trying to piece together some things I'd found from local newspapers. Stuff about bizarre murders. I was thinking maybe they were somehow related to Mary's death, because the reports said the people had died in really strange ways—their insides had completely liquified. Well, I was trying to do all this and Sammy was fussing, Alex was getting into everything (she's toddling all over the place these days) and Dean was trying to get me to help him with this Lego thing he was building. He kept trying to get me to come over, and at one point he grabbed at my arm and asked Daddy please. I don't know what came over me, but all the anger and maybe some of the alcohol too, it just set me off. I snapped at him and shoved him away, harder than I should have, and he fell backwards into little Alex, who had been walking behind him. She hit her face hard on the edge of the coffee table. She made no sound, she never does, but she was crying, her eyebrow was gashed open and bleeding. I scooped her up and yelled at Dean, about what he had done to his sister. Sammy started screaming real loud when I did that. And Dean shrank away from me.

I'm left wondering what the hell this is doing to me. If I can do this at all. Sometimes I think I should just let it go and focus on the kids.

But this is something I have to do. I have to make sure Mary's death is avenged, if it's the last thing I do. Nothing else matters as much as that.

Alex re-read the last lines, the ones that made her heart clench. Nothing else matters as much as that. She believed those words completely. Her life, her brothers' lives were evidence of that. She shut her eyes, set the journal down onto her knees.

"He was a good man. I know he was."

Alex had said this to Cas the other day. She considered for a moment her words and the meaning, the desperation and heaviness behind them. John Winchester was a good man. Or at least, she believed that he had been, once. But over the years, he forfeited his heart in favor of a mission he could never accomplish. John Winchester had lost sight of what remained, blinded by the lure of retaliation and vengeance. Nothing—no one—had mattered to him as much as the thought of killing whatever had killed Mom. And everyone around him had paid the price of his obsession. Alex's heart broke anew every time she thought of the man her father had become. She had seen with her own eyes, just today, that he wasn't always that way. Azazel had changed all of their lives, forever. Wrecked the family almost completely.

And maybe Dad got what he wanted in the end—Azazel, dead—but at what cost? Dad was dead and gone. Killing Azazel didn't bring Mom back. It didn't fix any of the problems the Winchester family had been subjected to. Yes, Alex and her brothers had survived, but just barely, and to do what? To be on their own, left to deal with the devastating emotional aftermath. All they had left was each other, and even that was falling apart.

She thought of who John Winchester had been, and who he had turned into. A man who had left his children with a cursed existence. He was a good man. I know he was. And he had been. He had been. The darkness, the warfare, it had taken who he was. Alex opened her eyes again, bowed her head, reflecting sadly that this must be what happened when a good man went to war.

At that thought, she looked over at Dean, asleep, above the covers as always. Her eyes flickered to Sam's hulking outline on the other bed beyond. They were good men. The best. And they were at a war like no other.

She would give anything to save them. But somewhere, deep inside, she had a dark, creeping fear that nothing could save them. Nothing at all.