The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight from high above. Alex was standing in front of Castiel, Dean and Bobby on either side of her. Her wings tremored in relief at the sight of her mate, and she reached out to steady him.
"I can't fight them!" Castiel's grace pulled back, and Alex could physically feel the fight within the angel. "Run!" Castiel's vessel began to convulse, limbs jerking as the supernatural creatures battled for control.
"Go!" Dean shoved Bobby and Alex ahead of them. "Go find Sam. Go get Sam!"
"Too late."
Alex's grace ran cold at the voice. It wasn't Castiel's — it wasn't deep or kind. It was excited, crazed. She spun around to see Castiel's vessel standing there, wings gone. Leviathans. They tipped their head, and Alex saw black flow through their veins, reaching up towards their face.
She stepped back, ready to flee, but not willing to leave her mate. "Cas . . ." she began.
"Cas is dead." The Leviathans approached, excitement in their eyes, and Alex stepped back again. "But we know all about you."
The wall hit Alex's wings, and she stopped, teeth clenched to stop her jaw from shaking. "Bite me," she weakly challenged.
The gleam in their eyes made her immediately regret that decision. "Mm. Don't mind if I do." Suddenly the Leviathans stopped. They jerked once, then twice, and Alex watched in fear as they convulsed again. She felt a sudden rush of grace through the air, pulsing through the vessel, weak but unmistakably Cas. She swallowed. "Cas. Please."
...
Alex jerked awake, wings flaring out in alarm. She clutched at her chest, heart pounding with fear and grief. "Cas," she whispered as she stretched her grace out, hopelessly searching for her angel. Sam and Dean were fast asleep, the youngest Winchester sprawled out beside her, and Alex threw back the covers, moving to the other side of the motel room, separated by a thin wall. She pulled the unopened bottle of whiskey out of the fridge and moved to the couch. With a resigned sigh, she cracked open the bottle and took a long drink.
...
The sun was barely above the horizon when one of the Winchesters stirred. Alex didn't move from where she was sitting, but instead clicked on the next episode to Lost. She heard a small knock on the wall, and she looked up to see Sam leaning against the archway. "I hope Jacob somehow smites them all," she grumbled. "Locke's a jerk."
Sam cocked an eyebrow, but didn't push her strange commentary. "You might want to save some of that for Dean," he suggested instead, motioning to the nearly empty bottle of whiskey.
Alex grabbed it by the neck and took another long sip. "Dean can suck my dick," she muttered.
The Winchester let out an amused noise. "It's gonna be one of those days," he sighed under his breath, stepping away from the wall. "I'm going to go for a run, okay? Try and sober up before I get back."
"Bite me, Winchester." Alex pulled back on her headphones, blocking out Sam's response.
...
Dean awoke half an hour later. Alex looked up to see him sit down at the kitchen table, running a hand through his messy bed-hair. "Morning," he grumbled out. Alex answered with a grunt, returning her attention to her show.
She vaguely heard Dean get dressed, finishing off the whiskey before he could come back and take it from her. She looked up when she heard the fridge open, and a second later Dean was peering back into the room. His gaze immediately went to the empty bottle. "You drunk that entire thing?"
Alex paused her show. "Takes a lot to get an angel drunk," she muttered, pulling the blanket she had curled up in tighter around her.
"Are you drunk yet?"
"No."
...
"Somebody better be chasing you."
Alex looked up to see Sam standing in the archway, sweating and out of breath. "It's good for you," he defended against his brother.
Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, his laptop out and the other bottle of whiskey beside him. It had been less than half-full last night, but Dean had already finished it off. Alex turned back to her show, pretending to be no longer interested in their conversation. "No," Dean retorted. "No, it's not good for you. Look at you. You're a mess and you stink." Sam pulled the hem of his sweatshirt up to sniff at it while Dean continued. "Well, while you were out being Lance Armstrong —"
"That would be biking." The door to the mini fridge creaked open as Sam reached in for a drink.
"—I was working. You ever heard of a town called Prosperity, Indiana?"
"Has anybody?"
Dean looked up. "Hey. Is there another one of those in there?"
Sam let out an amused noise. "Since when do you drink Gatorade?"
"Not for me. For her." Out of the corner of her eye, Alex saw both Winchesters turn her way. She kept her gaze on the screen, pretending that she hadn't heard them. "She's dropping again, man, and I don't know what triggered it."
"Yeah, I noticed. I'll talk to her." The fridge cracked open again as Sam continued. "So what about this town?"
"Two of their fine citizens died over the past few days. Uh, this one chick roasted under one of those beehive hair dryers at a salon, and the other guy boiled in a hot tub."
"You don't see that a lot," Sam agreed. Footsteps approached, and Alex looked up at the tall Winchester. "Here." He held out a yellow sports drink.
Alex shook her head. "Want blue." She pointed to the other one, and Sam handed it to her. He pulled his earbuds away from his neck as he turned back to Dean. Instead of approaching, however, he just sat down on the edge of the coffee table. "You stink," Alex muttered, blowing air out of her nose for emphasis.
Sam stood back up. "Sounds like it's worth checking out," he agreed before walking over to the other side of the room. He paused when Dean finished off the whiskey in his glass. "You know, one more thing. What's going on with you?"
Alex cranked up the volume and tuned them out.
...
Someone approached, and Alex looked up. Sam sat down on the coffee table in front of her, and the angel reluctantly pulled out her earbuds. She cocked her eyebrows, waiting for him to start.
Sam ran a hand through his hair, still damp from the shower. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
The Winchester picked up the blue sports drink off of the table and held it out. "You really should drink this," he insisted. "Might help you feel better." When Alex didn't respond, he sighed. "Dean's loading up the car. You coming with?"
"Yeah, I'll come."
A short, empty pause. "You want to talk about what's going on?"
Alex snapped her laptop closed and stood up. "Nope." She took the Gatorade from Sam's hand and walked away.
...
Prosperity, Indiana
March 30th, 2012
Eight hours later they pulled up in front of a crappy motel in the middle of town. Alex threw open the car door, still in a sour mood, but feeling better than she had that morning. "I want my own room," she announced as she slammed the door behind her.
Even though she couldn't see it, she knew the brother's exchanged looks, a silent conversation passing between them. "Yeah, not happening," Dean finally said, and Alex turned in time to see Sam shoot his brother a look, one that clearly said he wasn't please about Dean's choice of words, even if he agreed with him. "Not after this morning. You're staying with us." He walked off to the motel office before Alex could respond, leaving her to shot a furious glare in his direction.
"We're just worried," Sam slowly began. "Especially when you get like that, Pip. If you want to talk about it—"
"How's Satan?" Alex cut him off. "I haven't seen him since Michigan. He gone?"
Sam studied her a moment before reluctantly giving in to the new topic. "He leaves when you show up. I think he's still sulking."
"But he 's not causing you any problems, right?"
The Winchester shrugged. "He's annoying," he admitted. "I just ignore him. At least when you're around you become the focus of attention."
"Hm. Well, glad I'm helping." Alex pulled her duffle bag out of the trunk before circling around the Impala, stopping as Dean returned with the keys to their room.
"Get changed," he announced. "We've still got time to check out the crime scene and do a little canvassing." He accepted his bag from Sam and unlocked the door. "Thinking we should split up to cover more ground."
"Ew." Alex looked around the dingy motel room. "Uh, dibs on the morgue," she quickly added, tossing her bag onto the nearest bed.
"I'll take the salon," Dean volunteered. "You want to talk to the family, Sammy?"
"Uh, sure. That's fine."
...
Ten minutes later she was standing in the morgue, tucking her badge back into her pocket. The secretary waved her down the hallway, and Alex followed the directions, pushing her way through the stainless steel doors to see the doctor and his assistants. "Bartowski, FBI." She held up her badge only briefly. "I was called in about the expiry of a Ms. Wendy Goodson?"
"Uh, yeah. This is her right now." The eldest man motioned down to the corpse on the stainless steel table. "I didn't receive any call . . ."
Alex just shrugged. "Things have been rather hectic. New operating system. I can give you my superior's number if you wish."
The man shook his head. "That's alright. I'm Dr. Lewis." He motioned to his assistant. "This is Foreman."
"Nice to meet you." Alex crossed the linoleum floor. "So. What can you tell me about Ms. Goodson?" She studied the body below her, the twitching of her wings her only reaction. The victim's face was charred and burned, and large strands of hair were hanging from her scalp, chucks of flesh still on the ends.
"Well, she was electrocuted."
Alex nodded, inhaling slightly. The body was definitely emanating that unforgettable oder; a mix between raw flesh and cooked pork. "By what?"
The two men exchanged looks. "Have you been to the crime scene yet?" Foreman eventually asked.
"My partner's there right now," Alex promised. "Why?"
"Well, we're not really sure how . . . but it was by one of those hair dryers. The ones that go over your head?" Dr. Lewis brought his hands down around his head for emphasis, and Alex nodded. "That seems to be the cause of death. It fried her brain stem."
"Huh." Alex studied the body for another, long second. "Anything else you can tell me? Anything strange?" She already had a suspicion about what they were dealing with, but was careful to cover all possibilities. "Any relations to, uh, a Carl Dunlop?"
Dr. Lewis looked surprised. "Carl? No. Not that I know of. Why do you ask?"
"Thank you for your time." Alex dipped her head and made her way out of the morgue. She pulled out her phone and dialed Sam's number. It rang twice before answering. "Find anything?"
"The sister knows nothing." The youngest Winchester's voice was filled with exasperation. "Apparently everyone loved Wendy."
"Well apparently not," Alex retorted. Then she sighed. "So we have nothing. Have you heard from Dean?"
"I was just about to call him. Need us to pick you up?"
The young angel looked both ways before crossing the street. "No thanks. I'm close enough. See you soon?"
"Yeah. Uh . . . how does pizza for dinner sound? Might make you feel better."
Alex let out a small smile. "I'm fine, Sam. But that'd be great. Thanks." She hung up and shoved her phone back into her pocket before hurrying down the sidewalk.
...
It was the next morning when Dean got the call. Alex watched as he went to roughly shake his brother awake. "Rise and shine, Sammy. Got another one."
He shook Sam again, who kicked out with his leg in protest. It caught Dean in the kneecap, who grunted in pain before grabbing hold of his brother's foot and giving it a tug. It pulled Sam halfway out of bed, and the young Winchester was forced to get up. "You're an ass," he muttered.
"And we have a dead body. Get up." Dean shed his thin t-shirt and chucked it at his brother. It hit Sam squarely in the back, who protested with several muttered curses. Dean chuckled and pulled on his oxford, slowly buttoning it up as he glanced at Alex. "You coming?"
"Yeah." Alex looked down at her cold, leftover pizza that had become her breakfast. "One minute. Where are we going?"
"Construction site across town. Dude got nailed." Seeing how Alex raised an eyebrow he just grinned. "You'll see. Get dressed."
Alex did, and within fifteen minutes they were crossing the gravel road to where three police cars sat, their red and blue lights still flashing. All three showed their IDs to the officers in front of them before Dean took the lead.
"I'll go see if the cameras caught anything." Sam motioned upwards to the camera on the small building to their left. He hurried away before Dean could agree.
Alex studied their surroundings closely, taking in the large, black truck and the blue portable toilet, where several medical officers stood deep in conversation. "I'll get the 411 on the vic," she added before moving away. She pulled out her badge as she approached the three men. "Agent Bartowski, FBI. What's going on?"
"Man's name was Dewey Stevens, owner of Dewey Steven's Construction." The tallest man made a vague gesture towards the construction area behind him. "Crew member found him this morning. Time of death's estimated to be sometime yesterday after the site was shut down."
"How'd he die?" Alex ran an eye over the bloody corpse slumped on the toilet, taking in the large nails still embedded deep in the flesh.
"Nail gun. Cops are still trying to figure out where that bastard plugged it in. Can't confirm cause of death without an autopsy, but I'm willing to bet it was the two nails to the eyes."
The young angel grunted in agreement. "That would do it. Can I —"
"Of course." The man motioned his crew away, leaving Alex alone the body. She circled the porta potty, taking in the bloodied holes where the nails had pierce the tough plastic. She stopped back in front of the body, eyes counting up the bloodspots. There had to be close to twenty puncture wounds.
"Anything interesting?"
Alex's wings flicked in acknowledgement of Dean Winchester. "He got shot with a nail gun, and the cops have no idea where the perp plugged it in. It's bloody with a side of weird."
"Huh. Out of the way." Dean nudged her aside, and Alex stepped back to let the elder hunter have a look. He peered inside before he paused. Crouching down, he ran fingers behind the edge of the door. "Look at this." He turned on his heels to hold up a small gold coin. "Same kind of thing I found at the salon."
"You found something at the salon?" Alex blinked in confusion. "You didn't tell me that?"
The Winchester shrugged. "Me and Sam talked about it after you went to sleep." He held it out, and Alex took it in her palm. "Any ideas?"
Alex shook her head, tracing her fingers over the golden engravings. "It's old," she finally said. "Nothing I've seen before." Her hand closed around the coin. "But if there was one just like this at the other crime scene, my bet's on witches."
"My thoughts exactly." Dean stood up. "Let's go find Sam." He led the way into the small portable office building at the top of the small hill. Sam was sitting at a desk, hazel eyes trained solely on the computer screen. "So, another victim everybody likes," Dean began, walking over to his brother.
"Not everybody."
"Another psychically impossible death," Dean continued. He walked over to the window beside Sam, looking out onto the crime scene. "You got any ideas?"
"Cirque du Soleil?"
"Oh, I found another one of those, uh, coin things." Dean gestured to Alex, who held out her palm for the youngest Winchester to see. "Just like at the, uh, the hair-dryer slash brain-roast."
Sam took the coin from Alex as he added, "And I found a connection with all the vics. Um, these email logs show Wendy, the real estate chick, and Carl, the architect, and this Dewey guy were all working on a shopping center project."
"So, everybody working on the project has died?"
"Well, not yet. They were working with a developer, a guy named Don Stark."
"Don Stark?" Den turned from the window. "Why does that name sound familiar?"
Alex shrugged. "Iron Man?" she offered helpfully. "I dunno. I've never heard of him." She paused as voice momentarily approached before fading away. "Listen. You two go talk to Stark, and I'll take a walk through town, see if I can pick up anything witchy on my angel radar. Otherwise I'll just head back to the motel and see what I can dig up on that coin."
Dean and Sam exchanged looks before Dean nodded. "Yeah. Sounds like a good plan." Sam stood up as Dean led the way over to the door. "We'll drop you off at the diner by the motel, okay? Call if you pick up anything suspicious."
"Yeah." Alex followed him out to the Impala. With one last glance at the crime scene, she slid into the backseat.
...
Her phone rang, startling Alex out of her thoughts. Her ankle knocked against the table leg and she cursed at the sharp twinge of pain before fumbling for her phone. "This better be important."
"How fast can you get to 2354 Birch Road? Apartment 117."
"Sam? What's going on?"
"Well, we found the witch and her shrine, and figured out who the next victim's going to be. It's not to far from the motel. Five minutes if you run."
"Who's the victim?" Alex pressed, chair legs squealing against the linoleum floor as she stood up. "Is it this Don guy?"
"Nope. Her name's Jenny Klein. Don's secretary. The witch . . . well, she's his wife. Listen. Get there as soon as possible okay?"
"Yeah. I'm leaving right now." Alex glanced at her shoes on the ground before adding, "See you soon." She hung up before Sam answered, shoving her phone into her pocket and pulling on her tennis shoes. She glanced at her jacket on the bed before deeming it warm enough to go without. After locking the door behind her she turned the street and broke into a jog.
...
It wasn't difficult to find the address Sam had given her, and she turned down the street just as the Impala pulled up. The two Winchesters jumped out of the car and hurried into the apartment building, and Alex ran after them, breaking into a full speed run. She threw open the door and hurried up the stairs, catching up to Sam just as Dean kicked down the door to one of the rooms.
A young woman was bent over the sink, blood spilling from her mouth. Alex stopped in shock as the two brothers rushed forward, wings pulling in close in horror. It lasted only a second before she reined in her emotions, pulsing her grace out into the room.
"Find the coin! Now!" Dean put his arms around the woman's shoulders as Sam desperately searched the small kitchen unit. The woman gasped for air, but could only choke on the acrid blood.
Alex's grace flooded through the apartment, pulling back when she felt the darkness, the unmistakable tang of sorcery; it prickled against her grace like pins and needles. Alex ran over to the cabinets, futilely trying to reach the top of the shelves. "Sam!" she finally snapped, giving up. "It's up there! I can't reach it!" She moved aside as Sam reached up, fingers easily reaching over the lip of the cupboards.
He pulled back, a gold coin his hand and dropped it on the table. "Get back," he instructed, drawing his gun. He pulled the trigger and a deafening shot rang through the room, followed by the clinking as the mutilated coin fell to the ground followed by the bounce of the bullet across the counter.
The woman drew in a deep breath, vomiting up one last mouthful of blood. She sunk to the ground, supported only by Dean's arms. "Help me get her to the couch," Dean grunted, pulling her back up. "Hang on, Jenny."
He and Sam moved her over to the white couch while Alex retrieved the disfigured token. Her attention turned to the fallen cupcake on the ground and she stooped to pick it up, disgusted to see what was inside. "Dude. That's nasty." She stood back up and placed the cupcake on the counter. It was stained with blood, and in the center sat a small, four chambered heart with a bitesized chunk missing. She held it out so the Winchesters could see.
"There were tiny beating hearts in my cupcakes." Jenny's quiet voice has Alex looking up, an eyebrow cocked. "There were tiny beating hearts in my cupcakes, hearts in my cupcakes!" Her voice grew into hysteria as she stared blankly at the wall. "That's never happened before! Hearts in my cupcakes!"
"Should I slug her?" Dean asked quietly, and Alex snorted in amusement.
Sam just shook his head. "Give her a second."
At the sounds of their voices Jenny looked over at them. "Oh my God. What happened to me?"
"You were hexed."
"Hexed?" the woman repeated, wide blue eyes staring at Sam. "Who are you people? W-What the hell do I do?"
"What you're gonna do is go in there and pack a bag, you get in your car, and you go." Dean took an empathetic step towards her, and Jenny's gaze swung over to him, confusion dancing across her face.
"Go where?"
"It doesn't matter. Look, 500 or 600 miles ought to do it. You got someone real powerful real pissed, and they're trying to get rid of you. In like with that, you might want to cool things with Don Stark."
"Don Stark?" Jenny's confusion increased tenfold. "What are you talking about?"
"You and Don." Dean took over the explanation. "You know."
" 'You know?' " A pause. "There's no 'you know.' "
"No?"
"Don Stark is my boss. That's it. He's married, for God's sake."
Dean and Sam exchanged looks. "Yeah, well . . ."
"Me and Don Stark," Jenny repeated. "Ew."
"Uh, maybe we should going," Alex finally said. "I mean I'm glad Jenny's safe and all, but we've got things to do."
"Uh, yeah." Dean walked over to the couch, placing his hands on his back as he glanced over at Jenny. "Get out of town as soon as possible, huh? They won't realize you're not dead for a while; that gives you a good head start. Uh," He dug into his suit pocket before pulling out his card. "If there's anything — anything — give me or him a call, okay? We're just a few blocks down."
"Uh, okay . . . thanks."
Deciding the conversation was over, Alex led the way out of the broken door.
...
The room was dark when Alex jerked awake, wings flaring out in surprise. She blinked several times, waiting for her eyes to adjust before she looked around desperately, hands feeling over the sheets around her. "Cas?" Not finding what she was looking for, she began to search more vigorously, running her hands over every inch of the bed. She leaned over to check the floor and then hurried over to her bag, digging through its contents, sending clothes falling to the floor.
"Alex?" Sam's groggy voice had her looking up in alarm. "What are you doing?"
"It's not here." Alex looked desperately over at the hunter. "I —" She thought hard. "I left it at Bobby's. Sam, it's not here."
Sam was silent for a moment as his brain groggily processed her words. "Where's Dean?"
"He's not back yet." Alex hurried over Sam's bed, kneeling on the empty side. "We need to go back, Sam. I need it."
"Come 'ere." Sam peeled back the covers to Alex could slide underneath. "We'll go back for, uh . . . for it when we finish up this case, okay? You can wait."
Alex curled up next to Sam, pressing her back into his side, her trembling wings calming at the warm, solid presence. "I miss him," she whispered. "I need him, Sam."
In response a hand came to rest on her side, and Alex forced her eyes closed.
...
"It's already nine."
Alex rolled over with a groan, stirred from her half-conscious state. There was something next to her, its warmth sharply contrasting the cold outside air. She burrowed in deeper with a muffled grunt.
The warmth pulled away, and Alex blindly chased after it, only sitting up at the voice's next words. "Aww. You know, you two are cute together." Lucifer sat on the other bed, feet crossed under him and head resting in his hands. Alex yawned, falling back down onto the bed and curling up around Sam. She vaguely remembered crawling into this bed late last night, but now that she was here, she wasn't getting up any time soon. "It's no wonder Samuel was destined to be my vessel."
Sam shifted again, and Alex willed him not wake. "Let him sleep," she muttered, closing her eyes. Sam shifted a third time, this time more forcefully, and Alex sat up reluctantly admitting that she wasn't going to sleep anymore. "You're an ass," she muttered to the devil.
Lucifer looked hurt, although Alex couldn't tell if it was genuine or in jest. Sam's eyes flickered open, and then Lucifer disappeared. The youngest Winchester sat up, blinking in confusion. "Was, uh . . ."
Alex shrugged. "Doesn't matter." She reluctantly threw back the covers, wincing as her bare feet touched the ratty, old carpet. "Dean still not back?"
"Looks like." Sam got up as well and disappeared into the bathroom.
"You feel it, don't you?" Lucifer appeared behind her, voice soft with an almost thoughtful tone. "The pull towards Sam?"
"You're getting involved in my love life now, huh?" Alex didn't turn around, and the archangel stepped forward to stand beside her. "And how exactly are you doing this?" she added after a second's thought. "I can only see what Sam sees, so . . ."
The archangel let out a small grin, apparently quite glad she had asked. "Well," he began, "I'm, already in you, and your link with Sam, this mental one . . . it's something like a bridge. Letting me walk from his mind . . . to yours." Lucifer accentuated his words by walking his fingers across the empty space in front of them. Then his voice grew more serious as his form flickered. "It's exhausting, unfortunately, projecting myself like this. And unfortunately you need to be within ten feet of that —"
"You're not real," Alex snapped, spinning to face him.
The archangel blinked, confused. "Of course I'm real. Alex, I've never lied to you."
"You lied to Sam. A lot."
Lucifer's face darkened. "Sam's deserves what he's getting," he insisted. "You —"
The young angel cut him off. "Because he threw you back into the pit? Right, because I had nothing to do with that. It's not like I told you Cas would totally die and you'd win —"
"You never said I'd win," the archangel gently reminded. "You said Michael wouldn't win. You didn't lie to me, Alex, and I haven't lied to you." He flickered slightly, and something flashed through his eyes, an emotion gone too fast for Alex to read. "I can't stay much longer, le mohoath. But it's not Sam you're pulled—"
Then the archangel was gone, and Alex looked around. "Luce?" She turned in a small circle, disappointed and curious as to what he was going to say. "Lucifer? Dude, no. You did not just show up after a week for that! You ass—"
Sam stuck his head out of the bathroom. "Who are you talking to?"
"Uh . . . no one? I . . . it's angel . . . stuff."
Sam studied her for a second before shrugging. "Whatever. I'm gonna take a shower. Need the bathroom?" When Alex shook her head head added, "See if Dean's coming back soon, okay? And tell him to bring something to eat," Then he disappeared back into the bathroom.
Alex sighed, but did as the as the Winchester asked. She picked up her phone off of the nightstand and dialed Dean's number. It rang once, then twice, before groggy voice answered. "What?"
"Sam wants to know when you're coming back. And he wants you to bring breakfast."
Dean groaned, and Alex heard a mattress squeak. "Yeah, sorry. Overslept. I'll, uh, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Uh, I got to go."
"Okie dokie. Bring something good to eat—" Alex cut off when she realized the line was dead. "Whatever."
...
Dean came back fifteen minutes later as promised. "I got grub," he announced as he dropped the fast food bags on the counter. "Come and get it."
Alex wrinkled her nose. "Dude, did you even shower before you came back? You stink of sex." She looked over at Sam, waiting for him to back her up.
Dean looked offended. "I took a shower," he insisted.
"Take another one."
Sam glanced at his brother as he walked over to the table. "Take another," he advised, the slight wrinkling of his nose the only sign of his distaste.
Dean shrugged. "Whatever." He brushed past Alex on his way to the bathroom, grabbing his bag on the way past. The door slammed shut, and Alex cocked an eyebrow after him.
Sam shrugged. "Hungry?"
"Barely." Alex stuck out her tongue, pulling it back in as she smiled over at Sam. She stuck her hands in her pockets and made her way over to him as the water started running in the next room. "So . . . Luce giving you any problems recently? It's weird for him to stay away this long."
Sam shrugged as he opened one of the bags. "I don't know. Like I said, he kind of stays away whenever you're around. Still sulking or something."
Alex snorted. "Yeah, well, serves him right."
"What are you mad at him for?" Sam asked suddenly, something akin to amusement on his face. "The part where he called you his?" Alex snorted again, this time much harder, and he added, "I'm just curious."
Alex shrugged, grey eyes running over the hunter's face. "You know me," she finally said. "What do you think?" She pulled the McDonald's bag close and fished on the hash browns, giving the hunter time to ponder but not expecting him to answer. After a few seconds she added, "I haven't changed much since, ya know, Titanic-me. Top in the streets, bottom in the sheets." She looked up in time to see the blood flush Sam's face and she grinned. "You still get embarrassed by that," she teased before unwrapping a hash brown to hide her own face.
Sam didn't answer, but his uncomfortableness still prickled in the air.
With a sigh, the angel looked back up with a sigh. "Fine. You want to know why I'm pissed?" she finally said. "Yeah, the possessiveness by itself doesn't piss me off. Whether that's me or this damn angel thing I don't know. Maybe both. But I'm not his. I . . . no. Not with Lucifer." She shook her head, but when she looked up to meet Sam's eyes something in her grace stirred. The angel stubbornly shoved it away. "That's why I'm pissed at him. I'm not his 'responsibility.' I can do whatever the hell I want, and I sure as hell don't need his permission."
Sam looked away, and Alex let the conversation die.
...
"This is stupid." Alex leaned her forehead against the glass, staring out at the Prosperity Town Hall. A large white banner hung high above the doors, announcing the art auction of Maggie Stark, Don husband and powerful witch. "Just . . . let me go in and get a read on everything. They won't recognize me and I'm an angel." She leaned over the front seat, a pout on her lips. "Please? We've been here forever."
Dean rolled his eyes, slumping even more in his seat. "Sam, just let her go. At least we'll get some peace."
His eyes drifted closed, and Alex rested her chin on his shoulder. "Please, Sam?" she added, looking over at the hunter. "I'll be quiet. I'll be quick. In and out. They won't see a thing."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine," he finally relented. "Whatever. But if you screw up, you'll blow this entire case."
"I won't let that happen." Alex slid out of the Impala and hurried across the street. She followed the concrete path up to the front double doors. She pushed them open and turned right down a long hallway, not wanting to walk straight into the main room that had laid ahead. She slowly walked down the white halls, grace flickering ahead of her to see what lay beyond. People were bustling through that large room that stood perpendicular to her, and Alex strolled through a side door, head held high in an attempt to look as if she was where she was suppose to be. Two woman stood directly in front of her; Alex recognized the shorter of the two as Maggie Stark from some of the newspaper photos. The woman brushed her wavy blonde hair out of her face, and the air tingled as she spoke, voice quiet. "No, no. You think I want you to stand by and watch him make a fool of me? I love you for what you've done."
The taller dark-haired woman let out a small smile. "I love you, too."
"No no!" Maggie suddenly stepped past her, the tingling in the air growing as her frustration did. "The still-life doesn't go there!" She walked off, and Alex pressed herself against the wall as the witch passed. She was about to make for the door when her grace did one last sweep of the room. The angel froze.
"Don."
"Where's my wife?"
"You mean the one who's divorcing you?"
Alex rolled her eyes at the woman's tone, peering around the wall to see the brunette confronting Don Stark. He was shorter than she had expected, but his pale eyes sparkled with controlled annoyance. "Sue," he began, "I know you can hardly wait until I'm out of the picture, and I know it's been a thrill whispering lies into Maggie's ear —"
"Oh, but they weren't lies, were they, Don?" Maggie cut her husband off, and Alex glanced towards the door, part of her not caring about their marital gossip, but some of her quite curious.
"I made one mistake," Don insisted. "One."
"I sincerely doubt that," the brunette named Sue snapped.
Don's voice, however, remained calm. "This is between Maggie and me. It has nothing to do with you."
"What do you want, Don?"
"I want to speak with you."
A pause, and then footsteps approached. Sue appeared in front of Alex, head tipping at the sight of the young angel. "Uh . . . can I help you?"
Alex blinked, buying herself time before responding. "Listen, man, I'm just in charge of table decorations, okay?" She glanced over at the linen-covered tables. "And general . . . stuff."
Sue nodded. "Flowers are in the front. I'll go grab them."
"Yeah. You do that." Alex watched as the woman hurried off before turning her attention back to the Starks. The energy coming from them was unmistakable, and she scratched her head in confusion at the thought of there being two witches.
"— the problem, Don." Maggie was saying. "So, excuse me. I have a charity event to arrange."
"Two FBI agents came by asking questions."
"Hunters, sweetheart." Maggie's voice grew very quiet. "I don't think they're alone, either. There's something else in this town . . ."
Alex took took that as her cue to leave.
She hurried out of the town hall and jumped into the Impala. "We . . . we have a small problem," she said. "Two, actually. Drive."
...
"The hell did you do?" Dean glared down at the young angel, who narrowed her eyes in protest.
"I didn't do anything," she snapped, shifting in the wooden chair. "How was I suppose to know these were powerful witches? They've got more juice than any other witch we've gone up against — well, apart from Samhain." She paused, trying to think back to the last witch case she had. "Okay, fine. I've only been on two witch cases. So they're a hell of a lot more powerful than Gary."
"G-Gary?" Dean looked over at his brother for support, who shrugged.
"Yeah, uh, he was that kid who switched brains with me." Sam stood up from where he was seated on the bed. "Right?"
"Yeah. I mean, he wasn't really powerful, but I — I've never met a witch as an angel, okay? I don't know how they . . . feel. I just don't like the feel of these witches."
"Wait wait wait." Sam took a step closer, leaving Alex to tip her head back even further to maintain eye contact. " 'Witches'? As in plural?"
"Yeah. As in your fun-loving Don is a fucking witch. I don't know what we're in the middle of, but I don't like it."
The two Winchesters exchanged looks before Dean nodded. "I, I guess I'll give Bobby another call. See if he's got anything more on a spell to stop them." He pulled out his phone and walked out the motel door, leaving Alex glaring after him.
With a snort, she stood up, shoulders rolling back as she shook her wings out. "Idiot. I didn't screw up." She raised an eyebrow up at Sam, but he didn't look at her.
Dean came back in, looking about. Pen, he mouthed, pulling out a pad of the motel paper. Sam tossed him one, and Dean scribbled something down. "Uh huh, uh, what was that last one? Right. Uh-huh. I'll remember. No, I don't need to write it down. It's fine. Thanks, Bobby." He hung up the phone and held out the list. "Here. He says this should put them down well enough."
Sam took the piece of paper. "Chilled chicken feet?"
"Fun, I know. You get that. I've got everything else in the trunk." Dean tossed the Impala's keys to Sam. "Try the deli down the street."
"Sure thing."
The door slammed closed behind Sam, and Alex looked over at Dean. "So Bobby found a spell, huh? You think just shooting 'em's not gonna cut it?"
"Why take that risk?" Dean countered. "If they're as powerful as you say, bullets might not stop them."
Alex shrugged. "Whatever. You've always got me." She let her angel blade fall into her hands only momentarily before pulling it back up as she sat on the bed. "I bet I can kill them."
...
The sun had set by the time Sam came back. Dean was sitting at the kitchen table by the window, the entire blueberry pie they had picked up from lunch sitting in front of him. "Dude," he said as his brother entered, a large grin on his face. "Pie."
In response, Sam set a large, brown paper bag down onto the table in front of his brother.
Alex immediately winced at the strong odor, and Dean dropped his fork. "Ugh. That is—"
"— chicken feet." Sam finished. "Yup." He walked over to the ratty couch and sat down. "Just like the recipe calls for. Butcher's fridge is down."
"They're not chilled then." Alex got up off of the beds. "Doesn't the spell call for them to be chilled?"
Sam shrugged. "Does it really matter?"
"I can smell that." Dean looked away, appetite lost, and Alex let out a breath of air in agreement, not much of a fan herself.
"Uh, he says the power's been wonky and that he's lost so much product, he probably won't make rent. Ditto every shop on the block — nothing but burst pipes and blackouts."
"The Starks." Alex sat down on the couch beside Sam. "Pretty sure 'chilled' is required, if they know this is the spell we're going for."
Once again Sam shrugged. "Well, I got what I could find. So unless you know how to chill them again —"
"Fridge is busted here too," Dean added, pointing to his forgotten pie. "Why'd you think I'm eating her?"
Alex stood up. "Pie isn't a 'her,' Dean," she pointed out lightly as she crossed the room to retrieve the bag of chicken parts. "Food doesn't have gender."
"Yeah, well, she's sexy and delicious," Dean shot back, and the young angel rolled her eyes. "Anyways, that's weird. About the power."
"Yeah. He says it's like all of a sudden, the town ran out of luck." Sam watched as Alex set the chicken feet down beside him. "Ugh."
"So, coincidence, right?" Dean stood up to join them, keeping a step back to avoid the chicken parts.
"Uh . . . yeah. We're way past the point of dead flowers." Dean watched as Alex pulled the bag close and reached inside. "That's disgusting."
Alex studied the clear, plastic bag, gently blowing air our of her nose to expel the stench of raw meat. "How many do we need?" she asked as Sam held out a bowl. She placed the bag in there for the time being.
"I don't know."
...
"What the hell?" Dean pulled the Impala up in front of the Town Hall, the confusion on his face lit up by the flashing red and blue lights of the police cars ahead. "Come on."
He threw open the door to the car and led the way up to the front door, movements tight and concise as he fell into his FBI persona. Alex scrambled to find her badge, which she had haphazardly thrown into one of her jacket pockets as they had exited the car, pulling it out in time to show the man at the door.
Inside lay what remained of Maggie Stark's art auction. Blood and panic was thick in the air, and the angel's wings instinctively pulled in closer, feathers ruffling in dislike. A sheet-covered body lay on the ground, and a smaller, rounder object lay a few feet to the left, also covered by a small white sheet. Alex approached, kneeling down to peel back the cloth even though she knew what lay beneath it.
It was the head of Sue, Maggie's assistant. Alex let the sheet fall back into place as she stood up, her mind running through the possible scenarios. The wound was clean cut; something sharp and quick. The air tingled with energy, which grew stronger around a bloodstained silver platter that lay beside the head. "Witchcraft," she muttered, walking back over to the Winchesters.
"Uh, yeah." Dean nodded to the art, and Alex ran an eye over the melted and disfigured paintings. "You think, Sherlock?"
"This was Don." Alex jerked her head towards the door, and the two Winchesters followed her lead, hurrying back to the car. "Great. Now both of our witches are totally pissed."
"Bewitched just got a loss less funny."
...
They pulled up in front of Don Stark's mansion ten minutes later. One car sat in the driveway, one which Dean confirmed to be Don's.
"Where is she?" Sam eventually asked, looking both ways down the road.
"She'll be here," Dean promised. "They've been throwing thunderbolts at each other's favorite toys. There's nothing left for them to destroy but each other. This is basically ground zero."
"Hope so," Sam agreed. "We're going to need them both in the same place to take them down."
As if on cue, a silver convertible pulled into the driveway, and all three sank low into their seats to avoid being seen. They waited a minute, then two, and then Sam and Dean slid out of the car. Alex followed, a little more slowly. "You got the spell?" she asked Sam, who nodded. "Okay. You two go in. I'm going to do a perimeter sweep; make sure there's not charms or hexes on the property that might stop that spell from working." When the Winchesters exchanged unsure glances, she added, "Go. If you need me, I'm just a prayer away. You'll be fine."
She waited until the brother's had hurried away before she started circling around the inside of the iron-wrought fence, grace flicking around as she searched for any warnings that may have been set up.
She had only made it halfway around before Dean's voice rang through her head. Alex. Get in here. Now. Immediately the angel hurried across the large backyard, skirting the pool as quickly as she could. Dammit, Alex. Hurry up.
"I'm going as fast as I can," Alex muttered under her breath, bounding up the backstairs and jimmying open the lock. "I've still only got tiny little legs." The minute she stepped into the house she pulsed her grace out, letting it spill though the rooms until she located the pulsing energy of the two witches. She could feel their anger and frustration, making the air twitch and pulse. She hurried down the hall and slid into the living room to face them.
Sam and Dean were laying on the other side of the rooms, both conscious but seemingly immobile. Sam stirred, pulling himself into a sitting position at the sight of Alex, and one large hand came to rest on his head. Not immobile, Alex noted. Just a bit banged up.
"Who's this one?" Don looked Alex up and down before turning to Sam and Dean. "Is she with you?"
"She's the one I was talking about," Maggie snapped. "The one that I felt that isn't human."
"Well, I got that, thank you —"
Alex's grace snapped violently, and lighting flickered through the room. "I'm an angel," she informed them, blade dropping into her hands. "Are we clear?"
Sam struggled to his feet. "Alex, wait—"
Maggie flicked her hand at Alex, and the Wiccan's energy collided with her grace, almost knocking her backwards. Alex pushed back, and lunged forward, blade twisting in her hands as she lashed out. She felt the moment her weapon sunk into the witch's chest, felt the energy flicker and die before she pulled her blade free, spinning away in one smooth motion only to stop in front of Don.
His face was blank with shock when Alex killed him, and that was the way it remained as he fell to the floor, expression forever frozen in grief.
Alex let her weapon slide back up into her sleeve, her grace scrubbing it clean of the dirt and blood before she turned back to the Winchesters. Dean was on the ground to her right, and Sam was standing against the wall, eyes wide in shock.
"The spell didn't work," Alex noted casually, not giving the bodies behind her a second glance. "Let me guess. Chilled was important."
"Shut up." Dean pulled himself to his feet. "About time you got here."
"Why did you do that?"
The angel blinked in confusion at Sam's anger, turning back to the younger Winchester. "They were witches," she insisted. "What do you mean?"
"They were working things out before you came in! You didn't need to kill them. We could have fixed this."
"So? They've dropped people, Sam. That means we drop them."
Sam stepped forward, but Alex stubbornly held her ground, head tipping upwards in defiance at his quiet voice. "You know, you sound like Dean."
"Is that such a bad thing?"
Sam stalked past her and out of the house, and Alex slowly let out her breath, the muscles in her wings relaxing. Dean started after his brother, stopping beside her. "Nice ninja moves, by the way." He patted her on the shoulder before going after Sam. With a sigh Alex, turned to follow.
...
Ten minutes later Alex pushed her way into the motel room. She flicked on the lights before plopping down on her bed and pulling her duffle bag off of the floor. "Can we just get moving to Bobby's already?" she mumbled, pawing through it one last time.
The Winchesters followed her in, and Alex watched as they both stiffly moved around the room. Dean dropped his bag on floor beside her, wincing. "Yeah, yeah. Give us a minute."
"You guys still in pain?" The young angel frowned. "I can try —"
"It's fine." Dean straightened back up before looking over at his brother. "It's just been a long day." He took a long swig from his silver flask.
"And it's not over yet."
Alex jumped to her feet and Dean spun around, gun drawn and cocked. A man stood by the front door. He seemed unfazed, and his dark gaze flickered across the three of them, casually sizing them up. Alex's grace felt what he was immediately. "Leviathan."
The man let out a small grin. "Hi Sam, hi Dean. Alex."
"Do we know you?"
"Well, I definitely know you. You're the dead guys. Well, you will be in a minute." The Leviathan stalked forward, and Alex looked around, racking her brain to remember if there was a machete anywhere nearby.
She flinched as Dean's gun went off, and used that moment to dive off of the bed towards where Dean had dropped his duffle bag. She heard the bullet clatter to the ground as she threw open the zipper, and then there was fighting. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of a machete, but suddenly Dean was thrown over the bed and on top of her, the weight of him pushing her into the ground. Sam let out a grunt and Alex rolled out from under the hunter, dragging the weapon with her. Three steps had her across the room, and she brought the machete down and through the Leviathan's neck.
Sam fell to the ground, a hand around his throat as the Leviathan toppled over, the head rolling away. "That actually works," he got out as Alex dropped the machete on the ground. "Y-Your angel blade doesn't —"
Alex shrugged. "It's a stabby weapon," she explained lamely. "Not a . . ." She made a sideways sweeping motion with her hand. "For stabbing." She hurried over to the head and picked it up by the ear. "We, uh, we should find a box for this. Before it reattaches."
"It's dead?" Dean pulled himself to his feet, green eyes trained on the headless body. "Right?"
"Uh . . . maybe? I don't know. All I know is it's not going anywhere until it's back in one piece, capise? So let's, you know, keep him this way." She tossed the head across the room, lip curling at the sigh of black goo splattering across the floor. "Uh . . . there's a bag in the trunk, yeah? We should take it back to Bobby's. Besides, I need something there."
In response Dean tossed her the keys. "We'll get him into the backseat —"
"Trunk," Alex corrected. "I'm not sitting in the back with a body. The head can stay with me. Body in the back."
Dean shrugged. "Fine. We'll get him into the trunk."
...
Twenty four hours later they pulled up alongside the old wooden cabin in Whitefish. Alex jumped out, leaving Sam and Dean to bring in the body while she rushed through the front door. Bobby offered a greeting but she ignored it, instead making a beeline for the backroom where the beds sat. A mattress lay off to the left and Alex collapsed onto it, pulling Castiel's trench coat into her arms and burying her face in its sleeve as she curled her wings and body around it. She inhaled deeply, eyes falling shut at the fading scent of her mate, and Alex pulled the coat even closer, willing the smell to stay.
She felt the gaze of the three hunters behind her, and she pulled her wings in closer, willing them to go away.
Eventually they did.