Author's Note: Portions of this chapter are taken from episode 9.23, Do You Believe in Miracles? written by Jeremy Carver and directed by Thomas J. Wright. There are major spoilers.

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Chapter Twenty-Six

Dean parked the Impala outside the small RV. Sam was standing just outside the home of the lady they'd come to talk to and Amie was standing right behind him.

"Goddamn it," Dean muttered under his breath. When this was over, he was going to kick Sam's ass for putting Amie in danger. "I got this," he said to Crowley. He got out of the car and walked up to his brother and girlfriend. He didn't like the way Amie was looking at him, like she didn't trust him.

"What the fuck, Sam?" he growled. "Are you trying to get her killed?" He grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her away from his brother so she was standing next to him.

Sam rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, Amie spoke up.

"I wanted to come," she said, her voice cold and angry as she stared up at Dean. "So don't try to put this off on Sam. There was no way I was staying behind while you took off to get yourself hurt or even worse, killed. Do you really think I would let that happen? Sam couldn't have kept me away if he'd tried."

Dean knew it was true, even if Sam had tried to leave her at the bunker, he wouldn't have been able to. Amie was persistent when she had her mind set on doing something. He opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted by Sam.

"I guess one of us doesn't need a demon to help follow a clue trail," he said, clearly annoyed. "You're looking for miracle lady, right? Yeah, she's gone. I had a nice chat with her though."

"Sam, whatever kind of intervention you think this is, trust me, it ain't," Dean said. "I'm not gonna explain myself."

His brother went off on some rant about how Cas and Gadreel were out risking their asses to win the fight against Metatron and he was accusing Dean of making it harder because he'd stabbed Gadreel. Fucking hell, the same angel that had hijacked his brother's body and used it to kill people, that's what Sam was upset about?

"You mean the angel that took you for a joy ride?" Dean lashed out. "The angel that tried to slaughter Kevin? That angel?"

Amie stepped between the brothers, obvious worry on her face, but Sam pushed her out of the way. Dean clenched his fists in anger.

"Who you let in the door in the first place," Sam nearly shouted. "You tricked me, Dean. And now I'm the one who wakes up in the middle of the night seeing my hands trying to kill Kevin, not you. So, please, when you say you don't want to explain anything to me, don't. I get it. And I also get that Metatron has to go. And I know you're our best shot to do that."

Amie pushed herself between them again. "No!" she shouted. "What the hell are you talking about? Have you both lost your minds?" She grabbed Dean's hands. "Please tell me you aren't seriously considering going after Metatron?"

"I'm gonna take my shot," Dean said. "For better or worse." He took Amie's hands and gave them what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze, but he didn't look at her, instead he watched the younger Winchester.

"I know," Sam said, his eyes on the couple in front of him.

"No matter the consequences," Dean mumbled.

"Jesus Christ, you're serious," Amie whispered. She yanked her hands out of Deans and walked away, going around the corner of the small trailer. He turned to follow her, but Sam grabbed his arm.

"I know. But if this is it, we're gonna do it together," Sam said. "You want to know what he whispered to her, right, in the video? His next stop."

"So what are we golly wagging on about?" Crowley yelled from his position by the car. "Chop-chop!" Dean and Sam both turned to look at the demon at the same time. "Excuse me, I'm not exactly demon minion number three here. As the kids say, I've got mad skills."

"Look, I don't know what you expected here, okay. I don't really care. But you wanted off the hamster wheel. Get off," Dean said to Crowley.

Crowley looked pissed. "Well, I guess I've been Winchestered. I'd wish you boys' good luck…if I thought it would help." He vanished.

Dean looked at Sam and pointed at the Impala, then he walked around the side of the small trailer. Amie was sitting on a low, brick wall surrounding a small flower garden. Her elbows were resting on her knees, her head in her hands. She looked up when he came around the corner, but then she immediately put her head back in her hands and stared at the ground.

"Hey," he said quietly. Amie didn't say anything or even look up. He sat next to her, not quite close enough to touch, but nevertheless, still close. He reached over to put a hand on her leg, but she pulled away, then she folded her hands in her lap, waiting.

Dean cleared his throat a couple of times before he finally spoke. "Look, I can do this," he said quietly. "I know I can." He watched her out of the corner of his eye.

She shook her head and rubbed a hand across her eyes. "What if you can't?" she whispered. "I can't lose you, Dean. Not after losing our daughter, not after everything we've been through." A tear slid down her cheek.

He reached over and wiped it away with his thumb, cupping her cheek in his hand as he did. "Just trust me, okay?"

Amie laughed cynically and stood up. "It's not you I don't trust, Dean. It's the Mark and what it's doing to you. That's what I don't trust." She turned away from him and walked off.

Dean stayed where he was, sitting on the wall and watching Amie as she made her way to the car. After a couple of seconds, he got up and hurried after her. They reached the Impala at the same time, so he pulled open the back door and stood by wordlessly as she slid in. Then he hurried around the back of the car and climbed in the front seat.

He should have known that Amie would refuse to go back to the bunker or even hole up in some cheap motel until they took down Metatron. Not only that, but she was being particularly bitchy about his suggestion that she not go with them.

"Screw you," she said when Dean suggested it.

"Look, I just think…" he started to say.

"I don't give a flying fuck what you think," she shot back. "I really don't." Her arms were crossed over her chest and her chin was tilted at that angle that meant she was in no mood for anybody's shit.

Dean sighed. No sense arguing with her. He wouldn't win and she'd just get more pissed and they would end up in one hell of a fight, which they didn't have time for right now. So for now, she was going.

He sent Sam ahead to scout out the location where Metatron supposedly was. He and Amie stayed with the car. He'd hoped maybe he could talk to her, but she wouldn't even look at him. Every now and then out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw her brush a tear from her cheek. He could still see Sam trudging toward the plant as he got out of the car. He had every intention of getting the Blade from the trunk, but instead he opened the back door and slid in next to Amie. He took a hold of her arm and pulled her against his side.

"Listen to me," he ordered. "We cannot go in there like this, unfocused, each of us pissed off at the other one. I need you to promise me you will let me do what I ever I need to do to stop Metatron."

Amie stared at her hands as she twisted them in her lap. "You'll do what you want anyway, right?" He could hear the pain in her voice. "What I say, what I want, it doesn't even matter."

Dean took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. "I love you, baby," he murmured. "That's what matters." He rubbed her cheek repeatedly with his thumb. "But I need to do this. You know that, right? I have to kill Metatron."

She gave him an almost imperceptible nod. "I know," she replied. "But I don't have to like it."

He chuckled. "No, baby, you're right," he agreed. "You don't have to like it." He leaned closer and pulled her toward him, his lips barely brushing against hers.

Amie clutched at him, her hands wrapped in his jacket. Before Dean even knew what was happening, she was moving to straddle him, sitting in his lap, her kisses desperate and needy. He pulled her tight against him, returning her kisses with a fervor he hadn't realized he was feeling. All he could think about was the fact that this could be the last time he saw her, the last time he touched her, the last time he was with her, ever. The thought was killing him, tearing him apart, but he had no choice but to be honest with himself. He knew that these few minutes alone, just the two of them, might be their last. They didn't have much time until Sam returned, but he intended to take full advantage what they did have.

Dean pushed his hands under Amie's jacket, encircling her waist. He slid them under the edge of her shirt, his fingers settling against the cool skin of her back. She squirmed on his lap, drawing a harsh gasp from him as she reached up to tangle her fingers in his hair. He bit at her lower lip, demanding she open her mouth for him and when she did, he shoved his tongue in her mouth, licking across her teeth and tongue. He thrust his hips up into hers, frantic for some kind of relief for the erection rapidly thickening behind the buttons on his jeans. Amie moaned, grinding against him.

With a low growl, Dean moved so Amie was sprawled across the back seat underneath him. The grappled with each other, both uncontrollably turned on, both trying to quell a need they knew they didn't have time to truly satisfy. His hands were all over her body and her hands were all over his, touching and caressing anything they could reach. He slipped the buttons loose on her jeans, his hand sliding past her underwear until he was able to slip his fingers between her very wet folds, his thumb massaging her clit until she was gasping and panting against him.

Amie rubbed a hand over the bulge in his jeans, then she popped the buttons and grasped his erection in her hand, pumping and caressing him perfectly, just like he liked. Her hand expertly twisted and turned, applying just the right amount of pressure until Dean knew he was close to the edge, close to coming in her hand like a damn teenager getting a hand job.

He grabbed her hand and reluctantly pulled it away. "No," he grumbled against her neck. "Not like this." He kissed her, pulling her tight against him. "I want to make love to you, but not like this." He gestured to their rumpled, half-off clothing.

Amie clung to him and ran her hands up and down his back. They were quiet for several seconds before Amie cupped his face in her hands, bringing his forehead to rest against hers.

"When this is over, when Metatron is dead," she whispered.

Dean kissed her again, slowly. He could feel her tears on his cheeks as she cried. He held her and let it happen, knowing she needed to let it out.

"When it's over," he finally agreed.

"Promise?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, I promise," he replied, sealing the deal with another kiss.

Wordlessly, they put their clothes back in place. Dean backed out of the Impala, placing a kiss on Amie's forehead as he did. She grabbed his hand for just a second and squeezed it before she climbed out of the car behind him. She leaned against its side while he went around the back and opened the trunk. As he dug around, he noticed his hand shaking. He opened and closed it several times, before placing it on the Blade. The shaking stopping immediately, a feeling of calm falling over him.

He heard someone clear their throat behind him. He yanked his hand off the Blade to see Sam standing behind him.

"Anything?" Dean asked.

"Uh, yeah," Sam nodded. "He's up there. About a mile up the road. There's a homeless encampment. The way the folks are talking, he's got them convinced he's some kind of new Jesus or something."

Dean gave him a nod in acknowledgment.

"You good?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," Dean replied.

Sam reached into the trunk and picked up the First Blade. He held it for a second before handing it to his brother in silence.

Dean knew he needed to tell Sam what he was thinking right now, before he didn't have another opportunity. "Listen, Sammy, about…um…you know, the last few months…."

"I know," Sam said.

Words weren't necessary between them, they never had been. Dean knew Sam understood what he meant without him having to say a lot. It was the way they worked.

Sam continued as if they hadn't just basically apologized for their behavior the last few months. "So, before we find something else to fight about…tell me…Are you ready to gut this bitch?" He turned around to pick up his bag and when he straightened back up, Dean threw a punch, knocking his younger brother out cold.

"Jesus Christ, Dean, what the hell?" Amie sputtered, as she pushed herself away from the car and grabbed his arm.

Dean picked her up easily and hurried to the back of the car. He shoved her in the trunk, kicking and screaming, then he slammed it shut. He rested there, hands flat against the car for a couple of minutes, waiting for her to stop. When she was finally done cursing and yelling at him, he leaned over the trunk and spoke loud enough for her to hear him.

"I love you, baby," he said. "Whatever happens, however things go from here, I need you to remember that." There was silence for a second, then he heard a hand slam against the inside of the trunk and a muffled sob.

He pushed himself off of the car. He knelt next to Sam. "Sorry, little brother. It's not your fight."

Dean hurried up the long road to the homeless encampment inside the abandoned warehouse. He had to work his way past a group of people, obviously expecting him, before they pointed him in the general direction of where Metatron was holed up. He found him in the back of the warehouse, sitting on the floor and for fuck's sake, it looked like he was meditating. He stood staring at him before speaking.

"You can save the humble-pie, Jesus routine for someone who gives a damn," Dean finally said.

"The problem with you, Dean, is the cynicism," Metatron said calmly. "Always with the cynicism. But most people – even the real belly crawlers living in filth…or Brentwood – they don't want to be cynical. They just want something to believe in."

"And that'd be you," Dean scoffed.

"Why not me?" Metatron asked.

"You've been working those people outside for what, a day?" Dean replied. "They've already spilled blood in your name. You are nothing but Bernie Madoff with wings."

Metatron pushed himself to his feet. "So I'm a fake," he proselytized. "Do you have any idea how much pancake make-up and soft lighting it took to get God to work a rope line? He hated it. And you know, humans sense that. So they prayed harder and longer and fought more wars in his name. And for what? So they could die of malaria? Leukemia? And all the while blaming themselves! 'Oh if only I'd more prayerful, God would have loved me! God would have saved me!' You know what? God didn't even know their name! But I do. Because I've walked among them. And I can save them."

Dean couldn't believe the sheer arrogance of the angel standing in front of him. "Sure, you can. So long as your mug is in every Bible and 'What Would Metatron Do?' is on every bumper."

"And?" Metatron inquired. "What, are you blaming me for giving them what they want, giving them the brand they believe in?"

"I'm blaming you for Mary Grace!" Dean growled, unwrapping the Blade as he spoke. "I'm blaming you for taking Cas's grace! Hell, I'm blaming you for the Cubs not winning the World Series for the last hundred freaking years. Whatever it is, I'm blaming you."

Metatron eyed the Blade in Dean's hand. "The First Blade. Nasty piece of work, isn't she? Okay, let's say you win, Dean and I die. What's the world left with then, hmm? A herd of pantywaisted angels and you? Half out of your mind with God knows what pumping through those veins?"

Dean stepped closer to Metatron. "Yeah, you see, the only thing you've said that went into my ear was that you die. I fully intend to pay you back in kind for every mark and bruise you left on Amie. You will regret ever touching her."

"You mean your little slut girlfriend?" Metatron asked. "I never would have touched her, if she'd just done as I asked. Not that it mattered anyway. We still ended up where I knew we would."

Dean snarled, unable to speak due to the anger flowing through every part of his body. He clenched the Blade tighter, ready to strike.

"Oh, fine, we'll fight," Metatron conceded. "I don't know what you expect is gonna come of all this. Unless…That's why you're stalling. Because you know nothing's gonna come of this unless your pals succeed upstairs. Well, here's a newsflash – Humpty and Dumpty are starring in their very own version of 'Locked Up Abroad: Heaven,' right now.

Dean turned away from Metatron, trying to keep the angel from seeing the anger on his face. He threw out his hand to stab Metatron in the chest, but the blow was blocked. Dean shoved him in the face, causing the angel to stumble back.

"Wow," Metatron laughed. "That big Blade and that…douchey tribal tat sure gave you some super juice. Whooo! Okay!" He motioned to Dean to come at him.

Dean rushed at the cocky angel, but he was thrown backward, hitting a wall about ten feet up before crashing to the ground. When he tried to get up, Metatron flung him against the wall again. He kicked Dean's arm, sending the Blade flying across the room, then he stepped on his wrist, putting all of his weight on it, crushing the bones beneath his foot. He said something, but Dean wasn't quite sure what it was, because Metatron was kicking him in the chest, then he was punching him over and over. He could feel the blood pouring down his face and neck, coming from his nose, his mouth, even his ears. Dean desperately clung to consciousness, his eyes barely open. He could see the Blade just out of reach. Using what strength he had left, he willed the Blade to come to him. Just as he raised it to stab Metatron, the angel buried an angel blade to the hilt in his chest with both hands. He heard himself gasp horribly at the same time that he heard the distant sound of someone screaming no. He gasped again as Metatron pulled the angel blade from his chest. He turned his head and met his brother's eyes across the empty space. He could feel the life flowing out of him as he stared at Sammy.