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.

36. Can't Run Forever

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 36 / Can't Run Forever

"There are two things you cannot hide from: God and a dysfunctional family."
-R. Alan Woods

---

Dust filtered through the air, catching the midmorning light that came through the attic windows. The only sound in the small, cluttered space was of heavy, slowing breathing.

Castiel's head was bowed onto Alex's shoulder, he remained motionless, resting, just listening to the sound of their breathing, feeling the beat of her heart against his chest. His eyes remained shut and he took in every sensation, every feeling. His arms held her close, hers were around him, too—he could feel all of her bare skin, damp with a sheen of perspiration, pressed up against his. And the reality of what he had just done with her washed over him anew as the feelings of bliss faded.

Cas drew his head off of her shoulder and found her eyes waiting to meet his. He felt the stab of guilt in his stomach again, but attempted not to show the emotion he felt. He remembered how deeply it had upset her last time when she'd seen his conflicted feelings. And this time he had no right to be torn or regretful—he had asked her for it, begged for it even, wanted it so much. How could he now sink into a state of shame and confusion in front of her? It would only hurt her and make her feel badly. However, he knew, as soon as their eyes locked, that she knew he was upset. "What's wrong?" she asked him so softly, concern filling the face he loved so much.

The fact that she so easily saw through him affected him deeply—made him feel even worse. He felt guilt-stricken, just as he had last time. Like he'd done something he should be ashamed of, something wrong. Something sinful. Something that dishonored her and debased her. All the years he'd spent in Heaven, watching over humanity, sexual relations had seemed undignified and low, an act he'd found to be crude and unseemly. He had never understood what led humans to desire it or enjoy it. But now, here on earth, walking in the body of a man, being awakened to a horizon of emotion and sensation and ability… being near her physically, learning the spark of a kiss, tasting the thrill of her touch… falling into her arms and discovering a heaven so unlike the one he had drifted down from… he understood now.

But he still struggled. It was one thing to understand why humans craved sex, it was another to attempt to reconcile the love and protectiveness he felt for this one with the things he'd done to her. He wasn't sure how it could feel so obscene and divine at the same time, so right and so wrong all at once. Castiel struggled to know how was it that he so all-consumingly craved the closeness of her and yet afterwards was left wondering if it had been a mistake. He thought of the sheerly visceral feelings she gave to him when he was buried inside of her, when she wrapped herself around him and called him forward to a small death he wanted to die over and over again… and yet the feelings and sensations weren't simply physical, couldn't be tied to just his body. Here in her arms, even now despite his guilt, he felt connected in a way beyond physical. As though he were forever bound, all over again to her alone, by what the act meant.

A minute ago he'd told her he would rip down the laws of nature itself to save her from the future they'd seen in 2014, and he wasn't even sure what had prompted him to say that—he'd felt so intensely, like all of his thoughts and feelings were so close to the surface. All he'd wanted to do was give them to her. He wanted to give everything to her.

"Cas?" she asked him, looking at him closely, her eyebrows grew closer still in worry, and he realized he hadn't answered her question. "What is it?"

"I'm…" he didn't know how to reply, he could barely look her in the eyes—she was flushed, naked beneath him, he was over her, inside of her, it was right after they had engaged in the most primal human act he could think of. He'd made her writhe and gasp and tremble and reach ecstasy, she'd made him lose himself and make sounds he didn't know how to make. They'd found some beautiful moment therein, a moment of pleasure and connection and things Castiel wasn't sure how to describe. But he couldn't bear the thought that he'd wronged her in any way. He was an angel and it had been hammered into his mind: Sexual relations outside of marriage were a sin, but sexual relations between an angel and a human… weren't even allowed. And yet here he was, in her arms. "I'm... unsure what to feel right now," he confessed honestly, worried about how she would react.

Her expression softened. "It's okay," she told him quietly, and she seemed to understand how vast and complicated his feelings were, she seemed relieved he didn't say something else. "I know."

She looked like she were feeling shy again, her gaze faltering under his now, and she turned her head down just a little. Cas realized perhaps he should remove himself from her—and almost reluctantly, he moved, shifting himself and with a shudder, he pulled out of her, mouth dropping open a little at the way it felt. Alex took in a sharp breath when he did, bit her lip glancingly, and he missed the look of loss that shimmered over her features. Castiel glanced down at himself, a little breathless again. He had never been unclothed like this before, he was a little surprised at what he saw, then suddenly he didn't understand. He looked Alex in the eye, confused. "How… does that fit inside...?" he asked, almost panicked—her body didn't seem big enough to accommodate—she was staring at him with the most peculiar expression, and then she shocked him when she burst into loud, unrestrained laughter. "What?" he asked, confused. "Did I phrase myself incorrectly?"

She had a hand over her mouth. "No, it's—I—you—" she couldn't stop laughing, a tear leaked out of her eye she laughed so hard. Her eyes were crinkled up, her laugh was so boisterous and carefree. Cas felt his confusion fading, felt his face softening. She suddenly stopped, looking at him in dawning surprise, or maybe that was awe.

"You're… smiling," she said, looking up at him with wide, surprised eyes. And Cas realized he felt it—his mouth was quirked up to one side, lips parted, revealing teeth. And to his knowledge, he never had done that before. He realized he could feel the smile everywhere, not just on his face.

"I've... never seen you laugh like that," he said, still thinking about it.

She seemed so different to him in that moment. Completely soft, open, unburdened.

"...I feel happy," she told him, seeming to be surprised to hear herself, too. "Crazy... with everything that's happening. But I do. I feel happy right now." She touched his bare shoulder with her fingers, looking at it glancingly, then back up at him, bashful. "Here with you."

Her simple touch and words made his stomach feel as though it turned a flip. He bent his head down, rested his forehead against hers for a moment. He felt the same and it was thrilling and terrifying all at once. He was unsure what to do now, if he should avert his eyes and allow her space, if she wanted him to stay or to go, or… she seemed to read his mind. "Can you just… stay with me awhile?" she asked, and Cas realized that was what he wanted, too. That if she'd asked him to go or if she'd turned away, it would have felt crushing.

And following his instincts, he rolled off of her, laying on his side beside her, keeping his arms around her securely—and she reached across his torso, pulled his discarded trench coat over them like a blanket, her eyes still shy and faltering away from his gaze. She bowed her head down, rested it against his shoulder, ducking his gaze completely.

Underneath the heavy fabric, she was pressed up against him, bare skin to bare skin, and Castiel was in awe of this atmosphere, the feeling of her arms wrapped around his middle, her head resting against his shoulder. His body still echoed with reverberations of what she'd given to him. The air around them was thick and sweet, heavy. How could anything in existence be better than this?

"I don't even know your favorite color," she suddenly said, prompting Castiel to become quickly confused.

"What?"

She was quiet for a second. "We've… done this twice now and I… I don't know enough about you, Cas."

"Know enough about me for what?" he questioned, genuinely confused.

She drew back a little, looked him in the eye, regarded him with thoughtfulness, didn't answer him for a long moment. "Just… I want to know you. Everything." She looked at him almost curiously. "I mean… do you miss Heaven? Do you like music? Were you ever an angel kid?" She seemed so lovely to him right then, looking at him like that, wanting to know him, their chests pressed to each other's, her eyes catching the light that streamed in from the window. "I want to know everything that you are," she finished quietly, and she seemed bashful to him again.

Castiel ran his fingers against the side of her face, tucked some errant strands of hair behind her ears. "Ask me whatever you wish to know."

"Why can't I see your wings?" she asked immediately. "I saw the shadow of them once but…" one of her hands was on one of his shoulder blades, "they're not there."

"They're not like the rest of the things in this world—they're neither corporeal or incorporeal." He was frustrated slightly, unable to give her a real answer. "It's hard to explain." He thought back to her questions. Do you miss Heaven? Do you like music? Were you ever an angel kid?

"Certain elements of Heaven I miss," he answered slowly, thoughtfully. "Knowing my place. But I don't think I miss Heaven itself." You weren't there. He looked at her for a long moment. Alex hung onto his every word as he thought through her other questions out loud. "I've never listened to music intentionally. I was never a child, I was always… what I am now." He paused, remembering she'd said she didn't know his favorite color. "I've never given thought to if I had a favorite color or not," he said honestly.

"Blue. It'd have to be blue, right?" Alex said, smiling like she knew, but Castiel gazed into her eyes and realized he did have a favorite color.

"No. Not blue," he told her, and her little smile faded under the intensity of his gaze. "I like the color of your eyes best."

She seemed embarrassed or like she felt discomfort, he saw that her cheeks flushed a little bit. "Cas…" she said, and it sounded like she was protesting.

"I made you uncomfortable," Cas said, unsure how he'd done so. Feeling embarrassed, he looked down. "I apologize."

She touched the side of his face, made him look back at her. She held his gaze. "Don't." She looked at him a minute, trying to figure out how to word herself. "You just say things sometimes that… really surprise me. Really make me feel..." she trailed off, her eyes dropping away from his shyly, her hand slipping away from his face and back down to his middle. "I dunno."

"Badly?" Castiel asked, trying to understand.

"No," she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "Not badly." She curled her head into his shoulder again, and the room was quiet for a long moment.

"What's… your favorite color?" he asked her, because he realized he didn't know.

He felt her lips smile against his shoulder. "Blue."

Something swelled in his chest. He was full of a feeling that he only felt for her, and he bowed his head down closer to hers, his nose pressed into the hair at the side of her hair. Her arms tightened around him a little in response and his chest swelled even further. Her hand rested on the side of his waist, her thumb slowly moved back and forth over his skin, and he felt her draw back a little, and he pulled his head back too, looked down at her.

"I wish I could see you," she said earnestly, searching his gaze openly. "The real you."

Cas was caught off guard. "My true form isn't… anything like this," he said, glancing down at himself—the body of the man made of muscle, tissue, flesh. "I don't think you'd like it," he told her, feeling a twinge of sadness. His true form, which he felt so detached from now… was fearsome and alien in comparison to this.

She didn't seem deterred, just looked at him with soft eyes. "If it's you… then I think I would."

Cas looked at her deeply, his eyes flicking between hers. He felt the familiar swell between his ribs. "I think this is me, now," he told her, and she seemed mildly taken aback. "I don't think I'll be returning to Heaven anytime soon," he explained, looking down.

"Because you can't or because you don't want to?"

"Both," he answered sincerely, not understanding his reasoning completely, just knowing his answer was truthful. He tried to tell her what he felt, everything he was thinking. "Here… on earth… with you… I..." he trailed off, didn't know what he was trying to say. Frustrated, he went silent, and she didn't push him. She was staring into his shoulder, thinking hard.

"Cas?" She looked as though she were gathering the courage to ask him about something. "You said that… that you saw us in twenty-fourteen, right?"

Castiel felt a twinge of dread and general bad feelings. "Yes."

She studied him. "What were we like?"

He frowned a little, trying to decipher her meaning. "Do you mean… in our interactions as a… a couple?"

She nodded hesitatingly, and he thought hard about what words to use to describe what he'd seen. "We seemed… close." He paused in deep thought. "We... lived together and were always with each other, from what I gathered." His mind's eye wandered over the memories, and he remembered seeing himself smiling widely more than once, her too. "We appeared to be happy," he said quietly. "But then you died." His jaw tightened. "And I don't like who I became."

She was silent for a long moment. "Was it my fault you got that way?" She seemed surprisingly emotional, deep in thought, saddened. "I... don't want that to be you. Ever." She blinked a couple times, rapidly, her eyes shining as they looked into his. "You were so lonely and depressed and broken."

He brought a hand to the side of her face, disliking the sorrow in her eyes. "I know," Cas said, and he thought of the things he had seen that she hadn't. He'd seen glimpses and flashes of the future, she'd visited it, met the man he supposedly would become. He was silent for a long moment. In the very back of his mind, he realized he had to tell her what he had avoided all this time. "It wasn't just your death that made me that way."

She frowned, grew worried at his tone. "What do you mean?"

He wasn't sure how to tell her, and his hand fell away from her face.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously, and she was propped up now on her arm now.

Cas met her waiting gaze slowly, hesitatingly. "I've always felt that I should tell you this but… I never have," he admitted, and looked down, afraid to tell her this for reasons he could not name. His eyes flicked back up to hers. "There was a… child. Our child." Her face had gone blank. "You were pregnant, Alex. When I… he… killed you."

"What?" she sounded completely stunned, her eyes went back and forth over middle distance in front of her, then she looked back at him, puzzled and almost accusing. "All this time you've known that and never told me?"

Cas couldn't hold her gaze. "It seemed too awful."

"You should have told me," she said, but she seemed confused.

"Why?" Cas asked her, genuinely wanting to know her reasoning.

She looked at him directly, her face full of a certain kind of mournfulness. "Because it is too awful to know that. To know that you… shot me… while I was…" she trailed off. "That's too awful for you to have to carry all by yourself." She let out a heavy breath, looked at him tensely, seemed to be thinking hard about what she was about to say. "For what it's worth Cas… you did the right thing." Cas felt his stomach clench oddly when she said that. "I mean, Croats aren't a joke. And if I were to get turned tomorrow, for instance…. I'd want you to do the same."

"Alex, no—"

She cut him off. "I'm just saying. I know it's horrible. And I know you hate it, or the thought of it. But it was… it is… the right thing to do. To kill someone if they're gonna turn into someone they're not. It's a mercy kill."

Cas felt himself becoming upset, deeply and Alex seemed to regret what she'd said, if only because of how he reacted. "Hey," she said, cupping the side of his face again. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," Castiel protested, thinking of everything he'd seen, how meaningless and preventable her death had been, how horrible it was knowing that in any version of their future he was the one who put a gun to her stomach and pulled the trigger, ending her life as well as the spark of their offspring. He couldn't even get his mind to fully comprehend that thought—that they had created a child together, that they were a mother and father together. He barely knew how to have a conversation, how could he ever fill a role as pivotal as a father?

Alex's thoughts seemed to be following a similar path, and she looked very uncertain. "I don't know how I feel about that… being pregnant." She seemed almost scared in fact.

Cas remembered. "You didn't know how you felt about it in the future, either."

Her eyes came from someplace far away back to him. "How did you—uh, future you—feel about it?"

Cas thought back. "He—I—seemed to welcome the idea." He didn't understand why.

Alex looked stunned, beside herself almost, deeply affected. She cleared her throat. "I, uh, I don't understand how I could have gotten pregnant, anyway." She frowned a little, looked sort of chagrined. "This may be TMI but… I haven't had my period in years, Cas. That's what I get for skipping meals and never sleeping and always being stressed out, I guess."

Castiel was silent for a minute—he knew that already and it worried him. He knew all about her body, and all the other bodies he encountered. He knew that Alex wasn't the most physically healthy, that she neglected herself almost, barely made time to keep herself alive. Similar to Dean, only while Dean stuffed himself to the brim with foods that would bring on a heart attack, Alex barely remembered to eat food at all. "You should eat and rest more," he told her sadly, to which she gave him a look, like he were asking the impossible. Cas looked down, wishing she could have a different, safer, better life. "You were physically more substantial in the future visions I saw of you. Perhaps that's how you could conceive."

She tilted her head to the side. "Are you saying I was fat?" she asked, looking at him oddly, like she was about to either laugh or be angry with him, he wasn't sure which.

All humans were made up of a certain ratio of fat, muscle, tissue—all humans were fat. And bone. And tissue. And muscle. But from the way she asked the question, he understood that she thought he was implying something negative about her body. "Uh… no?" he answered, and gauged her reaction. He'd said the correct thing, she looked appeased. "You weighed approximately seventeen pounds more than you do now," he told her factually, and she looked impressed.

"Huh," she said, then almost smiled, the corner of her mouth flicking upwards briefly as she looked down. "Yeah. We really must have been happy." Her smile faded, she looked at him anxiously. "Still, Cas. I gotta wonder. You saw so much more than I did. Of that supposed future. Are we really… doing this?" Her gaze faltered for a moment. "Knowing how it might turn out?"

Without hesitation, Castiel tightened his arms around her, pulled her closer. Their legs touched, their stomachs touched. "I won't let it end that way," he told her intensely, reminding her of what he'd promised.

"But what if you can't change it?" she asked him softly, a whisper.

He held her gaze unflinchingly. "I will. I have to." Their eyes remained locked for several seconds longer, and then she closed her eyes, curled into his arms, buried her face in the space between their bodies. He could feel her eyelashes fluttering against his neck when she opened her eyes and blinked.

"I need to tell you something," she said quietly, and he heard the anxiety in her voice.

Her tone caused him a mild flush of anxiety. "What?"

"I uh... I kissed you... future you... in twenty-fourteen."

Oh. He already knew that. But she didn't know that he knew, and was looking at him apprehensively, worried. "I know," he told her, warmth swelling in the vicinity of his chest because it seemed to worry her, what his reaction would be.

Surprise darted across her eyes. "You know?"

"Yes," he answered. "I saw that, too."

Her surprise remained and grew. "You're not angry?"

"Angry?" Cas repeated, thinking about it. He had felt angry when he'd first seen it because he now knew he had been jealous. Jealous of himself, which was strange. But the anger was faded, and a question was all that remained. "I'd just like to know why you did that," he ventured, because he truly wasn't sure why.

"I was confused," she said, visibly uncomfortable and conflicted. "And he was you, sort of." Her eyes faltered from his. "I didn't think you-you would ever kiss me." He caught her meaning—she'd wanted to kiss him before and thought he never would. Strangely, that warmed him. The faintest blush of rose tinged Alex's cheeks as she looked down at how they were naked and twined together, having done so much more than kissing. An almost coy smile played secretively on her lips as she looked at him more boldly. "Guess I was wrong about that."

Cas felt his lips turning upward in response to her smile, in response to what she implied. This private and intimate thing they shared was special, thrilling, wonderful. Despite his misgivings, here with her under the trench coat was the only place he truly wanted to be. Despite his doubts about whether this were wrong or right, several things distracted him from dwelling on it further: Her warm body next to his, her eyes so open and unguarded, her smile so soft and beautiful... he touched the side of her head, letting his fingers trace across her tousled hair. He contemplated every aspect of her, finding every single thing about her to be lovely.

She contemplated him the same way and he watched her eyes traverse his face, felt her fingers brush gently against the skin of his arm and chest. Seeming to be overwhelmed after a moment, she ducked her head down, tucking herself underneath his chin and maintaining silence. "I've been thinking about it." She said after a moment. "You did the right thing today. Dean needed a kick in the pants."

Castiel frowned, wondering if she were remembering wrong. "I... put him through a wall, I didn't kick his pants."

She pulled away from him, grinning again, and he loved it when she did that. She shook her head, seeming to be amused. "You don't know how cute you are, do you?" she asked, her tone playful.

Castiel faltered. How cute he was? "I'm... not sure how to respond to that question," he told her, but he wasn't frowning or squinting, his face was soft and open, he was watching her expression in rapt attention.

"Hmm." She pressed her lips together, her eyes went to his mouth, then back to his eyes. "An appropriate response would be to kiss me," she said softly, and her voice carried a certain note of enticing that he couldn't resist.

His confusion faded away and he felt the ghost of a smile turning his lips upward. He responded appropriately, kissing her deeply as they lay tangled together beneath the trench coat.

---

"So all that horror movie crap is real," Adam surmised dubiously, sitting back and trying to process everything Sam had just explained to him. "Dad hunted monsters and ghosts and demons—and you do too." He sat back, looked at Bobby, and then Sam. "Well that's easy to believe."

Sam looked at him, a touch of sudden amusement playing on his features. "You were dead in the ground a few hours ago. You should probably broaden your horizons."

He had a point. Adam rolled his eyes, looked away and fell silent, rubbed his hands together anxiously, glanced around the room again. He thought about it again: demons, ghosts, monsters… it was all real and Dad hunted those things. It just seemed a little nutso if you asked Adam, but maybe there was more to life and reality than he'd noticed his first time around. Adam glanced up and to the side, at the hole he'd noticed in the wall—it looked like something big had smashed into it, the plaster was bent inwards.

"I'm doin' a little remodeling," Bobby said sarcastically, and Adam looked at him, saw that the old man was watching him closely, had seen him looking at the hole. Adam looked down and away again, very aware that these people were watching his every damn move—how long had he been here, anyway? Several hours at least, all of which had been spent being looked at weirdly and told about crazy stuff he could barely bring himself to believe. He had to get out of here. The angels would be waiting. He wasn't sure why they weren't here already to get him, unless maybe they couldn't find him. All he knew was that he had to get back to Mom and see her again. He let out a heavy breath, tried not to look as stressed as he felt.

There was the sound of footsteps descending the stairs, and Alex came into the study at that point. Adam glanced at her sidelong. She had changed clothes and had damp hair. She'd been missing in action for awhile now, what, for several hours at least. Her and that trench coat dude both, the supposed angel. He looked at her oddly, studying her with thinly veiled skepticism. Maybe Sam and Dean as these badass hunter characters he could buy, but her? She looked like she weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, like it'd be easy to snap her in half like a twig. "Where've you been?" Sam asked her absently, glancing up at her from his book.

"Uh just, off trying to get my thoughts straight," she said, and Adam was distinctly aware that she sounded like she was lying. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear self-consciously. Sam, however, was distracted. "And then I fell asleep," she continued. "But I can help now."

"Take your pick," Bobby said, and gestured at the books on his desk. She grabbed one, sat in a chair, threw her feet up onto the end of the desk.

"Hey, what have I told you about that?" Bobby griped at her, but there was a hint of a smile hiding behind his beard. Alex took her feet off the desk, shifted in the chair.

"Sorry, forgot," she said, smiling a little down into the book. She had a pretty deep voice for a chick, Adam thought to himself. She had a baby face and you expected a high pitched voice to come out of her mouth, but when she spoke and out came this sort of deep, smooth voice, it was a little surprising.

"You seen Cas?" Sam asked her, glancing up at her again distractedly.

At the mention of the angel, Adam saw how she looked sort of guilty. "Yeah. He, uh, went to check on Dean I think," she replied nonchalantly.

"Ah. Well, he's been quiet all day, didn't even seem surprised that I locked him in there," Sam said heavily, scrubbed a hand over his mouth several times. "I'm gonna give him a little longer then try and talk to him."

"Hmm," was Alex's unenthusiastic reply—she looked at her twin for a couple seconds, then returned to looking at the book she'd selected. Adam looked at her closely, trying to figure her out. She struck him as odd. She didn't seem like a girly girl, or a girl, period. She'd changed since he saw her last—she was wearing an oversized black Led Zeppelin shirt with a green flannel shirt thrown over it, jeans that were too long for her legs and bunched up at her ankles around her faded boots. Her hair had been pulled into a damp pony tail that clearly she hadn't even bothered to smooth out. She didn't have pierced ears or painted nails and she wore no makeup. She sort of seemed like what Dean would look like if he'd been a chick, Adam thought with a smirk. You could definitely tell she was John's daughter, her dark features and strong jaw. In fact, Adam realized that for twins, she and Sam didn't really look that much alike to him. It's funny… when Dad had mentioned his other kids, he'd always assumed Sam was the girl—Samantha, right? It made sense at the time.

Adam watched the three of them for about thirty minutes and they pored over a book about end time Mayan prophecies. They argued good naturedly and swapped mostly inane sounding theories in between long patches of studious silence. Even though he could tell they were all under huge amounts of stress and pressure, they seemed to be dealing. From time to time one of the three would glance Adam's way sort of mistrustfully. He'd had about his fill of this, and was going stir-crazy. He was counting down the hours until night time when he thought his best chance at ditching out of here would be.

"Yeah, okay," Sam finally said, sounding sort of tired, sitting back in his chair and rolling his neck as if to ease some kinks. "I need a break. Bobby, I think I'm gonna grab a shower."

"Don't forget to wash behind your ears," Bobby muttered, engrossed in the book he was reading over, then throwing Sam a glance. Sam chuckled at the comment and lumbered out, went upstairs.

Adam looked at his half-sister curiously, watched her a couple minutes longer. She was tapping a pen now against a blank notepad she'd made zero notes on, and was leaned over the corner of the desk opposite of him, brow scrunched up. Maybe it was sheer boredom, but he struck up a conversation. "So you're a hunter too, huh?" Adam asked her. She looked up at him dubiously, like she wasn't sure why he was talking to her, or how he knew that, to begin with. "They told me," he explained, blasé. "About Dad and how you all grew up."

Her eyes narrowed just a little. "Yeah, I am," she said neutrally, and left it at that, didn't say anything else, just looked at him. He made a doubtful face, and seeing it, she sat back from the book she was studying. "What?"

"Doesn't that rough lifestyle mean you might break a nail?" he asked, and she gave him a mildly annoyed eyebrow raise.

"Do I look like the kind of girl who gives two shits about that kind of crap?"

He smirked a little. "Hmm," he took in her tomboy appearance again and made sure she knew he was insulting her when he said, "No."

She just rolled her eyes and returned to her book. Her pen didn't tap anymore, she just held it still. Adam was quiet a minute. "So, all that stuff Sam said about Dad living life on the road and dragging you guys along with him was true?"

Exasperated, Alex slammed the pen down onto the table, turned her full attention to him, even though she had a bad attitude. "No, he made it all up," she said smartly. The Bobby guy gave her a look and Alex's jaw worked weirdly, she looked at Adam again, clearly composing herself and attempting to be polite. "Yeah it's true," she said, but she didn't sound enthusiastic. "My whole life has been spent on the road, slashing and hacking and burying the undead." She said it cynically, like she wasn't proud of it, like the reality of it unsettled her, or like she didn't know what she thought about it. Adam, however, was intrigued. She saw that he was interested and she shook her head, looked over at the open book she'd abandoned. "Trust me, it sounds more glamorous than it was."

"I dunno," Adam said neutrally. "Doesn't sound so bad to me."

"It was," she responded firmly. "Be thankful you had a normal life."

"Normal?" he repeated, insulted.

She looked at him directly. "Yes. Normal. The shit I've seen… it's enough to send a person straight to the loony bin." She was beginning to sound like Sam with the lecture and Adam almost rolled his eyes.

"So why are you sitting here in front of me if it's that bad, huh?" Adam prompted, and she frowned oddly, the corners of her mouth shrugging downward really briefly in a way that made it seem like she hadn't thought about that or wasn't sure about the answer.

She seemed kind of flippant and shrugged, staring into middle distance. "Honestly… I don't know."

She flipped a page of the book unseeingly, and Adam noticed a dark scar across the palm of one of her hands, indicated it with a nod. "How'd you get that?"

"Long story," she said evasively. She cleared her throat, looked at her scarred up palm and then Adam, with what looked like the beginnings of mild curiosity and maybe resolve. "So. You uh, were going to college huh?" she asked him.

Great. Now she was gonna try and make friends with him. He answered with a simple "Yup."

"… for?" she prompted.

He raised his chin a little, looked at her mockingly. "To learn things."

She gave up and rolled her eyes upward. "Don't say I never tried," she muttered, flicked a page further in her book, ignoring him. It was quiet for a minute.

"So if angels are such bad news, why do you keep that one in the trench coat around?" Adam asked, and just like he thought, she reacted immediately, glancing up at him sharply, seeming to be guarded.

"He's different than the others," she answered, and Adam smirked again.

"Yeah. I bet," he said, his voice dripping with suggestion. Her expression immediately clouded over. Enjoying himself and how easy it was to get a rise out of her, Adam raised his eyebrows up slightly. "You uh, got a thing for him or what? You like older guys?"

Bobby was peering up from underneath the brim of his ball cap, seeming interested now. Alex's eyes looked like they could kill, but she was trying to act like she didn't care. "You wanna keep running your mouth or do I need to shut it for you?" she asked sarcastically.

That was funny, and he had no issue letting her know he thought so. "I'd like to see you try," he said, grinning crookedly at her, a real smile at the thought of this girl trying to pull one over on him. Her eyes flashed at him and Adam just grinned bigger. She was a lot easier to piss off than Sam was. At this point, Alex gave up glaring at him and returned to ignoring him. "I'm uh, kinda famished," he said after a couple beats, and leaned over his knees, looking at her pointedly. "You wanna fix me a sandwich?"

She looked at him like he was an idiot. "You wanna go screw yourself?" she retorted, then jerked her head to her right. "Kitchen's right there Martha Stewart."

"You heard the lady," Bobby told him, his tone more measured and calm than Alex's. Adam pushed himself up and sauntered into the kitchen to make a sandwich. When he had gotten out all the stuff he needed to make something, he turned around and saw that his half-sister had disappeared from the study. He looked at Bobby carefully. The dude was stuck in a wheelchair, but Adam had seen that he had a shotgun laid across his lap. Not really wanting to chance getting shot, Adam decided to bide his time.

He slapped a sandwich together, reflecting on how many times he'd done this—made his own breakfast, lunch, dinner, in his overwhelmingly lonely childhood.

---

Alex went downstairs, into the quiet darkened space of Bobby's basement. Adam was such a little punk. He reminded her of that kid in high school who was always making smartass comments and alienating everyone. He definitely fit into this family, that was for sure, especially right now, what with everyone at odds and under each other's skin and beyond stressed out. What a mess.

Cas was near the bottom of the stairs, standing still as he watched the panic room silently, and the sight of him did a thousand things to her—calmed her down, thrilled her, made her feel warm, made her forget her annoyance with Adam. He turned when he heard her, his eyes softened, his lips turned up just slightly. Alex gave him the smallest of tense smiles as she reached ground level. She hadn't seen him since she'd gone for a shower. "Any change?" she asked, sort of hopeful.

"No, he's quiet," Castiel replied, looking at her and then back to the panic room, frowning slightly now. "Restless though."

Alex nodded slowly, followed his gaze, feeling the lightness of hope fading out. She wanted to believe in her big brother, believe that he was stronger than this. For once in his life why couldn't he just stop trying to play savior of the world, stop trying to sacrifice himself, try and find another way? Another way. She knew Bobby and Sam were trying to act like there was another way, and she wanted to believe there was one, too, but nothing they'd found seemed to offer any hope. And it wasn't like Bobby had just started the research either. They'd been trying to figure out a way to kill the devil for months now. Her heart was sinking. Dean wasn't right, was he? That him saying yes to Michael was their only shot left? She refused to believe that, even though somewhere, in the back of her mind… she was starting to.

Beside her, she felt Cas shift, and saw that he was looking at her closely, craning his head down at to the side to try and see her face better. "What is it?" he asked her, seeing her upset expression. She faltered under his gaze, at a loss, and for a moment, she almost told him 'nothing'—but it wasn't nothing. "I just... don't know what's left to do," she told him quietly, facing the truth herself as she spoke the words aloud. She felt almost guilty for the past few hours in which she'd given next to no thought to the apocalypse or her brothers. Instead, she'd lost herself in Castiel's arms and just let go of everything else, had been happy, had forgotten her problems… well, at least some of them. She was now faced with a huge dose of cold reality. "None of those books have the answers we need." She looked at him in silent, tense uncertainty for a minute, then looked down, realizing that she was up against a wall, forced to face the facts. "Maybe that's because there isn't an answer. Maybe there isn't a way to kill the devil." She felt sick saying those things out loud. She looked at Cas, suddenly hopeless. "You're the one who said no one but God could kill the devil, right?"

It was Castiel's turn to look grieved and burdened and disappointed. "Even if he can... he won't."

There was a silence. "What… what options does that leave us, then?" Alex asked, and it was like she was begging Cas for a way out, a miracle, something to give her just a shred of hope. His face was full of sadness, he took a long time to answer, and he seemed to be in deep thought.

"I'm so sorry, Alex," he told her in a weary, strained voice, confusing her—she wasn't sure why he was apologizing, exactly—if it was because he didn't know an answer, or because he couldn't do anything to help her, or if he didn't like seeing her sad... or maybe something else. He drew a deep breath, his forehead rigid, and what he said next stunned her. "I let Sam out of the panic room all those months ago," he told her, holding her gaze even though he was agonized. "I allowed him to go free, which enabled him to kill Lilith, break the final seal, bring forth Lucifer from below." Alex looked at him wide-eyed—because she'd always suspected it had been an angel who'd broken Sam out, but she hadn't known it was him. "Everything that happened that night... was my fault," he said.

Castiel was shamefaced. "I never wanted you or your brothers to know what I did… and I tried to make it right by taking you to Sam, giving you and Dean a chance to stop him. I tried to undo the damage that I caused." He let out a breath, looked around. "Obviously, I wasn't able to." He couldn't look at her now. "I just want you to know how much I regret what I did. I always have. But moreso now than ever." His jaw tightened, he shook his head slowly. "If I had listened to my instincts, to you and Dean… Lucifer would still be sealed away. We wouldn't be facing this dilemma at all."

Alex's mouth had dropped open softly, her eyes flickered back and forth between both of his—she was shocked at the confessions he was making today. "So you think this is all your fault?" she asked in soft disbelief.

Obviously he did, from the look on his face. "I'm certainly not without blame," he told her, and she realized that she couldn't exactly disagree with him. He did have a part to play in it. But the truth was that they all did.

"Even if that's true," she said, unable to make him feel worse by saying he was right, "...we can't change the past."

"I know that," he told her quietly, and his eyes flickered up to hers somberly. "I know that well."

There was another pause where Alex was both trying to figure out how to feel about this latest development and also wracking her brain for a way to convince Cas that he wasn't completely at fault. "If you didn't let Sam out, some other angel would have," she reasoned. "We both know that." She looked at him sadly, because he didn't look comforted in the least. Her voice softened. "Not one single person is to blame for this situation we're in," she told him, and searched his gaze. "Least of all you." It was true—Castiel had just been going along with what he thought was right, he'd been naive and shortsighted, afraid to stand on his own two feet after a lifetime of following orders. She knew that. He wasn't the one who had raised Lucifer. There had been so many players involved in the plot—Dean, Sam, Ruby, Lilith, Raphael, Zachariah, maybe more. Maybe her. Maybe, if she'd followed Sam, not let Dean's death tear them apart, Sam wouldn't have been led astray by Ruby. All she knew was that the angel she loved was blaming himself for it all.

Not knowing what else to do, Alex laid a hand on the side of Castiel's neck, stroking her thumb down across his skin softly, and he appeared to be reluctant to accept the affection, his features wracked with guilt. "We're going to get through this Cas, okay?" she looked at him anxiously. "Somehow." She might not have believed it herself, but she wanted one of them to have hope at least. She was so blindsided by the things she'd learned today, the things he'd told her, and now this. He took her hand and gently pulled it off of his neck, turned her hand palm-up and ran two fingers from his other hand over the deep scar tissue there in the center. He said nothing, just contemplated the scar, then met her gaze again. His eyes were full of turmoil and uncertainty, doubt, fear. All the things that she was feeling, too.

Alex's jaw clenched as she looked at Cas, filled with dread. She took his hand, stopping him mid-stroke, and he looked up at her questioningly. "I'm going to ask you something and I need you to be one hundred percent honest with me," she told him, about to trust him with a question she was afraid to ask anyone but him. She slowly let go of his hand, hugged herself, nervous.

"I don't… I don't really want to even think about asking you this," she admitted. He waited, frowning slightly, and she felt her stomach twist in sickened nausea. "But I think at this point… I have to." She swallowed. "Was… was Anna right?" she asked, and her voice dropped to a whisper.

"About what?" Castiel's frown deepened measurably as he understood what she was asking. "About killing Sam?"

She just looked down, unable to believe herself, unable to believe she could actually consider it, and feeling worse because Cas sounded shocked at her. "It's just that… if there's not a way for us to kill the devil, do we have to think about… making sure he doesn't get his true vessel?" She looked at him again, wracked with anxiety. Cas looked entirely stunned at what she was saying and it only increased the guilty sadness she was drowning in—that, and how he wasn't telling her no, which was what she wanted to hear. "I don't want to have to consider it at all," she told him truthfully, emphatic, hoping he would believe her. She was quickly growing emotional. "God help me I don't." She seemed to realize the irony of what she'd said—God wouldn't help—and she became quiet, her eyes stinging with tears. She bowed her head. She couldn't face this. "That's my big brother," she said hollowly, voice cracking. "I don't want to lose him."

She sat down on the stairs, put her head in her hands, miserable, almost in tears. "I don't want to lose either of them. I can't."

She felt Castiel sit down beside her. He was quiet for a moment, and then she felt his hand come to rest on the back of her shoulder gently, and she glanced at him, overwhelmed, feeling like an impossible weight rested on her shoulders. "I'll help you," he told her quietly. "We'll find another way."

Alex looked at him, unsure how she could love him any more than she did right then—for how hard he was trying, for how much he was giving her, for how obvious it was that he felt uncertain, too, but was going out of his way to comfort her. And it did comfort her, a little, just to know he was there with her and committed to helping her and her family. But the ever-increasing pit was in her stomach, the whisper-soft voice in the back of her mind kept repeating there is no other way. It's only a matter of time before your brothers are both gone, taken, destroyed. And maybe not just them. Alex looked at Cas, suddenly wanting to reach out and hold onto him and never let go. Just wanting to be with him and let the problems of the world fade out. She may have wanted that, but she wasn't an idealist. She knew that she couldn't run away from this, from any of it. There was no way to know how this would turn out, she realized with ever-increasing despair. Maybe all she could do was hold on as long as she could to what she had before the inevitable loss.

And she leaned into her angel, circling her arms around him tightly, grieving, afraid, and unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Wondering if, in the crossfire, she would lose Castiel too.

---

Adam picked at the crappy sandwich he'd thrown together, then set it down completely, not really hungry anymore. The sun had just set, and the house was dark now. He sat at the kitchen table, frustrated as hell. He glanced across the house, into the study, where Bobby turned around his chair, facing the bookshelf. And Adam suddenly realized this could be his chance. He might not get another, these people were like hawks. Heart beating fast, thinking of seeing his mom again and being at peace in the afterlife once again, he stood up and stole across the creaky old floor, toward the back door, reached for the doorknob and then—

"Going somewhere?" Sam asked, freezing Adam in his steps. Shit.

Caught and he knew it, Adam turned around, kicking himself mentally but trying to act casual. Sam stood there, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Uh, yeah… out for a… beer," Adam said lamely, the first thing that popped into his head. Sam had to know that was a lie, but didn't call him on it.

"Great, we got beer. Have a seat," Sam said in somewhat strained pleasantness, and Adam looked the guy up and down again—dude had to be at least two-hundred pounds of solid muscle. Running would be a bad idea.

Resigned to his crap luck, Adam gave up and went back to the table reluctantly as Sam cracked the refrigerator open. "You know, you pitched this whole dewy-eyed bromance thing, but the truth is, I'm on lockdown, aren't I?" Adam muttered, casting cagey glances around, sitting with his shoulders hunched forward.

"I wouldn't put it that way," Sam said, bringing a beer and setting it on the table in front of Adam, who stared at it unmovingly. He didn't really want a beer, he wanted to get out of here and away from these people. Sam was clearing his throat and sitting down across from Adam, looking like he was about to attempt another conversation. "Adam, you may not believe it," Sam started, "but Dad was trying to protect you. Keeping you from all of this."

Adam didn't exactly feel in the chatty mood and looked at his half-brother with a rude, disinterested expression. "Yeah well, I guess the monster that ate me didn't get that memo." Sam's face twisted in empathy, and Adam felt his stomach turn.

"You remember that," Sam commented quietly, seeming to be bothered by it and surprised even.

"Kinda hard to forget, Sam," Adam drawled in cool anger, putting on the guilt trip.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Sam told him earnestly—as if he actually cared, what a joke. "Still, trust me," Sam said, and there was a quiet bitterness there. "The one thing worse than seeing Dad once a year—" Sam's face was very serious now "—was seeing him all year."

Adam looked at his half-brother in thinly veiled distaste—how dare this jackass sit there and look at him with that wounded dog expression, acting like he knew Adam's pain, loneliness, the huge hole in his heart? "Do you know how full of crap you are?" Adam asked acidly, and Sam's expression grew confused. Adam wanted to kick him in the face.

In frosty contempt, he stared Sam down, incensed. "See, it was me and it was my mom," Adam told him. "That's it." He paused for emphasis—he hadn't had siblings to lean on like Sam had, or a dad for the first twelve years of his life. "She worked the graveyard shift at the hospital. I cooked my own dinners. I put myself to bed." Adam was bitter. "So you can say whatever you want about our dad, but the truth is, I would have taken anything."

Sam looked like he thought Adam must be crazy. "Anything?" He struggled silently for a second, looking a little on the annoyed side now. "You got things we never did, do you understand that?" The nice-guy persona was fading a little, into a more assertive, here's-how-it-is kind of attitude. "Dad wasn't who you think he was, Adam. Sounds like he showed up and played father of the year for a couple days with you here and there. But with us? He ignored us on a day-to-day basis, forgot our birthdays, acted like we were his personal little army detail, like he was our drill sergeant, not our dad. I left home when I was eighteen because I hated it so much." Sam paused and let out a heavy breath through his nose, looking disgusted. "He pretty much verbally abused me, and he pretty much physically abused Dean and Alex."

Adam managed to hide his surprise and look unaffected by everything Sam had just said, even though he felt immediately disillusioned, surprised. And not wanting Sam to know that, Adam fired back the first horrible thing he could think of, trying to keep his half-brother at a safe arm's length, trying not to let himself be open or vulnerable. "Yeah, well, they probably deserved it," he said, and let his mouth twitch into a lifeless little smile. As predicted, Sam looked angry, but visibly reined himself in.

"If you would just knock off the tough guy BS for one second, Adam…" Sam said, short on patience but trying, leaning further across the table, trying to get Adam to knock it off, which only made Adam go harder.

"What?" Adam asked flippantly. "You want me to tell you about all my crippling inner sadness? You want me to care about your life? Sorry but I don't even know you."

Increasingly frustrated, Sam wet his lips. "Look, all I'm saying is if we had known we had a brother—"

"Well, you didn't, so…"

"—we would have found you," Sam interrupted emphatically, angrily. Adam scoffed, shook his head. This was ridiculous. Sam talked a big game but it was pointless—it was the past and what was done was done. Adam had died at the hand of some monster ghoul thing, he'd watched his mom beg for help as she'd been eaten alive. And the kicker was that and his supposed family who hunted monsters and creatures—had been nowhere to be found. At this point, Adam just wished Sam would fuck off.

"Look, I can't change the past," Sam said trying hard to be calm, and his gentle, empathetic tone was like nails on a chalkboard to Adam. "I wish I could. But... from here on out—"

"What?" Adam interrupted challengingly, staring Sam down. "We gonna hop in the family truckster? Pop on down to Wally World?"

Sam reacted just like Adam had intended. He shook his head, disappointed and rejected, discouraged. He sat back, no longer leaning over the table. "Tell you one thing, with an attitude like that... you would have fit right in around here." He looked at Adam sort of sadly, heaved a sigh, then stood up. "Don't go anywhere," he told him, glancing toward the study, where Bobby was once again sitting at his desk.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Adam muttered, looking at Bobby, who watched him closely from across the house.

---

Sam went downstairs, and he had to pause, let Alex and Cas get up from where they'd been sitting. It was dark, but he almost thought it looked like she'd had her head on the angel's shoulder, like they'd been sort of arm in arm. And he felt himself soften a little bit. It did his heart good to see someone being so gentle and sweet with his sister—and more than ever he felt like she deserved that kind of stuff after finding out about what Dad did to her and Dean. He felt his insides darken at that thought. Damn. Today had been sort of horrible, for all of them, but especially her, huh? Not only did her oldest brother hurt her like Dad apparently used to, but Adam showed up and had thrown a whole new wrench into the mix. No wonder Alex had gone off for a few hours to be alone. Sam froze mid-step. Wait. Cas had been gone the whole time Alex had been, hadn't he?

Cas and Alex looked at him from where they'd moved to, a little oddly, Alex in particular seemed to be wondering what he was doing stopping in the middle of the stairs and staring like that. Sam forced himself to walk down the rest of the way, trying to hide his surprise at his dawning epiphany. He wasn't sure why he hadn't realized it before just now, and he really wished he hadn't realized, either. It embarrassed him a little, realizing that's why Alex had changed clothes and why Cas's hair looked a little wilder than normal. And Sam suddenly remembered how he thought he'd heard something drop onto the floor upstairs at one point when he'd been on the second floor in the bathroom... and he'd written it off as house-settling noises, but now he realized wow, that sound sort of made him think of shoes hitting the floor… had that been… them?

"Uh, hi guys," Sam said, trying to sound nonchalant and casual, fill the silence that felt so awkward to him. His weird, stilted tone and way his voice sort of squeaked received a funny look from his sister.

"… hi…?" Alex repeated back to him, unsure what he was doing—her eyes were squinted up a little, and she was clearly both amused and perplexed.

Sam cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, tried to push it all out of his mind, tried not to look at either of the pair too closely. Uncomfortable, he expelled a breath through puffed cheeks, looked in the direction of the panic room. "I'm, uh, gonna try and talk some sense into him," he said gesturing toward where Dean was, already dreading it, but trying to just stay focused. "He's had awhile to think, maybe he'll come around."

"Yeah, okay," Alex said, her amusement faded as she realized why Sam was downstairs. "I'll come with you." She was looking at him with what was definitely worry and concern.

"You sure?" Sam asked, hesitating, forgetting his unease—because after everything that had happened today and how mad Alex had to be at Dean right now, he didn't want her to have to be part of this if she didn't want to. It would be nice to have some backup though, and maybe with both of them in there, Dean might actually listen… still, Sam could do this on his own, if he had to. But it turned out that he wouldn't have to.

"Yeah," his sister replied without hesitation, then looked at him like she was surprised at him. "You're not going in there alone," she told him simply, calmly, then followed up with a "No way."

Sam felt a surge of powerful emotion at her immediate, firm response—because he got what she was saying to him: that he didn't have to shoulder this situation on his own. And Sam was so affected that couldn't look at her for a second—he wasn't sure when it had become him and her against Dean, but he was glad at least one of his siblings wasn't giving up on him. "Okay," Sam said, and cleared his throat again. "Yeah. All right. Let's see what we can do." He drew in another bracing breath and led the way to the panic room, glanced at his twin one more time.

"Should I come in with you?" Castiel asked Alex, and his deep, husky voice was overlaid in poorly disguised worry. Sam paused, only a few feet from the door to the panic room. Alex had turned to Cas, the two of them were exchanging a significant look.

"It's... not a good idea for him to see us together right now," his sister told the angel quietly, and Cas's expression reflected the pain that her voice held. "It'll just set him off more," she said softly, then followed up with a very earnest, "I wish it weren't like that."

Sam stood there awkwardly, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment as Cas looked at Alex gently. "Perhaps it won't always be," he said, and falteringly touched her arm. Sam was surprised when his sister, seemingly on impulse, stepped forward to the angel, tilted her face up to his and kissed him. They both moved close to each other at the same moment, leaving no space between them at all, and Cas's hand moved from her arm to the side of her neck as he accepted and returned the kiss, his thumb against her jaw. One of Alex's hands rested loosely on his chest and Cas grasped her wrist, just held onto her—it was an absolutely soft, intimate kiss that they lingered in for a long minute.

Sam looked away after he stared for a second; he was embarrassed all over again. He'd always thought it was weird to see Dean with girls—kissing them, trying to put the moves on them, etcetera—but it was nothing, it wasn't anywhere near as strange as this was, seeing his sister kissing Castiel… and like that, with so much tender emotion and soulfulness. And honestly, it was surprising how much meaning and measure Cas kissed her with, too. Again, Sam rubbed the back of his neck as he looked down at the ground, waited for them to finish. He heard the rustle of clothing as they parted, then heard Castiel tell her, almost a whisper, "I'll be right here."

He heard a little smile on her voice when she quietly replied, "I know you will be."

There was another long pause and Sam just kept staring at the floor until he heard footsteps. Sam looked up cautiously, saw Alex was headed his way, looking at him sort of bashfully, her expression telling him don't say anything about that, okay? And Sam didn't, just cast a glance back at Cas, who looked more than just worried now—genuinely angry, his angry stare aimed at the panic room door silently. Sam wasn't sure exactly when this had all started between his sister and the angel, but he really wanted to know, if only for curiosity's sake. They had what seemed to be a really strong bond, and Sam wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed it until more recently. Now wasn't the time to wonder, though.

Sliding the heavy lock away and yanking down on the heavy handle, Sam swung the panic room door open.

In the middle of the room inside, Dean stood there and looked back at them conspiratorially, his eyes flickering over his siblings, then resting on Cas, who was scowling at him silently from outside of the doorway. Alex and Sam stepped over the raised threshold of the door as Dean's eyes narrowed just slightly and he gave Cas a look. "Well, Cas, not for nothing… but the last person who looked at me like that…" he shrugged mockingly. "I got laid."

Sam looked at Dean, wide-eyed, trying to see if Dean had any clue what he was talking about—Alex looked similarly mortified, but Dean was just smirking at Cas, being an asshole. Oh my god, if only Dean knew how appropriate that comment was... uncomfortable yet again, Sam glanced at Cas. "Uh, why don't you, uh, go keep an eye on Adam?"

Cas hesitated, looked at Alex, who glanced at her twin, then back at Cas, giving him a little nod. "We're fine."

And grudgingly, Cas nodded, closed the door without touching it. Dean spread his arms, indicating the panic room, and clearly his mood wasn't vastly improved since earlier. "Is this really necessary?" he asked.

"You tell us," Alex replied—she stood near the edge of the room, keeping her distance and not masking how beyond unhappy she was with him right now.

Dean seemed to shrink a little underneath the way she regarded him, he looked down. He lost a little of his steam. "Don't look at me like that," he told her. He sounded ashamed, and Sam knew it was because of what he'd done earlier, shoving her—but Dean avoided the subject altogether, skipped ahead to the Michael topic. "I was trying to do the right thing," he said softly. "What I'm supposed to do."

Not matching his quiet tone, Alex crossed her arms, looking at him demanding. "What, all the sudden you believe in destiny?"

"I got my reasons," he told her defensively, and she threw a hand up, prompting him to please, go ahead and share with the class.

Dean looked at his sister almost pleadingly. "I mean you were there, Al, I shouldn't have to convince you. You saw the future that I saw, remember? You saw me not saying yes and where that got the planet." He threw a hand out, indicating Sam. "We both saw him—" Dean said, and Sam felt his stomach turn, realizing what Dean was talking about. Alex's face fell as Dean continued. "And how it wasn't him—it was Lucifer. Now you tell me how I can just sit back and let that happen."

Alex visibly struggled to find an answer for Dean, and Sam looked at his little sister, pained. He knew this had to be beyond hard time for her. He'd never spoken with her one-on-one about the whole Lucifer thing but every time it got brought up with the three of them, he could see his twin shutting down. She'd either mentally check out or physically walk away. And he couldn't blame her. He barely knew how to face the idea that Satan wanted him, either. "We're working on finding another way," Alex said, trying to sound assured, but not quite getting there. "One where you live, Sam lives—everyone lives."

Dean shook his head, looked down again, smiled softly, a bitter little expression. "That plan doesn't exist, and you know it. We've tried to find another way, we have. Gave it our best shot. And I have less choice than I did yesterday, what with this angelic Plan B upstairs…" he raised his eyebrows for emphasis, looked at Sam now. "And I am not letting him do it, okay?"

"Who, Adam?" Sam asked. "No, I'm... I'm not, either." Did Dean honestly think he would let that happen?

"No, you're not getting me," Dean muttered, and turned around, walked away slowly, scratching his head absently.

"Oh, no, no, I 'get' you perfectly," Sam said, paused for emphasis. "But I'm not letting you do it, either."

Dean got to the table, turned around, leaned against it, looked at his siblings, dead serious. "That kid's not taking a bullet for me."

"Why do either of you have to do it?" Alex asked, exasperated, and Dean's previous gentle, quiet tone was gone.

"Oh good luck talking him out of it, the angels made damn sure he'd do what they wanted, hanging seeing his dead mom over his head," he ranted, then leaned forward, looked at each sibling with a defiant glare. "It's me or it's him. And it's got to be me." He leaned back, turned his hands palm up, in a gesture that seemed to say he saw no other way. "Look, I'm tired of being the reason so many people have eaten dust, okay?"

"Dean…" Sam started, but was cut off.

"I'm serious," Dean said, deadly quiet again. "I mean, think about how many people we've gotten killed, Sam. Mom, Dad, Jess, Jo, Ellen." Each name he said was like a sledgehammer to the stomach. "Should I keep going?" Dean asked, and Alex came forward finally, stood beside Sam.

"We didn't kill them," she protested.

Sam quickly added, "It's not like we pulled the trigger."

Dean didn't listen to either of them even for a second. "We might as well have. I'm tired, guys." He paused, let it sink in, and he looked years older than he was. "I'm tired of fighting who I'm supposed to be."

"This isn't who you're supposed to be!" Alex exploded, emotional and emphatic and obviously angry.

Dean just looked at her, unaffected almost. And maybe his lack of reaction was what was the most troubling. "You don't have this on you, Al," he said faintly. "You can't possibly understand what I'm going through. I just wanna save who I can, all right?" He wet his lips, looked at Sam, seeming to be pained. "How can I make either of you two understand?"

"We do understand," Sam retorted a little sharply, then took a second to compose himself. "But if you could take half a second and stop trying to sacrifice yourself for a change, maybe this family could actually stick together." He looked at Dean long and hard. "Can we please just give that a shot?"

Dean was shaking his head, looking down to the floor beside his foot. "I don't think so," he said simply, and Sam clenched his jaw, keeping his mouth shut so he didn't say something that would only make things worse. Dean looked up and suddenly shut his eyes for a second as his shoulders fell slightly. He appeared to be chagrined. "Al… please don't cry," he said quietly, and Sam quickly looked over at his twin, saw that she had silent tears running down her cheeks, a heartbroken expression on her face.

"I believed in you," she told their Dean brokenly, and a muscle jerked in his cheek, he met her gaze briefly, agonized.

He looked down, drew his mouth into a hard line, his voice lowered to a barely audible volume. "No you didn't," he said. "And you know what? That's what it boils down to, kiddo. Belief. And I… I just don't believe anymore, either."

"In what?" Sam asked, dreading the answer.

Dean looked up, and he seemed to be broken up completely, reluctant to answer. "In either of you," he finally said, a whispered low blow. But what he said next was worse. "But especially in you, Sam." It felt like the floor had disappeared beneath Sam's feet and he was falling—his chest seized up in pain when Dean said that. "I mean, I don't," Dean said, and it was with brutal, heartbreaking honestly. Not anger, not a general dick attitude. He was being totally real, and that's what hurt the most. "I don't know whether it's gonna be demon blood or some other demon chick, or using me or Alex against you or what, but… I do know they're gonna find a way to turn you."

"So you're saying I'm not strong enough," Sam said, blinking away the sting of tears.

"You're angry, you're self-righteous," Dean told him, in that same quiet, matter-of-fact sad way. "Lucifer's gonna wear you to the prom, man. It's just a matter of time."

Alex looked at her twin in quiet horror and Sam shook his head, unable to hear this, hating how certain Dean was and how Alex was listening to him, too. "Don't say that to me," he begged his brother, voice hovering above a whisper. "Don't put that on me. Not you… of all people."

"I don't want to," Dean answered slowly. "But it's the truth. And when Satan takes you over, there's got to be somebody there to fight him, and it ain't gonna be that scrawny little kid. No way. Lucifer'd eat him for breakfast." He managed a self-deprecating smile. "So, it's got to be me. At least with me as Michael, we stand a chance of killing the devil. I may not be as big as you are, but I'm your big brother. I've always been able to take you down, right?" He attempted a wavering smile, trying to bridge the gap between this horrible place they were in to some fond memories of when they always used to wrestle and play fight. It didn't work—Sam was struggling to compose himself, and Dean looked like he realized he shouldn't have even tried.

Dean heaved a jaded breath. "Listen, this is my decision, not either of yours. I know you're just trying to… to look out for me." He paused, cold again. "But you don't get to decide this." He looked at Alex. "Didn't you say something like that to me just the other day?" he asked, and Alex's jaw worked oddly, she looked at Dean in a deeply wounded, betrayed expression, as if she were wondering how could you? And wordlessly, she teared up, turned away and shoved the door open, leaving them alone and slamming the panic room door behind herself.

Dean looked at the closed door, his expression strange. Sam shook his head, a soft, humorless little huff of air meant to be a laugh escaping his lips. "You know, you're getting pretty good at this, Dean," he said softly.

"What?"

"Pushing the people who love you away." Sam looked at his brother accusingly.

Dean just gave him attitude, sauntered over to the desk, pretended to be interested in the book that was there. "Why are you still here then?"

Sam pushed aside his urge to hit his brother, and replied steadily, even if he was a little strained. "I'm disappointed in you. But I'm not giving up on you."

Dean's eyebrows shrugged up and down in a display of chagrin as he looked over his shoulder in what appeared to be little interest. "Huh, well. You're the last one left who's in that club." He looked at Sam sullenly, turned around, crossed his arms. "Sorry to tell you but I'm just gonna let you down. It's what I do best."

"Enough with the pity party," Sam told him intensely, gave his brother a pointed stare. "So you think I'm gonna give up and say yes… what happens to Alex, huh, when we're both dead or gone?"

Dean went to the little cot, sat down with his feet far apart, elbows resting on his knees. "She's a big girl, she can take care of herself," he said, but it sounded like he were reciting lines off a script—his heart wasn't in it.

Sam called him on it. "Do you actually believe that?" he questioned incredulously, went a little closer to his seemingly unreachable brother. "Dean just a couple years ago she was a totally different girl, or have you forgotten? Don't let her fool you—she depends on us—and you—a lot more than you think."

"Nah," Dean said bitterly, still not looking at Sam. "She's got trenchcoat." He looked up at Sam at that point closely. "By the way… did you know about that?" Sam's expression gave him away and Dean's mouth turned downwards in distaste and anger. "Yeah, thanks for the heads up."

Sam was at a loss. "I don't get why you're being like this about them."

Dean's eyebrows shot up, like he couldn't believe what Sam had just said to them. He sat up straight as his expression quickly turned from surprise to a deep glare. "Because it's wrong, as wrong as you and Ruby was."

It was Sam's turn to be surprised. He looked at his brother like he was insane. "Cas isn't a demon who is using Alex to start the apocalypse."

"No, he's just using her," Dean fired back adamantly.

Sam grabbed the chair from the desk, sat down in it, looked at Dean thoroughly, emphatic, his voice and even the way he sat distinctly lecturing. "Dean. Cas took a frigging bullet for her. He gave her the ability to speak, he's healed her and saved her life—our lives—a bunch of times. He went against Heaven for us and ever since then has been trying to help us find a way to stop the apocalypse… if anything, we're using him."

Dean looked distinctly ruffled by that thought and acted like it sounded stupid. "Please," he muttered, and quickly switched topics, trying to hide what clearly looked like the beginnings of a guilty conscience. "Forget about Cas," he said gruffly. "Just think about this, Sam. If you and I both say yes, those jackass angels don't get a chance to mess with our sister. I mean they got Adam, they turned him against us. It's only a matter of time before they get their claws in her and use her to make us do what they want, or worse, kill her."

Sam couldn't argue with that, but still, Dean seemed to be forgetting something. "So… save Alex… but let half the planet burn?" he asked, doubtful, wondering if Dean really meant that.

His brother looked at him, pained, surprisingly vulnerable. Soft again, sad. "She's our sister, Sam. I spent my whole life trying to protect you both and if I can't save both of you, at least I can save one. Maybe I can even make a deal, make sure she gets a Heaven or, I dunno I—I just..." he seemed to be out of steam and rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand before continuing. "I'm just saying… if only one Winchester can survive this mess… it's gotta be her, man." He looked at Sam despairingly. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't think the same thing."

Sam couldn't answer for a second, because he knew what Dean meant but… "It's the lives of half the people on the planet for hers," he protested.

"I know it is," Dean said, looked down. "She deserves to live. I don't." He looked up at Sam sadly. "And I'm not sure if you do either."

"How can you say that?" Sam asked, cut to his heart by Dean's words.

"Because it's the truth. And you know it is." Dean looked at him without a trace of anger. Just sadness. And Sam thought about the demon blood and Ruby and the things he'd done as a kid and how he'd let Jess die and how he'd failed to bring Dean back from Hell on his own and how he'd abandoned his sister when she'd needed him the most. And Sam said nothing for a long moment, just looked down, rested an elbow on his knee and moved his hand across his mouth in distressed thoughtfulness.

Dean leaned forward over his knees. "We can't say no forever, Sam, do you get that? They'll keep upping the ante, they'll start killing everyone and everything we know and love to get us to do this. They are gonna make us do this. No ifs, ands, or buts." Dean's eyebrows were raised up high. "Now we can decide to do this together, on our terms, save a lot of people in the process..." he searched Sam's eyes intensely, "Or we can stand by and letting someone bully us into doing it." Sam looked at his brother tensely, trying not to be swayed. "I'm gonna do it," Dean told him decidedly. "I am. So what do you say, huh Sammy?" Dean almost seemed pleading, and for a second, Sam was considering. "You said you wanted us to stick together, so... here's your chance." Dean looked at Sam, waited for his response.

And Sam was suddenly reeling, unable to believe he could even consider becoming Satan's vessel, unable his brother would try and talk him into it. Sam stood up from the chair, almost knocking it over, and he walked a couple paces off, quickly becoming enraged at himself. "No, Dean." Sam was adamant and angry, but most of all, betrayed. "That's not an option for me, okay? Not now, not ever."

Still sitting, hands on his knees now, Dean looked like he had expected as much and nodded, shrugged. "If you get our sister hurt or killed in this process… so help me Sam, I'll never forgive you."

Sam raised his chin, looked down his nose at his brother. "I'm not the one who's hurting her, though, am I, Dean?"

Dean looked at Sam sharply, but said nothing. His glare wavered and he looked away, shoulders heavy and slumped forward as if in defeat. And Sam was suddenly hurtling to the opposite end of the emotional spectrum, to heartbreak and sadness again. He looked at his big brother, grieved to his soul. "What happened to you?" he asked, and Dean said nothing, just shook his head, kept it bowed. How was it, even when his brother was being the world's biggest dick, Sam could feel so bad for him? He paused for a long moment, grew introspective as he watched his brother closely. "Why didn't you ever tell me about Dad?" he asked softly, hesitatingly. "What he did to you?"

Dean immediately became visibly guarded. "Ah come on," he said, feigning disinterest, batting away an invisible something with his hand. "You didn't need to know."

Sam disagreed, stared at his brother earnestly. "If I had known, I would have found a way to get us away from Dad," he said, then paused, realizing. "Maybe that's why you never told me." Dean made no reply, and Sam thought back to nineteen ninety-nine again. He closed his eyes briefly, opened them back up, fighting a painful feeling in his throat. "She… she told me she fell down some stairs. That time you went away on that road trip and met Lisa, remember?" He had Dean's attention. "That was Dad, huh?" Sam shook his head in disbelief, disgust, sadness.

And even though it was clear that Dean had mixed feelings, he looked at Sam sharply. "Dad was a hero," he replied defensively. "He was a good man."

Indignant anger boiled in Sam's veins. "Then why did you have to protect her from him?" he asked very loudly.

"Listen... Dad had his faults, I know that," Dean said heavily. "He was pretty screwed in the head from the job, from what happened to Mom, to us. It's a wonder he wasn't worse."

Sam stared at his brother sorrowfully. "All I'm hearing are excuses," he told him, and his heart ached viscerally. "He never should have laid a finger on her. Or you. I'm sorry."

Dean glanced up in Sam's direction, wouldn't look him in the eye. "Yeah. Well. I'm sorry too."

"It never should have happened," Sam told him intensely, disliking how Dean just seemed to be okay with the fact that that things had been that way.

Dean almost smirked. "Yeah, and you know what else shouldn't have happened? You and me, both knocking her down. Even once, man." And the realization that yes, both of them had purposefully hit or shoved their sister… was enough to break Sam's heart. Dean obviously had taken it to heart a lot more than he had shown. He had his head in his hand again, and Sam remembered, pained, when he'd backhanded her across the face when he'd been high on demon blood. He'd never forgiven himself for that and never would.

Dean let out a gruff sounding breath, composing himself and clasping his hands between his knees, refocusing. "You know, speaking of Dad, Alex saw him in Heaven a couple days ago. Cas told me all about it."

Sam was thrown off. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah," Dean confirmed. "The old man got a message through somehow. Don't ask me how cuz I haven't even had a chance to ask Alex about it but… Dad said something about Azazel's plans and how it's still dangerous..." he looked at Sam tiredly. "You know anything about that?"

Sam was staring at Dean in complete disbelief. "N-no," he answered, and it must have been the way he said it or the look on his face. Dean was suddenly interested, intent, and looking at him almost suspiciously. "You sure about that?"

Looking at his brother in total fear and panic, because he thought he didn't have to worry or wonder about those dreams he'd had all those years ago anymore—Sam covered his true feelings with anger. "Yes Dean, I'm sure. Look, I'm not saying yes to Lucifer and Azazel is dead and gone and I want you to stop acting like you know everything. I'm stronger than you think!" He left the panic room in a huff, slamming the door behind him.

"Friggin' drama queen," Dean muttered, then raised his voice a few notches, stood up. "You can't keep me in here forever!"

In response to his shout, Dean heard the door lock and he clenched his fists in frustration. He could hear Sam and Alex talking in indistinct voices outside of the room and he growled in exasperation.

So much for talking it out. So much for them understanding or listening to him. He was gonna have to do this the hard way. He remembered again what Cas had said to him all those months ago about the apocalypse. Dean had been a mess from Alastair's handiwork—hooked up to a million IVs and feeling like death warmed over. Cas had shown up in his hospital room. Dean remembered asking him "Is it true? Did I break the first seal? Did I start all this?"

Cas had looked at him point-blank, told him "Yes. The righteous man who begins it is the one who must finish it."

And at that time… similar to now… Dean had felt unable. "Well then, you guys are screwed," he had replied. "I can't do it, Cas. It's too big. Alastair was right. I'm not all here. I'm not—I'm not strong enough. Well, I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be. Find someone else. It's not me."

Did he feel strong enough now? No. Did he feel capable of this? No. He felt like he was taking the coward's way out even though he logically knew that this would save a lot of lives.

The righteous man. Well, he might have believed it was a load of bullshit, at least in the beginning, but apparently Heaven didn't. He was the righteous man. Somewhere along the line fate had picked him as the one who would start the apocalypse and end it, too. That was the single shred of hope that he held onto now, that he could, in fact, end this, defeat Satan, and allow planet earth limp along a little longer. Problem was, he was locked in Bobby's basement, where he couldn't get to the angels. It was looking like he had to take matters into his own hands. He had enough motivation to last a lifetime, and was ready.

He remembered coming face to face with Lucifer in Sam's body when Zachariah had sent him to the future. Satan's words had always haunted Dean, but today, he almost wanted to laugh in the devil's face. "You won't say yes to Michael," Lucifer had taunted. "You won't kill Sam, you won't be able to save Alex from her own foolish choices… whatever you do, you will always end up here. Sam will die, Alex will die. Nothing you can do will change that. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up—here. I win."

Not today, motherfucker. You don't win today. Not anymore. He wasn't altering details, he was changing the entire damn storyline. Dean listened closely—he didn't hear his siblings talking anymore—good, they'd gone. With any luck, Cas would come stand around uselessly outside again and Dean would be able to lure him in and escape.

Dean took out the switchblade he kept at his ankle, snapped the blade up. It glinted in the incandescent light. "Here goes everything," Dean muttered, and drew the sharp metal across his skin, hissed against the pain, watched bright red blood come forth.

He was very aware that he'd seen his brother and sister for what was probably the last time.

---

Upstairs, Castiel watched Adam quietly in the darkened study. The lights were off, the kid was sleeping. Bobby, in turn, was watching Cas and realizing while Sam and Alex were downstairs, he had a chance to feel the angel out a little bit. He wheeled over, cleared his throat, not sure how exactly to broach the subject. "Listen kid, uh… I gotta talk to you about somethin', man to man." He paused, realized his mistake. "Uh… man to angel."

Castiel turned to him, gave him his full attention, his eyes narrowing into a squint. "Of course," he said, and waited.

Bobby looked at the guy carefully, trying to be firm and clear, but also polite. "Now you may think it ain't none of my business, but I've known Alex since she was knee high to a grasshopper and—I love the kid. Like she was my own." Bobby braced himself, put it in short, clear terms. "Don't let me catch you treating her wrong, hear me?"

Cas's head canted just slightly to the side, his frown remained, Bobby continued before he had a chance to reply. "She deserves a guy who's gonna be around for the long haul," Bobby told him, and fixed him with a meaningful look. "Is that you, son?"

"The long haul?" Cas questioned, apparently not understanding the question.

"The rest of her life," Bobby replied, and saw understanding wash over the angel's features. "Someone who ain't gonna run off and abandon her like every other damn man in her life ever has. That girl deserves the best. And then some."

Cas opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of the downstairs door opening interrupted the conversation. Sam came out and around the corner, looking haggard.

Distracted from Cas, Bobby looked at Sam carefully, hopefully. "How's he doing?"

Sam said nothing, shook his head and shrugged, defeated. Bobby nodded, knowing he shouldn't have hoped for Dean to get his head of his ass. "How you doing?" he asked Sam, who just looked down.

Cas was frowning again, looking at Sam with a hard, worried expression. "Where's Alex?"

"Downstairs, said she was gonna try and talk to Dean one more time."

"By herself?" Cas asked, straightening in alarm.

Sam put a hand out, trying to ease Cas's worry. "Cas, it's fine, you have nothing to worry abou—" Castiel brushed past him and went downstairs.

Sam groaned in frustration, ran a hand through his hair.

---

Castiel could have transported himself angelically down to the basement, but he didn't even think about it until he was halfway down the stairs. The second his feet hit the ground floor, he forgot about that realization completely. He heard a crash, and he was suddenly afraid that he was too late. He restrained himself purposefully, realizing it might not be what he thought, that in the past, his overreactions had frightened Alex and been, in slang terms, over the line. Still, he rushed across the space between himself and the panic room door, he slammed the viewport latch back to see into the room. "Alex! Dean?" his eyes swept over the room, he saw no one—and then he stood taller, looked down—saw a smashed lamp and Alex laying in the middle of the room, and she wasn't moving, she looked like she could have been dead, and there was a streak of blood running down her cheek. His entire system seemed to go into horrified, panicked overdrive. Without hesitation, without even thinking, Castiel ripped the panic room door off of its hinges and he surged into the room, rushing over to her and dropping to his knees beside her, trying to see if—

"Cas."

He whirled, saw Dean, who looked sick and resolved—and in the space of a millisecond saw the angel sigil drawn in blood—he shot to his feet, trying to stop Dean—but it was too late. The other man slammed his hand down over the symbol and a feeling like searing hot acid enveloped Castiel who screamed as he was painfully blasted far, far away.

Dean squinted against the bright light, a hand over his eyes. Cas was gone, and Dean was out of breath. He stared down at the crumpled form that was Alex, in the middle of the panic room. Beside her, the broken lamp he'd hit her with. This wasn't how this was supposed to have happened!

He stood there and he almost felt as if he could be physically sick as he stared down at her, in a panic, realizing the irony of what he'd done—hurt her again right after giving Sam a grand speech about saving her. But in the end, this was about saving her, wasn't it? He cursed her fighting spirit and the fact that she'd made him do that—if she hadn't walked in and seen the angel sigil, if she hadn't been about to run and give him away—Dean's backed up a couple steps, his chest was consumed in pain and he had to leave, get away, now. He was in too deep now. There was no going back from this.

---

Sam came into the study carrying his groaning sister, who looked like she'd been hit in the head—"put me down," she was mumbling, and Sam obliged even as Bobby was wheeling over, panicking, shocked. "What happened?" he demanded, then realized someone was missing. "Where's Cas?"

"Blown to Oz," Sam hissed, trying to help his sister stand, who was batting him away, getting her bearings. "Dean did this to you?" Bobby asked, incredulous.

"Yeah," Alex muttered angrily, holding a hand to the side of her head. She had a bleeding cut beside her ear, at the top of her cheekbone. "I went in, saw him drawing that freaking angel sigil, he knew I was gonna yell—he put his hand over my mouth, we fought, he smashed a lamp over my head… good times."

Sam's anger was almost palatable at this point. "I am gonna kill…" he stopped himself mid sentence, refocused on Alex. "You okay though?" he asked her intensely, and again, she made a face like she was annoyed.

"I'm fine, stop asking," she said, avoiding her brother's concerned, riled up gaze. Bobby realized she was embarrassed.

Sam was floundering, obviously pulled in a hundred directions, upset and overwhelmed. "Look, I'll go find Dean," Sam said. "He couldn't have gone too far. Just watch Adam."

Bobby looked at the kid like he must be crazy. "How? You may have noticed, he's got a slight height advantage."

"Then cuff him to your chair," Sam said, exasperated.

"Just go Sam, we've got it," Alex said tersely, then prompted him with a loud "hurry!"

Wordlessly, Sam left, and Alex touched a hand to her bloody cheek, hardly able to believe what had happened. Some metal part of the lamp had cut her and it stung like a bitch. She couldn't tell how messy or how bad the cut was, either. "I'm gonna go clean up real quick," Alex muttered, and made for the bathroom, angry as hell. She knew her brother was a desperate man—he'd proven it when she'd walked into the panic room and seen the sigil he was drawing in blood on the metal locker. She'd taken one look at it and turned to escape, to shout for someone, warn Cas—but Dean had grabbed her, clapped his hand over her mouth he'd begged her not to make a sound, to please understand, he had to do this. She wasn't even sure how she'd broken his grip but she had and slugged him in the face and when she'd made a run for the door, he'd grabbed a lamp and blindly swung at her. It had worked. It had silenced her. She looked at the cut on her cheek. It wasn't that bad, just bloody. She wiped it off a little bit, rolled her eyes at her reflection, stalked out of the bathroom.

She was shaking from anger at Dean and what he'd done. The worst part of it was blasting Cas to kingdom come. How dare he?

Alex got to the bottom of the stairs, walked around the corner and saw Adam coming out of the study, looking distinctly shady and sneaky. Oh, you do not wanna piss me off any more than I am already, kid. "Where you going?" Alex asked, startling him. He stopped, a couple feet out of the study and into the kitchen. She approached him boldly, staring at him hard.

"What happened to your face?" he asked, seeing her cut.

"Don't worry about it," Alex retorted. "I asked you a question. Where are you going?"

He set his jaw. "I'm leaving," he said, and stepped to the side, trying to get past her, but she mirrored his movement, stepped with him, blocking his way. His eyes stayed on hers and he clenched his jaw in impatience. "Get out of my way."

"Not happening," Alex told him threateningly, and he paused, then tried stepping the other way, she went with him again, gave him a severe warning look, pointed a finger into his chest and pushed him back. He looked down at her hand contemptuously, took a step back, looked her up and down.

He seemed unsure of himself, but was trying to act like he was some badass. "Listen, I don't wanna have to move you, but I will if I have to."

"Go ahead and try, cupcake," she told him, short on patience and almost itching for a fight at this point. She looked him up and down and made sure he knew she was not impressed or scared by him in the least.

Anger flickered across Adam's features and he stepped closer to her, probably trying to test her and stare down at her, see if she would really stand up to him. And Alex, who had been fighting for years and years knew enough to take the offensive, to use the element of surprise—cuz he was bigger than her and strong, but it didn't matter how big your opponent was. If you knew how to fight dirty and use surprise to your advantage, keep your feet on the ground… you could take down almost anymore. As Adam stepped forward to stare down at her, she reeled back and she socked him squarely in the face. He stumbled back a couple steps, making a surprised noise of pain even as she shoved him with all her strength back into the study—he fell back onto his elbows and stared up at her in shock, blood running out of his nose.

And that's when Alex saw Bobby, unconscious and slumped in his wheelchair, shotgun across his lap, a smashed lamp on the ground beside him. Are you friggin' kidding me? Alex's mouth dropped open and her first instinct was to run to her uncle and make sure he was okay—she looked at Adam vengefully, and she didn't just see Adam, she saw Dean too. How fucking dare that little twerp?! He was on his feet now, looking at her, breathing a little heavier than before, wiping blood from below his nose with the back of his hand.

"You got lucky," he told her, drawing himself up to his full height, trying to intimidate her, trying to act like he'd only gone down because he hadn't been expecting her assault. "Care to test that theory?" she asked dangerously, and she could see from the look on his face that he was pretty much regretting everything about how he'd gotten himself into this moment. She saw him eyeing the shotgun—and they both dove for it at the same second, but Adam got there first, yanking the gun up and pointing it at Alex, who stood there and stared at him, raising her chin slightly, gauging his distance from her, the way he held the guy. This was too easy. "You're not gonna shoot me," she told him calmly, almost bored, waited for him to reply.

"What makes you so sure about th—" he began to ask, but Alex lunged forward, grabbed the barrel of the gun with one hand and the hilt of the other fast, cracking the wooden butt of the gun across his face with violent force, stunning him so much that he fell backwards.

"Because you're on the ground and don't have a gun, idiot," she told him, standing over him with the weapon she'd procured, one foot on his chest, holding him down on the ground as she trained the gun at his head. "First rule of hunting... don't lose your weapon," she told him in a voice dripping with sarcasm. What a clueless jackass. He was holding his jaw in offended shock, like he couldn't believe what had happened, or that she would do that. He made to move, but she cocked the gun, shook her head, pushed him down further with her foot. "Wouldn't be wise for you to move right now," she told him, then gave him a humorless little smile.

"When Sam gets back with Dean, you two lamp-smashing psychopaths are going into the panic room forever, you hear me?" she demanded angrily.

And that's the exact moment when the house began to tremble and a brilliant white light shone all around them.

---

The celestial whispers were the first thing Castiel heard as he came to himself after being blasted away into the corners of the four winds. For a glancing moment, he couldn't understand the words being said—his thoughts were reassembling themselves, he was quickly remembering how he'd found Alex laying on the floor, struck down by Dean's hand—and that mental image made the very blood in the veins of Castiel's body boil in anger. Dean had done those things to escape, to go to the angels, to utterly betray them all. And Castiel tore through space, rocketing back to the panic room, expecting to find her still there, even though some time had passed—but there was nothing but the sickening sight of several small blood droplets on the floor where she'd been. Cas he swept through matter into the upstairs area, and found the study was wrecked by signs of a struggle—an unconscious Bobby Singer sat in his wheelchair, head lolling forward—and Cas went to the man, touched his pulse, looking around in growing desperation—he felt his heart hammering painfully, his throat closing up, things he couldn't control or stop. He stood back from Bobby, took two steps backwards. He called out for Alex, turning in a circle, seeing nothing and no one, feeling an absence of human presences nearby. Where was she? Where was she?! And then he stopped moving as the words the angels were whispering suddenly became clear, unmuffled, loud and unavoidable.

We have Alex Winchester and Adam Milligan.

Utter horror overcame Castiel and panic soon followed as his mind tripped over itself, unable to form clear thought. No—why—how? What did the angels want with her? What were they going to do with her? His immediate reaction was that he had to rescue her, and his second thought made him feel physically ill: she could be anywhere or earth, anywhere, and he had no idea where—

And then he heard a man praying in place of Dean Winchester—and Castiel was almost unable to see, such were the levels of his wrath. So, Dean wanted to call down the angels? He would have what he wanted. Castiel drew his hands into fists and disappeared, hurtling through the fabric of space at blistering speeds toward Dean, who was completely unprepared for which angel would come and answer his prayer.