Song Remains the Same
Chapter 53 / Skeletons
"Rescue me from me... and all that I believe."
- Smashing Pumpkins
Castiel ascended the celestial heights, slipped through the dimensions and was no longer in Bobby Singer's basement speaking with Dean. He was instead in Heaven. This particular Heaven was a tranquil scene: it was a wooded glen where a rustic old cabin overlooked a small pond—it was autumn and the trees were burnt into brilliant yellows and oranges, the sky was a stunning blue. The pond was like a mirror, reflecting the vivid fall foliage on its still surface. A wooden dock stretched out several feet over the water, and at the end of the structure, an elderly couple stood next to one another, holding hands. They were unaware of his presence.
He'd arrived to a Heaven that belonged to soul mates, Cas realized. These were the rarest Heavens of all, and for a moment, he felt stirred. Reverent of this and of them, the two souls who had created this place. He saw how the woman laid her head contentedly onto the man's shoulder. How wonderful it was that these two people—meant for each other, intwined at the soul level—could remain together even in the life beyond life. Cas wondered without warning: if he were human, had he been born on earth instead of created in Heaven… would he have been her soul mate? He thought of soft hazel eyes and freckles scattered across fair skin. He thought of the sound of her voice and the privilege of her smile directed at him. And then he thought of how he hadn't seen that smile in so long. How, instead, there was pain and anger and fear and utter helplessness etched onto her face. How she had been unguarded and unsafe and completely on her own the entire year that he had believed she'd been all right, with her brother. And with rapidly increasing anger, he remembered why he'd come back to Heaven in the first place.
As if on cue, Castiel realized another angel had arrived. He immediately became guarded and turned around, reaching for his blade. When he saw who it was, he had to stifle his true reaction of contempt. He let his hand fall and did not draw his blade. "Hello Rachel." He greeted neutrally—watching her every move hawkishly. She was the reason he'd returned to Heaven.
"Castiel," Rachel returned. She stood just a few feet away and she was difficult to read. Mildly perturbed, maybe. Suspicious, certainly. "Where have you been? We've been calling you."
"Yes. I know," he said brusquely, giving away nothing with his tone or demeanor. "I've been busy, and I still am."
Her features twisted into mistrustful confusion. "What do you mean?"
Cas stepped closer to her, narrowing his eyes. "I came here to tell you that my presence is required on earth for some time." He paused, noting the distinct note of distaste that ran across his angel sister's face. "I'm leaving Ezekiel in charge in my absence."
Her mouth dropped open. "You can't be seri—Ezekiel is just a foot soldier!"
Cas was diplomatic in the face of her outburst. "He's proven himself loyal."
Rachel was absolutely flummoxed, angry. "And I haven't?"
"Hm," Castiel feigned thoughtfulness, even though inwardly he was thinking of her lies and betrayal. "I suppose you have." And here was the trap he laid for her, the test. With utmost convincing emotion, he smiled a little, as if expression gratitude. "I wanted to thank you, Rachel, for traveling to earth and delivering my message to Alex, all those months ago."
He studied her reaction, thought perhaps he saw the briefest glance of guilt in her features. But instead of confessing her sins—which would have been the correct action to take—out of her mouth came more untruths, as if she thought lying to him again would bode well for her. "Of course, Castiel," she said, smiling at him with pleasantness, graciousness that seemed insulting. "I was happy to do so."
Without any warning, Castiel grabbed Rachel, two hands at her collar, and he smashed her into the side of the cabin with great force, splintering the wood. "Lies," he snarled, furious. She was shocked and wide-eyed in surprise at him. "I know you never gave her my message," he accused, and her face showed realization and then fear. He truly couldn't believe her. "And then you had the audacity to lie to my face and falsify a return message?" Cas demanded wrathfully, thinking of Alex's plight the entire year, the things that had happened to her—if he had known, if only he had known, those things wouldn't have happened at all. He was so angry he could have killed Rachel on the spot; he needed someone or something to pin his anger onto, and she was the perfect scapegoat. Still, he managed to maintain control and reason, only because he'd known her for so long, only because he knew, deep down, he should hear her out. But he was nothing but threatening to her. "Give me one reason I shouldn't demote you or worse right here and now."
Rachel was stiff and frozen in his vice-like grip, she seemed completely unprepared for his assault and demands. Fumbling, she tried to answer him. "I-I saw her drinking the blood of demons, Castiel, she's an abomination, I only wanted—" she clearly recognized how that had been the wrong thing to say when Cas's face darkened in growing fury. Scrambling for a way to placate him, Rachel's voice rose in something close to panic. "I only wanted to safeguard you, keep you focused!"
She was pulled out of the side of the cabin and slammed back in with brutal force. "It wasn't your place," Castiel spat, only growing angrier with himself when he realized how his trust, placed so readily in his sister, had been his biggest mistake in a very long time. How this was truly his fault through and through for not being wiser. Great helplessness grew inside. Castiel just didn't understand his sister's actions in the least and he was dismayed at how she could have done this. He begged her to help him understand, to make her motivations clear to him. "You lied to me, knowing that it would keep me from her—why?" She said nothing for a long moment and Castiel mourned what Rachel had done, what she had chosen. "Why? I am her protector," he said, great sadness drenching his words. The irony was not lost on him: he was Alex's protector, yet had failed in every way.
"And I am your protector!" Rachel retorted loudly, much to Cas's confusion. ...What? Cas looked at her strangely because he didn't understand her meaning. "If I don't protect you from your own foolishness, who will?!" She demanded, and she seemed so genuine that Cas was momentarily taken aback, losing his grip on her. Rachel's tone became pleading. "She's broken you, Castiel. Ruined you. I don't recognize who you've become."
Cas said nothing for a long moment, merely stared at her in renewed scorn, not even fully hearing the insults she lodged against him. Only the confirmation that she had done it purposefully, intentionally. There was no explanation that would exonerate her from guilt, she displayed no remorse whatsoever for her actions. With a mighty shove, Cas let her go and he stepped back, not letting her out from under his glare for even a second. "I could say the same for you," he accused, utterly despising what his sister had done. Rachel knew what Alex meant to him. He had trusted her and been burned—but his wounds were nothing compared to what had happened to Alex. Castiel shook his head stiffly, looking at Rachel with new eyes that detested her. "The things you set into motion by not telling me—you've done the unforgivable."
"To keep you safe; to keep all of us safe," Rachel insisted tremulously. Castiel was astonished. How could she think that? He merely shook his head again as he gritted his teeth together harder. She didn't know what she was talking about. She didn't care like he did, in fact, it seemed like she didn't care at all. It broke something in him. Rachel became apologetic and looked down, her features became confused. "I knew you would leave us if you knew what she was doing, Castiel; I knew you would go to her when you were needed here. I know you care about her, brother. But… we're fighting a war. And you're our leader. You can't have divided interests or we will not win." She saw how his expression was souring again. "Castiel, please—I didn't mean to cause harm," she insisted, and held her hands out placatingly, pleadingly. "You came back and told us we were free to make our own choices. And that was the first choice I ever made. To lie to you. I... I've never had this freedom before, and it seemed right to me, Castiel. I swear to you." She paused, then spoke with utmost seriousness. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I made a choice. A wrong one, I see that it must have been wrong, now." She looked at him in an odd expression. "Forgive me, brother."
"I will not forgive you," was the immediate, hostile answer. He didn't care about her excuses or reasons, no matter how good they were. No matter how sorry Rachel might truly be (and he didn't know if her words were genuine or not—she could be lying more now, it was impossible to tell), she had still done what she'd done. And there was no taking it back, no explaining it away. The reality remained: Alex never knowing where he'd gone, assuming him dead or worse, lonely and alone, afraid, and physically dependent on demon blood somehow. Assaulted by a man who'd had no business touching her. Refreshing these things in his mind made him feel murderous. But… he thought of his dwindling forces, his desperation to win this war and end the fighting. He had to end it.
He was loathe to admit it even to himself, but Rachel needed to remain on his side. She had proven to be a good soldier on the battlefield and was a strong warrior. He needed her to stay alive and fight the fight. He didn't like this at all. But it was strategy and necessity that drove him to the decision. He regarded her with utmost deadly seriousness. "I will grant you exception this one time. Only because you are an asset and a good soldier." He raised his chin, looked at her bitterly. He cursed himself for trusting her at all, ever. It had cost him too much. It had cost Alex too much. And he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. "There will be no more chances for you, Rachel," he said flatly. "And I will never trust you like I once did." And without anything further, he turned his back on her and left.
Five Days Later
Alex was someplace dark and shadowy, indistinct. She couldn't make out any real shape or structure, and the effect was completely disorienting. There was a general feeling of physical illness, a hollow sensation. Like an itch she couldn't scratch. She was very aware that she felt uncomfortable in her own skin, like she needed something really badly, like she was craving something intensely. What, food? Water? Also, where the hell was she, anyway? She looked down, raised her shaking palms up to inspect them. She could barely see, but her skin seemed dirty and gray, pale. Something was wrong here.
"Well, hello..." came a smooth voice somewhere nearby and she whirled, found herself face to face with Lucifer in the rotting vessel of Nick. Holy shit! Suddenly filled with fear, she backed up, or tried to. But she felt stuck.
"Get away from me," she ordered tremblingly, trying not to give away how afraid she was. Weapon. Did she have a weapon? She felt around for one, realized she was completely unarmed. Panic surged. What was happening? How was he here—he was supposed to be in the cage!
"Get away from you?" Lucifer repeated innocently, doing just the opposite and edging closer instead. "But Alex, how?" He asked, feigning confusion. "I'm… inside of you. Your head. Your mind." Oh. Oh no. He smiled a little, his pale, peeling face and gruesome features making it a sickening display. "I like it in here. A little cluttered, a little paranoid, lots of issues, lots of self-flagellation... you're my kinda gal." He chuckled and came close, patted her face with his cold, heavy hand. She flinched away from his touch, unable to move or run away… and the realization that she couldn't do either made her even more scared. What is happening? Is this another dream? Lucifer kept talking, started to pace leisurely in front of her. "Come on, Al... don't act like this is the first time we've... hooked up." He shot her a playful look and a coy eyebrow raise. "I recall lots of late night visits this past year… well." He shrugged thoughtfully. "On those nights you actually managed to fall asleep, anyway." A low, dark chuckle, and those dead eyes flashed ominously. "Insomnia's a real bitch, isn't it?"
Alex shrank away, or tried to. "I said, get away!" She shouted with increased volume, like if she said it louder it would work better. Wake up, she told herself, wake up! This was just another dream of the devil, like the others she'd been plagued by since Sam died. "You're not real!"
An amused laugh. "You're not real!" Lucifer mocked jovially, then gave a playfully irritated sigh. "Oh come on, lighten up will ya?" He paused, tapped a thoughtful finger to his chin. "Maybe it'd make you more comfortable if I looked like someone less… Nick?" His features distorted, he was suddenly Sam, and Alex's anger faded into breathless horror. "Hiya, sis," Sam's familiar voice said, low and smooth as polished marble. He was smiling, but it wasn't friendly. He frowned a little through that cold smile. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Stop it, just stop!" Alex shouted, twisting against ropes that she was aware of suddenly. Wait, when had those gotten there? She struggled hard, feeling her throat close in panic. Let me out—let me out!
"But I'm just warming up," Sam said, only it was Lucifer speaking, and it was obvious from the cadence he used, the coldness in his eyes. "Come on, Alexandra. Get over it. Stop being a drama queen," he said, rolling his eyes at her. When she looked at him wrathfully, Lucifer shrugged his mouth downwards thoughtfully. "Hm. You must really regret our little deal, huh?" He sighed, pretended to be apologetic. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're such an idiot." A huge grin broke Sam's face—dimples and everything. He laughed, a sound that was profane because it belonged to Sam, not Lucifer. "Actually… I'm not sorry, not really," he said, wincing with mock apology. "I mean, it got me Sam, didn't it? Ah, you shoulda seen the look on your brothers faces when they realized what I did to you, what you agreed to…" he trailed off, got overly thoughtful. "Oh wait. You did."
Another huge grin and self-satisfied laugh. He sauntered over to her. "And hey, the way Sam is now? That's your fault. You get that, right? Hell stripped away everything Sam ever was. Burned away the Sam you loved. All thanks to you." His eyes, the same color as hers, were cold and dead, soulless and inches from hers. "Everyone you love burns in the end, don't they?" Lucifer asked in a taunting whisper that made her skin crawl. He reached over and stroked her hair with great interest and it seemed so wrong.
Alex squeezed her eyes shut, grimacing in disgust. "Not real, he's not real, you're not real," she whispered over and over, trying not to gag on her racing heartbeat. Things were wobbling and uneven but she felt Lucifer withdraw, heard him step away, retreat a few steps backward. A small relief. Go away, just wake up, it's okay, it's not real.
"Oh, I'm real," came a male voice that wasn't Sam's. Alex's eyes popped open because she knew that voice and was more scared of it than maybe any other voice she could think of.
A familiar, tall blond man stood there and smirked down at her. Stark terror shot through Alex's veins, she immediately struggled away, tried to escape. But she was still stuck in place and her fighting was in vain. "Don't be scared, baby," Glen said softly, approaching slowly, and each step made her even more afraid. "It's me. I'm gonna take good care of you… you know I will." He stroked the side of her face with his fingers and she shuddered, a sound of terror broke out of her mouth and he just chuckled softly, as if she were cute when she was terrified.
"Stop—" she managed, then found a stronger, louder voice. "Dean! Cas!" She called out with growing alarm because maybe this wasn't a dream. Maybe this was real. "Someone help me!"
Glen's sandy eyebrows shot up high in surprise, then angry disbelief came over his plain features. "You think they're gonna help you?" He asked, then grabbed her, threw her down onto her back, stood over her like a giant. She backpedaled fast on her elbows, trying to get away, but found herself against a cold, hard wall. She was trapped. "Wow. You're stupider than I thought, bitch," Glen said as if remarking on the weather, following her leisurely. "Dean doesn't love you; Cas doesn't love you. Why would either of them, huh?" He crouched down at her level, stared at her hatefully, and she was so afraid of him that she couldn't move one bit. "You're a disappointment at every turn," he told her acidly. "Weak. Why would they come when you call? You're not worth saving." He picked her up by her collar and he stood with super human strength, he smashed her back-first into the wall and she whimpered and cried out in pain, tried to fight, but nothing worked and her body refused to cooperate. "No one will ever want you again, you get that right?" Glen asked in a low, vile whisper. He suddenly morphed, and a new man now looked at Alex. "Especially me."
Alex's eyes widened in shock and horror, she ceased fighting. "Cas?!" She gasped out, shocked to be face to face with the one she loved, shocked at the look he was giving her. In his eyes, pure contempt. He hated her and it was obvious—and Alex was ashamed, confused, hurt. She'd known he would despise her, so why was she so stunned to see evidence of it? His hand tightened on her painfully.
"I leave you for a year—only a year—and you betray me?" He asked in the familiar gruff voice—only it was filled with accusation and disdain. "You let another man touch you? You let another man kiss you?" She withered away from him as he paused. Her eyes were filling with stinging tears. Yes, to both questions. How could she have done either? Her heart was beating so hard and fast she thought she was doing to have a stroke, but Cas didn't look concerned. "I thought I loved you," he said sneeringly, tightening his grip on her collar painfully. "But I don't." He yanked her sideways and threw her down to the ground without warning, letting her land hard on her stomach and palms. She was crying now—his words and actions were like knives, cutting her apart.
"I'm sorry, please believe me, I'm sorry—" she choked out raspingly, looking back up over her shoulder at him and barely managing to. She felt lower than low, and the furious way he stared down at her didn't do anything but make her feel even further down.
"You are sorry," he agreed derisively, slowly circling her and coming to stand in front of her, his shoes almost in her face. "And selfish and pathetic. Human, below me. I never loved you, how could I have? You're a monster, an adulteress, an addict," he growled, each title hitting her where it hurt and she tried to cover her ears because his words literally seemed to be killing her. But nothing could block the stinging accusations he was hurling down at her. "You took what we had and ruined it, you took what I gave you and promised you and acted like it was yesterday's garbage, like I meant nothing to you—you should have waited for me, you should have believed in me, you friggin' idiot!" Those last three words rang in a higher pitched voice, Cas's face and body changed—and Alex was now staring up at herself. Only she was bruised and battered and had demonic eyes black as night. Seeing herself like that was shocking as hell—was this her future?
"Look at yourself, Alex! Look!" Black-eyed Alex ranted disdainfully. "You deserve this. To be alone. You're nothing. You're no one. They all left you alone, do you think they were trying to tell you something? Cuz I do! You had the right idea, going off that whole year on your own." She scoffed, kicked Alex in the arm when she tried to push herself up to stand. "Stay down, you bitch," black-eyed Alex hissed, then began to pace around Alex slowly. "Dean doesn't need you ruining his life more than you already have; I mean, have you thought about it? If he hadn't been stuck with your dumbass self all those years? He could have been out there living his life. You're nothing but a burden, and you know it. You should have never been born." There was a disdainful little laugh. "No wonder Daddy wanted to give you away… no wonder Sammy left and is acting the way he is now… he doesn't care about you. He can't pretend he does anymore." There was a cold smirk. "I wonder how much longer Dean can keep the act up, don't you?" She paused and there was no smile on her face anymore. "No one loves you. Not even you love you. Sad."
Alex watched the black-eyed version of herself crouch down in front of herself and saw more clearly how there were big hand prints marring her, hickeys on her neck. Evidence of what she'd done and what had happened to her. Alex felt herself being grabbed by the hair at the top of her head, and black-eyed Alex's face was right in hers. She was seething. "And Cas. Don't even get me started on that, on him. Do you remember what you promised him? Or were you lying to his face when you said what you did to him?" Alex felt like she'd been punched in the gut. Of course she remembered that, but—"You can't take things like that back!" Black-eyed Alex screamed with sudden passion, then hit Alex across the face with her fist. The pain exploded, blinding Alex temporarily. It felt like her jaw was broken—she clutched her face and rolled sideways from the force of impact, groaning in pain. Above her, standing up again, black-eyed Alex stared down without remorse at Alex, who just laid there pathetically, sobbing from pain and anguish, at the thought of the things she'd done. "And here you were this whole year, acting like what you and he were was nothing, like you could just decide to take it all back," Alex snarled contemptuously, her features twisted in disgust. Every word was sending Alex hurtling toward the ledge of total insanity. "And you claim that you love him. Please."
Something inside snapped in half. "I thought he was dead!" Alex screamed, pushing herself up and trying to attack her assailant. She rushed at the black-eyed bitch, attempting a tackle, but it was like nothing and no one was there, she pitched forward into empty air and fell down onto all fours clumsily.
"You liar," came her voice from behind Alex. A steely boot tip crashed into her ribcage and Alex cried out in pain, tried to get up. "Liar! LIAR!" The accusations kept coming, so did the painful kicks.
Managing to stand somehow, Alex whirled and let a wild, uncontrolled punch fly in the general direction of her attacker. "I'm not a liar!" She shrieked, her fist sailing through empty air and sending her staggering sideways but she recovered just before she fell. "You don't know what I went through!" she insisted tearfully to no one, hysterical at this point.
She was grabbed roughly from behind and felt a knife at her back. "I know exactly what you went through," she heard herself say in a low, angry voice. "I'm YOU! I know every self-centered, stupid thought in your egotistical little head. And you don't deserve him!" A violent shove sent Alex flying into the darkness—she tripped and fell face-first, making contact with the ground painfully, jaw-fist. She tasted blood in her mouth and groaned. Just let it be over—all of it—please. Enough!
"You know who you do deserve?" Alex's voice asked.
She felt herself being grabbed by the hair and being yanked up then thrown down onto her stomach, being pinned down from the back, and it was Glen's voice in her ear again. "Look what you're making me do, look what you've done!" He accused. She felt a jarring blow to the back of her head and she cried, sobbed, protested with great sounds of pain, fought against his heavy weight, the sharp pain of his knee in her back. She thought she heard someone ask her name faintly. "Alex?" And then a very loud: "You fucking bitch!"
"Let go, let me go!" She shrieked, only to be hit again. "Stop! Please stop, just sto-ooop!"
"Hold still," he commanded in a hiss. Then she heard someone asking her name again "Alex?" And Glen was yanking on her, she was struggling. "It'll be over soon," he growled, "Hold still!" He roared when she refused to , somewhere nearby, that same voice she recognized but couldn't place: "Alex, wake up—wake up!"
She flailed, eyes snapping open—had they been shut? There were several things she realized all at once: Someone was touching her arms, she was laying down on a softish surface, and she was in danger. She didn't even bother getting her bearings, she was blinded by panic, by the thought of it being Glen over her, holding her down. "Get away! Don't touch me!" She screamed, and rolled off of the soft surface, her chest stinging with breathless alarm. She fell away, tumbling to the ground painfully, surprised at the shockwave of pain it sent through her when she collided shoulder-first. Scrambling to get away, she ignored the pain and pushed herself up and ran for the door—it was locked and she whirled, scared as hell. Cas stood there at the opposite end of the small room, arms at his side. Not pursuing her or looking at her with hatred. Instead, holding a hand out slightly, as if to try and tell her to calm down and take a second.
"Get back, get away from me!" She warned in a breathless and hysterical voice—and she let her eyes dart around in a frantic search for a weapon. Cas moved toward her fractionally and the movement caught her attention, she shrank against the door behind herself, feeling renewed with frantic alarm. Oh god, what now? What would he say and do to her? Was he going to tell her more about how she'd let him down in every way? "Just stay away, please, stay away," she begged, wincing as if she was about to be struck.
His face was filled with worry and he stopped, didn't come closer—remained about five feet away. Alex frowned in confusion because… this seemed different. He wasn't going to berate her? Rake her over the coals?
She looked at him in growing puzzlement, saw how his features were filled with worry and sadness. "Alex. It's me," he said. "You're in the panic room. You've been hallucinating."
What? With a hammering heart, Alex looked around, trying to get her bearings, trying to figure out what was real. The panic room. Yes. Like he said, this was the panic room. But... why? And why was it such a wreck? It looked like there had been some kind of huge fight here in the dim panic room. She saw the old desk knocked over onto its side, the things that had been on its surface scattered nearby. The cot was a mess, the pillow was halfway across the room and ripped partly. The gun shelves were bare, like all the weapons had been moved out of the room completely. Some supplies had been smashed and scattered on the floor, knocked off the metal shelves that stood near the desk—it looked like a storm had blown through here. Wait. Had… had that storm been her? She looked at her palms again—they trembled badly, like she was hungry or weak or… going through withdrawals. Oh god. Alex looked at Cas again, feeling shock run over her like cold water. What was happening? Even as she wondered that, she realized how physically weak she felt. How long had it been since she'd eaten? Her legs buckled a little and she slackened, unable to stand on her own. She used the solid metal door behind her to break what would have been a fall—and Cas was there with her before she hit the ground, helping her into an awkward sitting position leaned against the wall. His touch was warm and gentle and she was woozy. "Hallucinating?" she asked sluggishly, dumbly, trying to remember what had happened. "I've been hallucinating?"
"Yes," Cas confirmed ruefully. Crouched in front of her, he was quiet for a couple of beats. She couldn't understand why he was looking at her with so much barely concealed distress and concern. Or how he was even there at all. "You have been for a few days now."
"A few days now?" She repeated, confused and scared, because she literally could not remember anything with real clarity except what she'd just hallucinated. She sounded dumbstruck and slow to herself, disoriented. Wow—and she felt awful, horrible, physically sick like from the flu. But a lot, lot worse. Her arms weakly went around herself in an attempt to feel better against the aching chills she was becoming aware of. Wait a minute. Alex looked at Cas, then around, as if she'd missed someone in her previous sweep of the room. "W-where's Dean?" He would be here if something was wrong with her, right? Where was he?
Cas's expression faltered, like he didn't want to tell her the answer. "Not here," he said, and Alex thought she'd misheard. But… why? Before she could ask, Castiel volunteered the information. "He and Sam are on a hunt."
"A hunt?" She repeated woozily. No, that made no sense. "They left me? Dean left me?" Devastated, she blinked twice, rapidly, not understanding. "But…" she trailed off. It felt to Alex like she was six years old again and upset, wanting the comfort of her big brother, needing it more than anything else. "Why? He never leaves me…" she said blankly, trailing off. Remembering that wasn't true. Mortified and dazed, Alex looked down, a hand covering her forehead and eyes. Not knowing what was happening to her was truly terrifying. Maybe this was more hallucinating. Maybe this was hell. Was she dead?
"Do you know why you're here?" Cas asked her in a hushed, serious voice. "In the panic room, with me?"
He sounded like a doctor talking to a patient and gently trying to break the news that she had cancer—she thought hard, because she knew the answer to his question—she knew she knew the answer, but… nothing came to mind. She buried her face in her hands now completely, at a loss. Why was Cas even here? When had he come back? Hadn't he been gone for a really, really long time? She remembered but didn't, and it was maddening, frightening. "God, Cas—I feel… I can't remember anything," she confessed, even more scared than before, her theory on this being hell becoming more and more viable. "My brain feels like scrambled eggs." She let her hands drop and tried as hard as she could to remember something—anything—about why she was here. And then, like a lightning bolt, it hit her. She remembered everything. And she almost wished she didn't. But at least this meant she wasn't dead and in hell. Slowly, she met Cas's waiting gaze. She was ashamed, completely. "The demon blood."
"Yes," Cas confirmed. Alex was horrified, her mind was sent to spinning—so this was real. How long had she been here? Where were her brothers? Where was Bobby? Had she been acting insane this whole time, or was this the first time she'd been conscious? Did Cas despise her like she suspected he must? She tried to escape the questions by getting up. A very sad attempt as her muscles were uncoordinated and her body was weak. Cas stood with her, a hand on her arm and she angrily batted him away, trying to do it herself and get out from under his gaze that saw everything. Helplessness and anger was beginning to church below her surface, as well as the desire for a very foul, abominable liquid.
"You and Dean tricked me," she said, not looking at him—turned halfway to face the other direction. Her arms wrapped around her middle and her stomach boiled uncomfortably as she remembered more and more details, more and more things that had happened recently. "Into coming here."
"We did," he said readily, not hesitating to be truthful. His tone was soft, as if he were trying to be gentle with her, as if he were trying to placate her. It pissed her off. "I'm sorry for the deception," he told her, and he sounded truly apologetic. Heavy, weighted. "But would you have come freely, had I told you the plan?"
"No, of course not," she snapped, gritting her teeth together, realizing she felt so bad because of how bad she needed a fix. "Dammit, Cas. I need more—shit." She stumbled and leaned heavily against the cold metal wall beside herself. She was sick, bad, and all it would take was a little drink to make her feel better...
"My advice to you is that you try not to think of that," he said wearily. He got a dirty look for his unwanted advice.
"Yeah, thanks," she muttered sarcastically, hating everything; becoming completely focused on the thought of blood, blood, blood. Her stomach abruptly growled insanely loudly as a hunger pang shot through her.
Cas heard it, frowned slightly, then realized what it meant. "You need to eat something," he said, and gestured to a plastic plate that was on the floor, a fallen-apart sandwich on it. Had she thrown it earlier? "Bobby brought a sandwich for you this morning," Cas explained, and crouched, put the sandwich back together as best as he could as Alex watched, suspicious and mad about everything against the wall. Distantly she thought that was cute, Cas putting a sandwich together. It made her angrier, inexplicably.
Standing, Cas brought the sandwich to her, held it out. She looked at it balefully. Not what she wanted. When she didn't take it, he extended it toward her further. "Eat?" He asked. "Please?"
She was ravenous and he looked so very upset that she didn't accept it right away. "Fine," she said, and snatched it from him, took a huge, impolite bite. Even as she chewed, all she could think about was how to get out of here, how to get the jump on Cas and get herself more demon blood. That was all that mattered to her in the entire world… sating the insane need she had for the blood. Castiel watched her sadly, she wondered if he knew what she was thinking. She took another huge bite of the sandwich. It had no taste at all.
"You asked about Dean a minute ago," Cas said, and sighed quietly, turned slightly and walked off a few steps, deep in thought. His shoulders were slumped. "He left because… I don't think he could bear the thought of watching this happen to you." He paused and looked back at her meaningfully, or at least it seemed meaningful. And the way he said it, she almost thought that's how he must have felt, too. He turned away again, set his back to her, and Alex set down the sandwich, her eyes went to the little metal chair that was knocked over just a few feet away. That would make an excellent weapon. She crept closer to it, planning to grab it and hit him over the head, make an escape of some kind… then his voice abruptly stopped her. "Aren't you growing tired of trying to fight me, Alex?" He asked, as if he knew exactly what she'd been planning. He wasn't even looking at her, and unless he had eyes in the back of his head, she didn't know how he'd seen her.
She'd frozen in her tracks and he turned halfway, looking at her with weary eyes. "I'm sorry but I will not allow you to leave this room until the demon blood is out of your system completely," he told her quietly. "But if you must keep trying to hurt me… go ahead." He seemed so resigned. "It won't work. I'm an angel." He turned to face her then walked to her, presenting himself to her almost as if he were inviting an attack. "You can't hurt me, Alex," he said ruefully, simply. "No matter how hard you may try." His words rattled her somehow, she had an odd sense of deja vu. Wordlessly, she stared at him for a long moment, and his sad blue eyes held hers and seemed like an anchor, pulling her back to a shore she'd drifted far from—she couldn't look away. And then he broke the trance and nodded back to her discarded sandwich, his expression tense and distracted. "Now please. Eat more. You need your strength."
Alex stared at his downcast face and eyes, feeling an epiphany strike her. She looked at the chair she'd been about to grab and hit him with, a sense of shock coming over her. Had this happened before, this attempt to escape and knock Cas out? Was that why Cas seemed so accepting of it? What was happening to her? Really, trying to attack Cas? Trying to hurt him? This wasn't her—and for a minute, she felt clear-headed, and as a result, horrified. Ashamed. She had never guessed it would get like this, she'd thought she could stop any time, but she'd been fooling herself, obviously. It was terrifying, not being able to remember what she'd done. "I've been… trying to hurt you?" She asked in a quiet, dismayed voice. That thought was so entirely awful she could barely bring herself to look at him.
"Repeatedly," he confirmed grimly.
He seemed hesitant to look at her and something in her broke at the thought of herself being wild and unhinged, attempting to hurt him at all. Alex felt her eyes stinging, her chest swelling with pain and in that moment, she couldn't deny it—she stepped backwards, stunned and speechless. When he followed her movement, looked at her with worry, she couldn't hold it in: "I need help," she managed desperately, just barely, through a throat closing with tears. His eyes softened, and even though they were still filled with pain and grief, she saw empathy and love there when his eyes met hers. "Please help me," she begged, not even sure how he could. She forgot her fears and reservations about him, only remembered that she loved him and trusted him and he always saved her—and she was desperate to be saved—so she pressed herself into him, circling her arms around his middle, holding on for dear life as she buried her face pathetically into the front of his shoulder. She cried miserably, and she only cried harder when she felt how his arms wrapped around her without hesitation. He accepted her instantly, even though she'd been fighting him and trying to attack him.
"Of course I'll help you," he told her, and his deep, rich voice echoed through her comfortingly. He sounded emotional, his voice softened and wavered. "I will always help you." Her eyes fell shut, one of her hands clung to his shirt, and for a moment, they were them again. She calmed down, trusted him wholly, let herself believe that he could help, rescue her. Alex let him hold her there in the long-lost but familiar space of his arms, and it was powerful, the way touch transcended words. He hadn't forgotten her or left her, he hadn't gone away, he wasn't angry at what she'd done and she was so, so relieved. It felt too good to be true... she felt how his hand gently touched the back of her head and he felt so warm, safe, comforting. A heavy weight lifted and she opened her mouth to tell him how much she missed him, how much she loved him—and then a horrible suspicion came to her and she didn't say anything at all. This couldn't be real. A minute ago, she'd thought this was too good to be true. And in her experience… good things weren't real. So this wasn't real, how could it be? This was another horrible hallucination or trick. It had to be. Cas wouldn't love her, not through this.
"Wait—" she said, stiffening and pulling back. Something wasn't right about this. He looked disillusioned when she pulled away. "Wait. H-how are you even here with me?" She asked, remembering how Cas had told her he had to stay away or he risked endangering her, how he'd said he couldn't stay for long when they'd been in Pennsylvania. Guard raising and suspicions flooding her, she stepped back. "Have you been here with me the whole time?" She looked at him through narrowed eyes. "I thought… you said the war… and… Raphael.. or…"
"Yes, I did say those things," he said tiredly but patiently. As if he'd explained it before. Maybe he had. She had no memory of it. "I've been here with you for almost five days now." Five days? Her eyebrows rose slowly and she didn't know if she believed him or not. "Raphael's vessel was destroyed, which is why, for the moment… we're safe from him."
When he said that, she recalled Raphael turning to salt as she laid on the floor dying, in pain. Oh yeah. "Huh. Yeah. I remember now," she said darkly, distracted by feeling that itch again in her veins. She wanted to tear her skin off to make it feel better. She needed some demon blood, and felt herself twitching almost. It was hot in here too. How long had she been sweating like this?
"As far as the war…" Cas trailed off. "I am needed up there. But... I'm needed here, too." He seemed so deeply troubled, but he was looking at her pointedly. "I've been needed."
Momentarily given pause, Alex realized what he meant and forgot about how sweaty she felt. "You mean me," she said.
She saw how his muscles worked in his jawline. "Yes."
Guilt and shame washed over her in bucketfuls under his soulful gaze. He seemed to silently be pleading with her somehow—for what? What did he want from her? Why was he even here? Was it a guilt thing? Did he feel bad for being MIA for so long? Or maybe this was him trying to be a good little guardian angel. Either way, she was torn between being amazed that he would do this, stay with her, and between being angry as hell that he had waited so long to get his ass to her in the first place. Everything was jumbled in her mind and she wasn't sure how to feel or what to do. All she knew was that she was angry and hurt and needed a hit of demon blood soon or she'd go nuts. Or die, maybe.
"I feel so sick," she said, pushing a hand against her churning stomach, forgetting what they'd been talking about a minute ago. Those couple bites of sandwich were heavy like lead in her stomach and she wanted to puke them up. Everything throbbed in continuous pain, she felt dirty and sweaty and cold but hot all at once, wracked by horrible shooting aches in her veins. Had she ever felt as bad as she did right now? Hard to say. "How long will it be like this?" She asked, needing it to be over now. She had a high pain tolerance but this was gonna get old fast. A feeling of panic was fighting to overtake her, because this was hell, dead or not, and she didn't want it.
He shook his head slightly, guessing. "A few more days, at least."
A few more days of this? Panic and fear and fright gripped her tightly. "I can't," she said, her voice rising with alarm even as she backed up, an unconscious reaction to the need to run away from everything inside of herself. "I can't." He made to follow her, opened his mouth to speak but she just shook her head even harder, feeling almost like she couldn't breathe. "Cas, you don't understand," she said angrily, trying to make him see: "I can't do this." She needed more demon blood or she was going to keel over dead, how dare they take away her choice to do whatever the fuck she wanted? How dare he stand by and let her go through this shit?! How could he let her writhe around in pain and hallucinate her worst fears and greatest traumas and be so blasé about it? He didn't understand how hard this was or how bad she needed just a little, just a few drops—
"You can do this," Castiel said heavily, obviously worn out emotionally but trying to sound like he knew what he was saying. "And I'll be here with you."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she snapped, shaking in a cold sweat as she glared at him. She clamped her teeth together to keep them from chattering.
His expression showed mild hurt. "I thought—"
"Oh who cares, Cas," she ranted thoughtlessly, driven to anger by her insane need for a fix. "You know what—you should go up there and fight your little war, leave the girl with the demon blood habit out of it. Don't worry yourself on my account, we all know where that always gets you." She meant it as an insult but abruptly she thought of all the ways he'd been hurt and compromised by trying to protect her and suddenly her anger was overwhelming, heavy bitter sorrow and she wanted to weep under the weight. What had she done?! She loved him and she'd subjected him to this? "You should hate me," she said, filled with surprise and self-loathing, realizing that was the truth. How selfish she was, how pathetic, how lost. She deserved to die. She was a monster. "I should die—why aren't you killing me?" She asked, completely befuddled as to why she was still breathing air.
Her words seemed to devastate and horrify him. "I would never kill you, Alex," he said, coming closer, beseeching her, nothing but anguish and care on his features.
She stepped back in response, baleful and angry with him again, wishing he'd nut up and finish her off. "Well you should," she raged, looking at him in complete anger now, feeling loopy and insane, not herself. "I shouldn't be alive, not like this," she insisted with growing fervor and hysterical emotion. "I—I messed it all up." He didn't know what she'd been through, seen, and done the past year. She didn't want half of it to be real. "This isn't living, my god Cas, this is a disaster, what if I never feel normal ever again?" She shook her head, remembering slicing demons open and enjoying it, getting sadistic, more sadistic than she was comfortable with being. Now, she just wanted Cas to tell her she'd be okay, because she didn't believe she ever would be. And it was a disaster, she felt like internally, she was being yanked back and forth between two opposite spectrums and it was making her dizzy and muddled. For a moment, she felt small and scared because... "What if I always feel like this and never get over it?"
"Alex..." he started but she shook her head, looking around, realizing something.
"There's a demon close by right now, Cas," she said lowly. "I can smell it." She grew quiet suddenly, struck by a stilling thought. "I'm something I'd hunt if I weren't me." Castiel looked at her with fully grieved features and she felt the same… then suddenly was realizing that wait, there was a demon close by. Her mouth went slack in surprise. "Wait…" she looked at the closed panic room door. "Why is there a demon nearby?"
Cas looked less than enthused about her question and its answer. "Bobby is… experimenting on it."
"Experimenting?" Alex asked, then let out a sharp little laugh, imagining a variety of silly scenarios. A little punch drunk from lack of real rest, food and sanity, Alex chuckled. "Don't experiment too much Bobby or you'll end up like me." She laughed at herself slurringly. "Don't drink the Kool-Aid! Ha, ha-aaa… ahh..." she trailed off, not sure what was so funny. In fact, nothing was funny and her mind felt wobbly. Embarrassed at herself she frowned, looked at the ground. She'd seen so many demons in her day, and her zany, bi-polar behavior was currently reminding her of one. "Am I evil?" She asked softly, to no one in particular. Drinking the blood of demons, getting off on violence, craving the next time she could kill a monster… who was she? "This makes me a horrible person, doesn't it." It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
"Of course not, Alex," Castiel told her genuinely, giving her a thread of hope to cling to.
"Then what's it make me?" She asked barely above a whisper, desperate for him to tell her something that would alleviate this horrible pain and fear inside.
But he slowly shook his head like he didn't know what to tell her and she was dejected. He didn't know what she was, or maybe couldn't bring himself to tell her. "I'm not sure," he answered with harrowed honesty. His eyes slowly rose to hers. "But I don't think any less of you." The soft words dismayed her instead of comforting her. You should. Her eyes dropped away guiltily under the intensity of his gaze. She was utterly mortified, wondered if he were lying to make her feel better. He had to think less of her… because her behavior was insane and terrifying and right now she knew it.
"Why did you begin to drink it?" He inquired gently, and she bristled at the very forward question—she wasn't going to tell him that. "Was it because of Lucifer?" His intuition, right on the money, made her grow even more closed off, more suddenly angry.
"Ah, seemed like a good idea at the time, Clarence," she muttered tersely, an offhand reference to the angel from that Christmas movie It's a Wonderful Life. The second she said it, she remembered that's what Meg had called him. Great. Now she was talking like demons, too.
Cas must not have remembered Meg's little nickname for him. "Clarence?" He asked, squinting in confusion.
Alex didn't hear his question. All she could think about was needing something to fill this void, satisfy the need that was making her insane. "I want some now. I'm going crazy," she complained, stressed to the brim, looking for a way to distract herself or make the clambering feelings of need go away. She looked at Cas again and noticed his gorgeous jawline and wide, smooth pink lips she remembered kissing so long ago. Her eyes wandered downward to the collar of his dress shirt, then lower still… she remembered how he looked underneath all those layers; she remembered his smooth warm skin and the way he was so damn sexy without meaning to be, the way he'd always made her feel so good. Her mind called up images of him being very naughty and doing things to her that were very un-angelic. She felt a familiar stirring at the thought of him like that. It had been so, so long. Alex decided that she wanted him in the most basic sense, and suddenly that was all she wanted: for him to slam her up against something and screw her until she fainted. The look in her eyes must have changed because his expression flickered with slight confusion. She moved closer to him, slinking almost, full of predatory intent.
"What are you d—" he started.
"Enough bullshit," she whispered gruffly, deciding to take matters into her own hands, "I want you, okay? I need you." She grabbed him and pulled him to her, she reached for his belt and began to unbuckle it with violent, harsh hands.
Cas was taken aback and pulled away when she attempted to kiss him. "Alex, no, not like this—" he protested, stopping her hands. "You're not in your right mind."
"Who cares," she said through gritted teeth, not liking his reaction one bit. He looked at her like he didn't recognize her, but Alex didn't care, she just wanted him to make her feel alive again, she wanted him as close as possible in the dirtiest way, she wanted to scream and make him scream, she wanted to fuck and be fucked. She yanked her wrists back from his gentle hold and ran a hand up his chest across his shirt, let the other one go lower, quite brazenly—he jumped slightly when she grabbed him below the belt.
"Take me, Cas, here and now," she growled, and when he didn't do what she said right away, when he looked like he was going to pull away instead, she got pissed, so pissed she couldn't see straight. "Just put me against this damn wall and fuck me until I can't see straight you bastard!" She screeched—and when he moved away from her, tried to reason with her, she didn't give him the chance. Instead she tried to slap him across the face—he caught her wrist easily and Alex realized she had no idea what she was doing, the words she'd screamed at him suddenly registered and she withered away, mortified with herself, over the temporary bout of insanity. "I'm sorry, I c-can't think straight, I'm not—this isn't me," she apologized in rising panic, getting scared all over again because she literally didn't know how to control herself and her mind kept running circles around itself. "This isn't me."
Castiel nodded slightly, sad again. He let go of her wrist. "I know."
Something about the way he was looking at her, how he didn't seem entirely shocked at her behavior made her stop dead for a second. "H-have I been doing this stuff the whole time?" she asked, filled with dread.
His eyes went downward vaguely in thought. "Essentially."
Christ. Alex was taken aback, fearful to know what, exactly, she'd done these past five days. Attacked him, tried to get him to have angry dirty sex with her? Asked him to kill her? He shouldn't have to do this, in fact, she didn't want him to. She didn't know why he was sticking with her through this. It was obvious how sad it made him, how hard it was for him. Not for the first time she thought of how low and horrible she must seem to him and she was so afraid he'd never be able to unsee all of this. This was too much. "I don't want you to see me like this, Cas," she told him in aghast honesty, walking away and wrapping her arms around herself in the face of more cold chills. Close to collapse or breakdown or maybe a fit of rage, she shook her head fast, trying to clear her mind of the craziness, trying to hang onto herself. "J-just leave me alone."She didn't want to be alone, in fact, the idea killed her inside, but it would be better than this.
"You shouldn't be alone," Cas said, his voice low and soft behind her. His voice softened yet again, barely audible. "Haven't you been alone long enough?"
His words killed her a little more, sliced her open deeply—yes she had been alone long enough but… she shut her eyes tightly, pained at how caring he sounded and how grieved he sounded over their separation. He was torturing her, he was torturing her. For one, she wanted to cling to that care and love she heard in his voice, she wanted to bury herself in it and in him but… he'd been gone all this time. Where the hell had he been when she'd needed him? It didn't matter, she forgave him and wanted nothing more than to turn around and go to him. Angry with herself and how ready she was to run to him and be comforted, she forced herself to be terse. "Yeah well you shouldn't have to be the one to babysit me," she muttered gruffly, confused with herself even as she said it. What did she want? She'd pined for him every damn minute of every damn day he'd been gone… so was she really going to be a bitch and push him away now that he was finally here?
"I'm not 'babysitting' you," he said, and she heard the hurt in his voice. "I'm caring for you."
Cynical, she was whirling and responding to him thoughtlessly. "Like you cared for me this past year?" she accused bitterly. She said the words and they were both shocked by them, rendered silent. Alex opened her mouth to apologize… and no words came out. She couldn't say she was sorry. Because in a way, she didn't think she had anything to apologize for. And she owed herself this selfishness, dammit. She didn't care about some crazy war in Heaven she hadn't seen or been affected by, she just wanted Cas all to herself. Or, she had. Now she suddenly didn't know. What she wanted most was some fucking demon blood so her head would work right again.
Unaware of her inner craze, Cas looked at her sadly, silently, for a long moment and exasperated, burdened, Alex just looked down. "Yesterday… when hallucinating…" Cas said falteringly, "you asked me to hold you." Her eyes jumped up to his. He sounded very troubled. "When I did, you screamed. You said you could never be touched again, ever, by anyone." His eyes were ladened with tortured questions and he stepped a little closer, but kept a very careful, respectful distance. His handsome features were twisted up with emotional agony. "How badly did he hurt you, Alex? I have to know."
His question startled her and caught her off guard. No. She couldn't talk to him about Glen. "I don't want to talk about that," she said sharply, defensive. He looked as if his worse fears were confirmed and Alex saw what he was thinking and wanted to tell him no, it's not as bad as you think. But she said nothing, just suddenly gritted her teeth against a blistering headache that came out of nowhere. Her blood pounded loudly in her ears and she screwed her eyes shut, bent forward, making a sound of pain. She felt two gentle hands on either of her arms, helping her stand. How horrible that he could love her despite this, how awful that she would let this happen and make him have to go through this with her.
She felt a bout of craziness coming on, of anger and panic and she tried to get rid of him again. "Cas, I'm losing my mind, please," she begged, looking him in the eye desperately. "You can't s-see me like this, I don't know what I'm gonna say or do, you gotta leave." She gulped down air and wet her lips, deciding to try and play the sympathy card because she needed blood so bad... "Or just, just let me out and I'll be okay. You want me to feel better, right?" She made her saddest eyes at him, trying to get him to break. "Cas, I only need a little. Just a couple sips, Cas, please. Help me."
He shook his head slowly and sadly, not budging or giving in to her. "I am helping you."
She saw red. "No you're not!" She shrieked, all but throwing a tantrum, completely losing all semblance of mental clarity when she realized she was trapped and not going to get any demon blood. "You fucking asshole!" She kicked the chair beside her, then grabbed it and threw it uselessly at the wall with an animalistic sound. "Let me out!" She howled, then took the plastic plate and slammed it into the wall so hard that it shattered, cutting her in the process. "Let me out of here!"
"Alex, please stop," Cas appealed even as she kicked a leg of the turned over desk, trying to break it to use as a weapon. Her hand was bleeding and she didn't seem to notice, she tried to rip the desk apart crazily and uselessly, ignoring him. "If you don't, I have to render you unconscious, and then you hallucinate even worse than before," Cas told her, voice rising slightly. He was trying so, so hard to be reasonable.
"Shut up, shut up! I can't hear myself think!" Alex screeched, her hands on either side of her head. With an abrupt and frustrated cry she collapsed to sit onto the ground, suddenly letting go of the anger and switching to pure grief instead. "I want Dean," she wailed, rocking back and forth in misery. She sounded like a child calling for her mother. "I just want my big brother." She saw her bleeding hand and crumpled anew, began to cry so hard that her shoulders shook. Cas, trying to calm her, knelt down in front of her, tried to reach out to her and reassure her, but she swiped a hand out angrily at him. "Why did he leave me?" She asked, anger growing again exponentially. "Why did you leave me? Why does everyone leave?!" She got to her feet lurchingly, leaving Cas to stand and turn, watch her with that deeply sad, reluctant expression on his face.
"I hate you so much," she said, whirling. Her face was streaked with tears. "You tricked me and I hate you." With a horrible sound of grief and anger, she suddenly lunged at him and tried to shove him but instead fell backwards because he was completely immovable, like a wall. He barely caught her and she venomously protested his hold, kicking and screaming, half out of her mind. It got to be too much. And regretfully, Cas pressed two fingers to her forehead, let her fall into quiet unconsciousness, ending the insanity. As her body went slack, he caught her easily.
The panic room fell into silence once more.
Cas looked at Alex, who was now still and quiet in his arms. He felt heavy in ways that were indescribable. She had been like this for the past five days. In fact… this was improvement. However, watching her go through this was easily the worst form of torture Castiel had ever endured. He carried her limp form to the cot and laid her there with utmost gentleness, swept her scattered dark hair back from her face with two fingers. His fingers paused and lingered at her temple. She was so beautiful. And she seemed so broken. His chest ached in that familiar place and the weight he was carrying pressed down on him all over again. Whatever you face, I will face. A promise he'd made to her roughly a year ago. He hadn't kept that promise, and the sorrow was too much to bear. He knelt beside the cot and took her wounded, bloody hand in his. He let healing energy transfer from himself to her—and the cut was gone, the blood a memory. But it had still happened. Just like everything else he'd walked with her through these past few days—it had all happened, and he couldn't forget it.
He pulled that hand of hers to his lips and pressed a lingering, conflicted kiss to the back of it. He wished he could heal her of demon blood addiction, but it wasn't that simple. There were things not even he could take away or heal. He let go of her hand, realizing that maybe he shouldn't touch her or kiss her like that. He'd done it without thinking, and now he remembered how she had, several times the past few days, reacted with horror at being touched any small way whatsoever. The knowledge of why destroyed him. He gently laid her hand down to rest across her own stomach and then he stood.
All year long he'd imagined being with her again. He hadn't imagined this. Castiel walked off a few steps, barely able to look at her, because when he looked at her, he thought about everything that had happened to her. While hallucinating, she'd said the name several times over of the man who violated her: Glen. Always begging him to stop, please. Get away. Murder boiled inside of Castiel's veins at the name, the thought of someone touching her and hurting her and how she had been completely on her own and by herself. He should have been there. He leaned a forearm into the wall adjacent and to the left of the cot, bowed his head down, brought his hand to his forehead. How was he supposed to do this? The pain and dismay was utterly overwhelming to him.
He couldn't even fathom leaving her again, yet knew the time would come when there would be no choice. The war continued in Heaven without him, and Ezekiel spoke to him through what the Winchesters called 'angel radio' daily. At the back of his mind at all times, he heard the whispers of Heaven, the news of the war. But that war wasn't the one he cared about, even though he knew he should. Right now, on earth, he was fighting a different war, a battle to get Alex back from the clutches of this addiction. He was determined to see her through it, even though, emotionally and mentally, he was completely spent and bereft. No wonder Dean had fled from this. Castiel understood now. Watching this was agony, and he was so aware of how helpless he was to take it away from her. All he could do was remain at her side and support her, stay. It didn't seem like enough, what he was doing for her. But it was all he could do.
Even though he logically knew she would come out of the throes of the detoxification in a few days time, a strange fear that she would never recover filled him. It was an unfounded and irrational fear, but he felt it nonetheless. He worried that it was too late. That he couldn't save her. That's all he'd ever tried to do.
Over the past few days, she'd proclaimed her hatred of him many times over, then quickly thereafter sobbed that she loved him, begged him not to leave her. He couldn't forget any of these things. Heartsick, Cas tried not to take any of the more negative and hurtful things Alex had said at face value. She wasn't herself right now, and he knew that. Demon blood was a foul and dangerous substance, highly addictive and lethal to most people. It twisted the mind. It perverted the ability to reason clearly. But he felt deserving of her hatred, no matter how genuine it was or not. How could he not have known this was happening to her? He should have sensed it somehow.
He looked back at the cot, where Alex remained unmoving—she almost looked like she could have been sleeping, like she was peaceful and calm. It was an illusion. Soon she'd begin to mutter and murmur, frown and twitch and whimper as the nightmares began. Sometimes it was a few hours she slept before she began to thrash in hallucinations again, sometimes it was ten minutes. When it got severe, he would wake her, and they would go through the same dance they just had: She wouldn't remember everything, wouldn't know it was him was at first, would try and attack him, she would break down, refuse to eat… and when she got so violent and belligerent that she was in danger of hurting herself, he'd put her back into sleep. The cycle would repeat until the demon blood had finished exiting her system. A few more days, at least. The thought was exhausting, but mostly because he couldn't bear to see her this way.
The thing he kept wondering was how this had happened to her. She refused to tell him. He assumed the addiction had started when she'd gone to Lucifer and drank demon blood in an attempt to save them all. How he wished she would have told him her thoughts and fears, her idea to go to Lucifer. How he wished she would have trusted him with her reckless plan. He could have saved her. A great guilt covered him, one that was constant and never-ending. He'd made so many mistakes and errors and all he was trying to do was fix it, fix her. But he wondered if in the year he'd been gone, she'd become unfixable. What if he'd lost her in the process of trying to save her? What if the Alex he knew and loved was gone?
She'd asked him to kill her, and it wasn't the first time. Over the past five days, she'd demanded he kill her three times. Each time she'd stunned him with the plea, all he could think of was 2014. That horrible glimpse of a future where he'd done just that—killed her and watched her die in his arms. The anxiety and bad feelings whenever she said those words—"you should just kill me!"—was unmanageable and horrible, traumatic at the deepest levels to Castiel. He didn't exactly know why she thought she should be killed, but it seemed that maybe she wanted to die because she felt guilty. Guilty. About the things that had happened to her in the year he'd been gone. She shouldn't feel that way and he wished he knew a way to truly help her through this, it was so frustrating that she felt that way at all. But he knew so little of human emotions… he wasn't sure how to comfort her or soothe her or change her mind. Words and expression didn't come to him with the ease that they did for her and for other humans. He walked across the quiet panic room, his footsteps echoing on the iron floor. The light was dim and cast soft shadows across her still form. He remembered that brief time he'd been all but human. He'd felt so much closer to her. Bound to her forever. Now… he felt like she was someplace far away where he couldn't reach.
Watching her sleeping face, only one thought came to mind: He was the one who had essentially done this to her. He was to blame. All the things he should have done differently ran through his mind and he marveled at what a mess everything had dissolved into. Heaven, earth, all of it was torn apart. All because of that day in 2007 when he'd been assigned to protect a human named Alex Winchester. In hindsight, it seemed that fateful day spelled disaster for both of them—and not just them, but the entire world. Heaven was right to forbid this kind of relationship, because all this love had done was was to tear things apart. He'd started a war for her, he'd essentially followed in Lucifer's footsteps for her, he'd ripped paradise asunder and rebelled against everything he'd been created to stand for. All of it in a desperate bid to save her, to find a way for them to be together.
Instead he had cursed her through and through, he had sealed her eternal fate. But he refused to accept it. Not then and not now—she would not be eternally damned on his account. This war he'd started would be won at any cost, he would defeat Raphael and establish new order in Heaven, he would go to the throne room and change the celestial commandments himself, rip it to shreds if he had to. To fix this. To fix her and what he had done to her. Briefly, he reflected on how far he'd fallen. The things he was willing to do to protect her were unseemly and blasphemous… working with the King of Hell? Ripping God's law up? Lying, keeping secrets, killing his fellow angels? He didn't like to think of these things.
He focused on why the end justified the means, and he truly believed that he wasn't in the wrong for what he was doing and planning to do. Nothing else mattered except fixing what he had broken. Even though he realized now, nearly four years after meeting her, that giving in to this relationship and allowing it had been one of his biggest mistakes, he couldn't walk away from her and couldn't bring himself to regret her. How could he? She gave meaning where there had been none, had created new life in him, had bestowed wonders on him. He was attached to her in a way that could never be severed. He loved her in a way that would never end.
Alex suddenly made a soft little sound, distress flitted across her sleeping features for just a moment and she moved slightly, jumped in her sleep. It was starting. Castiel prepared himself for another heartbreaking encounter. He went to her side and knelt there, a hand on either of her arms to protect her from hitting herself. She would begin to thrash soon.
She didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve this.
The phone rang loudly in Bobby Singer's kitchen, twice. "Yeah," Bobby answered tersely. He cradled the oversized cordless phone between his shoulder and chin as he returned to his work at the stove.
"Hey, it's me," came Dean's familiar voice on the other end.
"Well, imagine that," Bobby muttered as he flipped over a fried egg with his free hand. It sizzled and hissed in the pan.
"Yeah, imagine that," Dean said, trying to sound upbeat with a short chuckle. He hesitated, then the worry came through in his voice. "So, uh, any updates? She doing okay?"
Bobby set down the spatula and leaned against the counter with one hand. "Dean—like I told ya last time you called, what, an hour ago? Same. She's fine as she can be given the circumstances. Alive, workin' through it." There was a heavy, stressed out sigh at the other end of the line and Bobby shifted the phone to his other ear. He was a little annoyed. Dean kept calling at the worst possible times. "Just like the other million times you've called, I got nothin' new to add," Bobby said, then softened a little, realizing he shouldn't be so hard on the kid—he just got a little crotchety sometimes when people badgered him. "Look, I know you're worried," he said. "We all are. But either be there or be here, Dean. S'all I'm sayin'."
There was a pause. "That's just it. I shouldn't have left, Bobby," he said, sounding completely guilt-ridden and regretful. "I should be there. This job is taking too long, and Sam could have handled it on his own, anyway."
"Sam could have handled a Lamia on his own," Bobby repeated incredulously, using his tone of voice to suggest that Dean had to be shitting him.
Dean gave another frustrated sigh. "Well yeah, no, I guess not but—you know what I mean, Bobby!" The oldest Winchester made an impatient sound and Bobby could just see his angry, confounded expression. Bobby just rolled his eyes at the familiar and slightly disrespectful dramatics. He flipped his egg once more. He liked them cooked well. Burnt, even. "Sorry," Dean said, calmer, refocusing. "That reminds me. Did you find out the best way to kill it?"
"Yup, silver knife blessed by a holy man," Bobby said, and slid his egg off the pan and onto the waiting plate.
"Right, okay," Dean said. He went quiet but said nothing else—like he was done talking but didn't want to hang up.
Bobby paused, listened for three seconds. "Dean…?"
"Yeah?"
Using his best fatherly tone, Bobby was patient and kind, but firm. "You boys take care of the Lamia and then you call me. And I'll call you if anything changes with Alex. I haven't forgotten how to dial out, in case you're worried."
Another short pause. "Yeah, all right. Thanks Bobby." And he hung up.
Bobby hung up too, tossed the cordless phone down with a sigh. Things just always had a way of going bad to worse around these parts. In Bobby's basement, currently, two problems: One, Alex Winchester, demon blood junkie. Two, a crossroads demon he'd lured and kidnapped and trapped. All within fifty feet of each other. Not exactly the best roommates, if you asked him. But Bobby had been in the middle of this little project before the Winchesters and their angel had shown up without warning and dumped Alex into his basement. See, having lent out his soul last year to Crowley, he was pretty pissed when the good-for-nothing jackass refused to give it back. Bobby'd tried to summon Crowley last year after Stull Cemetery and force the demon into giving the damn thing back but Crowley's Hellhound had sort of thrown a wrench into the mix.
That's why Bobby'd wrangled that specific crossroads demon after months of work and research—he had the gal's original bones, the ones that belonged to the human the demon was inhabiting. Bobby was testing a theory he'd heard about… experimenting, if you wanted to call it that. And Crowley would have quite the fun surprise waiting for him in just a few days, if Bobby's experiments proved successful.
However, Alex's presence had thrown him off a bit and had Bobby distracted and worried. Her unexpected arrival and the news that she was addicted to demon's blood came as a real shock. He hadn't laid eyes on her in a year and the last time he'd seen her she'd been bad off, grieving Sam's death. Then she'd disappeared completely. So seeing her again and so wrecked was a tough pill to swallow. Maybe those damn twins were more alike than he'd thought. Speaking of Sam…
There was definitely something off about him. Bobby had known it all along but when Sam came up into his living room five days ago without warning and said "hey, uh, Alex needs to use the panic room to detox off of demon blood if that's okay with you. And by the way, have you heard of any hunts in the area?" Well, Bobby had wondered if the kid were joking with him when he'd asked that so unconcernedly. But apparently, whatever brought him back had given him a case of Aspergers or something. Sam had no tact anymore—he was goal-oriented and cold, unaffected by most things. Just… robotic. But maybe that's what Hell did to a guy. Bobby wouldn't know. He'd never been.
But Dean, who had been to Hell and back, was still kinds of mad about how Bobby had known about Sam being back all year. He hadn't said anything about it five days ago, but Bobby knew it. When Lisa and Ben had come to stay here a couple months ago after the whole djinn fiasco, Bobby'd told Dean that Sam being alive wasn't news to him. Suffice to say, Dean hadn't been thrilled to hear it. Maybe it was wrong of him, but Bobby hadn't said a word about Sam popping back up from the dead, hoping to keep Dean safe from the urge to dive back into the hunting life with his brother. All the good it did, huh? Here Dean was again, caught up in the same old mess of monsters and demons.
And monsters lately, it was like they were on steroids or had lost their maps home. Good example, Sam and Dean were currently hunting a Lamia—those were never supposed to leave Greece, ever, and Bobby had never heard of one being stateside, but there was one in Wisconsin of all places. And Rufus, one of Bobby's hunting buddies, had just tracked and killed an Okami stateside. Those were supposed to only be found in Japan. It was sort of like the underbelly of the monster world was getting restless and stir-crazy. Cabin fever, maybe. Not good, any way you sliced it.
A loud shriek from downstairs sounded and Bobby glanced up, stilled for a minute. Damn, kid. He heard her sometimes, screeching and hollering and knocking stuff around. Always followed by Cas's quiet, deep tones. Bobby looked in on Alex and Cas that first day after the brothers left and seen Alex sitting huddled on the floor in the middle of the room, hugging her knees, crying and begging Cas to "get me some, please, I thought you loved me, I need it!" Cas, crouched in front of her, had almost seemed like an adult with a child. He'd consoled her by touching the side of her head, he'd said something Bobby couldn't quite catch, and Alex had looked at him angrily, stood—he stood too—she'd walked away, then suddenly whirled and tried to attack the angel. Tried being the operative word. Cas had seemed only saddened at her lunacy and as she'd shouted obscenities, he'd touched her forehead and let her fall limp into unconsciousness. He'd caught her and looked at Bobby sadly. Seemed like that was the holding pattern they were in down there.
Bobby had peeked in on them a few times and was taking food down every day but mostly he tried to stay scarce. It was hard as hell to see her like that, damn half out of her mind. Bobby hadn't asked Dean and Dean hadn't said anything, but Bobby had been pretty damn surprised that Dean had just left Cas with Alex. Maybe it was wrong of Bobby, but he'd assumed that it must have been because Dean couldn't handle the thought of watching Alex go through the withdrawals. Watching Sam detox had been tough enough. And Bobby would never say this out loud, but he was pretty sure he knew which twin was Dean's favorite. That's why he was so damn surprised that Dean had gone with Sam and left Alex behind. The whole thing either said a lot about how much Dean trusted Cas, or how desperate he was to escape having to watch his sister go through hell.
Should be a few more days, Bobby thought, and Alex would come to her senses, come back to herself. It was a shame she'd gotten hooked, and a mystery... but he knew firsthand that she tended to go a little berserk when she lost people she loved. When Dean had died… well. That had been a can of worms, to say the least. She'd been angry and vengeful and so grieved, but had never really talked much about it. Had just thrown herself into hunting, working, and doing things. He remembered that time he'd found her, the gun, in the shed. She'd been thinking about it, taking her own life, and he'd known it, put that to an end real quick. He still wondered… what if he'd been too late? Well, he hadn't been.
The way Dean and Cas were acting now, Bobby felt like there was something they weren't telling him about her, or what had happened to her. Surely there couldn't be something worse than that sweet girl getting hooked on demon blood. He hoped not. He was just glad she hadn't put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger that past year of being alone. He knew firsthand that the idea was pretty damn appealing on some days. This life they all lived was a great and terrible burden, and sometimes dying sounded like the best option.
But dying would have to wait a little longer. He still had things to do. Bobby ate his fried egg as he got back to his research. He pulled out his stack of world maps and laid out the one of Scotland. He smiled a little to himself because if this plan he was brewing up worked... Crowley was going to crap his kilt.
Four Days Later
When she woke up that time, she could feel that things were different. Better. Normal, maybe. What day was this? She couldn't remember, but… she suddenly realized that oh… she wasn't laying on the cot. She was being held by Cas, who sat on the floor. Her head was settled into the crook of his neck and her knees were close to her chest, one of his arms supported her back, the other one looped through the bend of her knees. It was so warm and safe here, and she didn't move at all for fear of ruining the moment, for fear of losing this. As she continued to come out of the stupor of heavy sleep, Alex began to recall how she'd fallen asleep on him…
She was sitting against the panic room wall and he came to sit beside her. His arms resting over his knees… she'd shown him how to sit like that, and she remembered. Alex glanced at him sidelong, wanting to look at him… but he was already looking at her and her eyes darted away. She resumed staring at the ground between her knees. They hadn't said much that day because she was feeling clear-headed and as a result was wading through the swamp of remembering everything she'd said and done the past two days. It was all completely mortifying and had her feeling disgusted with herself. The rest of her days here were a jumble of hallucinations and screaming and the maddening desire for demon blood. That desire was fading, but so was she. Exhausted wasn't even close to how she felt. The need for sleep and rest was what she was thinking about now, but she resisted it, stubborn and prideful and also too ashamed to let herself have what she needed.
Beside her, Cas was quiet and strong, like he had been for all the past few days that she could remember. It would have been better if he were angry with her and giving her rude looks, if he were telling her how awful she was but… he wasn't.
Bad wasn't the best word to describe how she felt about what she'd put him through here in the panic room. Try miserable, awful, ashamed. It felt like forever that they'd been stuck in here together, and she knew he was worn thin by it just as much as she was, just not physically. He'd held her down when she was trying to stab herself with a pen, then she'd tried to stab him, too. He'd let her try and beat him up several times—then healed her broken fists sadly. He'd listened to her ranting and raving about how much she hated him for what he'd done to her, he'd apologized for leaving, she'd cried about what 'you made me do.' A despicable and effective use of passive aggressiveness on her part. She'd been trying to make him feel as bad as she did, and now she wanted to blame the demon blood for making her say that stuff. But maybe it was her saying those things to him. Maybe it was her playing the victim card. She hoped not and didn't know anymore. She was totally taxed and spent, drained of everything but all she could think was that he didn't deserve this, not even for a second. How he stayed here with her in this psychotic break was beyond her.
"I'm so tired of this, aren't you?" She asked him softly. Her voice rasped a little because of how much she'd shouted herself hoarse the past week. She felt so guilty that he was here babysitting her, nursing her back to health. He was an all-powerful, important angel and he was here holding her hair while she puked. Well, not literally.
"It doesn't matter how I feel," he answered her in his low, steady voice.
Alex looked at him sidelong, out of defenses. "Doesn't it?"
He met her gaze and said nothing. Did he really feel that way? That what he felt didn't matter? Crumpling, she bowed her head into a waiting hand. When he turned toward her a little and touched her arm gently, she was even more grieved and pulled away, uncomfortable receiving affection from him because of how she had treated him. "Why are you doing this?" She asked him in a voice thick with wavering emotion. "I don't deserve this… your kindness." She raised her head and looked at him with teary eyes. What she'd done the past few days was bad enough: badgering him, cussing him out, trying to hurt him, telling him she hated him. But how could he even look at her? How did he still obviously care about her? What was wrong with him? Any normal person would have left by now, right? But he wasn't a normal person, was he. He was Castiel. And he was an angel.
"Don't say that," he told her, pleading with her on some level. "You're not worthless like you keep saying you are."
Did she keep saying that? She couldn't remember. What she did remember was how much simpler things were in the past, during the apocalypse. Ironic as hell that the end of the world had seemed better than this. This was just… continuation of the darkness and uncertainty. Unable to withhold her thoughts and feelings from him, she reached out to him emotionally for reassurance and a line of hope to hang on to. "I just wanna go back to the way things were before," she told him, struggling not to lose control over her strained emotional state, asking him for a miracle or something… she didn't know. She was so tired and emotionally ragged, and maybe Cas saw that, because he didn't address her comment.
"You need rest," he told her gently. "Let me take you to the cot again."
"No," she said a bit sullenly, looking at it with a dirty side-eye. "It's lumpy and smells like old peanuts."
Castiel paused, a little confused at her complaint. Then he looked at her from the edge of her eyes. "Uh… well, I'm not lumpy," he said, and she looked at him in sharp surprise. Was he suggesting…? "And I don't think I smell like… old peanuts." She almost smiled at his unwitting, oddly-timed joke. It was a light moment in the midst of the darkness and it made her remember with full clarity how much she loved him. Then she remembered how they had fallen apart, and it was the biggest tragedy she could fathom. Yet here he was, looking at her and silently asking her to come to him and let him hold her.
And she didn't give herself time to talk herself out of it or tell herself that she didn't deserve that. She needed him and for now, she silenced her inner protests. Nodding faintly, she went to him readily, circling her arms around his neck as he lifted her easily, settled her there comfortably in his arms. Their gazes locked and her arms froze there around his neck. They were close, a breaths distance away, and the way his full, dark eyes held hers, for a minute, she thought he was going to kiss her. Her heart jumped in expectant hope and great horror alike, she was scared of that for reasons she couldn't name. Then his eyes lowered away from hers and he bowed his head, looked away completely, and the moment was gone.
Maybe that part of their relationship would die out, maybe that part of it was ruined… how would he ever want her again? After this? Alex laid her head onto him and so many memories of brighter days with him came over her that so did the predictable tears. She shook with restrained emotion and he held her tighter. Tiredness kept rolling over her. She heard herself making horrible, exhausted crying noises and it wasn't long before she all but passed out from emotional, mental, and physical fatigue. Cas didn't let her go for ever a second.
She felt worlds different now as she continued to stir to wakefulness—she felt refreshed almost, clear-headed again for the first time in what felt like forever. And when she lifted her head up off of Cas's shoulder, she found herself looking into his waiting eyes. "Hello," he said softly. A single word of greeting that she felt him say—that's how close she rested against him.
"Hi," she returned, feeling mildly shy. Was he really here with her? Had he really stayed all this time? This felt like a dream in the best of ways… and for a minute she thought of nothing of real depth. Just looked at Cas and saw him for maybe the first time in days, really saw him. The howling madness of the demon blood was gone and Castiel was so much more beautiful than she remembered… those tired but somehow boyish features, the scruff of stubble across his jawline, his brilliant azure eyes… and thinking about how good he looked made her abruptly realize she must look pretty terrible. How long had it been since she'd showered, anyway…? Eugh… her hair felt gross, her skin was clammy.
Cas was studying her closely and he seemed a little hopeful, he didn't appear concerned with her worries about greasy hair. "How are you feeling?"
Huh, good question. She forgot about her personal hygiene for a minute and instead thought about how she was feeling for a minute, took a mental inventory, gave herself a little time to really consider it. Honestly, she was nervous to do so but... "I'm feeling…" her eyebrows rose fractionally in pleasant, relieved surprise as she realized she really did feel okay again, "like me again, I think." She felt calm, not antsy and desperate. Even-keeled. All right. Was the nightmare finally over? She sat up slightly then frowned, realized how stiff and sore her limbs felt. She stretched a little, made a soft little moan of protest as she stretched an arm out to her side. "How long did I sleep?"
"Sixteen hours."
She stopped mid-stretch, eyes going saucer-wide. "Wha…?" That was insanely long. And she hadn't had any bad dreams or hallucinations.
He smiled softly at her, and she saw that he was relieved. If he was relieved, did that mean it really was over? "Does that mean… I'm outta the woods?" she asked, feeling more hopeful than she had in days and days.
Cas paused, eyes narrowing in thought. "I... don't know what that means. But if it means you're past the worst parts of the detoxification… yes. In fact, I think today is the day you can finally leave this room."
That was the best news she'd ever heard—she almost teared up in happiness. Impulsively she hugged him tightly around the neck—she didn't notice how surprised he was by the sudden action. She didn't see how his face showed utter astounded relief at her genuine reaction and the way she was reaching out to him. She was just grinning with her eyes screwed shut. Thank god, the it was all over, finally. Alex made a soft little sound that was half-laugh, half-whimper. She was so, so relieved that this could finally end. And then, flashes of what had happened flitted across her mind without warning and her brief respite into happiness faded. Yeah, it was over but… the things she'd said and done… she pulled back from Cas, suddenly hesitant and contrite. Deeply and irreversibly ashamed of herself and the things she'd done the past few days.
Not looking him the eye, she cleared her throat and began to stand up on sore, stiff legs. He stood easily, like he wasn't affected at all by sitting on one place for sixteen hours straight. His hands were around her wrists gently, guiding her upwards to stand, and she tried not to look affected by his touch, tried to be all business. "Cas, I need a shower more than anything," she said, pulling her arms back to herself and attempting to be lighthearted, or at least sound that way. Then she realized. "All my clothes are..." she trailed off. They were in her car. Which had been impounded or something. She couldn't remember.
Cas saw her look of distress and instead of echoing the sentiment, he got another small smile on his face, like he knew something. "There's something you should see," he told her, then touched the back of her arm with utmost care, like he was afraid to touch her at all.
Suddenly, they were outside in the early morning light, in the salvage yard. Alex blinked against the sudden brightness, confused. What could he want to show her out here? "Dean told me you lost everything last week," Cas explained, then indicated that she should to her left. She looked, then saw what he wanted to show her. Her heart clenched in surprise, her stomach flip flopped. It was like seeing an old familiar friend. Parked there on the gravel, her jet black Mustang, just like she remembered it. "It's not much, but—" Cas started uncertainly when she was slack-jawed and silent.
"No, it's... everything," she said, overcome with surprise, touched at how he'd somehow gone and gotten this for her. It wasn't just a car. It was so much more, and for a minute she forgot about all her self-loathing and was overwhelmed with gladness and good feelings... because this car was hers and she hadn't lost it like she thought she had, hadn't lost it like she lost everything else. "This dumb car," she breathed as she went over, touched the rearview mirror, looked her over carefully while Cas stood back and watched. This two-ton combination of metal and rubber and leather had been her home the year she'd been alone, it had been her project, her obsession… the thing she'd poured all her frustrations into, especially the first couple months before… before the demon blood. This had kept her sane, this stupid car.
"When I first saw her, she was this sad, sad rusted hunk of junk," Alex said softly, looking over the sleek black hood, remembering. She'd refinished that, repainted it. A labor of love. "She had no tires, a broken windshield, no engine… half the body was rusted or sun-bleached. But I saw what she could be. The first few months, this is all I did. Worked on this car. Hours and hours." She paused, looked up at Cas, who was watching quietly, his hands in his trench coat pockets. His expression was mild, and he seemed glad to see her reaction. He was so thoughtful and kind, and she realized it all over again, felt bad because of it. "Thanks Cas," she said, not sure how she could ever make any of this up to him at all. "This means a lot." She paused, awkwardly trying to tell him not just the car meant a lot. "Everything you've done. Means a lot."
She cleared her throat and turned, went to the back of the car, opened the trunk and found her duffel bag. Then she darkened, paused. She remembered there being a flask in there, and she didn't want Cas to think she was trying to get to it… "I already removed it from your things," he said, guessing her thoughts and surprising her. He came to stand beside the trunk.
Alex was impressed but also a little unsure how he'd guessed that's why she had paused and gotten quiet. "When did you get so intuitive?" she asked.
His eyes trailed downward grimly. "Commanding a war has taught me many things," he said. He seemed very grown up and mature and burdened to her in that moment, and she wondered what else war had taught him. She worried about him briefly, but her greasy hair and general feeling of I'm gross ended up dominating her thoughts.
She grabbed her bag out of the trunk and closed it behind with a familiar metallic thunk. "I'll uh, I'll go get showered," she said, and turned toward the house.
Cas followed. "I'll come with you."
Alex stopped and turned, looked at him sort of strangely. "With me?" She asked, not sure about that. "I… I kinda need some privacy, Cas." Wait. She knew why he wanted to follow her. A little mortified, she looked down, feeling chastened. "I'm not gonna... jump out the window or anything or run off to the closest demon dive."
"I just want to make sure you're all right," he said, then, obviously thinking hard, thought he knew why she was resisting the idea. "If you're worried about me seeing you unclothed... I already have."
Her eyes shot up to his and she was a little embarrassed. "Uh…" Alex shut her agape mouth and pressed it into a thin line, looked to the side. "I know that. I remember." And she did. They had been so comfortable in those last few days before the world had gone to crap, so intimate and now… she couldn't. "Cas, just… I need some space, okay? Just because you've… seen me unclothed before doesn't mean…" she wasn't sure how to tell him she was just not okay with being seen naked, at all, by anyone right now. "I'm not… it's not okay right now."
He grew startled, then understanding, then deeply unsettled. "Yes, of course, I didn't even think…" he seemed unsure of what to say. "I didn't mean…"
This was so uncomfortable. Cheeks warming, Alex shrugged, shook her head, tried to downplay everything. "No, it's fine. I'm fine," she said, scratching the back of her neck absently and not looking at him. "I'll be fine."
Castiel's worried expression didn't waver. "Let me take you there," he said, and reached out for her.
"No, I can wa—" too late. They were standing in front of the upstairs bathroom door. "—alk." He withdrew his hand from her and stood back, indicating that he was going to remain right there. Alex looked at him long and hard, then mumbled something about being out in a few minutes. She proceeded to shut herself in there and immediately turned the shower on then set her bag down onto the sink.
She looked at herself in the mirror and was shocked at her appearance. She looked utterly disgusting—her hair especially was greasy and limp, her skin looked grimy from sweating so much, her—wait. She touched her fingertips to her upper chest, confused and slightly panicked because it was missing. Where was her penny necklace? It was gone, why was it gone? She searched with frantic fingers around under her tank top straps and then looked down her shirt, as if it might be lurking around in her clothes somewhere. Oh no no no she couldn't have lost it, that penny was what Cas gave her a year ago, the only thing he'd had in his pocket and he'd given it to her where was it!?
And then she remembered in disconnected flashes, ripping it off and throwing it at him, shouting horrible things at him, telling him to take it back, she didn't want it. Oh my god. She slowly covered her mouth with her hand, horrified at herself. The meaning wasn't lost on her.
Castiel stood there outside the bathroom, listening to the water run. He heard her moving around in the shower and listened closely. She seemed all right, but he needed to be sure. About ten minutes passed and then he heard boots clomping up the steps, alerting him to a new presence. Bobby came around the corner, folded his arms and sauntered over to Cas. "How she doin'?" he asked conversationally.
"Better," Cas said, nodding faintly. "Much better. In fact, I think she's completely through it."
There was visible relief on the hunter's face. "That's real good news." Bobby smiled under his beard and clapped Castiel on the shoulder, squeezed. "You did good, Cas, hangin' in like you did. Earned some major points with me."
Castiel paused, not understanding. "What sort of 'points'?" He questioned, confused about why Bobby was talking about some kind of number system right now. "Are they redeemable for something?"
Bobby looked taken aback and amused, a little befuddled. "You, uh, really need to work on your jargon, kid," he told Cas.
Ah, so that had been slang for something. Cas decided he should ask Alex later about what Bobby's jargon had meant. But for now, he had something else he was wondering about. "How did it go with the bone burning?" He asked. Cas had gathered what Bobby had been doing over the past week, had even discussed it with the man a few times when he'd brought food down for Alex.
Bobby nodded, smiled. "Worked like a charm."
The shower stopped in the bathroom and Cas glanced that way before refocusing on Bobby. "You seem pleased," he observed.
Bobby shrugged modestly. "You would be too if you'd figure out a way to back the guy who's holdin' your soul over your head into a corner."
Castiel frowned a little. "Crowley?" He asked, suddenly guarded.
"Yup," Bobby said, oblivious to Cas's internal reaction of nervousness. "I came into some very interesting information recently. I've got it narrowed down, actually, think I know where the bastard's bones are buried." The hunter suddenly seemed to get an idea. "Hey—you doin' anything this afternoon?"
Not liking the sounds of this, Cas tried not to show it. "…why?"
"Could use a hand," Bobby replied nonchalantly.
"Burning Crowley's bones?" Castiel asked, putting two and two together. He couldn't let that happen, he was secretly working with Crowley to open Purgatory and use the souls therein to gain enough power to defeat Raphael once and for all. As bad as it was, Cas, for now, had to protect Crowley's life if there were a threat against it. And worse still, he couldn't risk telling anyone his secret, either.
"Not exactly," Bobby said, grinning lopsidedly, feeling good about whatever plan he was thinking of. He didn't notice Cas's look of slight alarm. "But I'm gonna threaten to do that if he won't hand my soul back over."
Cas realized he needed to be very, very careful here and how he chose to proceed. "That seems risky," he commented vaguely.
"Well you got any other ideas on how to get the dad-blasted thing back?" Bobby asked.
Cas answered honestly. "Uh… no."
The bathroom door opened slightly to reveal Alex, who peeked her head through the cracked doorway. Her hair was dripping wet and they could see that she was wrapped in a towel. "We'll do it, Bobby," she said.
"Ah," Bobby commented, a little uncertain as to how he should react to her appearance, but she looked completely stoic and unaffected. "Hey, kiddo. How long you been there?"
"Long enough," she said evenly, stating that she'd heard the conversation. "We'll do whatever you need, Bobby."
Castiel looked more than a little bit reluctant about Alex volunteering them for the job. "Alex, I'm not sure…" he started.
"It's just digging up a grave, right?" she asked, glancing his way but not really looking at him.
"Doesn't this feel a mite too soon for you to be out there in the field again?" Bobby asked, concerned. "You need your rest, you need to get yourself back in shape for it."
Alex looked at Bobby blankly. "I've done a lot more with a lot less gas in my tank and you know it," she said tiredly. Another use of jargon Cas wasn't entirely clear on. "Bobby, I'm fine and I need to get out of here and do something. Just give me a few minutes to get dressed." She shut the door and with it, closed off any further opportunities for either man to argue.
Castiel frowned at the shut door, perturbed. Bobby just chuckled in resignation, seeing Cas's reaction and empathizing. "Trust me, that girl wants somethin'… too bad if you're resistant to the idea." The man turned to walk back where he'd come from, spoke as he got further away. "We'll make sure and feed her before I send you off to where Crowley's got his bones laid up."
"But why would she want to do this?" Castiel asked, making Bobby stop and turn mid-step. Cas was confused and looked to Bobby for an answer. Shouldn't she want to rest and continue to recuperate? Shouldn't she want to stay here and not become involved in more danger?
Bobby didn't seem confused, in fact, it seemed to make sense to him. "Have you met her family?" He asked. "Gluttons for punishment," he stated factually, then became mildly pensive. "The only thing they know how to do is to keep goin'." He smiled tightly, wan. "I'll get some supplies rustled up for you two. I hear Scotland's nice this time of year."
About An Hour Later
Canisbay, Scotland
A small white abbey was nestled on the top of a gentle green hill that overlooked a vast moor—on that plain a proud old stone castle sat beside a great lake, and beyond the waters of the lake were great rolling verdant mountains. The sky was overcast and gray, the air was thick with moisture and it was chilly. It was probably about six or seven in the evening—the light was soft, even, waning. It was beautiful, it was serene and picturesque... and Alex wasn't paying a damn bit of attention to it. She was up to her waist in dirt, shovel in hand. She wore jeans, a flannel button up with a cargo jacket, and a foul expression.
Adjacent to the tiny church, the old graveyard they were in was small, fenced in by a waist-height stacked stone wall. The land gave way to a wooded grove on the back end of the lot. Headstones were gray and weathered, scattered across the sloping hill beside the Scottish abbey. It was very beautiful, and Alex didn't care.
Back in South Dakota, Bobby had given them a layout of his plan as he made Alex eat a can of beans, then they'd gotten some supplies together, including an international cell phone that Bobby was gonna use in this little plan of his. They would get the call in probably twenty minutes or so. She and Cas were just a few inches away from hitting the coffin where Crowley—or, Fergus McLeod—was resting in peace. Not for much longer, motherfucker. There weren't many demons she hated as much as him, because of how he'd strung her along and made her believe she was Lucifer kryptonite. She still hadn't told anyone that it was him who'd fed her that pack of lies. It didn't really matter, nothing they could do about it now.
Behind her, shoveling dirt right with her, Cas was silent. They were back to back and the air between them was tense and oddly uncomfortable. She hadn't said much to Cas. Ever since realizing she'd thrown the penny he'd given her at him, she was too mortified and shaken up to say much—that plus everything else she knew she'd done made her want to withdraw. It was easier than facing the music. So she didn't say pretty much anything except short, clipped, necessary things. When she'd overheard Bobby talking about this little errand, she'd leapt at the chance to do something useful and good. Maybe to make up for the shit she'd put Cas and Bobby and her brothers through with the demon blood addiction, she didn't know. She just needed to do something meaningful and important. She stuck her shovel down into the earth and kicked down on the lip of the shovel, getting a good amount of dirt onto it. She grunted and sent the dirt flying out onto the grass outside of the hole they were digging.
"Are you sure you don't need to stop?" Castiel asked.
"I'm fine," she said in growing irritation—this was like the tenth time he'd asked and his concern was grating her raw nerves. "Stop asking." And she was fine. Tired, yeah, physically not her best, but it felt good, somehow, to be punishing her body for what it had done to her the past week.
She heard Castiel sigh heavily, grudging, heard him stop digging. "I wish you would let me do this my way."
"What, magically?" She asked sort of rudely. "No hard work involved?" She scoffed and sent another shovelful of dirt flying, not pausing for a second. "No. Sometimes breaking your own back's a good thing."
"By what logic would breaking your own back be a good thing?" He asked peevishly, and she heard that he was angry with her, or frustrated.
"It's just a saying, Cas," she retorted, sending another sloppy shovelful of dirt out of the grave. She sort of wanted to fight. She sort of wanted him to be angry at her and tell her off. His care and worry made no sense.
But he didn't fire back another angry question or retort like she wanted. There was a short wounded silence, which was worse, and she stopped digging, looked down at her booted feet, feeling remorse settle on her shoulders. "Why are you angry with me?" He asked her quietly.
She couldn't find a mean reply in herself at the soft question. Only endless guilt. "I'm not angry with you," she admitted. "I'm angry with me," she said, gritting her teeth and smashing the shovel down into dirt with renewed vigor, digging out a huge clump of dirt with passion, trying to busy herself. "The things I did, what you saw…" she stuck the shovel into earth again with more force than necessary.
There was a gentle, appealing hand on her shoulder. "You have nothing to be ashamed of," Cas told her, and Alex's bitter rage reared its ugly head again and she pulled away from his touch, too disturbed with herself to accept it.
"Like hell I don't," she snapped, still not turning to look at him. "Don't patronize me."
"Alex…" he appealed.
She whirled angrily. "Just help me dig this grave up and—" she saw his hand sweep over the ground beneath their feet and a pile of yellowed bones appeared there at his feet. "Cas!" Alex all but shouted, throwing her shovel down petulantly.
He looked at her plainly, wearily. "It's about to rain." Thunder rumbled lazily, as if on command, and Cas turned to look over his shoulder. Behind him, she could literally see the rain coming across the moor, sweeping toward them.
"Oh," she said, deflated, suddenly not sure what the fuck her problem was.
Cas took the huge step out of the grave and extended his hand down to her to help her out. "We should go inside," he said, choosing, again, to overlook her cruel behavior.
Alex looked up at him, reserved, then looked at his hand… and refused the help, pointedly got out of the grave herself without much grace. She walked ahead of him, not looking back. What the hell am I doing right now? She wondered, even as the rain suddenly swept over her. It was heavy, thick and loud rain, and she was soaked immediately. She turned and looked back at Cas, who was watching her through the haze of rain, his arms hanging at his sides. He hadn't moved from the graveside. His hair was wet now and stuck to his head, plastered against his forehead. He looked alone and sad and maybe, she realized, she was trying to push him away because she couldn't handle the thought of losing him again. It would hurt too much. It would kill her. You love him, why are you being an asshole? Because it was easier than what she really felt, and she was a coward who couldn't deal with the emotional pain or the dread that she was as unlovable as she felt deep down. She turned, unable to bear the sight of him looking at her like that. She continued toward the church, not running. There was no point; she was already utterly soaked. Had they really come all this way just to fall apart? Was she really going to be such a bitch and spurn his attempts to be tender and kind?
He shouldn't have chosen her, that was the thing she couldn't stop thinking. And now things were too fucked up to repair and it was her fault. Things changed, people changed, end of story. Maybe the universe was trying to tell them they didn't belong together anymore. She got to the side of the church and the side door opened without issue. Huh, they didn't lock their churches in this part of the world? She glanced behind her—Cas was following, but at a hesitant distance. Her heart clenched in pain but she didn't wait for him. She went inside, trying to be alone, trying to distance herself from the pain, being an absolute child about her emotions. The old wood floor creaked underneath her work boots, rainwater dripped down from her clothes and hair.
The church was small and cozy and had a high, arched ceiling. She was in the back of the sanctuary, where hand-carved wooden pews lined either side of the aisle. A crucifix was centered above the humble wooden pulpit, and angel imagery decorated the wall on either side of the crucifix. Behind her, she heard soft footsteps and turned slightly, not able to get over her guilty, ashamed behavior or demeanor. Cas was dry—magically—and touched her shoulder wordlessly. Suddenly she was dry, too.
There was a long, uncertain pain. "Thanks," she said wearily. Her voice echoed softly and she couldn't meet his gaze. Just tell him. And say you're sorry. And find a way to fix this. She considered it for a minute, needed to do those things more than anything else… but the thought of being hurt again was too much. I can't.
She turned and wandered up the aisle, looking up at the angel imagery with resignation. Tried not to feel Cas's presence behind her. Really, this was ridiculous. She'd spent the entire year wishing he'd be there, now he was and she was acting like this? Alex didn't understand herself in the least and when she reached the front row of pews, she sank down to sit there quietly. Pressed her hands in between her knees and bowed her head. It might have looked to anyone else like she was praying. But she was mourning.
About thirty seconds passed, and she heard him move, walk up the aisle. She shut her eyes as he came closer. Was he going to finally tell her how stupid she was being? Was he going to berate her and tell her he couldn't handle it anymore, that he didn't love her like he thought he did? The things she'd hallucinated… Cas, over and over, telling her how disappointed he was, how angry, how upset with her choices… replayed in her mind. It was hard to forget those things. And sometimes hard to figure out which things were real or not.
The pew creaked next to her under his weight as he sat beside her and her heart, beating fast, caught when his arm brushed against hers. He was staring ahead of himself into middle distance, deep in thought. A long moment passed and she thought they were just going to sit there in silence, and then without warning, he spoke, breaking the utter silence of the empty church. "I know you're angry because I was gone," he said softly, and his voice echoed like hers had. "I'm angry with myself, too." Their gazes met at the same moment—his harrowed and deeply grieved, hers guarded and unsure and growing increasingly pained. He looked down. "I know it's worthless, but… I did try to tell you. Twice. Where I was." She saw how his jaw clenched. "The first message I gave to Balthazar was… I told him to tell you of the war in Heaven and how I couldn't leave. That I couldn't come see you again until I defeated Raphael. That it wasn't safe, that I didn't know how long it would be. I told him to tell you how sorry I was that I was torn away. That I didn't choose or intend it. And I asked him… to ask you… to wait for me. If you would."
Her chest literally ached at the heaviness in his voice, the realization that he was mourning this mess just as much as she was. If only Balthazar had done what Cas had asked. Cas shook his head slowly, somberly. "I thought he died delivering that message. Instead I found out, just a few days ago, that he faked his own death and deserted me for his own selfish reasons. It's… what I believe you might call a tragedy, the way these things played out."
Her defenses were crumbling down at his honesty, at the anguish in his voice, at the feeling of him next to her. She stared down at the wooden floor tensely as Cas continued. "Six months passed and I didn't even know it," he told her, and he sounded utterly broken. "And when I did realize… I sent Rachel to you. I told her to tell you that time had passed for me without my even realizing. That I still hadn't won the war. That I hadn't forgotten you." He paused even as her eyes shut. This was everything she needed to hear but it was so intense and hurt her on levels she didn't even understand. Cas's pause was heavy and his voice grew softer. "I was so afraid you would think that… that I had forgotten you," he told her, and when she opened her eyes, a huge tear splashed down onto the floor. She could feel Cas looking at her with worry and she just tried to keep her features still, calm. After another pause, Cas continued, braving ahead, finishing what he was trying to tell her. "When Rachel returned, she told me she saw you. That she delivered the message. That you told her you were waiting for me." He shook his head and looked down, anger passing over his features. "She lied about all of it."
"Why would she do that?" Alex asked, not understanding why some random angel would sabotage them like that. It hurt her, she felt disillusioned… like, what did I do to you, Rachel?
Cas seemed to be wrestling with the same question. "She thought she was doing what was right. At least, that was her claim." His voice darkened a little, but it was incredible sadness that prevailed in his tone. "I still don't know if I believe her."
It was such a cruel joke fate played on them… each had believed the wrong thing all year. It wasn't fair. Alex bowed her head, overwrought. "You're crying," Cas observed softly and sadly, shifting a little to face her a little more, leaning to her as if he was going to try and hold her. A huge silent tear ran down her cheek and she turned away, hiding behind the shield of her hair.
Cas seemed confused, as well as afraid to push her at all, and he retreated, studying her in concern. "This whole year, I… believed you knew where I was," he said, still trying to convince her or comfort her, she didn't know. She wiped her cheek, cursing her weak emotions. "I believed that you were with Dean. That you were waiting for me." It felt like an accusation and she was stung by it, even though she knew that he was trying to explain himself to her. She should have waited and known he would be back. Instead she'd acted like she had a death wish. He was gathering courage to ask something, and she dreaded what it would be. "How did it happen, Alex? The demon blood." Her eyes shot to his. "Please," he asked. "Tell me."
She owed him that much, didn't she? After he'd gone through the horrors of it with her? Alex took in a deep breath and stared off at the pulpit. For a long moment she said nothing. Just say it. Get it over with. Stop being a pussy. "It was an accident," she confessed softly, remembering. "I first drank it to… because of Lucifer. A whole friggin' gallon. It tasted horrible." How awful that night had been, and how mortifying a mistake she'd made. It haunted her. "And t-then, a month or so into living alone, I started noticing I was being followed. Watched. It was demons." She didn't see, but Cas's expression wavered perceptibly. "And so I lured one, trapped him. Tried to get him to tell me why I was being followed. He got outta the trap, we fought, I beat his face until it was dripping blood. He got the upper hand for a minute. It just… dripped down into my mouth. I can't tell you how strong that one little drop made me feel." She swallowed deeply, looked down, worked her hands anxiously together. "I tried not to. But the demons kept coming. And…" she repeated herself, out of any other way to say it: "I tried not to. But it did save my life a couple times. Made me strong enough to take down enemies I couldn't take otherwise." She scoffed at herself, cynical and self-deprecating. "And the weird thing is, the demons, I still don't know why they were tracking me. I killed so many of them, like… I dunno, maybe twenty? Thirty?" She let out a heavy breath and put her forehead into her hand. "God."
Cas was silent, digesting, seeming to be off in his own world of guilt. "I've tried to keep you safe," he said, and he sounded numb, almost. "And I destroyed you in the process."
Alex looked at him with an intense frown. "I'm not destroyed," she said immediately, emphatically. She wavered. "Don't say I'm destroyed." She stood up, trying to escape this conversation and the knowledge that Cas thought she was beyond repair, too. Cas stood too, was behind her, gently touched either of her arms and said her name and it was too much. She yanked away and turned to look at him through pained features. "No—Cas. Stop." He seemed startled at her reaction, then hurt by it. "What are we doing?" She asked him, and she really did want to know. All the sadness she carried was spilling out of her to the tune of hopelessness. "This is a mess. We can't do this," she said, shaking her head and struggling against herself. "I'm bad for you, case in point, this whole last week." She smashed her lips together for a second, blinked away stinging eyes. She was trying so hard to be brave, to do the right thing. To be grown up about this, but she was confused as hell and didn't even know what was going on, not really. Only that she thought they were screwed, over, and done. "When you first kissed me, all that time ago. You warned me that we shouldn't. You were right. The only thing here for us is pain."
Castiel looked thunderstruck. "How can you say that?" He asked, voice soft in disbelief, and if her heart hadn't been broken before, it was now. It was easy to see how blindsided Cas was by her true feelings, by her confusion and her urges to pull away and run. So that's why she was so startled when he appealed to her with an almost uncharacteristic surge of conviction. "You once told me that we were not a mistake," he said, stepping closer, taking her gently by either arm to emphasize his meaning—his expression pleaded with her to still feel that way. "Do you remember that?"
She looked up into his eyes, and her throat choked her with emotion as memories consumed her. "Yes," she replied, barely a whisper. "I remember."
Utterly devastated, Cas searched her gaze. "Then why do you seem to believe the opposite now?"
A question she had no clue how to answer. "It's... complicated," she said, then shook her head, threw her hands up uselessly, wishing someone could help her understand what was going on. "I don't know."
"Is this about… what happened to you?" He asked, trying so hard to understand. His question filled her instantly with fear and regret, shame, anxiety and memories of what Glen had done. "I know that you feel guilty, that you think it's your fault," he said, trying to be careful, but also not able to keep himself from addressing it—she knew half of her crazed ranting in the panic room had been Glen-centric. "It wasn't your fault, how could it have been?" He asked her, clearly pained at the thought that she felt that way and simultaneously trying to understand and speak to her jumbled feelings on the matter. "I don't hold it against you—how could I?" he asked softly and intensely.
Her eyes were gazing at the floor. Her voice was soft, low, trembling. "You don't know what happened."
"Then tell me," he asked, desperate and gentle and trying to understand.
And Alex knew that if she didn't tell him, if she kept lugging around this heavy weight on her own, it would kill her. She should tell this to Cas. Even though she wanted to keep it to herself and keep beating herself up over it, if she was gonna tell anyone about what happened… it wouldn't be Dean. It wouldn't be Bobby. It wouldn't be Sam. It would be Cas. So she dug deep for strength, and told him everything. But it wasn't easy. "Glen was… I thought he was an okay guy. He seemed… nice enough." Long pause to bite the insides of her mouth. This was going to be harder than she thought. Cas looked like he wasn't ready to hear it, like he had changed his mind almost, or was filled with impossible dread. But Alex kept going. "I knew him and his sister a few years back when we were teenagers. Ran into them a few months into this past year. Started hunting with them. He, uh, he flirted with me a lot, I knew he liked me. But, he liked all girls, so… I dunno. But he kept saying I was different. Made me think…" she trailed off, feeling insanely stupid. Her cheeks were burning and she looked down at her feet. She felt sick, telling Cas this. "He… he kissed me once. I thought you were gone and I… started thinking… I dunno. That I needed to move on." Her voice broke in shame. "I didn't even like him that much," she glanced up at Cas, waiting to see utter shock and repulsion on his face. But all she saw was heartbroken sadness.
This was the hardest part and she didn't know if she could muddle through. But she tried. "And… what, last week? He and I were alone and… he started… fixing me up cuz I got hurt and…" she struggled to keep speaking, "touching me and… I let it happen." That was the source of her greatest shame, right there. She remembered how he'd kissed her stomach and touched her sides and followed her to the window and kissed her neck and felt her up. And how it had felt good. That was the worst part of all to her. That she could have liked it. Especially knowing now that Glen was nothing more than a date-rape kinda guy. "I wanted it on some level," Alex said, still not able to look Castiel in the eye. "And he wasn't you and I knew it but I let him. And I thought about how he wasn't you, like, it got to be too much and I couldn't go through with it. And then I changed my mind and said no." She grew quiet, chilled. "And he wouldn't stop."
She raised her eyes to look at Cas, who was utterly horrified but thinking of her: he touched her arm, trying to comfort her or support her, maybe show her that he was there. He seemed afraid to hear more. Alex looked down, ashamed, but soldiered through, stated the facts. Anything to get this over with, tell him the truth and let that be that. "I started to fight back when he… wouldn't let me go. He hit me in the head, hard, to where I couldn't see straight. Threw me down onto the bed, pinned me there." She felt oddly disconnected from those horrible memories as she spoke them aloud. Like those things had happened to some other poor, stupid girl. "I was on my stomach and my head was spinning but I saw car keys, grabbed them... used them as a weapon…" she came out of her semi-trance. "I don't even know how, Cas, but… somehow, I got away before he could…" you know. She couldn't bring herself to say 'rape me.'
Still horrified, Cas looked at her for a long moment, trying to decide something. "So he didn't…" he trailed off, seemingly unable to say the words either.
She shook her head, voice a mere whisper as she ran a hand up and down one of her arms. "No."
"I should never have left you," Cas said, deeply upset. "Even for a second."
Yeah, well… you did. She didn't say that out loud. Instead she wrapped her arms around her own torso, shrugged. "I just… he fooled me, so easily. He lied to my face that whole time and I believed it. I... thought I had better instincts." That wasn't the worst part, or the thing that bothered her the most. And Cas needed to know. "I hate myself for… for ever even considering him. At all, even once." She chanced looking at him, trying really hard to show him, somehow, that she regretted ever thinking what she had about Cas not coming back. That she saw how wrong she'd been. That this wasn't his fault. "I just wanted to feel something. Anything. I…" missed you so much. "I was alone. And I didn't know where you'd gone."
Pain filled his eyes and he seemed completely at a loss. Outside, the rain was letting up.
"I had a lot of time to think the past year," Alex said, and began to walk toward one of the tall, narrow windows slowly. "But I didn't wanna think." She got to the window and stared out of it without seeing much. "Most days, I believed you were dead, Cas." She looked back over her shoulder to where he stood. It was hard to tell him this, because it was utter honesty, and left her naked emotionally. "But the days I believed you were still alive were worse… cuz I thought if you were alive and not here… I thought it meant…" her voice almost gave out. "That you didn't want this anymore."
He didn't even hesitate. "I will always want this," he told her, and came to her without waiting. His words touched her deeply and she felt herself outwardly trying to stifle how much it meant to hear him say that. "Why won't you believe me?" He asked, taking her expression the wrong way. "You believed me once."
"I should have waited for you," was all she could say, wishing she could just hug him and ask him to make everything all right again. "I should have believed you were coming back."
"You had no reason to believe I was." He seemed defeated. "I am so sorry, Alex." He sounded as regretful and sorry as she did and the space between them, even though only a couple feet, seemed endless, infinite, and vast. Impossible to cross.
In Alex's pocket, the phone Bobby had sent with them rang shrilly, loudly, startling her completely. For a second, she didn't even remember why they were there or why there was an unfamiliar phone there in her pocket. When she did, Alex pulled it out and answered, short on choices and remembering she wasn't here in Scotland for kicks. "Hey Bobby," she answered gruffly, eyes watching the floor, darting between her feet and Cas's.
"Showtime," he told her, his voice a little faint on the other end of the line. "Hang on and wait for your cue, all right?"
Alex glanced at Cas. "Yeah." She nodded toward the way out of the church and spoke to him, not Bobby. "We should probably go back out there," she told him, having to be businesslike. Personal matters would have to wait. "It stopped raining." Cas's features distorted just slightly into a frown, but he nodded his resigned understanding and they left the church, headed back to the damp graveyard. Alex kept the phone to her ear. She could hear Bobby chanting in Latin... a familiar summoning ritual. She glanced at Cas, who, once they reached the grave again, looked grim and off in his own thoughts, distracted. Tense. Alex had to turn away partially because Bobby was counting on her. She had to focus on this moment and leave her emotional crap at the door for the time being. Head in the game. A hunter's no use to anyone distracted, Dean always said.
"Well, you look like hammered crap," Bobby's voice said in her ear. But he wasn't speaking to her.
Crowley's familiar voice sounded on the other end of the line. "And you're a vision as always." There was a pause. "Really, Bobby, a devil's trap? Don't we both know how this game ends?"
"Shuddup. I want—"
Crowley cut him off. "Lemme stop you right there. In fact I'll do the shorthand for you." He began to mock Bobby's voice and accent, which was pretty goofy sounding. "'I want my soul back, idjit!' 'Fraid not. 'But I'm surly and I got a beard. Gimme!' Blah, blah, blah. Homespun cornpone insult, witty retort from yours truly. The bottom line is, you get bubkes." Alex could hear Crowley smirking. "Are we done?"
"Just getting started," Bobby replied, steady, his card up his sleeve. "I know it all now. Fergus. You may be king of the dirt bags here but, in life, you were nothing but a two-bit tailor who sold his soul in exchange for an extra three inches below the belt."
"Just trying to hit double digits," Crowley purred. "So, you got a glimpse behind the curtain. And?"
"And… now I know where you're planted," Bobby said. "Say hello to my little friend."
Alex heard the phone being picked up. This was her cue. "Crowley," she greeted in a voice dripping with faux enthusiasm, then added in for effect, "Darling."
Cas was watching with folded arms and a pensive expression, leaned against a nearby headstone.
"Ah," Crowley said, sounding a little bit caught off guard. "My favorite Winchester girl. It's… been a long time. We should get together."
Enjoying the uncertainty in Crowley's voice Alex put on the drama. This was one thing she had gotten good at. Channeling her older brother and putting on overly confident airs even when she was a total mess inside. "Huh, well, I dunno. Maybe when I get back."
"Back?" Crowley asked.
"Yeah… I got bit by the travel bug and I'm about, eh, four thousand miles away right now... standing here in this cute little place called Canisbay. It's in Scotland. You ever been?" The other end of the line was silent and she chuckled, imagining his dumbstruck expression. "I'm trying to picture you in one of those plaid skirts."
"They're called kilts, darling," Crowley said with growing discomfort, even though he tried to sidestep it with stupid comments. "I had very athletic calves. So what, exactly, are you doing in my neck of the woods, hm?"
"Looking for buried treasure," Alex replied casually. "Think I found some, too. The bones of one Fergus McLeod..."
The phone made a noise like it had shifted away from Crowley's mouth—he was speaking to Bobby now. "This is ridiculous. The whole burning bones thing–it's a myth."
"We could test that theory," Alex offered slyly. Cas again glanced at her, their eyes met for a second. He seemed to dislike this entire thing.
"I know an employee of yours who would disagree," Bobby put in on the other end.
There was another pause and it was pretty clear how trapped Crowley was feeling. "...Ah. That's where she got to."
"You demons," Bobby's said darkly. "You think you're something special. But you're just spirits. Twisted, perverted, evil spirits. But, end of the day, you're nothing but ghosts with an ego. We torch your bones, you go up in flames."
"Hey Crowley, got a light?" Alex asked, feeling a little power-high and fingering the matchbook in her jacket pocket. "I do."
On the other end of the line, Bobby gave his last chance. "Your bones for my soul. Going once… going twice."
There was a loud thud, then Alex could hear Crowley say "Bollocks," faintly. Had he thrown the phone down?
There was a long pause. "You can go ahead and leave in the part about my legs," Bobby said, and then a few seconds later, "pleasure doing business with you." Had it worked? Was it really that easy?
Crowley sounded absolutely butt-hurt. "Now if you don't mind?"
A couple more beats passed, then there was swishing at the other end of the line, and Bobby's voice was loud in Alex's ear. "He made good on my end. You two watch yourselves, you're about to have company."
"Yeah." She hung up, even as Castiel turned around, hearing a twig snapping. Behind them, Crowley approached, in hand, a big satchel. His expression was foul. The demon paused, seeing Cas, as if he were startled. "What are you doing here, harpsichord?" He asked, seeming a shade angrier. Cas's stony face darkened even as Crowley looked at Alex with utter contempt. "The nerve of you, the both of you."
The demon was clearly shaken up, and Alex didn't have to put on a front—she enjoyed it thoroughly, felt the upper hand and taunted him with it. "What, you're the only one who gets to bone others, Crowley?" She asked. Pun intended. Crowley looked thoroughly unamused, like her little joke had defeated his hope in the human race.
"Speaking of bones," he said flatly, looking at the space between Cas and Alex where his bones had been placed. He smiled tightly, clearly wanting to stab either one or both of them in the face. "I believe those are mine." He made to move forward—and suddenly found himself with an angel blade at his neck.
"Not so fast, dickwad," Alex hissed. Crowley and Castiel alike were taken aback at how fast she'd moved—she'd whipped the blade out and had a hand closed like a vice at the back of his neck—the point of the blade pressed softly into the base of Crowley's neck, and he swallowed, wide-eyed. As laid back and controlled as she'd been a few minutes ago, she was furious and close to killing him right then and there. "After what you pulled last year, the shit you started… I don't have many reasons to let you live, do I?" She let a little derisive laugh out before growing fatally serious. "In fact… go ahead and name one."
Cas's hand was on her shoulder to stop her. "Alex—a deal is a deal," he said. Crowley looked at Cas and his expression was unreadable but foul. Cas's voice lowered. "Even when made with this abomination."
Angry that he had a point, Alex considered for a couple more seconds. He gave Bobby his soul, this jackass demon was supposed to get his bones. But after killing so many demons the past year, what was one more? Especially Crowley, the one who she was passing off blame to for everything that happened with Lucifer? But Cas was right, and she hated it, but she relented. She pulled the blade away angrily and, put it back into her jacket. Crowley plastered a wiseass smile on his face, had the audacity to pull his head back and look down his nose at her cooly. "You mad at me love, or do you just want a taste?" He asked softly, his voice despicable, gruff velvet, his words striking a nerve in her, making her lose her edge. Crowley saw it too, smiled even wider. "I must look so delicious to you right now. Well, pull up a chair and pass the pepper, it's dinner time," he goaded, then looked at her with thinly-veiled disdain. "You're just like your waste-of-space moose brother, aren't you? Nothing but a junkie."
Cas stepped forward, demanding Crowley's attention and simultaneously protecting Alex from Crowley's harsh glare. "Don't speak to her that way," he growled, and Alex didn't see the meaningful look that the two of them exchanged—didn't see how, clearly, there was more going on between them than she knew. It was like they were silently challenging each other.
Crowley gave in, let a sarcastic little comment fly. "Oh how sweet. Standing up for your little whore." The tree Crowley was standing beside was almost shattered in half when Cas slammed the demon into it brutally. Shocked, Crowley was blinking rapidly. "Oy, watch the suit, mate!" He exclaimed, aghast.
Cas held him by the front of his jacket and seethed. "I'm warning you Crowley," he spat.
Something about the angel's words seemed to inspire warning in the demon's expression. "Oh are you?" Crowley asked softly, eyebrows raised tauntingly. "What was it you were saying a minute ago about a deal being a deal?" He looked at Cas with pointed meaning. "Now do me a favor and sod off, Columbo." Cas backed off, but his expression was dark and stormy. He glanced at Alex, who was beside him and already looking at him, slightly worried.
Crowley straightened his jacket, looking less than happy about all that had just happened. "This entire thing's left me in a foul mood, I'll have you know." He brushed past the angel and went to his bones, which were piled beside the grave now—had Cas done that? Alex didn't know, but he must have. The demon crouched over them and inspected them. "Interesting, isn't it," he said cooly. "I'm not the one with with skeletons in the closet, now am I?" he asked, skull in hand as he turned his head to give them a dark and knowing look. "And to think I've been so nice and kept your little secret for you this whole time. The one about what you two did about, oh, a year ago, was it?" His sour expression softened a little when Cas and Alex glanced at each other in mild worry and confusion. Crowley stuffed his bones down into the satchel, and he was the one in control again, and enjoying it completely. "I've the right mind to go blab to your oldest brother just to spite you after this lovely little reach around, Alex dear." He rose, satchel in hand, gave them a little smile. "What do you think he'd say, hm, Cas? One can only imagine."
Neither of them replied to the demon, who just smiled facetiously. "Now, if you'll excuse me." He turned as if to walk away, then changed his mind, raised a finger, as if he were thinking. "Ah, and… next time you cross me like this—either of you—there'll be hell to pay. Literally." His dark features were chillingly serious.
"Keep an eye on those bones, Crowley," Alex retorted, keeping up the I'm-the-boss attitude for show, to try and make it seem like he didn't worry or intimidate her in the least. He did both, but he didn't need to know that. She gave him a little cold smile. "Would be a shame if you misplaced them."
Crowley just narrowed his eyes and smiled back, every bit as false as she was. "A crying shame," he said snidely. "Cheers." And he disappeared.
The graveyard was silent, and so were Cas and Alex for a long moment. "How does he always know everything?" Alex asked, staring at the spot where Crowley had been. She was extremely shocked and uncomfortable and wondering if Crowley meant what she thought he did. But how could he know that?
Cas seemed similarly troubled and was shaking his head. "I'm not sure." He paused heavily, meeting her faltering gaze with a hesitant look in his eyes. "Perhaps… perhaps we should tell Dean before Crowley does."
Alex shook her head adamantly, almost dying from fear at the thought of that. "No. No." She looked around unseeingly at the Scottish landscape surrounding them. "Let's just go. Back to Bobby's, okay?" She turned and began to gather their things. "We're done here."
She grabbed the two shovels, the bag of weapons she hadn't needed and she straightened then nodded tensely, gave the darkening Scottish landscape one last look. Felt Cas touch her arm again, and with a jolt, they were at Bobby's again, in the basement. That was always so strange, just suddenly being one place then another. She felt Cas looking at her and tried not to think about it. Tried to avoid him, ignore him. She went to Bobby's tool rack and hung the shovels back up where they'd been, her back to Castiel.
He followed her. "Why are you acting this way?" He asked her slowly, and the worry in his voice was utterly decimating. "I don't understand… I thought…" he trailed off and she turned back around to look at him.
"You thought what?" she asked, guarded. Not hostile, not open, not anything.
He seemed vastly confused and approached her slowly. "Alex, I—" he stopped walking and his gaze went upward, he seemed to be listening to something. She followed his gaze with her eyes, saw nothing but dark ceiling "I'm... being summoned," he said heavily, looked back at her. "It seems that I need to go."
Her face was blank. "Oh," she said. It seemed like the air in the room had lessened. She nodded and looked downward quietly, attempting to save face for the moment. From the second he'd shown back up she'd been afraid of this moment, known it was coming… and she should have been ready for it. But… she wasn't. She could have reacted one of two ways: the first was to show him how deeply his announcement upset her; kiss him, hug him, cry about how much she already missed him. The second was to act like everything was fine and avoid the heartache. Selfish and scared, she chose option two. The thought of more heartbreak was too much, the thought of losing him again or maybe not seeing him again for another year was terrifying.
Cas was wearing his emotions on his sleeves, unlike Alex: It was obvious he didn't want to go and that the thought of leaving her again was emotionally torturous to him… and that made her indifferent exterior even harder to maintain. Alex couldn't look at him, couldn't take in how sad he was. "I... don't know how long I'll be gone," he told her. "Or when I can come back." He paused, softened, stepped a little closer, seeking either to comfort or be comforted, she didn't know. "I truly wish…"
Alex shook her head, pretended everything was okay, spurning his advance, not letting him near her. "It's fine," she said in a forced tone, trying to be unaffected, trying to be fine, trying not to show how intensely bad off she was. "I'll call you if I need you." She made herself look him in the eye and she gave a tight little smile.
Castiel didn't smile back. Instead, he looked sadder. Resigned and deflated and at a loss. "I... suppose this is goodbye, then," he said. This was awful, and it was beginning to dawn on Alex how awful. She wasn't the only one who had gone through shit this year, and maybe she should try and remember that—but it was too late now. She was beginning to really regret her stupid, immature, selfish reactions to him all day. What about what he was going through? Cas looked down, his features were scrunched in anxiousness, his dark eyebrows worked toward each other rigidly. "Do you still…" he paused, looked like maybe he wasn't going to finish his question, like maybe he was ashamed of what it was. His voice softened, he looked up at her. "Do you still love me?"
His question was like a brick wall, the look on his face was utter defeat and Alex couldn't breathe for the smallest moment. Oh god. All day she'd been pushing him away and trying to hurt him, fight with him; all week long she'd told him she hated him then thrown what he'd given her in his face—of course he'd doubt she loved him—but hearing him ask it made something snap inside, caused all the things she'd been holding deep within to surge to the surface. Made all the attempts to remain aloof and stay unhurt abruptly seem what they were: hurtful to him, wrong of her.
"Yes," she told him with suddenly urgency, realizing her mistake and panicking, trying to reassure him, forgetting her own selfish reservations and stupid need to be in control. "Yes I still love you, how would I ever stop?" She'd been so inside her head she hadn't even thought about how it would seem to him, not really—even more ashamed of herself and how shortsighted she was, how egotistical, she shut her eyes, put a hand on her head. It crashed over her anew, how she'd been making dumb choice after dumb choice and hadn't even given his feelings the thought they deserved. "I'm sorry, I just—what I put you through this week, I'm too embarrassed to even face myself let alone you," she confessed, feeling so stupid and miserable. She couldn't do anything right.
She heard Cas step closer and she opened her eyes. He seemed so relieved but timid, wanting to reach out to her but hesitating. She knew it was because of Glen, and because of how Alex had been rejecting Cas's touches. But he still chanced it, gently let his hand rest against her hair at the side of her head. The touch was enough to break her completely. "Don't be embarrassed," he said, and his voice was thick with emotion and comfort. "I love you."
His confession set her to tears. She leaned into his hand and accepted the affection because she needed it so badly, because she missed him so much, and she couldn't run away from this any more. Pressing her hand over his, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly—and he chanced proximity, came a little closer even as she stepped toward him too, let her forehead drop to rest against the front of his shoulder. "I'm scared," she admitted in a whisper against his trench coat. "So fucking scared."
He drew back just a little, enough to look her in the eyes, and he was so close she could feel his warm breaths hitting against her lips. "Don't be afraid," he told her solemnly, softly, his thumb gently stroking against the hair beside her ear as he held her gaze soulfully. Her heart jumped in response to the touch and the depth in his eyes. His other hand came to cover hers, which was laying against his lapel. Without blinking or looking away, he told her in an soft, certain, steadfast voice: "I will always come back to you. I will always find you." The devotion and love in his voice overwhelmed her completely, she could barely fathom that those things were meant for her.
His hand slid away from hers and went down into the pocket of his trench coat—she looked, curious, watched as he pulled something out. Whatever it was remained concealed inside his closed fist. He brought his hand up between them, then showed her what he had just fished out: a shiny penny on a broken silver chain. Alex looked at it then back at him—he looked at her somberly, hopefully—and she realized he was giving it back to her… forgiving her all over again for the psychopathic behavior and everything she'd said and done. Her heart twisted and clenched and flipped, hope sprung back to life, and she closed her fingers around the beloved object that she'd worn the year he'd been gone. It was a small action but they both understood what it meant, and for them, this moment was powerful and vastly meaningful.
Overwhelmed with emotions and his closeness, the love in his eyes, she tilted her chin up toward him, forgetting everything but the way everything in her wanted to reach out for him. His eyes searched hers questioningly as his eyebrows knit together anxiously. His eyes dropped to her lips as their noses brushed—his breathing hitched and his fingers slipped into her hair but he was hesitating and nervous, maybe afraid to overstep his bounds. So she closed the distance, showed him it was all right with her if it was all right with him… she brushed her lips against his just barely—and when she invited the kiss, he accepted, moved forward. A soft muffled sound of relief came from the base of Alex's throat as their lips pressed together—it was the sweetest sensation in all of creation and it was almost too much—the gentle, tender press of his warm mouth to hers, the unspoken sentiments conveyed through the simple touch. Her hands went to either side of his face—Cas made the quietest little sound of surprise and anxiety—her necklace threaded through her fingers as she almost sobbed at the gentle, careful, heartfelt way he kissed her, held her. His nose pressed into her cheek, his hand cradled the back of her head and it was just like she remembered… only better. She breathed him in, melting into his arms. For a minute, all of her doubts and fears seemed stupid and silly, and instead of thinking about all the things they were up against, she was remembering how strong they were together. How right this was… how wrong she was to have ever believed they shouldn't be together. He was where she belonged, and she remembered now. She remembered. Their foreheads rested against the other when the kiss ended and her eyes stayed closed. She felt him shift slightly and he pressed a lingering, reverent kiss to her cheek. Her mouth turned upwards in a helpless little smile.
Alex was herself again, and she knew it. She pulled away a little bit to look at him, feeling sure again. His eyes went upward again, and she knew he was being called, but was delaying departure for her sake. "How long will this war last?" She asked. Balthazar had said it could go on forever, essentially. And she got that the war was to prevent the apocalypse from restarting, she understood that Cas was fighting for the right side, but the thought of it never ending scared her.
Cas's attention turned back to her and he shook his head, troubled. "Not much longer… but I don't know. Months? A year? It's... difficult to say. Raphael will fall. I'll make sure of it."
Taking in a deep breath, Alex nodded, accepting this reality. "All right," she said, gave him a soft, genuine, torn smile as she stood a little taller, trying to be brave. This was hard and bittersweet and she was still scared of the unknown future, but she trusted him. Loved him. Believed he could do what he said: win this war and come back to her afterward. And now it was time to put aside her kid stuff and stop being so self-centered. She had to start thinking about him and his needs, too. "I'll be here when it's over," she told him, which is what she knew he needed to hear. "I'll be waiting."
His eyes softened, cleared. "I hope not for long," he said quietly, and took one of her hands in his, squeezed gently, clearly touched and encouraged by her support and pledge to wait. She hoped the same thing—that he wouldn't be gone long—and didn't want him to go at all... but she saw how he kept looking upward with an increasingly worried expression. "I have to go," he told her regretfully, more urgent this time.
She nodded. There seemed to be a million things she wanted to say to him, ask him… but there wasn't time. So she settled for: "Be careful up there, okay?"
He met her gaze, his hand still holding hers. He didn't want to go either, and she could see it plainly. "Call me," he told her in utmost seriousness, his urgency making him speak in something close to desperation. "If you need me in the least, call me. I'll come." He looked upward again, as if bees were circling his head—and Alex knew the calls must be getting more pressing.
"Go, Cas," she urged gently, knowing she couldn't hold onto him right now.
He lowered his head and looked downward, seeming to realize he really did have to go now. Her hand slipped from his as he stepped back, wordless, looking at her with a sad expression. "Goodbye, Alex," he said, seeming to find the words difficult.
That sounded so final. Alex replied with something a little less dire, a sad smile on her face. "See you later, Cas."
His expression softened and he echoed her, seeming to understand. "...See you later." He seemed to like the way that sounded better. And then with the soft sound of wings in flight… he was gone.
Author's Notes: Writing… this chapter… has left me… emotionally devoid… someone... send... help. And tissues. *cries for the rest of all time* but hey good news, chapter 55 is the truth episode (ALKDJSLKDJSLDKJ OH SNAP) and then chapter 56 has major fluff so HANG TIGHT OKAY DON'T GIVE UP ON ME CALEX FANDOM! IT'S NOT ALL SADNESS AND PAIN! Just, MOSTLY. haha. Please send me reviews and lattes and hugs because I'm a quivering mess on the floor from all this angst. UGHhhhhh. Bye.
P.S. If you're wondering about "wait when did Cas give Alex that penny" it hasn't been shown yet, only mentioned. The actual scene where this happens will be shown in a flashback soon.
P.P.S. I am so sorry this chapter is so stupid long omg. Calex angst takes up a lot of words apparently.
