Sam blinked his eyes open, his surroundings coming into focus. It was dark and damp, his shirt and jeans wet, and he wasn't sure if from water or blood. His wrists were bound behind himself; he was seated in a chair, ankles bound around the legs of it. Head throbbing, Sam tried to see his surroundings, the atmosphere dark enough that he couldn't make out anything definitive.

"Good, you're awake," a voice said behind him. It didn't belong to Gavin. Sam kept his focus on the ground as he listened. "You Winchesters—you're predictable, you know that?" The man stepped closer. "Did you think we'd just turn over some high level grace because you came in half-cocked with a blade?" He laughed. "It's pathetic, really." His voice lowered as he neared Sam, pausing closely behind him. "But love makes you do stupid things, doesn't it?"

Sam refused to bite the bait, but it didn't piss him off any less. He chewed on his inner cheek, trying to keep calm. He couldn't afford to play the game.

"See," the man continued, pacing around slowly to Sam's front, "we caught wind of your little secret six months ago, when the boy was first conceived. Which, by the way, is forbidden. Not that you would care about virtue. Your existence alone is an abomination."

"You say that like it's the first time I've heard it," Sam said with a small, unimpressed scoff.

"Believe me, I know it isn't. Anyway, it wasn't until your son grew stronger that I recognized the lineage of his power. We've been waiting for the opportune moment, but you've kept them well guarded. Bravo." The angel eyed him; Sam couldn't really make out his face. "But, we picked up a bit of chatter on angel radio earlier. Well, more like a bit of agony." He chuckled. "Boy, can your girl scream. Bet she's fun in the sack."

"What do you want?" Sam snarled, unable to help his anger while testing the bonds. They were tight. He wasn't sure if he could slip them.

The man smirked. "You know what we want."

"Not happening."

"Oh, believe me, I came into this expecting a long, long string of negotiations. I know Sam Winchester doesn't give up easily."

"You have a name?" Sam challenged with a cocky smirk. "Or should I just call you Dickweed?"

The man stepped closer, the single bulb above same partially illuminating his face. He was middle-aged, his years weathering the amber skin around his eyes, and his salt and pepper hair emphasizing it. Still, he looked capable—broad-framed, dressed in a three-piece suit, muscles to spare. "Pahaliah," he said before knocking Sam across the jaw with his fist. "Mind yourself, boy."

Face throbbing with deep ache from the angel's strength, Sam glared back at him, then spit out the saliva and blood that collected in his cheek to the side. "And let me guess—you worked under Barachiel?"

Pahaliah have a small nod. "Not bad, ape. Yes, I was her second in command. She was a wonderful leader. Bit of a hothead, but none of the other sisters rivaled her. I lost a bit of respect for her, though, when she decided to lie to half a million of her brothers and sisters to indulge her own disgusting pleasures." He paced with a sigh. "As a leader in the Order of Thrones, and the Bearer of Virtuosity, I can't very well sit back and let her lineage continue."

"So killing them is more virtuous than letting them live?"

"Bigger picture, Sam," Pahaliah corrected. "See, you can't help but feel bound to Rachel because of your shortcomings as a human. I, on the other hand, view her as a loose end that can finally be tied." He held up a finger. "The boy, though. Mmm. Now he can be molded, unlike his mother. The young nephilim mind is quite powerful, but still impressionable. Introduced to the right angels, and his humanity could be completely eradicated."

Hearing the angel talk about Rachel and Robbie like commodities drove Sam wild. He forced himself to even his breathing, twitching his fingers within his confines to assess a weak spot. He found one slightly looser section, and slowly began to shift his fingers toward it."Good luck with that."

"Won't need it," Pahaliah shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. "See, you'll give me what I want, because you won't be able to help yourself."

Sam's nostrils flared. "I'm not giving you shit."

"You will."

"Eat me."

Sam growled after Pahaliah punched him again, blood from his lip painting his chin. "I was hoping to avoid the messy road, but I suppose you require it. Last chance to keep this clean."

"Beat me all you want. Torture me. Fillet me. I'll die before I give you anything."

Pahaliah nodded. "Oh, believe me, I know." He looked over Sam to a man behind him with a small nod. "I know you'd easily choose to die the slowest, most gruesome death I could dish up for you. The question is, will you let someone else die in your place?"

Sam's heart raced, hearing scuffled steps and clank of chains. His stomach dropped as two broad men dragged Mary and Bobby to stand in front of him. "You son of a bitch," he snarled, seeing Mary's marred face. Mary swallowed hard, keeping a stern look as she fought being so close to the angels. Bobby didn't look any better—he was sporting a sizeable black eye and a busted lip, blood painting his beard.

"Let's try this again," Pahaliah said, smiling. "Where are they?"

Sam remained quiet, though his insides were screaming. He kept his eyes locked on his mother's, trying to tell her how sorry he was through his silence. She seemed to understand, even giving him a slight nod. It didn't help his festering guilt, though.

Pahaliah pulled out an angel blade, quickly slicing across Mary's cheek. She grimaced, and Sam lashed against his bindings. "I'll kill you!" he shouted.

"Tell me where they are, and no one will get hurt," Pahaliah countered, waiting for Sam's response. Still, Sam refused to answer. With fluidity, Pahaliah shoved the angel blade through Bobby's side. Bobby gasped, sputtering as the angel ripped it back out, the silver covered in blood.

Sam growled in rage, fighting his bonds with fervor. "You're dead!" He watched Bobby fall to his knees as he held his side.

"Last chance before I gut your mother," Pahaliah smirked.

"Sam," Mary said sternly, "let him."

"Mom," Sam whispered, tears flooding his eyes as Bobby coughed on the ground.

"Let him," Mary repeated, eyeing her son. "Protect them. It's not your fault." She was willing to die, and even the thought alone made Sam violently ill.

"Not his fault?" Pahaliah scoffed. "This thing you call your son impregnated a nephilim with demon seed. He has created the most disgusting creature that could ever be. Humanity itself could cease to exist because of your son, but it's not his fault?"

"My son has done more good than any of your kind ever has."

Pahaliah laughed, nearly cackling. "And I was made to protect you," he mused. "No wonder. It's quite obvious free will has done nothing to improve your kind's intelligence." He looked to Sam, resting the blade against Mary's throat. "Last chance."

"Close your eyes!" came a shout from the rear of the room. A stark light burst into the room, flooding it as a ringing noise grew in volume. The angels froze, trapped under the binding power of it. Sam, Mary, and Bobby squeezed their eyes shut, cowering in pain against the piercing noise and blinding illumination. A burst rippled through the room, the angels present crying out in pain as they and their vessels were destroyed.

The room went dark, silence befalling them as the storm finally ceased. Sam was the first to open his eyes, immediately seeing Jack heal Bobby and Mary, freeing them from their chains. "Jack," he breathed, the tears he had kept back falling.

"Sam," Jack said as he turned. He snapped his fingers and the ropes fell free. Sam quickly stood, rubbing his wrists. "It's Rachel."

Pausing, Sam stared at Jack. "What about her?"

"She's … She's in active labor."

Sam's eyes rounded. "What?!"

"We need to go back," Jack insisted.

Heart racing, Sam looked down at Pahaliah's body. It was his best shot at grace, but the angel was dead. He had nothing. His stomach wrenched, his hand finding his mouth to cover the utter helplessness he wore. "I … I need grace," he stammered in a whisper. Panicked, he checked the dead vessels, hoping for even just a drop of grace through a hint of life.

"Son," Bobby said quietly, stepping forward, "you should be there with her … while you can."

Sam stood from his crouching position and glared at Bobby. "She's not dying."

"All I'm saying is—"

"And I'm saying she's not going anywhere."

"I gave her some of my grace before I left," Jack offered. "It might be enough."

"How did you find us, anyway?" Mary asked Jack.

"It's possible to locate those who've prayed to me."

"'Some' isn't enough," Sam barked. He paused, softening a bit. "I'm grateful for what you've given her, but I need more. I need the entirety of an angel."

"Sam," Mary urged gently, resting her hand on Sam's forearm, "Rachel needs you right now." She searched her son's eyes, trying to convey the urgency of the moment, along with the bitter reality.

Sam turned away from the others, his stomach in knots as he thought about what was to come. He was destined to watch her die, without being able to do anything about it. Tears wet his cheeks, and he swiped them away with an angry hand. He had failed her. Still, they were right—Rachel needed him. "Take us back," he whispered, facing Jack.

In the blink of an eye, they all disappeared.


Rachel bit down on Sam's folded leather belt, squeezing her eyes shut. The contractions were close, and had tripled in intensity. It was nearly time to push. She could feel it, somehow. Motherly instinct, she assumed. Her body felt like it was being separated from Robbie's at a molecular level. Her son's strength was frightening. Yet, she had resisted crying. Somehow, it felt like she couldn't in Sam's absence. She had to remain calm for Robbie.

"Rachel," Castiel murmured, rising from examining her under the sheet, "you're going to have to start pushing."

With a shuddered breath, she nodded. Sam was nowhere to be found, so it seemed. And Robbie wouldn't wait.