A/N: Whoo, buddy, here's another one. I have decided that since many of us are in quarantine, I will post whenever a chapter gets finished rather than waiting for the weekend. And since I am in quarantine, I have so much time to work on the last few chapters of this story.

Yes. The last. few. chapters.

We are almost to the end of this journey, yet so much remains to be resolved. It's gonna be a while ride, my friends. I'll see y'all in the next chapter!


The kitchen was alight with laughter and jaunty, optimistic music. The air was warm with an evening breeze that blew through the cracked windows and circulated the thick aroma of liquor around the house. They were drinking like it was the end of the world. Because, for some at least, it was.

Ellen knocked back a shot of whisky and slammed the glass upside down on the tabletop. She along with Jo smirked tauntingly at Castiel sitting across from them. He had five glasses before him, mirroring the now four in front of Ellen. After a curt cue from the woman, Cas began knocking back one after the other without a single wince as they watched astonished. It certainly was amusing to witness an angel bending his elbow like a frat boy after taking his finals. Frankie, for one, would have been laughing her ass off at the sight. But that night, for good reason, she just wasn't feeling it.

She elected to sit in the middle of the staircase leading to the second floor. She could peek into the kitchen and observe the festivities. She envied how they were able to muster a smile. She missed those days.

Sam and Dean sat in the study, Dean behind Bobby's desk and Sam sitting across from him. They chose to spend their time going over the mission tomorrow. Crowley had given them not only the way to kill Lucifer, but the location where he'd be as well. The demon apparently wanted to save his own ass – something about Lucifer killing demons off after humans, she didn't know. She wasn't in there for that part.

So, the mission was to travel to Carthage, Missouri, find the Devil, and place a specially made bullet between his serpentine eyes. That was all well and good, sure. Only that Frankie was now despised by her brothers for lying to them, keeping secrets, running away, causing unnecessary trouble for herself and others, and breaking a promise to Dean.

Their eyes met. Dean glared at her, all but rolling his eyes before forcing his pestered scowl towards his brother. That hurt Frankie, but it wasn't like she didn't deserve it. If she had come clean at the first fucking moment – no, if she never made those fucking mistakes in the first place – she wouldn't be in that dilemma. She would already be dead, most likely sailing on a cloud in Heaven. Yet there she was, sitting on a staircase in Bobby's house with no one to blame for her plights but herself.

A soft and repetitive thud reverberated from beneath her butt. She lifted her gaze and saw Jo ascending the stairs. Frankie hugged her knees and scooted to the wall, pressing herself into it to clear room for her to walk past, but the girl slowed and sat herself down on the same step. She brushed the back of her hand through her wavy blonde hair to clear a path for her bottle of beer and took a big gulp.

She turned to Frankie with a smile, but it wasn't beaming with joy. It was filled with a sad respect as she glanced at the disheartened brunette. "Hey," she greeted. "You good?"

Though Frankie was confused as to why Jo was giving her the time of day, she had learned by then to just roll with certain things and not dwell on them, lest she overthink. Beside that point, no. She was not good. But that was clear enough.

Frankie's eyes dropped to her knees. "They tell you?" she asked, so quiet that her voice was nearly drowned out by the gently blowing wind through the shutters.

Jo looked down at her bottle and nodded. "They told me."

Frankie shook her head. Of course they would. She curved her lips into a small, dour smile. "Can't say my first impression is shinin' too brightly, huh?" An invisible spear of humiliation jutted through her stomach and minced her guts, filling her with well-deserved shame. "God, what you and your mom must think of me now…"

To her surprise, Jo giggled. It was light and hushed, and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to smother it. She glanced back over to Frankie with a half-apologetic look.

"'Scuse me for laughing, but… Frankie, this ain't a monastery." Frankie narrowed her brows. She knew that. Jo leaned closer to her. She could smell the alcohol on her breath, but it didn't nauseate her in the way it did when she was with Crowley. "I'm gonna tell you something, alright? There's not one person under this roof that's never done something they regret every single day of their life." She lifted a brow and gestured to Sam and Dean with her bottle. "You're not the only one in here that's sold their soul. And you're certainly not the only one who's lied to those they're closest to."

Frankie narrowed her eyes. No one else sold their soul… right? Her eyes landed on her brothers.

"Hell, you're not even the only one that's got ties to the big wigs up in Heaven. Point is," Jo gazed deep into Frankie's eyes, gathering her full attention, "you're not in this alone. So, you shouldn't treat yourself like a leper. Come on down and live it up with us."

The corner of Frankie's mouth lifted on its own accord, but she forced it back down. "That's nice of you to say, but…" She threw her eyes to her knees. "I don't feel like partying."

"Why?"

Frankie sighed. "Well, two of y'all hate my guts." Jo glanced down at Sam and Dean. "I just don't feel like it."

If they didn't want to be around her, she wouldn't force her presence where it wasn't welcomed. She would have nothing to gain for it. She got what she wanted. Her conscience was clear. She would go to Hell without any secrets. She wouldn't be her mother.

Jo shrugged and sipped her beer. "That's fair. I guess I just thought since… I dunno, this's your last night on earth, maybe you'd wanna make it worth it."

Frankie shook her head with a heavy sigh. "Sorry to say, but booze and lackluster music ain't gunna make this night worth jack. I'm not like you guys after all. I can't just shove my problems deep down and carry on like there's a better day over that next hill. Not when I know there's no hill."

Jo hummed and stared at her for a long while. Frankie began to feel slightly discomfited under the gaze when the girl finally looked towards the bottom of the stairs. "It's a dangerous mission, what we're goin' on tomorrow. This might be some of our last nights, too. Don't you wanna say goodbye? Let anything else off your chest before kickin' the bucket?"

She was never going to see Sam and Dean again. She was never going to see Bobby again. Jo and Ellen would be no more. And Cas would never again come when she called desperately in the night. She preferred it when she wasn't wondering what her last images of them would be.

Her chapped lips parted, a slow breath slithering into her lungs. "I'm no good at goodbyes," she rasped.

Jo nodded a little longer than normal. "Okay. No, I get it. I totally do." Her voice was sincere and comforting. It broke Frankie's heart. She didn't deserve such sentiment. Jo downed the rest of her beer and stood to her feet. She smiled down at the girl. "Well, in that case, it was great to finally meet you, Frankie. You seem pretty cool. Woulda gotten you to tell me about some of those cryptids you know so well." Frankie allowed the curve of her lips this time. "But, uh…" Jo's eyes dimmed. She rested the tips of her fingers against Frankie's shoulder. "I know it's not my place, but I really think you should talk to them. They're no good at sayin' goodbyes either."

With a light pat on the shoulder, Jo descended the stairs and rejoined the festivities. Dean's eyes lingered on her sashaying hips as she walked past, but Frankie had by then returned her attention to her jeans. She lifted herself from the stair and ascended them, walking into her room and lying down on her bed. She'd been gone so long that she had forgotten the homey smell of mothballs and old cloth on her pillow.

Maybe she should go talk to them. They hadn't spoken a word to her since they left Crowley's mansion. A near twenty-four hours. Which also meant she had a near twenty-four hours left.

Despite spilling her secrets and getting it all out in the open, there were still a few things she wanted to say to her brothers.

To Sam, she would thank him for welcoming her into his family the moment he found out she was truly his sister. She had finally felt like she belonged somewhere whenever he was around. She would tell him that though she didn't forgive him for starting the end of the world, she had tried to keep an open mind. After all, she made her fair share of mistakes. She appreciated him for trying to right his wrongs, something she found herself failing at.

Even though she didn't understand how his mind worked, she couldn't deny they had a genuine connection when he didn't act on impulse and demon blood. She wished she had more time to make things right with him.

To Dean, the only thing she would say to him was sorry. Sorry that she came into his life at the worst possible time. Sorry that she wasn't the best student she could be. Sorry that she didn't tell him about her problems before time ran out. Sorry that she wasn't worthy of being a Winchester.

Sorry that she disappointed him.

Her knees curled up into her chest. She hugged her pillow tightly, burying her face into the cloth. She couldn't do it. She couldn't put that on them. It was better for them to hate her than feel guilty about not being able to save her. They wouldn't be able to bring her back, so she didn't want to give them a reason to.

To right her wrong, she had to get out of their life. Not cause them any more pain or guilt. To right her wrong, they had to forget about their disgrace of a sister.

A soft knock rapped on the door. She knew who it was. She had memorized the polite knocking from the many motel rooms in the past couple weeks.

"Come in," she announced, already standing from the bed and walking towards the door.

Castiel entered with the usual concerned look paired with furrowed brows. "Are you alright?" He barely got the words out before Frankie walked into his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

She constricted her arms around his midsection, tighter and tighter until she squeezed him enough to gasp. Of course, he didn't gasp seeing as angels didn't need to breathe. Yet despite how tightly she hugged him, she couldn't grasp the comfort she desperately needed.

She opened her mouth, and the air that had been held hostage there blew out. She squeezed her eyes almost as tightly as her arms. "Can you please kill me now?" she whispered.

"What?" Cas grunted. He clutched her shoulders and pulled her from his body to stare perplexed into her wet eyes. "Why would you ask me that?" His eyes squinted in that Castiel manner. "What's wrong?"

Ah, Cas. The ever-concerned angel, always at the ready to help the ones he cared about. And for whatever reason, he still doted on her. She certainly didn't believe she deserved anymore kindness from him, but he was an angel. He wouldn't be able to understand even if she explained to him why she no longer wanted his help.

He wouldn't understand that it was killing her every moment he spared for her, that she had been wasting his time and was still wasting his time.

He wouldn't understand that she cared way too much for him to spend a single moment more with him. He was the last thing on the planet that she had left, and she didn't want to risk ruining that before she died.

Her breath hitched in a light hiccup as tears swam down her cheeks. She curled her fingers around the lapels of his coat. She sniffed as she took in the sight of his navy-blue tie. She wanted to engrain in her mind how the knot was never tidy, how the tail was always facing the wrong way – every detail – so that she could always return to her friend in her thoughts.

She lifted her tearful gaze to the deep blue eyes above her. They stared perplexedly down at her, wondering why this girl was clutching his coat so tightly and scrutinizing his tie. She smiled forlornly at the angel, at her friend.

"I don't wanna say goodbye," she brokenly sighed, her voice cracking. More tears raced to her chin as he tilted his head. She exhaled through her nostrils as she dropped her eyes back down to his lapels. She smoothed her hands over them to straighten out the wrinkles.

"It's pathetic to say, but…," her eyes squeezed shut, "Cas, you're my best friend. And I wish that meant something more than it does, but you're literally the only friend I've got."

He shook his head. "That's not true. You have Sam and Dean."

"Brothers. Not friends." Frankie sighed as she opened her eyes to a dirty carpet. "And they hate me now."

"They don't hate you," Cas grunted, his voice firmer than before. His hands dropped to his sides.

Frankie rolled her eyes with a huff. "Go downstairs and mention my name. Report back to me if they don't scowl or sneer."

Cas was quiet for a moment, thinking over her words. She encouraged him with a quirked brow. "What about Bobby?" he offered.

"I don't know what we were. Acquaintances?" Frankie turned to the side, somberly gazing off into the short distance of the bedroom's walls. "We had a more respectable relationship. I was kinda more of an appreciated maid than a friend. Y'know, I cooked for him and cleaned. I don't think we ever had, like… a heart to heart or even a worthwhile conversation. A lot of short stories shared together, but nothing lasting."

"Ellen and Jo-"

"I literally just met them. Not like I've created a positive memory to leave behind for them."

"Surely you have someone else that values you."

Frankie sassily slow blinked over to the angel. "Crowley? He seems to value me, but I think he's more interested in my soul."

The angel's gaze fell to the floor as he finally put together that he was all that was left. Sam and Dean still cared for her – they would not be angry if they didn't – but it was difficult for the girl to see that when everything else in her world was blinding her perception of those around her.

If he explained to her that several minutes ago they were discussing ways to save her from her inevitable demise, she would not have believed him. If he tried to explain that earlier that day they had visited every bookstore in town to find a copy of the prophet Chuck's latest book only to be met with barren shelves, she would have assumed he was inventing prevarications to pacify her sorrow. It was in her nature to doubt acts of compassion, especially if they were originated from anger.

Frankie gazed helplessly into the faintly downcast eyes of the angel. "Cas, I'm not trying to make you feel awkward or anything." With his eyes back on her, Frankie gawkily returned her sight to his coat lapels. She straightened them even more as tears shimmied out from under her eyelids. "I just want you to know that… I've never appreciated the help someone has given me more than the help you gave." Her fingers tightened around his coat. Her voice weakened against the tautness of her throat. "And I wish I had more time to thank you properly."

Castiel looked down at the girl before him. He looked down at this young human, still trying to get her footing on his father's planet. She had not stood a chance against the world of her brothers. And he had nominated himself as her protector against the world of his brothers. And he had failed. At least, he was going to. He made a promise to her, one that he broke the moment he made it.

He tightened his jaw as his eyes traced over the girl he had failed. "I'm sorry."

Frankie glanced up, her eyes shimmering in the dim light of the single lit lightbulb above them. "For?"

"Though it has yet to come to pass, I've broken my promise. I won't be able to protect you."

Frankie's lips parted, her jaw barely slackening. She moved her hands to his shoulders and forced seriousness into her eyes. "No. I released you, Cas. You don't owe me any debt, you hear me? You owe me nothing. You've broken no promise."

Frankie could tell that her words were falling on deaf ears. She couldn't force him to understand her. He was so disheartened by letting her down. He was guilty.

If she was dying, she wasn't leaving anyone to drown in guilt over her. She didn't want that kind of burden anymore. What he needed was something to hold onto. A task. After all, he was a soldier – ex-soldier, really – and was programmed to follow orders.

"Cas, I need you to make me another promise. Okay?"

His eyes twinkled, his shoulders straightening. "Yes. Anything." It was kind of cute, the way he was so ready to take orders, to help.

Frankie smiled, stretching slick cheeks. She squeezed his shoulders, giving them a light shake. "Take care of Sam and Dean. Bobby, too. I need to know they'll be okay. I know they will, but… just to ease the weight on my soul. Will you do that?"

Castiel nodded his head, not questioning her request for a single moment. "With every drop of my strength."

Frankie's smile widened. She knew he would. He kept his word, always.

She lifted onto her toes and pulled herself up by his shoulders, bringing him closer. She enveloped her arms around his neck and squeezed him into a solemn embrace. She didn't try to suffocate him this time, and instead pressed her cheek softly against the frayed stitching of the coat covering his shoulder.

He went rigid against the embrace, just like he always had. It felt more like hugging a department store mannequin than her friend, and yet she couldn't bring herself to end it. It didn't matter if he hugged back, she didn't expect him to. She just needed a moment, just a single moment to hold onto him, to smell the hint of whisky that had trickled onto the collar of his white shirt, to feel the warmth of his neck against her skin.

Her eyebrows slightly narrowed. That in itself was odd. He was never really 'warm'. In her experiences with him, he was cold, almost like a walking corpse. Yet there in that moment, he emitted all the warmth in the world she could ever need. She tightened her hold on his neck.

"Thanks, Cas," she whispered.

A fleeting thought invaded her mind. That moment could be the last one she had with Cas. Her heart sagged painfully in her chest. There was no way they were letting her on the mission, she knew that. Cas would be going with them. This would be the last time she ever touched him.

This was her goodbye.

Her lip quivered, and tears oozed out of the corners of tightly clasped eyes. His coat quickly dampened. Her arms squeezed tighter around his neck, her fingers clutching handfuls of his coat. She didn't want to let go. She didn't want to say goodbye to the only friend she ever had.

Two solid masses slithered onto her back. Arms rested on her spine and lightly pressed against them, pulling her closer into the embrace.

A trembling breath left Frankie's lips as she sank deeper into Cas' hug. He lowered his head to her shoulder, the stubble of his jaw scratching at her neck. A giggle bubbled up at the light tickle, but her taut throat reverted it to a soft, desolate whimper.

She rested her chin on his shoulder and tilted her head to rest against his. Her ear rustled into his feathery black hair. The faint scent of parchment made itself known the closer her nose got to his skin. Such an odd aroma, yet it always brought her peace when she was nose-deep in an old book. That same contentment blossomed behind her eyes while she was nose-deep in a hug from an angel.

A bit of light made its way to her freckled cheeks. "Sure you can't just end me now? While I'm finally at ease?"

Cas' voice rumbled against her, vibrating within her chest and sending a slight chill up her spine. "I would never."

Frankie softly chuckled and nestled her head against his. "I know you wouldn't," she whispered contentedly.

"Everybody get in here!" Bobby hollered.

The heralding southern drawl from downstairs made her jostle in his arms.

Frankie heavily sighed as she hung onto the angel's neck. She didn't want to let go. Cas, however, released his hold on her back and leaned away. She lamentably dropped back onto her heels and drew back from his shoulder. She leaned as far away as she could without letting go of him. She found his eyes, his startlingly caerulean eyes.

They spoke of some unknown thought, an unknown feeling. They were filled with a solemnness that was unique to his face. She didn't like it. She didn't like to see him even remotely close to being sad. She wanted him to be happy, to go on living fine without ever having to see her again.

And yet she didn't want to let him go.

"'S time for the lineup! Usual suspects in the corner."

Castiel pressed his lips together. He backed away, her arms dropping to her sides. Frankie huffed bitterly, not at Bobby but more so at life for making that the last embrace from Cas she'd get. He turned and walked to the stairs, Frankie following closely behind. They headed into the study where Bobby was setting up a camera.

"Oh, c'mon, Bobby. Nobody wants their picture taken," Ellen groused.

"Hear, hear," Sam deadpanned. The others gathered into the room. Frankie avoided Dean's gaze.

"Shut up. You're drinkin' my beer." Bobby backed away from the camera and grasped at his cane. He hobbled over to a chair positioned across from the lens. "Anyway… I'm gunna need something to remember your sorry assess by." He lowered himself into the chair with a huff as everyone gathered around him. Cas was positioned on the far right next to Sam. Ellen stood in between him and Dean as the older Winchester wrapped his other arm around Jo. Frankie stood next to the girl and lowered a hand onto Bobby's arm.

"Ha! Always good to have an optimist around," Ellen quipped as the group smiled ahead at the camera set up on a tripod.

"Bobby's right," Cas grunted, his voice level and grim. "Tomorrow we hunt the Devil. This is our last night on earth."

The angel's words sat heavily on everyone. The joyful moment of a group photo was crushed as they all realized that he was probably right. Though Frankie knew it was her last night, knowing it very well could be the others' created a painful cramp in her heart. Her brothers might have a shot of getting out alive, but did the same go for Jo or Ellen or Bobby? What about Cas? What happened if he didn't make it?

The camera flashed before anyone could recover their smiles.

They stayed huddled together, trying to regain their indifference towards the dangerous mission the next day. Bobby was the first to disperse. He grunted as he lifted himself from his chair. Frankie tried to help him up, but he pulled away from her. She flinched back as he hobbled over to the camera.

She was sure he protested because he didn't want anyone's help with his leg, but it still pained her that he so frigidly jerked away from her. Maybe he was angry at her for leaving and for selling her soul. Maybe she was just overthinking things. Either way, a gloomy blanket shrouded over her.

She scooted back to the wall and leaned against it as the others dispersed from the group. She crossed her arms over her chest as she watched them. Bobby took the photo from the camera, and Sam walked up behind him to get a peek of it. Ellen returned to the kitchen and grabbed two beers, giving one to Jo.

She exhaled a dismal sigh. Cas' words still echoed in her head. Bobby would be there in the house with her, so how much trouble could they get into? Unless… unless demons came to the house and ambushed them. Frankie could only fend off so many and Bobby had an ailment he couldn't shake. They didn't really stand much of a chance, the two of them.

And what about Ellen and Jo? They were going on the dangerous mission, too. What if they didn't make it back? What if they sacrificed their lives for the mission?

The memory of the first night of her debut case resurfaced in her mind. She recalled every word that Dean lectured to her.

'We can't save everyone. We'll try, you bet your ass we will, but… no matter what case we work on, someone will get hurt. Even die. It's part of the whole process. It's crap, but it's the one we got. To save everyone else, sacrifices hafta be made. If that sacrifice is us, then dammit, it'll be us.'

A very bad feeling hatched in her gut. Something was going to go terribly wrong on the mission, she could feel it. Hell, they were going after Lucifer. Someone was going to get hurt. They might all get hurt.

Even die.

She couldn't shake the feeling that they were going into a losing battle. After all, a demon told them about this. Surely other demons, ones more loyal to the Devil, would know they were coming for them and take precautions.

They needed all the help they could get. Maybe she should go, too. She was dying anyway. At least this way her death could help them. It could mean something.

She lifted her gaze to the room. She suddenly realized that she hadn't seen Dean or Cas disperse. She scanned the room and found them talking by the front door. Well… it was more of Dean muttering something and motioning his head over to where she was standing. Cas' head lowered, his eyes downcast.

Frankie furrowed her brows and pushed off the wall. Something else didn't sit right in her gut. She glanced over to the other side of the room. To her shock, the others were staring at her. Ellen and Jo stood at the entrance to the kitchen, beers in their hands and firm gazes pointed her way. Bobby leaned on his cane, his stern look glued to her. Sam stood next to him, his arms crossed and a severe glare freezing her feet to the floor.

The bad feeling grew tenfold. A faint panic pulsed through her veins, her heart throbbing noisily in her ears.

She saw someone approaching her in her peripheral vision. She snapped her head towards the looming figure and found Cas standing there. A breath of small relief seeped from her lips at the sight of her friend, but something was still wrong.

His eyes were filled with burden and remorse. He pressed his lips together as a near silent sigh escaped through his nostrils. "I'm sorry," he muttered in a level yet laden voice.

Frankie felt backed into a dark corner. She darted her eyes around the room at the glaring faces. Her eyes finally landed on Dean.

He was the only one not looking at her. He leaned against the frame of the study's entrance, his arms crossed and a faraway scowl on his stormy face.

Frankie's eyes darted back to Cas, but his face was blocked by the sight of two fingers reaching for her forehead.

Her mind shut off like on old TV set, the last feeling she retained being two arms catching her limp body.


Dean scanned his eyes over the arsenal, triple checking everything. They couldn't be too careful, especially going into the fight they were heading into. Satisfied enough, he shut the false lid and tossed his and Sam's bags into the back.

He turned his head over to Ellen's station wagon. She was doing the same – going over inventory – as Jo rummaged through cassettes to play on the trip over to Carthage, her feet propped up on the dashboard. Cas sulked to the backseat, ducking in with a distant frown etched into his face.

Dean was noticing a lot of changes in his friend. The biggest being the fact that he had been lying to his face for the past couple weeks. He thought he got over trying to be a white knight. First it was Heaven, now it was his sister. What was next? Sam? Bobby? He didn't know how much more of this back and forth loyalty he could take.

But his topsy-turvy allegiances weren't the only thing he picked up on. Cas was starting to feel different, too. He wasn't as guarded and resolute as he used to be. Even after he'd chosen to be on their side, before he got yanked back up to Heaven, he was still more angel than friend. But now he seemed more… curious. More interested and affected by those around him. Especially Frankie.

He could tell the moment they got together on that roadside. Cas and Frankie had developed some weird relationship since she ran off. He figured a lot of that had to do with her being handpicked by God to run his errands or something, but if that was the end of it, he wouldn't be acting the way he was now.

When Dean told him the plan to knock out Frankie, something changed in his eyes. They widened, almost in shock. The very idea of it strummed some sort of ill chord with him. He looked ready to shake his head and flat out refuse. He looked ready to fly upstairs and guard her door, protecting her from any of them that wanted to knock her out and leave her behind. But despite his obvious protest, he forcibly dulled his eyes and nodded his head, agreeing to whatever Dean thought best.

Later that night, once they took Bobby's picture, Dean gave him the go-ahead to do his magic finger thing and send her off to dreamland. When he did, Cas' eyes didn't widen in shock. They didn't dull into a complete lack of emotion, either. They fell to the floor. He was upset – visibly upset – of what he had to do. It was the first time Dean had ever seen a hint of genuine, non-manufactured sadness in the angel. The look stayed on his face as he knocked her out and carried her downstairs.

Something was going on with Cas and Frankie, and whatever it was had been going on for months without him or Sam ever noticing. The thought alone of them keeping their weird friendship or whatever it was from him was enough to make him slam the trunk of his car shut a little harder than he normally would.

Someone approached him from the corner of his eye. He looked over and saw Bobby waddling over to him, faint strain clear in his clenched jaw. Dean swallowed down the pain that came with the sight of him struggling as the man stopped in front of him.

"All set?" he asked.

Dean gave the trunk a light pat, a silent apology for handling her so roughly. "All set."

Bobby nodded with a long sigh. "For the record, I think this's a stupid idea."

Dean furrowed his brows at the man. "Bobby, this's the best chance we've got. We know where Lucifer's gunna be, we have the Colt-"

"I ain't talkin' 'bout the Devil, son."

One look into the weathered, knowing eyes of the man told Dean enough. He shuffled his feet, condescendingly cocking his head to the side.

"What, you want her out there with us?" he incredulously asked, pointing to the road behind him. "With demons and a damn archangel?" Bobby shrugged. Dean's eyes hardened, his voice firm. "No."

"I'm just sayin'-"

"What are you saying?"

Bobby sighed. He looked off to the side as he adjusted his grip on his case. "I don't like it anymore than you do, believe me. But… this's fate we're talkin' 'bout. A damn prophesy from God. Meddlin' in what Chuck's predicted is only gunna make things worse."

Dean arched and eyebrow at Bobby, tilting his head to the other side. "I'm sorry, when'd you become the Sherlock of prophets?"

Bobby's lips scrunched up in a scowl. Whatever foul words he possessed in a remark were hidden behind his scruffy, graying beard. He continued in as level a voice he could muster. "What if keepin' her locked up in here is exactly where she needs to be?"

Dean huffed and walked past the older man, faintly shaking his head at the nonsense spouting from his mouth. "It's the safest place on the planet, Bobby. She is exactly where she needs to be. She comes with us, she dies." A dark lump slithered its way up his throat, with it appeared the bloody image of his sister, gasping and twitching in his arms. Dean clenched his fist as he swallowed it down and forced a steely tone back into his voice. "I'm not lettin' that happen."

"You can't save everyone, Dean."

Bobby's words hung precariously in the air. They echoed against the walls of his brain, over and over again, mocking him.

From the moment he started caring for that little brat, he was done for. Yet another person he needed to look out for, someone else to protect. Yet another person who would grow to be a weakness. Yet another person who would kill him if anything were to happen to them.

He tried to keep her safe, but one dead kidney was enough for her to throw it all away, to disregard everything he taught her, to diminish everything he tried to do for her. He tried so, so hard to mold her into someone that could defend herself, someone who could make the right choices. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

He wasn't going to save her. She will die, bloody and gasping and twitching, gagging for help. And when she stopped her convulsing, the last of her life leaving her, she would be dragged straight down to Hell. Her skin would boil, her bones would melt, hooks serrating every inch of flesh and tugging on them inch by inch every time she writhed in agony. She would disintegrate her throat screaming for help. The wails of tortured souls would brand themselves in her memory. And she would never forget the screams.

Never.

No. No, that wasn't going to happen. He wouldn't let it. He'd jump straight back down there before he let her go through any of that. She messed up, yes, but he'd be damned – again – if he let her suffer in Hell. She was locked up tight, completely safe. She would be fine. There was no way she would end up out there with Satan.

"She dug her grave. She needs to lay in it."

Dean's eyes, once foggy and distant with fear of losing her to the pit, now snapped wide open and cut to Bobby. He slowly turned his head over to the older man, his muscles on his jaw twitching with how tightly he clenched them.

"Let me get this straight," he growled, gruff and fierce. "You wanna send her out there into the fire, knowing damn well she's not gunna make it out alive?" The man pressed stanch eyes into Dean's scowl. Dean shook his head, never tearing his eyes from him. "God, Bobby, you are sick."

Bobby let out a quiet breath. His face drooped, sorrow coating every line in his craggy face. "She's dead anyway, Dean. They'll find some way to get to her. You know that. Least this way she'll be able to help y'all get to the Devil." Dean shook his head, searching for anything to say to describe his revulsion for Bobby's words. The older man quickly continued to halt his tongue. "I hate it, too! I like the kid. I've missed her like hell! But… she's too far gone. Best to spend her last moments doing the thing she always wanted."

Dean scoffed. "What, hunting?"

Bobby narrowed his brows over remorseful eyes. "Being with her brothers." Dean's hardened eyes thawed, his grimacing lips sagging. "It's bad enough y'all are endin' it all with bad blood."

Dean felt like he was punched in the throat. The thought of his heated shouting being the last thing he ever said to her twisted his guts in a nauseating coil. What if she died thinking he hated her? Another blow to his throat formed a hard lump in his windpipe.

He tried to hide the clear of his throat. "We're not," he grunted. "We'll… we'll talk when we get back." He spared a quick look to Bobby before opening the driver's side door to the Impala and ducking inside. "Keep an eye on her."

Bobby huffed as Dean closed the door. He raised his voice so the boys could hear him. "Don't miss!"


Whoosh… whoosh… whoosh…

A rhythmic hum pulled her from the dark chasm in place of her mind. A peculiar vibration prickled her hip, rousing her from her slumber. Red coated her sight, and her body was warmed by an unseen sun. She experimented with a stretch and found pain awaiting her consciousness.

Her back was polluted with twinges and aches. She moaned. And received a moan back. An echo surrounded her and harmonized with the whooshing high above her. She moved again and hissed in protest, sending another phantom voice swirling around the room.

Her eyes dared to crack open. A bright light painfully forced itself into her eyes. She winced against what was most likely the sun. She opened her eyes again, bracing herself against the light. She saw a fan, huge and circling high above her. It hummed a dull song each time it revolved around the completely circular room.

The completely circular metallic room.

Her eyes widened, ignoring the brightness that impaled her retinas. She finally noticed the Devil's trap mounted under the fan. She sat up, wincing against the stiffness of her back.

The iron walls of the panic room encased her. Beneath her was the cot, unfolded from the wall. Across from her was the very door she had memorized months ago.

Closed with her behind it.

"No," her throat squeaked. She launched off the cot like an Olympic swimmer at the sound of a gunshot, aiming for the door.

'No, no, no, no, no,' she chanted urgently in her head.

She rammed the door. The pain in her shoulder from the impact didn't bother her nearly as much as the fact that the door did not open. It was locked from the outside.

"Oh, God, no," she breathed out. Panicked gasps echoed off the metal walls of her prison. "S-Sam! Dean!" She slapped the walls, her palms falling over the dents her brother placed there not so long ago. "Dean!"

She whipped around, fruitlessly tossing her gaze around to find some sort of escape. The grimy texture of the cylindrical walls appeared like that of a snake's belly. It shifted and contorted and constricted with every rattled gasp. Breath after breath after breath, the room got smaller. Her skin was tight, as if she was enveloped in plastic wrap. She couldn't breathe. She was suffocating.

Filled with sand.

Inside a Russian Nesting Doll.

She scratched and pounded against her walls, but no matter how much she fought, the demon was still in control. There was no moving. No speaking. No escaping.

The door to the basement squeaked open.

Frankie opened her eyes, not realizing they had been clamped shut. She turned back around as someone descended the stairs. "Dean?" she called out in a desperate, puny voice.

The hatch screeched open. Through the small window, Bobby's whiskered face appeared. Frankie sank against the door of the chamber, a breath of relief hissing against the iron dungeon.

"Bobby! Thank God. Thought y'all left me for dead."

"More like the opposite," he muttered, arching a bushy brow.

"What's going on? Why'd y'all put me in here?!" Frankie snapped. Following her imprisonment in her own body, tight, inescapable spaces fondled her with perturbing tentacles. She reigned in what little control she had over herself and pointed her attention through the small window of the chamber.

"The boys thought you'd be safer in here. We couldn't have you runnin' after the Devil with him knowin' what he does."

Frankie tensed her jaw. "Well you don't have to keep me locked up in here."

"Don't we?" Bobby chuckled. An irritated bubbling flared in the pit of her stomach.

"No," she bit. "I'm not following them. Trust me, that's the last place I wanna be. They've left already anyway, right?"

"Trust," he mumbled. He waddled away from the hatch, his cane clicking against the concrete. "Forgive me if I have my doubts."

Frankie winced. She scraped her nails against the metal to distract herself from icy thorns prickling beneath her skin at the remark.

"I deserved that," she resigned, her voice hushed. Her teeth caught her lip, biting down to muffle her rising shame. "For what it's worth, Bobby… I'm so sorry I didn't come clean earlier. I was just… scared." Her eyes dropped to the floor. "So scared." Her fingers slipped through the slit of the hatch, clutching it like the bars of a prison. "Still am. I sold my soul. Was given the burden of a place in Heaven's plans. Got possessed. And I die today." A dry chuckle shimmied up from deep in her throat. "I'm terrified."

By some miracle of fate, Bobby's eyes softened. The edge of his bristly beard curved upward. "You're not dying, kid. Not today."

She quietly scoffed, a dour smile tightening her cheeks. "No offense, Bobby, but I don't think you're a Prophet of the Lord. How can you be sure?"

He lifted his cane and rapped it against the iron walls. "You're in here. This thing's ghost-proof, demon-proof, and angel-proof." He observed his work with pride in his eyes. "Nothin's gettin' in there without a fight."

Frankie quirked a skeptical brow. "Is it Lucifer-proof?"

Bobby was quiet for a moment. The pride in his eyes dimmed. Gathering an optimistic sigh, he turned and wobbled towards the staircase. "Even if it ain't, it's still the safest place on the globe. An' yer gunna stay here until this day rolls into th' next."

Her heart began to throb painfully against her ribcage as she watched him ascend the stairs. Her chance – albeit small chance – of being set free from her cylindrical prison slipped through her fingers.

"You think that'll save me?"

"Fer the night it will," Bobby answered, throwing his words over his shoulder.

Frankie pressed her face as close to the hatch as possible, inhaling as much free air she could. "For the record, I don't think this's a good idea!"

Bobby stopped at the top of the stairs. She heard him heave a heavy sigh before opening the door to the first floor. "Well, kid, you're not really a scholar on good ideas."

No amount of metal scratching could dull the pain from that remark. He shut the door with an echoing thud, cutting off her only chance of escaping.

Frankie tried her meditation exercises. It had been a while since she returned to them, but if she ever needed it, it was in that moment. She took in long, smooth breaths and slowly let them seep from her lips. She tried to clear her mind from the shrinking walls behind her.

After a while, things stopped seeming as bad as they did. With her head cleared, she could grasp that she wasn't alone in the house. Bobby was just upstairs in case anything went wrong. Like if the iron around her crushed her body into juice. Or if Lucifer came a'knockin' on the door.

But Bobby was right. Despite the terrifying thought that she was locked in a tiny room with no chance of escape, just waiting for the dinner bell to ring for some sort of creature that could break into the panic room, all the while her brothers and best friend far away hunting the biggest foe they could ever hunt, it was the safest place she could be.

She didn't blame them for tossing her in there. After all, the night before she was thinking about joining them on the mission to sacrifice herself for them. So, of course, they locked her in the safest and most secure place they could to keep her from A: running right into the claws of Lucifer, and B: protecting her from the thing that was supposed to kill her until the night passed.

That was just so stupid. It was foretold by a prophet. Something like that isn't so easily manipulated. Sam and Dean should have known that.

However, she had to face the fact that she was stuck there, whether she thought it a good idea or not. And, hell, it wasn't all bad.

She warily turned around to find that the walls had not yet swallowed her up. Letting out a shaky breath of relief, she paced around the room, revisiting the many aspects of it that she became accustomed to the night Lucifer was set free.

It was rather fitting. She was standing in the middle of that Devil's trap on the floor when the Devil was set free, and now here she was standing on top of it the day he was to be killed. Fate truly was a poetic bitch.

She circled the room, continuing her meditations under her breath. She ran her hand over the shelf of weapons, eyeing the several guns, knives, and hatchets. Her fingers froze on a handgun. A pistol, a Beretta 92. A solid black beauty.

Frankie missed her old revolver. She lost it along with most of her other things back at the warehouse Meg beat her in. If only Gabriel had thought to grab her gun for her. It had a lot of sentimental value. Her first gun, the one she endlessly practiced her shooting with. Oh well. It was surely long gone.

Her fingers slithered around the handle of the pistol. She tested the grip, squeezing it into her palm. She experimentally shifted her calluses against the chilly, stippled metal. She slid it out of its display on the shelf and lightly bounced it in her grip, testing its heft. She lightly hummed. It could work.

Oh, fucking hell, who was she kidding? When would she ever use that thing? She was going to die by sundown. And if she did make it to the next day, her brothers would see to it that she remained locked in the panic room for the next five years.

Despite her raving mind, she made sure the safety was on and stuck it in the back of her jeans.

She opened a metal cabinet that was mounted next to the shelves. She was surprised to see grenades glimmering back at her. Her eyes traced the several different appearances of the shells. They were obviously from different manufactures and different areas and different eras. Funny enough, she realized that she had never seen a grenade in person before.

She cautiously lifted a finger up to one. The tip of her finger hovered just above the shell. Would it explode if she touched it? She saw Loony Toons. She knew people should never play around with one of these things. And yet she couldn't pull her hand away. Her pulse throbbed in her ear, her neck warm with apprehension. She held her breath and moved her finger closer to the shell.

A violent tremor on her hip made her flinch and jerk away from the cabinet. She listened to the echo of her startled squeak from the unsuspecting sensation. Her hand dove for her pocket. She took out her persistently vibrating cellphone. She flipped it open to see that an unknown number was calling her.

She narrowed her eyes and pressed the button to answer. "Hello?" she guardedly muttered into the phone.

"Frankie?! Oh, thank God!"

The girl's eyes went wide as her brows deeply furrowed. She would recognize that squirrelly, shrill voice anywhere. "Chuck?"

"Where are you?! Are you with Sam and Dean?!"

She was quick to notice the urgency in his voice. "Uh, no. No, I'm not." She stepped back into the center of the room. "Why, what's wrong?"

"Oh, man," he moaned. "You're in the panic room, aren't you?"

Frankie blinked. "Yeah." The uneasy feeling from the night before made its appearance known. "Chuck, what's going on?"

"Did you tell them about your death?"

"W-What?"

"Did you tell them you die today?!"

"Yeah. Of course I told 'em."

Chuck whined through the phone, his voice plagued with fear. "Oh, this's bad. This's really, really bad."

Her ears returned to pulsating along with her heartbeat. A slight quake jittered her fingers.

"I-I had a vision."

She shook her head, trying to make his words sound less concerning than they probably were. "You always have visions."

"Not like this. All my visions become reality, b-but this…" She could hear him scratch at his no doubt shaggy hair. "It changed."

Frankie concentrated on forming the word in her mouth. "Changed?"

Chuck's voice bore a grave tone. "I've seen this day before. I know how it ends. H-How it's supposed to end… But I just got the same vision, b-but the ending changed. Now it's an altered reality, one different from what's written in my book."

Frankie kept shaking her head. She was having trouble grasping what he meant, but she knew one thing for certain: it wasn't good.

"See, originally you went with everyone on the mission to kill Lucifer a-and mostly everyone makes it out okay. But now that they trapped you in the panic room, you don't go with them."

Frankie sat herself down on the cot. She tried to clear her mind and wrap her head around what exactly was so urgent. "So? How much could change by removing me from the picture?"

"Frankie…" Chuck's voice was terse and ominous. A chill skipped down her spine. Something was clearly wrong. "If you don't go on this mission, Ellen and Jo will die."

Her body numbed. The weight of the words paralyzed every nerve. Her lips tingled like TV static; her mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

"What?" she gasped, her voice barely a whisper.

Chuck's voice was as broken as hers, if not more. "They don't make it out. It was… awful." He sighed into the phone. She could practically see the pain in his eyes from having to witness their deaths. "And Sam and Dean…"

"What about them?" she snapped. "What happens to them?!"

"I-I don't really remember. It just happened. It's still coming back to me."

No, no, no, no, this wasn't happening. Dammit, this was what she was worried about! If one messes with fate, there will be harsh repercussions. Didn't her brothers see Back to the Future Part II?! Now fate had changed for the worst.

She was as good as dead anyway with her soul belonging to Hell and Heaven no longer needing her. It was in everyone's best interests if she died anyway… but now Ellen and Jo… Sam and Dean's friends… two people undeserving of death… now they had to die in her place. They had to pay the price for her not being there. It wasn't fair! They had a chance! They all did! They could've all gotten out alive if only she'd been there to take the fall.

"Ellen… Jo…," she panted, almost like she was futilely calling out to them to warn them.

She had to warn them. She had to save them! This was her debt to pay, not theirs!

"I-I-I hafta to warn them! I gotta call them!" She stood to her feet. "Chuck, thank you."

"N-No, problem," he answered, still shaken up. "Now go."

He didn't have to tell her twice.

She pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call. She frantically thumbed at the small device, looking for Sam and Dean's numbers. She fumbled with the phone, nearly dropping it, as she hurried to catch them before the unimaginable occurred.

She finally pressed down on Sam's number and dialed his phone. She shoved the phone to her ear.

"It's Sam. Leave me a message."

She froze.

No.

She dialed his phone again. His voicemail repeated.

No. No.

She scrolled to Dean's number and dialed it. His curt voicemail droned into her ear. "This is Dean's other, other cell so, you must know what to do."

No, no, no, no.

She began pacing the room, dialing their numbers over and over again until her thumb went numb. She raked her free hand through her hair, now beginning to work up a panicked pant.

"C'mon. C'mon!" she shrieked into the phone.

She snapped the phone closed and tightened her fist around it. The urge to hurdle it at the iron wall was overbearing, but a tiny voice pleaded for her to calm down and think things through.

She sighed and walked over to the door. She leaned her body against the freezing metal, her mouth pressing against the open hatch to breath the free air. She tried a weak meditation.

Okay. So, she was locked in a cage with no way out while the friends of her brothers – and probably her brothers themselves – were going to be killed by Lucifer in a completely different state. No biggie.

The only thing she could think of was futile, but she had to try. "Bobby!" she cried out. "Bobby, please! Let me out! Bobby! They're in danger! Ellen and Jo, they'll die if I'm not there! Chuck said so! Please believe me!"

She knew he could hear her. She had heard every scream from Sam when he was locked in there. The thought of him being trapped in here for days gave her a violet chill.

It was no use. He would just think she was lying like she had been for months. He'd be stupid to trust her word.

"I know! You don't believe me. I get it. I mean, hell, I can't even remember the last time I told the truth." Frankie pushed off the door. She slowly walked across to the cot and sat down on the thin blankets. "I haven't been fair to you. To any of you. Y'all gave me everything. A home. A family. And I just spat in y'all's faces. I'd give anything to take it all back… but I don't have anything anymore. I have nothing."

She linked her hands together. Tears pooled in her eyes.

"I mean, what am I, y'know? I'm not a Winchester, I'm not a Pearce. I'm not a hunter. Or a daughter. I'm barely a cryptozoologist anymore… I'm not even useful to Heaven. So… what am I good for? What's my purpose in this life? Do I even have one anymore? Is there even a reason left for me to be here?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head. Her voice faltered against her quivering lips.

"I was given so many chances to make the right choice. And I blew 'em all. What's the point of goin' on if I know I'll just screw everything up?" Her tears clicked against the concrete. "Just… if I could just do one right thing… one… I'd waltz right into Hell. No qualms. I mean it. I'll get outta all y'all's hairs. You won't have to worry about me anymore. Lucifer'll be dead. I'll be gone. You guys can be happy."

She sniffed, the sound hissing against the walls. She lifted her head to the faraway fan above her. The sun shined through the Devil's trap and down onto her like a Heavenly light, but she found no comfort in it.

"And this's my chance," she wheezed. "My chance to make things right. People, good people, will die if I don't go out there. I can't… I can't live with that. I can't live knowing that every day of my life was stolen from theirs." Her hands tightened against each other. Her voice was wet and grieving. The words barely formed on her tongue. "What I did was wrong. I hurt my family. But I don't wanna hurt 'em anymore. I just want 'em to be happy. Together. That's all I want." Her chest heaved a whimpered cry. She bent forward, losing her last morsel of hope.

"That's all I want…"

The piercing shriek of metal wailed. She flinched against the grating noise and lifted her gaze. She held her breath as she stared ahead at the door.

It was opening.

She pushed herself to her feet, not believing what she was seeing. The door whined as it peeled back to reveal the basement. The stairs were right there, beaming like her salvation.

She shook her head. No, it was too good to be true.

She slowly stepped forward. "Bobby?' she peeped. He didn't answer her. She stood in front of the doorway, feeling the cool breeze of fresh basement air. "Hello?" she said, peaking out into the room.

No one was there. She looked behind the door. No one stood there. She searched the entire room, but she was the only one. A strange feeling blanketed her shoulders. She didn't think anything… natural opened the door. But the time for questioning who let her out would simply never occur. There was no time, and she would not be around long enough to seek the answer.

She hurried back into the panic room and dove for the shelves of weapons. She gathered extra ammo for the trip. One could not be too careful. She moved to leave, but her eyes caught sight of the metal cabinet next to the shelves. She froze in thought. No, she wouldn't need to.

But then again, one could never be too careful.

Frankie grabbed two grenades and ran out the door before it magically closed. She rushed to the stairs but stilled. Her thoughts still lingered on whoever opened the door. She wondered if they were still there.

"Whoever you are…," she announced to the seemingly empty room, "thank you."

Frankie crept up the stairs and opened the door. If it was obviously not Bobby, then he would surely not approve of her being let out. She slowly opened the door to the hallway. She didn't see him, but that didn't mean he wasn't just around the corner.

She carefully calculated her steps, avoiding the loudest floorboards. She could see into the kitchen. It was empty. Her eyes narrowed on the key hooks next to the entrance into the study. Swallowing down an anxious lump in her throat, Frankie crept into the kitchen and made a beeline for Bobby's keys.

A thump froze her in her tracks. She'd been caught! She knew she'd been caught! Bobby was probably pointing a shotgun at her right then and there! She was done for!

She opened her eyes, not knowing they'd been closed until she heard another thump. They both came from upstairs. Her sigh of relief was a little too loud. She winced as the thumps picked up as if they were walking – or rather stumbling – out of a room to check on the suspicious sound in the kitchen.

Time was running out. Sneakiness be damned. Frankie grabbed the keys and bolted out the back door. She started running, making a beeline for Bobby's truck parked next to his garage. She practically jumped into the driver's seat and jammed the key into the ignition before she even closed the door.

The truck thrummed to life. After thinking she would waste away in an iron prison for five years, it was music to her ears. The dizzying stench of gasoline only grew the relieved grin on her face. She stomped on the gas, tearing up dirt and gravel as the truck sped off toward open road.

Frankie made the biggest mistake by looking in the rearview mirror. Bobby was standing on the front porch leaning against the railing, cane nowhere in sight.

Frankie forced her gaze through the windshield. She tried to suck the tears back into her eyes, but she couldn't help the fact that she had just look at her home for the last time.