"He's throwing everything he's got at us," Dean said, reaching for another beer. "All of our greatest hits, everything's going back to the way it was before we stepped in."
Grace crossed her arms, clearly disapproving of him drinking so early in the afternoon. Sam had gone out on a run, deciding to get some fresh air and have a break from the bunker. He and Grace spent most of their time researching weapons they could combine to use against Chuck and his army. Dean, meanwhile, had been marathoning cartoons. What little motivation Grace had managed to muster up in him was gone after he and Sam had faced off with Lilith. "We're going to find a way to stop him."
"You and Sam have no leads," Dean frowned, closing the fridge. "Whatever we come up with isn't any match for Chuck. Besides, he's bringing the fight to us. We might as well enjoy the time we've got left." He stopped in the doorway, turning back to say, "Tell you what, I'll make us a really nice dinner tonight. We might as well have all of our birthdays and anniversaries before Chuck comes back and -"
"Dean," she warned. "We've got to believe we're going to make it through this."
"Fine. I'll make you dinner anyway." He took off for the DeanCave as Grace sighed, shaking her head.
It wasn't long before Sam came back, accompanied by someone Grace knew was dead. Supposedly. "Eileen?" she signed, the woman smiling her hello as Sam started to explain. He was cut off by Dean emerging again.
"The hellhound that killed me dragged me down there," Eileen said, looking between the three of them. "I escaped when Hell opened up, ran as fast as I could. I thought maybe you guys could help me get to Heaven. Call in a few favors, put in a good word with the angels?"
Grace bit her lip trying to find a compassionate way to tell her that "Souls from Hell can't go to Heaven," Dean said abruptly. "Sucks, but it is what it is. They make a few exceptions, but Heaven's not exactly on our side right now." He took off again, Sam following behind.
"There might be a way," Grace offered, sitting down on the table they had gathered around. "There's a lot of magic out there, a lot of powerful magic that we don't know about. If you're afraid of becoming a vengeful spirit, we can start with a soul catcher. But I'm sure we can find a way to bend the rules."
"Heaven doesn't exactly have holes in the fence I can just sneak through," Eileen frowned, attempting to sit down next to Grace but then realizing she would just phase through the table.
"No, but we might be able to make some. Like I said, powerful magic. I'll have to do some research, but I'm sure I could come up with something. Maybe Rowena had some ideas about it before she… before she died," Grace told her. "I haven't seen you in ages. You look good, all things considered."
"Thanks. It's nice to be out of Hell."
Sam came back into the room, asking if he could talk to Grace. She and Eileen exchanged a look, Grace stepping into the hall with him. "What's up?"
"So get this - Rowena was working on a lot of magic before she sacrificed herself," Sam explained, "and she might have been working on something like this. For now I'm thinking we build a soul catcher. That'll give us more time to find a solution so she doesn't become a vengeful spirit. We need some crystals and some other stuff, but I figure we can stop by Rowena's place, maybe look for some solutions to our Chuck problem too." He paused, looking down the hall. "Dean's not coming."
Grace sighed, following his gaze down the hall. "I'll talk to him. He keeps going between trying to prove to me that everything's real and giving up. I think he's trying to figure it all out for himself, so if he can convince me, he might be able to convince himself. I don't know. I'll babysit him and see what I can do. Take Eileen, be careful, call me when you get there and when you're leaving. All the usual stuff," she smiled. "I'll try to work on Dean."
As Sam and Eileen got ready to leave, Grace went to find Dean. He was terribly busy, zoning out as he watched TV and pulled apart a strand of licorice. "Hey, Gracie. Want some?"
She sat down next to him, shaking her head. "You know I don't like licorice. It's just weird. Can we talk for a minute?"
"About what?" He switched the TV off, looking over to her pleasantly.
"You know what it is."
Dean sighed, taking another bite of licorice. "Gracie, I know, this is real. I love you, and that's real. We make our own choices, or at least some of them. But Sam and I, we're different. Chuck's favorite story, remember?"
"It works just the same for you," Grace insisted, reaching out for his hand. "Chuck put me on a shelf, wrote me in as a passing thought or a fantasy for you. But I still had my own life. So did you. Even if he wrote everything, you still make choices that make up most of your life. Maybe not the big ones, but you still get to choose the little moments that make up a life."
He wasn't impressed. "Chuck wrote the details in for me and Sam. It's not the same. Besides, no matter what we do, he's already three steps ahead."
"You still… whenever I don't feel good, you make me food. Or you run out and get green tea ice cream and watch true crime documentaries with me, even though you say they're weird. You'll eat half the ice cream and fall asleep before the police have any clue who the killer is. You sing along with the radio to keep me awake on really long drives. You run your hands through my hair when I'm asleep, and if we're home, you'll talk to me or hum an old song, since Sam's not six feet away. You know I can hear you half the time, but you pretend like I can't. You always sleep on the side of the bed closer to the door, no matter where we are, just in case something evil comes through it in the middle of the night. Chuck wouldn't write all of that. Chuck may have made us fall in love, but we keep it that way. Everything else has to be along the same lines, right? I know it's hard figuring out what's Chuck and what isn't. It took me a long time. But that's the best I've come up with, and it's what I want to believe. The details are us. He skipped over so much, they have to be. It feels right."
Finishing his licorice off, Dean frowned. "We're walking towards the inevitable, Gracie."
"It doesn't have to be inevitable, though. Look, maybe Chuck knew Sam was going to shoot him. Maybe he didn't. But as long as we can fight, we should." She stood, letting go of his hand. "I'm going to keep fighting, and so is Sam. We'd like it if you did too. Or at least if you didn't totally give up and watch TV all day. We need you. I need you." Her voice nearly broke as she added, "We've lost way more than anyone ever should. You told me once that you wanted to go down swinging. This might be it. And you're hiding in here while Sam and I are out there busting our asses trying to find something - anything - that might give us a scrap of hope. I love you, and I know you're in pain. I know how depressing this is, losing the kids, losing your mom, losing everything we thought was normal. I'm not the one who Chuck wants to kill his brother, or get killed, or whatever. But I have to watch. I have to watch you push us all away, and I have to watch whatever Chuck has planned. I can't control you, but if I can fight Chuck, I'm going to try. I love you, Dean, and I'm not giving up on you. I just don't want you to give up on the rest of us."
With that, she left, headed back to the library. It was the only place where she still felt even mildly in control of a universe that was rapidly spinning out of her grasp. Chugging half of her coffee, she settled down to continue reading. She wouldn't be left alone for long, though.
The echo of Dean's footsteps gave him away well before he made it into the room. If he wanted to sneak up on her, he would have. But he knew she was hard at work. "Gracie."
"What?"
Reading over her shoulder, he apologized, telling her that, "I don't know what's wrong with me. Sammy, Sam was always the one who had hope. Hope that there was something out there, hope that he could pray and get an answer - I never did, even when we were kids. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing, how the hell we escape this, but you're right. We have to do something. Go down swinging. It might not work, but we've got to try. All of that - what if that's Chuck trying to stop me from figuring this out?"
"Then it would be a massive 'fuck you' if you didn't listen. Even if he wants you to go down swinging, isn't it better that way? You'll still know that you did everything you could," Grace smiled, looking up at him. "Go help Sam. I'll be here when you get back. But you can still make me a nice dinner."
Dinner would have to wait. Grace started to worry when neither of the boys came back a few hours after they'd left, but she shrugged it off. It was a bit of a drive to Rowena's, and if they'd been loading their cars with books and ingredients for spells, it could take a little while. When the three of them finally stumbled through the door, looking a little worse for wear, she was relieved. "We killed a witch," Dean said, giving her a hug as Sam carried in a crate of books.
"Dean killed a witch," Sam corrected. "And I'm going to need this witch's help. We're going to bring Eileen back. Rowena finished a spell a few months back that should work. She taught me a lot, but I'm going to need your help on this one."
"Of course," she answered, her arms still looped around Dean's neck. Lowering her voice, Grace had to ask, "How are you doing?"
"Could be better." He kissed her on the cheek, adding, "But thanks for asking."
Sam and Dean stayed up late talking as Grace got Eileen set up in a room of her own. She was still marveling at being able to touch things, to eat again, and to exist as a human after spending so long as a spirit. Grace was nearly asleep when Dean came in, laying down next to her. "Hi, you," she mumbled as he kissed her cheek, telling her he was going to change and brush his teeth. "Mkay."
When Dean climbed back into bed, he draped an arm over her, whispering, "Thank you, Gracie. I still don't feel great about this, but thank you for not giving up on me."
"I'm never going to give up on you."