Chapter 8

Grace

I listened as our kids gathered their things. Liberty and Faith said a quick mental goodbye and Glory told me she loved me and Dean, but then I felt her walls go up, blocking her mind from mine. Her 'Glory marks' were in place and they were on their way.

Turning to my husband, I smiled lightly. "They're so old," I muttered, shaking my head. "Going off on their own…" I unbuttoned my jeans and let them drop to the floor, then tugged off my shirt and headed to the wash basin. There was still enough soap for the next few days, but I would need to refill the pump soon. "It's getting easier to handle, but I still see them as ten-year-olds."

"Don't get me started," Dean muttered from the mattress. "My infant just informed me that she was going on a food run."

I laughed, pulling my hair into a high ponytail so I could wash my face. "She likes him," I bubbled through the cold water. "Sawyer."

"Ugh," my husband sighed. "Don't get me started," he repeated.

"Oh stop," I giggled, wiping my face with a clean-but-dingy towel. "She's eighteen. By the time I was eighteen—"

Dean held up both of his hands, shaking his head, "Don't!" he exclaimed. "Lib's not you. At least she doesn't have any out-of-control Daddy issues. I didn't screw her up too bad."

I sat on the mattress next to my husband. "You didn't screw her up at all," I consoled. "I'm just saying that she's plenty old enough. And she's responsible. We live in a wasteland…it's nice that she has someone her own age."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, rubbing his face. "I know." He turned his head, still lying next to me on the bed, and reached out his hand, touching his palm to my face.

I closed my eyes, enjoying the physical reassurance. "I'm so tired of living like this," I whispered. "It's getting really hard."

"We can handle hard," he answered. Even close to a whisper, Dean's voice was deep and calming. "And people are counting on us. If you and the kids think Everett can dream walk Sammy and bring him back, or at least make contact, maybe we can think about putting all of this behind us." He shrugged, "Maybe there's starting to be a glimmer of hope at the end of this tunnel."

I was silent for longer that Dean wanted, so he touched my chin and forced me to meet his eyes. The man I married was still there and no matter how much we had been through, I loved him with everything I was. He inspected my face, searching for an answer.

"What, Gracie?" he asked. "You're the psychic."

I pressed my lips together, preparing myself for the inevitable conversation that always followed. "I'm hesitant," I began, "because I know what this will lead towards."

Dean pursed his lips. "I'm not going to kill Sam. He's not going to kill me," Dean soothed. "We've been through too much for that to be the ending." He shrugged. "I've lived long enough that I would be pissed if I didn't just die of old age."

I couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of my lips.

"Besides," Dean continued, reaching for my hand and kissing my palm, "This isn't two-thousand five. We did that story already."

"Doesn't mean that it's not still destiny," I muttered. "The pieces are all still there. It still fits."

"It's lame, Grace," Dean chuckled. "For us to go through everything we've been through and have the same thing we avoided decades ago? Come on. Chuck's more inventive than that."

"Speaking of which," I pulled away from my husband's touch. "Why hasn't he stepped in? Where is Chuck?"

"He's probably written us off. Maybe he got bored?"

I turned and fluffed a pillow next to Dean's head. "Talk about lame."

"It's probably why he disappeared. He's jealous of all the post-apocalyptic attention you're getting."

Slowly, Dean's fingers traced the edge of my arm, leading down to the skin of my waist and hip. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sizzle of electricity my husband still created when he touched me. He smiled and turned, getting up onto his knees as he kissed his way up my side, touching his lips to my skin slowly, and making my breath catch in my throat.

We didn't get much time alone anymore. Recently, we had scavenged enough doors to create bedrooms that closed and locked, finally giving our family some needed privacy. Liberty had been the first to slam her door, angry at Everett one day for blowing a hunt because he had been afraid to take a shot. I remembered squeezing my eyes shut, waiting to see if our make-shift bedrooms collapsed, but to everyone's surprise, they held. I had been relieved.

Now, we could take full advantage of having a closing, locking bedroom door. I smiled as Dean peeled his shirt off, dropping it next to our bed. He leaned back down, kissing me deeply.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Serra's voice shouted, breaking the mood.

"What?" I answered, rolling my eyes.

"God," Serra's muffled voice continued. "Break our connection before you start doing shit like that. You are way too visual."

Laughing, I closed my eyes and mentally blocked my sister from my mind, then smiled as I disappeared into my own personal world with my husband.

…

Somewhere near Petra, Jordan

The air was thick here; stifling. Often, it was difficult to do simple things like breathing, let alone trying to find your way out of a mind trap when someone wore your body like a suit of armor. Lucifer had control now, but when Sam managed to have a thought or two of his own, he took in his surroundings as much as possible, even if that meant taking deep breaths of ancient, sandy air.

Now was one of those times. Lucifer's walls were relaxed as he rested, deep inside the crypt of some ancient biblical figure. The Holy Lands didn't seem to give him any more power than he already had, but it did allow him to direct his will more accurately. There seemed to be a pulsing lifeforce in the very ground here, breathing in and out with humanity. It was eerie.

Sam took another deep breath, blinking to clear the dust from his eyes. All around him there were tiny vials of liquids, spell books, and other varying ingredients. He had no idea what Lucifer had been doing in his time occupying his body, but he did know that now was the moment to try and reach out to anyone who was listening.
The easiest person to communicate with in his family was his nephew Everett. Why he had an easy connection with the kid, he would never understand, but at the same time, he didn't want to question it. If Everett was an easy target to get through to Serra, then so be it.

Carefully, without causing any reason for Lucifer to be on alert, Sam sent out as many details about his surroundings as he could. Maybe someone would hear him. Maybe someone would be able to come for him. Maybe, just maybe, they would be able to kill Lucifer and end this apocalypse and move on with their lives before his kids got any older or he missed out on any more of their lives. Three years was already too, too much.