Seven

We won't lose him, Castiel had told Brooke, only a day before.

We won't lose him.

We can't lose him.

We're going to lose him.

Brooke had not slept in over twenty-four hours, now. She'd done that plenty of times, gone on very little sleep, but this time, it was as if her body could not keep up. Even with Castiel's Grace inside her… His Grace that was slowly fading, losing power. Perhaps that was why it was so hard to stay awake.

Jack sat up in the bed, coughing.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sam said, gently, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's all right. Take it easy."

Jack struggled to sit up, his face a grimacing mask of pain.

"Take it easy," Sam said again.

Eventually, the boy gave up, and lay half-sitting up, his head resting against the headboard behind him. He was breathing heavily from the exertion. He glanced at Sam, then up and around the room, looking at Castiel, and Brooke, and Dean. Dean was off in the corner, facing away. "Please don't be sad," Jack begged of them. "Maybe… Maybe this is how things are supposed to be."

He was so calm that Brooke's already broken heart broke again. He was accepting death the way that she had when Castiel had died, and she hated it.

"Don't give me that meant to be crap," Dean growled from his corner. "This isn't part of some damn plan!"

"Dean…" Castiel said, in a warning tone. There was no need to upset Jack.

The boy fell into another coughing spell, pressing an oxygen mask to his face as he gasped for breath between coughs. It took him a long time to catch his breath. Brooke sat on the edge of the bed, watching him, and then turned so that she was sitting cross-legged, fully on the bed. He caught her eye even as he continued to cough and reached out one hand to her. She took it. He squeezed.

Dean left the room.

Finally, Jack caught his breath, and flopped his head to the left to look at Sam. "Can you tell him… it's okay?"

"Tell him yourself," Sam replied, staring at the boy with red-rimmed eyes. "He'll be back in a minute." He smiled, but there was no joy in it.

"Sam… What happens next… for someone like me?"

Sam smiled again. "I don't know," he whispered.

"Then it's gonna be an adventure," Jack said, and lay back down with a smile on his face.

Castiel caught Brooke's eye from the doorway and then turned. I'll get Dean back in here, he said.

Brooke did not reply. Only held Jack's hand.

He turned his head to look at her, still smiling. "Thanks for watching all those movies with me," he said.

"Of course," she replied, forcing down the sob that threatened to burst from her chest. She reached down and ran her fingers through his hair—a mother comforting her son.

A moment later, his eyes went wide and searching. He squeezed her hand again, hard. "M-Mom?"

This time, the sob did escape. "Jack?" she replied, taking his face in her hands.

His eyes were swiveling, as if he'd gone blind. "Mom," he repeated, and then sighed, a long, endless sound, and did not take another breath.

The air was suddenly filled with a horrendous noise, a scream that came out as a roar, as of some terrible creature. Brooke's body went white-hot, the Grace inside her boiling over. Someone was holding her, wrapping their arms around her, imprisoning her against their chest. She pushed them off, away, and reached for her son, pulling Jack up, which was difficult because his body lolled strangely. Dead weight.

Dead weight.

More screams tore from her throat, broken by sobs, an ugly sound, as she pressed Jack to her body, holding him as if he were a much smaller boy. She rocked him as she cried, pressing her face into his hair. The world around her disappeared, and all she knew was the tiny pinprick of light before her that allowed her to see Jack's hair. Blonde. Damp with sweat.

It took a long time before Brooke allowed herself to be pulled away from the boy. Her boy. Her son.

Castiel, Sam, and Dean spoke in quiet tones to one another as she stood idly by, lost in a world of fog. Some time later—seconds, minutes, hours?—she found herself in her own bed, with her husband's body curled around her, spooning her.

She said nothing for a very long time, eyes still leaking tears, though she was no longer sobbing. Finally, all she could think was, Why can't I have both of you?

Castiel, who was almost as lost in his own grief as she was in hers, said, What?

Brooke released a long sigh. Jack is born, you die. You come back to life, Jack dies. I can't have you both… Why? Why can't you both just… stay alive? I can have my husband or my son, but God forbid I get you both.

And then her mind lost the ability to think anymore, and she buried her face into the pillow and sobbed again.

###

Several hours later, when Brooke had cried herself out and lay numbly on the bed, there came a knock at the door. She heard it, but it did not register in her brain that the knock had anything to do with her. A few seconds later, there came another knock.

Slowly, with a long intake of breath, Castiel uncurled himself from around her body and got out of the bed. She turned to watch him with bleary eyes. His hair was a mess, matted down on one side of his head from where he'd laid it on the pillow, while the other half was crazy and spiked, as if he'd been tearing at his with his fingers.

He opened the door.

Dean stood there. "You guys wanna get wasted with me and Sam?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Castiel turned and looked back at Brooke. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot; he'd been crying, too. He looked haggard.

Brooke sat up in the bed and then stumbled inefficiently to her feet, as if she were already drunk. She went to her husband's side and they left the bedroom together, following Dean down the hallway.

What followed was a long, long night of drinking and reminiscing. Remembering Jack. Everyone took turns recounting their favorite memories, their words slurring and the stories getting crazier and less true with each drink. When they ran out of alcohol, Castiel went to get more, being the only one among them still able to walk properly.

They ate candy bars full of nougat, too, to honor the boy.

Brooke recounted several reactions that Jack had had to all the movies they'd watched when she'd been sick. "He asked me…" she said, her voice slow and slurring, "if Hogwarts was real."

The table laughed.

"I… almost didn't have the heart to tell him it didn't."

Sam left the table first, flipping his glass over and then stumbling up from his seat and leaving the room.

Castiel gave up next. He was not drunk, though he was buzzed. It was, perhaps, the first time that he went to their bedroom without Brooke following him.

As he got up, patting Dean's shoulder, the Winchester asked, "We did everything we could, right?"

Castiel did not know what to say, and did not answer.

Brooke watched him go, watched the swish of his trench coat as he turned the corner to go down the hallway. She slumped forward onto the table, her head pillowed on her arms. After a time—she didn't know how long—she said, "You were a good dad."

"Cass left," Dean said.

"I'm talking to you, dumbass," she replied.

He snorted. "I was a terrible dad."

"Yeah, you were. You sucked… at first." Brooke groaned as she lifted her head to look at him. He gestured to fill her glass again, but she shook her head and flipped it upside-down. "You got better," she said.

He only looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"You changed, Dean."

He looked away. Silence reigned for a long time, and then he said, "We never tried to save you with magic."

"What?" Brooke asked, her mind muddled.

"When you were… in the hospital after Cass died… We never tried to save you with magic. We gave up after we took you to the hospital."

"Well… whatever," she said. "It doesn't matter."

"We shoulda tried harder," he went on.

"Dean, it doesn't matter. I didn't die. Cass came back."

Dean closed his eyes, rubbed them with his fingers. Opened them again and stared at the glass in his hand. "Here's to you, Jack, wherever you are," he said, and lifted it to his lips.

Brooke watched him as he downed the rest of his drink. She sighed and flipped her glass right-side-up again. "Fine," she said. "More."

He poured more drink into her glass and she downed it.

"More," she demanded, trying to drown out the face of her son, which kept popping into her head.

He blinked at her, and then handed her a bottle.

She was halfway through chugging it, fighting the urge to vomit, when Castiel came back into the room.

"No," he said, and took the bottle from her.

"Gimme that." She reached for the bottle, and then fell face-down onto the tabletop.

Castiel sighed and lifted her into his arms, carrying her back to their room.

She groaned, her stomach churning, and pulled out of his arms quickly, leaning over halfway back to their bedroom, and vomited on the hallway floor.

Castiel gently turned her around so that she was facing him and pressed two fingers to her forehead.

"No," she said, though it came out more as a groan than a word. "Your powers are… failing."

"It's different with you," he said. "There's already Grace in your body. I'm just moving it around. I'm not expending any of my own energy."

She didn't understand anything he'd said, and stood swaying on the spot as he held his fingers to her forehead. After a few more moments, she felt less nauseous, but no less inebriated.

"I'll let you stay drunk," he murmured. "To dull the pain."

She blinked up at him.

"I need to clean this up," he said, gesturing to the puddle of sick on the floor. "Go to bed. Don't step in it."

She sniffed, turned, and stumbled down the hallway, falling into bed.

###

Brooke awoke early the next morning. The events of the previous night came to her immediately, and she sat up, expecting to feel her head pounding and her mouth cottony. Neither happened. She felt utterly normal—aside from the soul-crushing depression of her son's death that weighed on her like a physical thing.

Castiel was not in the room. The very millisecond that she realized this, she heard his voice in her mind: I'm in the library with Sam and Lily Sunder.

Lily Sunder? Brooke repeated, as she got out of bed and got dressed. She thought back to a few years before when she'd found out that Castiel had once been tasked with killing a child whom he'd thought had been a Nephilim. The child had been murdered by the angel Ishim, and Lily Sunder had spent years—hundreds of years—keeping herself alive with Enochian magic in order to get revenge for the death of her human daughter.

Sam called her, Castiel explained. He thinks she might be able to help us get Jack back.

Brooke quickly finished dressing and went down the hallway, her heart suddenly in her throat. Why don't I feel like shit, by the way? she asked.

I healed your body while you slept so you wouldn't have a hangover.

You really are my Lord and Savior, she replied, as she entered the library. Coming to stand beside her husband, she said, quietly, Sorry about the vomit.

He shook his head, touching her cheek. Hush. You don't need to apologize to me. Not for that. Not after… Jack… Castiel closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Forgetting, momentarily, that there was company, Brooke wrapped her arms around her husband and stood there.

He let her hold him for a few seconds, resting his cheek atop her head, and then cleared his throat. "You… remember Lily Sunder?" He gestured to someone behind Brooke.

She turned, taking in the old woman with the eyepatch. It had only been, what? Two years since she'd seen her, and yet Lily had aged several decades since then. On the table beside the old woman were several stacks of notes written in a crazy scribbled version of some old, dead language.

"Wait…" Brooke said, slowly, riffling through the papers. "Are these Kevin's notes?"

"Yep," Sam said. "We're hoping that Lily might be able to read them and… Maybe there's something in these translations about… I don't know, keeping a Nephilim alive. So." He turned to Lily.

"Do you think it's possible?" Castiel spoke up.

"I think so," she replied. "Maybe."

"Maybe what?" said a hoarse, tired voice from the doorway.

They all turned to find a very unsteady Dean Winchester stumbling into the room.

"Hello, Dean," Lily said.

"Dean, you remember Lily Sunder," Castiel said, emphasizing her name and staring at Dean, as if he were afraid that he would not, in fact, remember her.

Dean stared at Castiel, then turned and stared at Lily. His face clouded over with confusion. "You got old," he said.

"Oh, that's nice, Dean," Brooke said, putting her face in one hand.

"Did I?" Lily said, smiling at the older Winchester with an expression that read: Bite me. "An unfortunate side effect of giving up magic, I suppose."

"Ah," said Dean, though it came out sort of groggily. A caveman noise. "What are you doing here?"

"I called her," Sam said.

Dean stared up at his brother. "You…"

Sam nodded.

"Okay. Last thing I remember was her killing a whole bunch of angels to get revenge for her daughter. She tried to kill you." Dean looked at Castiel.

"Yeah, I remember," Castiel said, nodding.

Sam shook his head. "That's not… Dean, listen. Last night, after about whiskey number five, it hit me. I mean, we've torn through all the lore looking for a way to cure Jack, right? But we've never looked through Kevin's angel tablet translations."

"Yeah, 'cause they're worthless," Dean said, shrugging. "I mean, Kevin translated them into crazy scribble only a Prophet can read." He turned to Castiel. "And, last I checked, we can't exactly ask Donatello." He rubbed his face with his hands, clearly suffering from a hangover.

Castiel pursed his lips, reminded of what he'd done to the older Prophet.

"Maybe I can read them," Lily spoke up.

Dean groaned, dropping his hands from his face. "Oh, so what, now you're a Prophet?"

"She's the next best thing," Sam offered. "I mean, Lily is an angel expert who tapped into their magic in ways we didn't even know existed. So, if she can read the translations, then maybe we can pull off a miracle."

"What kind of miracle?" Dean asked, skeptically.

"A way to bring Jack home," Castiel replied, quietly.

Brooke had remained silent, listening to all this, but her heart was still pounding. If this worked…

Dean nodded, looking at Lily. "Okay. Go for it."

Lily began to shuffle through the pages, looking at Kevin's notes.

Literally five seconds later, Sam asked, "So, can you read—

Lily shushed him, raising one hand in the air.

Brooke didn't blame her. She wanted to know if Lily could help just as much as the others, but the woman was gonna need more than five seconds.

Another ten seconds or so elapsed. Lily looked up. "I'm sorry. I can't."

Brooke felt deflated. She glanced at the floor, taking a deep breath.

"Oh, all right," Dean said, his voice falsely jovial. "Well, thanks for stopping by."

"Wait," Lily said. "You can use my magic."

"Your magic," Castiel repeated, staring at her intently.

Lily looked at Dean. "The magic I used, as you so sensitively put it, to get revenge for my daughter. You said your Nephilim boy—Jack—without his angel Grace, his human body died? My magic draws power from the soul, the human soul. It could save him."

Brooke's brows drew together.

"You'd give your soul up?" Sam asked, disbelievingly.

"Not my soul. His."

"Pass," Dean said, immediately.

Lily turned to Dean again, impatiently. "It's not his entire soul, obviously."

"How much of it?" Sam asked.

Dean stared at him as if shocked by his question.

"As long as he's only using it to sustain his body, it won't cost much," Lily explained. "He'll never miss it."

Somehow I doubt that, Brooke thought, glancing at Sam. She remembered what he'd been like without his soul, and she did not want to imagine a soulless Jack.

Lily just said it would only use part of his soul, Castiel said.

Right, Brooke replied. And when have any of our plans ever actually worked? What if he needs to use his powers for literally anything else? The more power he uses, the more of his soul is drained away.

"What are we even talking about?" Dean demanded, breaking off their silent conversation. "I-It's too late. Jack's dead. His soul's gone, right?"

"Maybe not," Castiel said, slowly, thinking. "If Jack is in Heaven, I might be able to pull his soul into his body. It…" He shrugged. "It would only be for a few seconds."

Lily nodded. "That's all the time I need. If I can open the door, your boy can stay alive using my magic." She chuckled. "Resurrection and a cure." She smiled at Dean. "You're welcome."

Dean crossed his arms, giving her a once-over. "And you would do all this for us, huh? Eh, for what? Out of the kindness of your heart?"

Lily looked down at the table, awkwardly shuffling some of Kevin's notes. "No. But I'm willing to trade."

"Trade for what?" Sam asked.

"I'm old, and I'm dying. And when my life is over, I'm pretty certain I'm going to Hell."

"Why is that?" Sam asked, also giving her a once-over.

"Well," Lily said slowly, "I murdered a lot of angels." She smiled, grimly. "I don't expect them to welcome me with open arms. So, if you want my help… get me into Heaven."

###

"We're talking about the kid's soul," Dean said, quietly, a few minutes later, as they all moved off to talk about it privately.

"Not all of it," Sam replied.

Dean stared at him. "Oh. Okay then." He glanced at Castiel and Brooke. "Tell me you're not cool with this."

Brooke opened her mouth, shocked that she was about to agree with Dean on something.

"Don't you think Jack should decide for himself?" Castiel snapped at both of them.

Brooke closed her mouth, sighing. She rubbed her forehead with the heels of her hands, her mind spinning. Half of her could not believe that she wasn't jumping at the chance to bring her son back. But half of her knew how horribly this could go.

I came back and everything was fine, Castiel said.

You didn't have to give up part of your soul. Because, in fact, you have no soul.

"Listen, I know how important a soul is," Sam said. "Believe me, I do. But if we have a shot at saving him and bringing him—

"Look," Dean said, interrupting his brother, "if we do this—if—how are we supposed to get her upstairs, hmm? What, do we talk to Death? Billie? Kidnap a reaper?"

"Death is powerful," Castiel replied, "but she and her reapers—they don't decide who goes up or who goes down."

"Then who does?" Sam asked.

"Anubis," Castiel said.

Brooke stared at her husband, her mouth half-open. "Anubis?" she repeated. "What… Should I know this? Anubis is an Egyptian god. When—when did—what?"

"Okay, jeez, don't have an aneurysm," Dean said.

Castiel laid a hand on her shoulder. "I'll explain. I promise."

…

"The Ancient Egyptians believed that when you die, Anubis would weigh your heart on his scale against justice's feather," Castiel explained, a few minutes later, after they'd brought Lily back into the conversation.

"Yeah, the weighing of the heart ceremony, right," Sam said, "but that wasn't Anubis. That was Osiris. We met him."

"Major dick," Dean added, helpfully.

"Osiris is Anubis' father," Castiel said. "Heaven passed over him when they enlisted his son."

"Anubis works for Heaven?" Lily asked.

"He doesn't work for Heaven. He works with Heaven. When God left—

—Lily stared at the angel—

—"sorry, long story—we needed a new judge, and Anubis was the obvious choice."

"So, Heaven hired a temp to make sure the soul trains kept running on time?" Dean asked.

"Wait," Brooke said, raising her hands. "Wait, wait, wait." She stared at her husband. "I know everything you know. Why didn't I know this? God left recently. I was there—we were all there. So, what…?"

Castiel smiled slightly, amused by her utter confusion. He cupped her face in his hands. "I got the news some time over Angel Radio," he explained, gently. "Which is a frequency that you can't quite make out in my head because it isn't for you. It's for me. I suppose I could told you that Anubis had taken over as the weigher of souls for Heaven but, at the time, it wasn't relevant." He rested his forehead against hers. I promise I wasn't keeping anything from you on purpose.

I'm sorry, she said, feeling a little embarrassed. I'm not mad, I just… It feels weird that you know something that I don't know at this point in our relationship. And this shit with Jack, and his soul. I'm… a little freaked out, in general.

That's understandable, he replied, smiling.

"Guys, hey," Sam said, as nicely as possible.

They stood up properly, pulling back from one another.

"So… We summon Anubis," he went on.

"You can do that?" Lily asked. "You can summon a god?"

"Done it before," Dean replied, looking bored.

Lily stared at him.

###

Once the logistics of their plan were figured out, Castiel and Brooke went to their bedroom for privacy. Castiel needed to contact Heaven and it would be easier and go faster if there were less distractions.

Castiel sat down on the edge of their bed as Brooke closed the door. She did not speak to him, instead sitting down beside him to wait.

He opened the connection in his mind, something he'd kept closed for a long time since most of the angels left alive wanted him dead. The moment the connection was open, he winced, sucking air in through his teeth, and put a hand to his head.

Inside her own mind, Brooke felt interference, a horrible noise like TV static turned up at full volume. She cried out, involuntarily, holding her own head in her hands. A second later, it went away, and she was left sitting on the bed, glad that she was, indeed, sitting, or she might have found herself on the floor.

"God," she complained, rubbing her head. "Why was it so loud?"

"Something's wrong," Castiel said, only half-talking to her.

"Yeah, I assumed."

"It's a…" He sighed, standing up. "It's a distress signal." He stared at her, his eyes wide. "It's bad."