Sam found Aisy in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess they'd left behind when they'd gone to save Charlie. Her back was to him, and he leaned against the door frame for a few moments, silently watching her movements. She turned, sucking in a breath as she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision.

"Dammit, Sam!" Aisy said, blowing out a breath. "How long have you been standing there like a creeper? You almost gave me a fucking heart attack."

"Sorry," Sam replied, pushing off the door jamb and taking a seat at the breakfast table. "I wasn't standing there long. I, uh—well, I was hoping we could talk."

Aisy tilted her head slightly, frowning as she wiped down the bar countertop, the movement reminding Sam of the first time he met her. "Sure, I suppose so." She draped the rag across the edge of the sink, then took a seat at the table across from Sam. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I think you probably know," Sam said, one corner of his mouth lifting as he chuckled lightly. Aisy closed her eyes, leaning back in the chair.

"Are we really doing this?" She asked, shaking her head. "We spent the night together, so now you want to talk about our feelings?"

"I guess that depends," Sam shot back. "Do you even have any?"

Aisy flinched as though Sam had struck her, and he ran a hand down his face. "Look, I'm—"

"Forget it," Aisy said, waving Sam's apology away, "I deserved that, I guess. It's just—I don't know how to do this, Sam."

"Do what?" Sam said, his brows furrowing. "Have an adult conversation?"

Aisy snorted. "Sure Sam, let's go with that one." Silence fell between them, and Sam was just about to get up and leave when Aisy spoke again. "Look—my marriage—it was an epic disaster that almost destroyed not only my life, but Charlie's too. I swore I'd never allow my feelings to put someone in danger like that again, and it's easier to pretend that I don't have any at all than to let anyone know the truth."

"And you think—what? That I can't handle whatever the truth is?" Sam said, putting an elbow on the table and resting his chin on the heel of his hand. "Have you forgotten who my brother is? The literal king of pretending nothing bothers him."

"This is different, Sam," Aisy insisted, turning her face toward the ceiling.

"How?"

"Drexil is still alive. I could've killed him the night he set my bar on fire, but I didn't. I tried. I wasn't strong enough to—"Aisy stopped, sucking in a breath that sounded like a sob. "I could've been free of him, Sam."

"You're not a murderer, Aisy," Sam said gently, reaching for her hand. Aisy pulled back, shaking her head.

"But I am!" Aisy cried, burying her face in her hands. "I'm every bit the monster Dean thinks I am. There are things you don't know about me, Sam."

"And?" Sam said, "Do you think that's going to change anything?"

"Shouldn't it?" Aisy retorted as she jumped out of the chair and gripped the back of it so hard her knuckles turned white.

"No." Sam said. "Love is not a switch that you can just flip on and off, Aisy. It's unconditional, and it's unshakeable. You are more than the sum of your mistakes, because if you aren't then I'm not."

"What are you trying to say?" Aisy asked, her voice softened, but she still gripped the chair as though her very life depended on it.

"I'm just trying to say you don't have to be afraid. We can go as fast or as slow as you like, as long as you promise me that you'll stay with me, because I want to be with you—no matter what you've done, or who might come for us. We'll cross those bridges if and when we have to, and not before."

Aisy closed her eyes and hung her head between her shoulders, squeezing them shut against the burn of newly formed tears. How could Sam be so—Sam? He was everything she wanted and then some, right there for the taking, if only she were brave enough to reach out and grab it. She blew out a breath, straightening up and looking Sam in the eye. "Okay," she said finally, nodding her head, "on one condition."

"What's that?" Sam asked, the corners of his mouth twitching.

A slow grin spread across Aisy's face as she stepped back from the chair. "Get your ass up and kiss me like you mean it."

"Absolutely," Sam said as he stood up and pulled Aisy into his arms, kissing her.

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway, and Sam let Aisy go, sending a glare in the direction of the sound. Charlie was standing in the door, a slight smirk curving her lips. "Can you guys not do that next to the food? Seriously," Charlie said, taking a seat at the table.

Aisy snorted and rolled her eyes. "Says the woman who—"

Charlie held up a finger. "We said we were never talking about that, Aislinn."

"But why?" Aisy pouted, the corners of her mouth twitching. "It was sooo much fun."

Charlie glared at her, her cheeks turning the same shade of red as her hair. "Will you get the hell outta here you crazy woman? I want to talk to Sam."

Aisy narrowed her eyes at Charlie, but she couldn't hide the amusement in them. "Dear God, you're not going to give him the 'hurt her and I'll kill you' speech, are you? Seriously Charlie, you are aware I can take care of myself, right?"

"Just humor me, alright?" Charlie retorted. "You're a special woman, and Sam here needs to know that. Now—get."

"Fine," Aisy rolled her eyes again and headed for the door, turning back to Sam with a smile. "I'm so sorry for whatever is about to happen."

Sam's mouth twitched as he glanced between Aisy and Charlie. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Behave yourself Charlie," Aisy called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the hallway.

"As if I would ever," Charlie huffed, pulling out a chair from the table and taking a seat. Sam did the same, humoring the tiny redheaded woman sitting across from him. She turned her steely gaze on him, all the humor removed from her face.

"I only have one question. How you answer this question will decide if I have anything else to say. Got it?" Charlie said, her eyes still locked on Sam's.

Sam swallowed, then cleared his throat. He wondered for a moment if this were the equivalent of a meeting the parents type situation, something he'd only endured once in his entire life. "Yeah, uh, sure. What's your question?"

"Do you love her?" Charlie asked, frowning. Answer carefully, Winchester."

"Yes," Sam said without a moment's hesitation. "I've known it for a while now, but I didn't say anything."

"Why?"

Sam took a deep breath and smiled. "Because, just like Aisy, I've been through some hard times in my life and my relationships don't always go well. I wanted to make damn sure it was real before starting down that road. But it is real—it's more real than anything to me."

Charlie stared Sam down as an awkward silence fell between them. She studied his face, knowing without a doubt he spoke the truth. "Good," she said finally, leaning back in the chair. "Aisy deserves that, and so much more." After another pause, she added, "I thought we'd spend our lives together, you know? But I guess fate had other plans."

Sam snorted, getting a raised eyebrow from Charlie. "Sorry, it's just—" The sound of glass breaking had them both jumping to their feet and racing for the library.

"Dammit, Dean!" Hope spat as she tried to pull Dean back to his feet after he'd stumbled into the filing cabinets and fell, knocking over the mostly empty whiskey bottle that was sitting precariously on the cabinet's edge. It crashed to the floor, sending amber liquid spraying across the polished floor. "Could you be any more of a pain in my ass right now? Seriously? It's not even dinner time yet and you're already falling down drunk."

"Yeah—well," He slurred, squinting one eye as he glared at her and jerked his arm away. "If I'm drunk, I'm not driving—and you said you didn't want me leaving. I did what you asked, which is more than I can say for you."

Hope let him go, glaring down at him with her hands on her hips. "What the actual fuck are you rambling on about? What the hell did I do—other than hope like hell you'd grow up and act like a reasonable human being?"

"Reasonable? Seriously?" He grunted, laying his head on the floor and closing his eyes to stop the room from spinning. "At least I wasn't lying to you—for weeks."

Hope's glare softened, and she glanced at the doorway as Sam, Charlie, and Aisy appeared. She scraped her bottom lip across her teeth and shot Sam a pleading look. "Dean—I am sorry for that, but it's not like you would've listened to me without freaking out anyway. And regardless of what's going on with me or this child, it's still our child. Do you understand that? Now, let Sam help you to bed and we can talk about this like adults when you've sobered up."

"Bite me," Dean said, his words slowing as Sam reached for his arm. He swatted him away, but Sam didn't let him off the hook that easily.

"Come on—before you say something you can't take back," Sam grunted, picking up Dean over his shoulder and carrying him off to his room, ignoring Dean's indignant protests as the three women stood staring at each other dumbfounded.

"That's the guy you want to spend the rest of your life with?" Charlie quipped as she watched Hope mop up the spilled whiskey. "No offense, but I think you can do better, Sweetie."

Hope stopped cleaning up the mess and looked up, glaring at Charlie. "I could also do a helluva lot worse. Don't talk about things you don't understand, got it?" Hope seethed through gritted teeth. Her chest felt like an elephant had parked its hind end there, and she gulped greedily for air as she went back to mopping the floor and pretending like she wasn't thinking the same thing.

Aisy shot Charlie a wordless admonishment, and Charlie shrugged sheepishly. "Hey—I'm sorry, alright? It's really none of my business and I shouldn't have said anything. I just don't like to see people mistreated, that's all."

Hope stopped again, glancing up at Charlie. "Well, at the risk of sounding like a cliche, Dean doesn't mistreat me. There's just a lot of baggage there that needs to be unpacked, and neither of us have the best coping skills."

"I see," Charlie said in a tone that clearly said she did not see anything of the sort, and Hope shot Aisy a look. Your friend/lover/whatever—you deal with her.

Aisy cleared her throat and took Charlie by the arm. "C'mon, Red. Let's go see if we can make a mess of the kitchen and scrounge up some dinner."

"Thank you," Hope mouthed when Aisy glanced over her shoulder. It wasn't that Hope disliked Charlie, quite the opposite in fact. She went back to cleaning up Dean's mess, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that cleaning up Dean Winchester's messes is what she signed up for all those years ago when her heart decided there wouldn't be anyone else. Hope shook her head, dumping the last of the broken glass into a nearby trash can. "I guess the heart really does want what it wants," she muttered to herself. "Even if it makes no sense whatsoever to the head."

Sam cleared his throat from the doorway, and Hope glanced up, flashing a tight smile. "Thanks, Sam," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she sat down in a nearby chair. "Sorry you had to deal with that."

"It's not the first time," Sam said with a shrug, pushing himself off the door jamb. "I'm sure it won't be the last. I would call it improvement, but that would probably be a stretch. Dean was still acting like an ass."

"Yeah," Hope said with a sigh. "Yeah he was, but you're right. It is improvement. He's still here, right? That's more than we can say happened last time. Sam, I—"

Aisy stuck her head in the doorway, beckoning to Sam and Hope. "Hey, sorry to interrupt, but Charlie found something you guys should see."

"What is it?" Sam asked, getting to his feet. "Is something wrong?"

"Er—no," Aisy said hesitantly, "nothing's wrong, exactly. Just—come in here and we'll show you."

Sam glanced at Hope, who shrugged and stood up to follow them. Why was she even surprised that something else was happening to them?

When they got to the kitchen, Charlie glanced over her laptop screen and blushed slightly when she saw Hope standing there. "Hey, um—sorry about earlier. What I said, well—it wasn't any of my business, so I'm sorry."

Hope waved her off with a tight smile. "It's fine, Charlie. I get it. If the situation were reversed, I probably would've said something too." Hope took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So—what's this thing Aisy said you've found?

"Oh, uhm, yeah—you aren't going to like it," Charlie said, turning her laptop toward Hope and Sam. "Well, technically, Sam and Dean aren't going to like it."

"Like what?" Sam said, sliding into a chair, his eyes fixated on the screen in front of him.

"Well, a while back I found this series of books written by a guy named Carver Edlund and I started reading them. The writing is so-so, but the storyline is pretty damn epic. There's angels, demons, all kinds of supernatural creatures—and the best part is the two main characters are tasked with saving the world from the Apocalypse. I was telling Aisy about it, and she just got this look like she'd seen a ghost. Sam, she thinks these stories are written about you and Dean."

"Wait—what?" Sam said incredulously, his eyes widening. "You can't be serious."

"Dead serious," Aisy said, gesturing toward the screen. "Read the first chapter in book four and tell me this isn't an almost verbatim retelling of the story you told Hope and I not even a week ago."

Sam eyed the screen warily, then clicked the link and started reading. Bile rose up into his throat as he read, the memories flashing into his mind with undeniable clarity, as though the author had been in the room when Sam had fed off Ruby's demon blood right before exorcising three demons.

Sam's hands were shaking as he pushed the laptop away and stared at Aisy with glassy eyes. The craving was there again, and he balled his hands into fists to fight it off. "Who the hell does this guy think he is?" Sam said through gritted teeth.

"I don't know," Aisy said softly, glancing at Hope as she stood behind Sam's chair, placing her hands gently on his shoulders and giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Charlie and I were just about to find out. Are you okay, Sam?"

"I'm fine," Sam gritted out, willing the last of the craving away. "I still get them sometimes—the cravings. Reading that was difficult. I'll be alright."

Aisy nodded, clearly not believing him but choosing not to press for answers either. "Alright, well, Charlie and I can handle this. Why don't the two of you get some rest and we'll come get you if and when we find this guy."

Sam nodded but said nothing as he stood up. Hope followed him out of the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at Aisy before disappearing into the hallway. Aisy watched the door for a half-second longer, wishing with her entire being that she was going with Sam instead of doing what she was about to do.

"Okay," Aisy said with a sigh as she turned back to Charlie. "What have you found out about Carver Edlund in the last three minutes?"

"Uh, not much," Charlie said, not looking up from her screen as her fingers flew across the keyboard. "It looks like these books didn't get much of a mainstream following, although it had some dedicated fans, but it wasn't enough and the publishing company ended up going bankrupt. Nobody knows who Carver Edlund really is, but I guarantee his editor knew. We just have to find out who that was."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Aisy groused, already feeling like they'd reached a dead end.

"Okay, well now I'm insulted, Aislinn," Charlie said, frowning at Aisy over the laptop screen. "I have other talents besides—well, you know."

Aisy facepalmed, biting her lip as she stifled a sardonic smile. "Oh my God, Charlie, seriously?" She snorted, getting up and pacing the length of the kitchen.

"What?" Charlie asked innocently, shrugging as she went back to her keyboard. "Girl's gotta try."

"You are incorrigible," Aisy said, gesturing toward Charlie's computer. "Will you just get me a name so we can find this guy's editor and get to the bottom of this?"

"Fine," Charlie said, rolling her eyes. "You're no fun anymore." Her lower lip stuck out in a pout, and Aisy narrowed her eyes at Charlie.

"Charlotte—or should I say—Celeste…" Aisy said in warning. Charlie's head snapped up, her eyes locking on Aisy's. They stayed that way for several seconds, the silence in the room growing louder as time ticked on.

"Alright, alright. I got your point." Charlie held up her hands in surrender, and Aisy crossed her arms, staring at Charlie with a raised eyebrow as Charlie gestured toward her computer. "Anyway, I found the editor."

"Sera Siege?" Aisy murmured, reading the page for the defunct Flying Wiccan Press. "You're sure?"

"Positive," Charlie said. "Bow down to the Almighty Hacker Queen."

"We are not worthy," Aisy joked, pretending to bow to Charlie. "Although, you are not the only one with skills, Missy."

"Oh, really?" Charlie said. "Care to make a bet on that? My genius hacking versus your parlor tricks?"

"Bite me," Aisy said. "No bets. Just shut up and let me do my thing."

Charlie held up her hands, leaning back in the chair as she grinned at Aisy. "Alright. Although I'm taking that as you're afraid to lose."

"Whatever," Aisy said, closing her eyes to concentrate as she began chanting. Finding someone was always easier when she had something to focus on, but the name would have to suffice. She opened her eyes and stared straight ahead, unblinking as she fell into a trance.

Charlie watched in awe as Aisy chanted, her eyes glossing over as though she were no longer in the room with her, and Charlie realized that on some level, she wasn't. In all the time she'd known Aisy, Charlie had never actually seen her use her power, and she couldn't help but wonder why. This ability seemed like a gift, not a curse, although Aisy treated it that way at the time.

Several minutes later, Aisy blinked, shaking her head as she stumbled into the island. Charlie jumped to her feet, grabbing Aisy by the arms to catch her. "Are you alright?"

"I-I'm fine," Aisy said, pressing her palm to the side of her head. "I just have a headache. It's harder when I don't have much to focus on. I found her though."

"Do you need me to get Hope?"

Aisy shook her head, groaning as she forced herself to stand without Charlie's support. "No, I'll be fine. C'mon, let's go tell Sam what we know."

"So, you're saying this—Sera Siege—knows Carver Edlund's real identity?" Sam asked, glancing between Charlie and Aisy as he sunk onto the edge of his bed and ran a hand across his mouth.

Aisy nodded. "Yes, and she's only a few hours drive from here. If we leave now—"

"No," Sam said quickly. "We're not doing this without Dean and Hope. They're a part of this too."

"But—"Aisy started, getting a sharp look from Sam. She held up her hands and took a breath. "How do you think Dean is going to react to being manipulated like this? Because obviously that's exactly what is happening here. Someone is—I don't know—feeding him information about your lives or something. I mean, there has to be an explanation for these books, but damned if I know what it is. So if we go and find that out—we can tell them when we have answers."

"Aisy," Sam said, standing up and taking her by the hands. "I understand what you're trying to do here, but trust me, as bad as this will go when Dean finds out—it'll be worse if we don't tell him. That being said—Sera Siege isn't going anywhere in the next several hours, so we'll wait til in the morning to spring this on him."

Aisy opened and closed her mouth like a fish, then pressed her lips together before blowing out a breath. "If you say so. I probably need sleep anyway. Finding that woman took a lot more effort than usual and my head is pounding."

"Are you sure you don't want Hope to heal you?" Sam asked, glancing at Charlie. "I can go get her."

"No, Sam. I'm fine, I swear. I just need to sleep for a while."

Sam nodded slowly, unsure of whether to believe her. "Fine, but you're staying in here tonight," he said. Aisy gave him a tight smile but didn't argue as she stretched out on the other side of the bed.

"Thanks, Sam," she murmured as she closed her eyes, letting sleep overtake her almost instantly. "I lo—"

Sam glanced at Charlie, who shrugged and left the room, closing the door behind her. He laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, knowing sleep wouldn't come until they solved this mystery. Who the hell was Carver Edlund, and why did that name sound so familiar to him?

Dean sat at the kitchen table nursing his third cup of coffee when Hope walked into the room. She ignored him completely, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the half-full pot without saying so much as a good morning. Dean supposed he deserved that after what he'd said, but it still hurt.

Hope turned to leave the room, and she paused at the doorway when Dean spoke. "Hope?" Her shoulders tensed, and she turned her head slightly but didn't look at him. "Can we talk? Please?"

Hope closed her eyes, tightening her grip on the mug in her hand as she turned around. "Dean—I don't know that I want to talk right now. I mean, you certainly didn't want to talk yesterday."

"I know, sweetheart, and I'm sorry for that," Dean said. "It was—not my finest moment."

"You fuckin' think?" Hope glared at him, and he stared at her with glazed eyes. "Dean, diving into the bottom of a whiskey bottle when shit gets hard is still running away."

"I know," Dean said, staring into his coffee cup. "But I'm not the only one who does that, you know."

"Did," Hope said, sitting down across the table from Dean. "I did that. But I had to find new ways to cope with my life, Dean, and you dotoo. Is this really the father you want to be to our child?"

"I don't know how to be anything else, Hope," Dean said, stroking the side of the cup with his thumb. "This is who I am, for better or worse. No matter how much you or I wish it wasn't."

Hope pressed her lips together, biting back a sigh. "And I am here for it, for better or worse. We're in this together, you and me—but that doesn't give you a pass to not even try. That's all I'm asking, Dean. Just try."

"I can do that," Dean said, reaching for Hope's hand across the table. Hope nodded, wrapping her long fingers around Dean's.

"I know you can," she said with a smile. "I don't believe in much, you know that, but I have faith in you, Dean. We're going to be okay, I can feel it."

Dean nodded, one corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words died on his lips as Sam, Aisy, and Charlie walked into the kitchen. This is not good.

"Guys, we need to talk," Sam said solemnly. "Be glad you're already sitting down."

"Lemme guess," Dean said, leaning back in the chair and taking a sip of his coffee, "the world is about to end and it's up to us to stop it—again."

"Something like that," Sam said, spinning a chair around and settling himself in it backward as he explained what Charlie and Aisy found the night before.

After he finished, Dean sat still and silent as a statue for several minutes before he spoke. "Wait, you're saying someone has been feeding this guy the play by play of our entire lives? How is that even possible?"

"I don't know," Sam said, shaking his head. "Which is why we need to find out who he is so we can go ask him."

Dean finished his coffee in two swallows and set the cup down on the table harder than necessary. "Well, why are we still sitting here? Let's go find this asshat." He got up and left the room, leaving the others staring at each other in bewilderment.

"That—actually went better than I thought it would," Sam said, frowning toward the hallway as he turned to Hope.

"What can I say?" Hope shrugged as she took a sip of her coffee. "He's trying."

"Can you believe that guy?" Dean fumed as he slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door. "What an asshat!"

Sam smirked but said nothing. Chuck Shurley—aka Carver Edlund—had turned out to be nothing more than a neurotic writer whose "process" included drinking until he passed out and then writing whatever vodka-soaked dreams he happened to have when he woke up. Still, something didn't make sense to Sam, but he couldn't quite articulate it just yet.

"I dunno, Dean. Did that guy seem—"Sam shook his head, trying to force away the feeling of deja vu he had. "—familiar to you, somehow?"

Dean froze; his hand still in midair as the Impala keys dangled from his fingers. "Huh," Dean said, considering. "Actually, yeah—he kinda did. I wonder why."

"Past life, anyone?" Hope offered. The others nodded, taking this as the most logical explanation.

"Right. Past lives," Dean said, shaking his head as he started the car. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I am starving. Let's get some food and get on the road." The others murmured in agreement, and Dean put the car into gear and headed for the nearest roadside diner.

Just ahead of them, a man appeared in the middle of the road out of thin air and raised his hands, palms facing the car. Baby sputtered and died, and Dean stared at the figure outside, his glare murderous as he yanked on the door handle and got out of the car.

"Dean—wait," Sam called, but Dean ignored him, slamming the door as he stomped toward the figure.

"Who the fuck are you?" Dean demanded. "What do you want?"

"I think you know exactly who I am, Dean Winchester," the figure drawled. "Give me the girl, and I'll let you live."

"Sorry, no." Dean seethed, shaking his head. "I don't know you, but if I had to venture a guess—I'd say you're one of those fluffy-winged dicks that likes to meddle in places you're not wanted. So which one are you? Douchey or Dumbass?"

"I am Raphael," the angel said indignantly, puffing out his chest. Dean clenched his teeth, his green eyes flashing with fury.

"You can't have Hope," Dean said, fighting a losing battle to keep his raging temper under control. "You'll take her over my dead body, you dick." Dean heard the car doors open and close, and he prayed that Hope had stayed inside the car, although he knew without looking she hadn't. It just wasn't in her nature to not follow him into the fire.

"Well now, that's a nice sentiment, but you don't get much choice in the matter. The nephilim must die, and if you want something done right, apparently you have to do it yourself," Raphael said, his sinister grin broadening as Dean's glare darkened.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"All this time, and you still haven't figured it out? Well, no matter. You'll all be dead soon anyway, including that abomination your whore is carrying. You might as well give up now, Winchester. You can't kill me."

"No?" Dean said, tilting his head. "Well, that ain't enough to stop me from trying." He jerked the demon knife from the waistband of his jeans as he charged forward. Raphael grabbed him by the collar and flung him like he was a ragdoll, sending him crashing into a fence post next to the highway. Blood dripped from the back of his head as he tried to stand, falling back down. He laid there, drifting in and out of consciousness as the others approached the angel.

"Dean!" Hope cried, running toward him. Raphael reached out, squeezing Hope's throat with an invisible hand as she choked and sputtered, her feet lifting off the ground.

"Don't make this difficult Hope. It's easy. You stop fighting and come with me, and no one else will get hurt."

"Fuck—you," Hope choked, spitting at him. Her eyes glowed blue, and Raphael cried out, releasing his hold on her as he stumbled backward. He regained his footing almost instantly, but not before Aisy blasted him in the face with a fireball—which did nothing but irritate him more.

Sam charged Raphael, quickly joining Dean in the ditch as Sam hit the same pole and fell unconscious beside his brother. Raphael squeezed his fist, and Aisy let out a choked scream, blood pouring from the sides of her mouth. "You see? How dare you think you mud-monkeys can challenge me? You have no weapons that can kill me!"

Hope charged him, blue light crackling between her fingertips like tiny lightning bolts. "We'll see about that, asshole. Let. Her. Go." She let the light fly, hitting Raphael straight in the chest. A burn mark appeared, spreading across his chest like a stain.

"Ouch. That tickled," Raphael said. "Is that all you can do—whore? Even for as powerful as that abomination seems to be, you will die before I do. I swear it." He charged her, stopping when a voice cut through the mayhem.

"Raphael!" Atropos roared, drawing his attention instantly. "Stop this—right now. I know the truth—about everything."

"That's not possible—I made sure of it," Raphael insisted, shaking his head.

"You aren't as smart as you think you are," Atropos said, flicking her wrist and revealing a blade that looked strikingly similar to the one Castiel carried, except the handle was twisted into a spiral and it gleamed pure gold in the afternoon sunlight. "This ends—now. They can't kill you, but I can."

"Where did you get that? Those aren't even supposed to exist!"

"Did you really think my parents would allow your father to create archangels without some way to defeat them? Come now, even you aren't that naive."

"But you're a Moirai," Raphael said. "You can't interfere with the affairs of mortals."

"And I'm not," Atropos said. "Technically. You are not mortal." She took a step forward, throwing the blade so fast Hope and Aisy almost missed it leaving her hand. It struck him in the heart, and blinding white light filled the highway, so bright Hope and Aisy had to shield their eyes.

Raphael's vessel collapsed, his eyes burned away. Hope stared in shock, resisting the urge to try to help. The man, whoever he was, was long dead—there was nothing Hope could do for him now. She turned her attention to Atropos, who was retrieving the blade from Raphael's chest.

"What did you mean—you know the truth?" Hope asked, taking a step forward.

Atropos stood up, jerking her chin toward where Sam and Dean lay, barely breathing. "Heal them first. They don't have much time. I will explain everything then."

Hope nodded and did what Atropos said, healing first Dean, then Sam and Aisy. Once everyone was back on their feet, Aisy opened the door and coaxed a terrified Charlie out from the back floorboard of the car.

"Alright, here's the deal. We're running out of time, and if my father finds me here, he will kill me for what I've done. That's not important. What is important is that Castiel wasn't sent back to HeavenHeaven. Well, he was—but he figured out the truth and Raphael threw him in Lucifer's cage so he couldn't tell you. Raphael knew that's the one place you'd never go looking for him."

"Wait—you're telling us Cas is in the cage with Lucifer?" Dean demanded, running a hand down his head. "How long has he been there?"

"In Earth time, or Heaven time?" Atropos asked. "Either way, since right after he left the three of you at the cabin in Whitefish."

"Oh my God," Hope breathed. "We have to get him out of there, now."

"We can't," Sam said, shaking his head, his eyes wide with fear. "We risk letting Lucifer out and starting the apocalypse."

"Don't you get it?" Atropos said. "Lucifer isn't in the cage. No one knows where he is."

"WHAT?!" The four of them cried in unison.

"So—what? He's missing?" Aisy said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Where the Hell is he?" Hope snorted, and Aisy shook her head. "Pun not intended, obviously."

"Something happened when Lucifer was cast out of HeavenHeaven long ago, and that's where the details get fuzzy for me. I wasn't able to figure all this out, but Castiel did. You have to free him if you want to know the truth."

"But how are we supposed to kill Lilith to open the cage now? I'm not going back to drinking demon blood again," Sam said, shaking his head sadly. "Dean and I can't defeat her alone."

Atropos closed her eyes for a moment, then glared at Sam. "Take a good look around you, Samuel. Does it look like you and Dean are alone?"

"No," Sam admitted. "But this isn't their fight, and it's damn sure not their doing."

"It may not be our doing, Sam," Hope said, reaching her hand out to him. "But it is our fight—because it's yours and Dean's. We're all in this together now. So, let's stop wasting time and go bust Cas out of prison."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Dean said, nodding toward the car. "Let's go."

"Here," Atropos said, tossing the golden blade to Hope. "You might need this."

"Thanks," Hope said, nodding toward the Moirai as she caught the blade. "For everything."

"Just make sure it was worth it, alright?" Atropos said, giving Hope a knowing look as she disappeared. Hope twirled the blade in her hand, a slow smile spreading across her face. Although she was more terrified than she would ever admit to anyone, it didn't matter. They were going to free Cas and bring him home. Together.