The bunker was ominously still as Mary padded quietly down the corridor, gun drawn and at the ready. They had made it to town, dropped Maggie off with Jules, one of the hunters that had come through the rift with them that Mary knew and trusted. She and Bobby had headed back at high speed, but she was afraid that they were too late. She'd be the first to admit that she had done a poor job of being a mother since she'd come back. It had been too difficult to accept what she'd lost, too painful to see what her sons had become. Dean and Sam didn't need her, and she'd let that become an excuse to distance herself, to build a wall between her and them. A wall she was still trying to dismantle. But even despite how badly she had treated them, her sons had moved heaven and hell to get her and the other refugees out of the apocalypse world. They were extraordinary men, brave and kind, and she'd be damned if she'd let them get killed while she ran for safety.

Bobby had circled around to enter from the hallway closest to the kitchen, while she'd taken the other side nearest the infirmary. Her hands were sweaty as they gripped her weapon. What the hell were bullets going to do against an archangel? Still, she would do what she could to save her boys. As she stood just behind the corner, she heard two familiar voices, so she risked a peek. Rowena was closest to her, standing by the table, but it was the body in front of her that stole her breath. Cas must have heard her gasp, because he looked up and spotted her standing in the doorway. He tried to rise.

"Mary," he began but she ignored him. There were figures on the floor, but no one else was moving, so she tucked her gun into her jacket pocket and made her way to the table. Sam was lying there, an appalling stab wound, bloody and cavernous, deep in his chest.

"Oh Sam," she breathed. Shocked tears sprang to her eyes and grief stole the sound from her words. She reached out to touch her youngest's hand, but a small shock had her quickly withdrawing her fingers.

"I've set up a spell to protect his body," Rowena explained softly, unexpected empathy making tears prickle in Mary's eyes. She felt like she should ask questions about that, however her thoughts instead turned to her other son. If Sam was dead, where was Dean? She had seen firsthand just how shattered Dean had been when he'd thought his brother dead. There was no way he wouldn't be front and centre unless he too was gone. Her heart began to pound, and she felt faint. She couldn't imagine a universe where she could have lost both her boys in the space of 20 minutes. Frantically she looked around.

Some of what she was feeling must have shown on her face because Cas pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. Mary registered the gruesome state of his shirt even as he reached out to her.

"Dean is alive, and stable for now, but he needs medical attention." The angel gestured to where Dean was lying on the floor, hidden initially from her view by the huge table. If Cas hadn't reassured her, Mary would have thought Dean was dead. Crouching beside him, she hovered a hand over his hair, unwilling to touch him and do more damage. This close, she could hear his laboured breathing and her hunter training kicked in. Glancing up she saw Bobby hovering in the opposite doorway.

"Bobby, go get a stretcher from the infirmary." Bobby immediately left to follow her instructions. "Cas, pull the truck around to the front." She handed him her keys, hoping that he had enough strength to follow her instructions. He disappeared down the corridor. She turned to face Rowena, but the witch stopped her before she could make any further commands.

"I need to stay here and monitor this spell." She came across as genuinely regretful. "And I suggest Cas stay behind to help tend to the wee nephilim." Mary followed Rowena's gesture to where Jack too, lay unconscious on the floor. Crossing to him, she couldn't see anything wrong with the boy physically although she sensed a strange energy emanating from him. She had spent a lot of time with Jack, but she really still knew very little about his powers, so she recognized that Rowena was right. Cas could take care of Jack and she would take care of her remaining son.

xxxxxx

Cas had the undignified task of holding Lucifer's feet as he and Bobby dragged the corpse up the stairs into the garage. Bobby and Mary had taken Dean to the hospital earlier, giving Cas a short chance to recharge. He'd enlisted Rowena and some of her magic, to help him get Jack to his bedroom. She had taken a moment away from monitoring the spell that was preserving Sam's body to check Jack over and although she frowned as she said it, she confidently pronounced that Jack would ultimately recover. There just didn't seem to be anything Cas could do for the boy beyond let him rest and give his body time to process the excessive influx of unfamiliar grace. But how long Jack would remain unconscious was anyone's guess.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Bobby asked, as they struggled to lift the body into the back of the pickup truck. Cas felt ashamed. Normally he had strength far beyond what a human possessed, but with his grace so low, he was exhausted and weak.

"I'm fine," he lied, unwilling to expose his vulnerability to this stranger. The Bobby Singer from this world had been a trusted friend and ally, but this version of the man had no love lost for angels. He hadn't been callous in his question, nor treated Cas unkindly, but Cas could tell the man wasn't completely comfortable yet in his company. How odd that he trusted Rowena, a one-time enemy of himself and the Winchesters to watch over Jack and yet felt uncertainty over Bobby. But, as the saying goes, adversity makes strange bedfellows.

"Well, if you're good, let's get this show on the road. I'd like to get these bodies burnt before Mary calls." In that, the two were in agreement and Cas climbed into the cab of the truck.

Bobby drove them several miles past town and down into a ravine near the local cemetery. Being mid-September, it was already dark but there was no one around for miles to see them or the flames. Still the shallow gully provided some cover, and it was easier to roll the bodies down the small embankment than carry them for any distance. Bobby efficiently salted the corpses while Cas shook some gasoline across the grisly pile. Lighting a book of matches, his companion tossed it into the ditch and the flames burst into life.

"Ya know, I never thought I'd live to see this day. Michael, burning like the garbage he was." There was some venom in the old man's voice, but he shot Cas a quick glance. "Uh, no offense."

"None taken. I too am glad to see him gone. I only wish he could have been stopped before he had taken such a heavy toll on…" He had been about to say 'my family' but stopped himself. The Winchesters had done so much for him. They had often told him that they considered him as a brother, but Cas didn't feel worthy to claim that affiliation, at least not tonight. He had been too weak to protect them. "Dean and Sam," he finished. Bobby nodded; firelight reflected in his eyes.

"Well, at least he can't do to this world what he did to mine." The words were tinged with envy, and Cas could only imagine how the man beside him felt. Bobby cleared his throat. "So, what exactly happened? Archangels are tough to kill, and yet…" he gestured towards the fire.

"Michael and Lucifer made a deal to escape into our world." As Cas relayed the story, Bobby kept his reactions to a minimum, only offering a glance when he spoke about how Michael consumed his grace. Cas found himself lightly rubbing his chest as he talked. The wound was healing gradually, but he could still feel the sickening wrongness of his grace being sucked from his body. He couldn't help but shudder, and his words stuttered to a halt as he tried to squash down his feelings.

"Geez," exclaimed Bobby with a gust of breath. "Then what?"

"Jack saw Michael kill Sam and so he destroyed him with his powers." Cas knew that he hadn't provided much detail, but he was going to do what he could to protect the boy he considered his son. So, he left out the fact that Jack had absorbed much of Lucifer and Michael's grace as he had annihilated the two archangels. No need to give Bobby any more reason to worry about the nephilim's loyalties.

"Is that why Jack passed out?" Cas just nodded.

"Huh, the kid saved our bacon more than a few times, and he never needed to recharge before." Bobby sounded genuinely curious. Cas had forgotten just how brilliant the grizzled hunter was, but he didn't like the direction of this kind of question. What had Dean once told him about misdirection? Keep it simple.

"Well, he never killed two archangels in the span of half an hour before so…" Shrugging, Cas kept his eyes focused on the slowly dying flames. Bobby chuckled and pulled off his cap, running a rough palm across his balding head.

"Guess you're right," he agreed good-naturedly. Suppressing a sigh of relief, Cas wrapped his trench coat around himself. He wasn't cold, of course, but he longed for the comforts of the bunker where he could keep an eye on Jack and Rowena and check in with Mary about Dean.

xxxxxx

Billie watched. Invisible and silent, she waited as the doctor checked for a heartbeat. The boy was a breath away from death and the timing of her work would have to be exact. Sam would still be alive to play his part in what was to come, yet Chuck in his arrogance would never look for Sam within a child. Besides, it amused her to think of the younger Winchester having to suffer the indignities of childhood. Earl, one of her more experienced reapers, was standing by, waiting for her to pull the soul from the boy on the bed. When the doctor lifted his head and tucked aside his stethoscope, she made a tiny gesture and the spirit of Noah Farlow appeared beside her.

"Am I dead?" the boy asked in a tremulous voice. Billie ignored him, leaving Earl to answer his questions and lead him onward. Instead, she squeezed past his stone-faced parents, and weeping little sister to get closer to the body. Noah Farlow had been just past his 10th birthday when he died. Slowly passing a hand over the small figure, she felt the virulent virus that had killed the child. The youngster was hardly the first person to die of untreated pneumonia, and he would not be the last. With another small gesture, she stopped time. For what she had to do, she needed a moment.

Being the incarnation of Death came with many powers, but perhaps the most basic was the ability to terminate anything that lived with a single thought. Although the influenza virus that had invaded Noah's lungs was microscopic, it was still alive, so first, Billie eradicated it. Then she eliminated the fluid that had overwhelmed his system and ultimately caused the child's death. It was not a complete cure, but it meant that this body would recover quickly.

Finally, she pulled the vial that held Sam's soul from her jacket. Tipping the contents of the small bottle into her hand, she paused to consider the glowing ball of energy in her fist. She could, of course, have simply resurrected the younger Winchester, but not only would that have upset the balance of the universe, it would have drawn certain unwanted attention. No, it was better this way. Pressing Sam's soul into the small body, she patiently waited until it settled into place.

"You've still got important work to do, Sam Winchester," she said, even though there was no one to hear her speak. Standing, she summoned her scythe. Her work was done for now, and it was time to get back to her other priorities. Time unfroze and she stepped into nothingness.

xxxxxx

Nasir Jhamsheed had been a pediatrician for almost 23 years now and it still broke something inside of him whenever he had to admit defeat and accept the death of a child in his care. There was no pupillary response, no heartbeat, no noticeable respiratory sounds. If only his parents had brought Noah in earlier, he might have been able to save the boy, but unfortunately Noah Farlow was dead.

Nurse Marklin was standing ready, Mr. and Mrs. Farlow were praying quietly on the other side of the bed, and Noah's little sister was crying into her hands. He was just about to declare time of death when Noah suddenly gasped. Now sometimes, after a breathing tube is removed, there is a gurgling that can confuse and frighten the family and inexperienced nurses, but the child in front of him made a full inhale that visibly inflated his small chest. It was impossible, but he roughly pushed his stethoscope back into his ears and placed the diaphragm against the boy's skin anyway. The whoosh of regular breathing filled his ears, combined with the unmistakable pulse of a beating heart. Shocked to his core, he looked up at the attending nurse.

"I don't understand this, but let's get him on oxygen, stat!" His words startled the parents, breaking their focus.

"What's going on?" demanded the father. Abraham Farlow was an intimidating man, tall and broad, with pale skin, deep set dark eyes and a perpetual scowl on his face. He stood ramrod straight as if he were permanently at attention and his reddish grey hair and beard did nothing to soften his demeanor. Nasir tried not to judge the parents that he dealt with, but if the man had an ounce of fatherly warmth or compassion, he had yet to show it.

Mrs. Farlow was not exactly the stereotypical motherly type either. She was blonde, slender and boney, all sharp angles and sharper eyes. While he and his colleagues had been caring for Noah, Damaris Farlow had acted like her son's illness was an inconvenience and had displayed a thinly veiled contempt for him and the other medical staff. She was attentive to her daughter, Leah, but her attentions were constantly corrective and not the loving care one might expect from a mother.

In short, if he had any substantive reason, beyond his distaste for the couple, he would have happily reported them to Child Protective Services. Unfortunately, there really was no indication of abuse or neglect. The children were clean and properly clothed, Leah had excellent manners for a child of eight and, although skinny, neither she nor her brother showed any signs of malnutrition or physical abuse. Once he'd determined that, Nasir had expended his efforts on trying to save Noah, rather than ponder the mysteries of the little family. Stepping out of the way so that the nurse could set up an oxygen mask, Dr. Jhamsheed steered the parents to the end of the bed.

"It seems that Noah has spontaneously begun to breathe on his own." It made no medical sense, but he didn't have any explanation for them.

"You told us he was dying. Evidently, you made a mistake," Abraham sniffed scornfully. "God has given us back my son!" he declared loudly. "Doctors, you think you know everything, but WE walk by faith, not by sight." This wasn't the first time he'd heard Mr. Farlow quote scripture. The couple tended to use their faith as a cudgel and a way to look down on people they judged as unworthy. Mrs. Farlow seemed much happier than her husband and kissed the large cross that hung from a necklace around her slim neck.

"Are you telling us that this is some sort of miracle, doctor?" she asked. As much as Nasir believed in medical science, he wasn't foolish enough to think that science alone could answer all the mysteries of the universe. He glanced back at the monitors that the nurse had set up once again. Noah's oxygen levels were almost normal, his heart rate was strong and steady and there was absolutely nothing from the readings to suggest that this child had been essentially dead five minutes ago. 'Alhamdulillah,' he thought. He had to agree with Mrs. Farlow, this was the closest thing to a miracle he'd seen in all his years of practice.

AN: Any all all medical inaccuracies are mine and likely based on TV medical dramas and my lack of Google skills.