Song Remains the Same
Chapter 5 / Ghostbusters
"Now I know what a ghost is: Unfinished business, that's what."
― Salman Rushdie
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
"So did he look like an angel?" Sam hung onto every word across from Alex at Bobby's kitchen table.
Dean shook his head darkly, standing a few steps off with crossed arms. "No fluffy wings, no halo, no harp music. Strong though. Super powered."
"He just looked like some average guy," Alex added. She avoided looking her twin in the eyes.
"I still can't believe you guys didn't tell me what you were doing last night." A note of accusatory bitterness could be heard in Sam's voice.
Alex gave him a look. That was rich. "Well maybe if you hadn't snuck off, we might've—"
"I didn't sneak off, I was trying not to wake you guys up. So, sorry for being polite! Why do you always assume I'm the bad guy?"
"Touchy," Alex muttered, rolling her eyes.
"Shut up you two morons. I'm trying to think." Dean rubbed at his temples, getting tired from all this. "Maybe he's some kind of super demon."
Sam was skeptical. "A demon who's immune to salt rounds and devil's traps... and Ruby's knife? Dean, Lilith is scared of that thing."
Getting even more agitated Dean huffed, beginning to anger pace. "Well don't you think that if angels were real, that some hunter somewhere would have seen one... at some point... ever?"
"Yeah. You just did, Dean."
Dean's expression was incredibly wan at his brother's suggestion.
Adding to Sam's theory, Alex hesitantly put out a few wild ones of her own: "I mean, maybe angels haven't walked the earth since ancient Biblical times, or maybe they erase memories of the people they encounter, or—"
Dean's glare cut her short. "Really, you guys? Really? I'm not gonna believe this thing's a freaking 'angel of the Lord' because it says so! It has to be something else, okay?"
"You chuckleheads wanna keep arguing religion, or do you wanna come take a look at this?" The three Winchesters went quiet at Bobby's interjection. He'd been so quiet in his study that they had forgotten he was there. Nevertheless, he held a volume up and tapped on it. "I got stacks of lore—Biblical, pre-Biblical. Some of it's in damn cuneiform. It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit."
That information caused a brief, loaded silence in the room. Then Dean crossed his arms, unwilling to be convinced. "Okay, but what else could've done it?"
"Airlift your ass outta the hot box? Far as I can tell, nothing."
Beside Dean, Sam looked encouraged. "Guys, this is good news. For once, this isn't just another round of demon crap. I mean, maybe Dean was saved by one of the good guys, you know?"
Alex's eyes slid at her twin brother sidelong. After meeting Castiel, she wasn't sure if angels were the good guys. He seemed dangerous. And the look in his eyes had shaken her like no other look ever had.
Dean scoffed. "Okay. Say it's true. Say there are angels. Then what? There's a God?"
Another can of worms for sure. "Geez Dean, can we just figure out angels first, then God?" Alex asked, posing it playfully enough even though she kind of meant it.
"Fine," Dean agreed grudgingly. "What do we know about angels?"
Bobby smirked and picked up a tall pile of ancient books, setting them down with a loud thunk on the desk in front of Dean. "Start readin'."
Dean looked at the pile with resentment, then turned to Sam and Alex, crankily. "One of you clowns is gonna get me some pie."
"I'll do it," Sam volunteered, sighing and grabbing the car keys.
Dean took a book off the top of the pile and cracked it open like he was angry with it, then sent a demanding little frown over at his sister. "Care to join, Alexander?"
Alex wordlessly took a book, just glad to have him back—grumpy or not.
They began paging through the stack, one book at a time. Alex had never minded the research part of things. She was good at taking in a lot of information and figuring out how to apply it. She'd always liked reading.
Maybe thirty minutes later, Bobby swore softly as he ended a call on his cell phone. "Damn, she still won't answer."
"Who?" Dean was ready to be distracted from his reading.
"Olivia. She's a hunter friend of mine one state over. I've been trying to get her since angel-boy made his grand entry—she might have some leads on angels. But now I'm plain worried. It's just not like her not to call me back."
Alex was now interested too, peering at Bobby over the top of her book. "You think she might be in trouble?"
"Yeah," Bobby said, thinking a long couple seconds before he stood up restlessly. "I should go check on her."
Dean was already snapping his book shut and standing, thrilled to find an excuse to get his nose out of the books. "We'll come with."
Alex frowned at Dean. "But there's research to do." She pointed to the tall pile of books waiting to be combed through.
"We can do it later."
Torn, Alex looked from him to the books. "Why don't you guys go and I'll stay and sort the stacks?"
As predicted, Dean didn't like the idea. "You think I'm gonna let you stay here all by yourself?" He crossed his arms.
Alex looked at him over the top of the book both amused and challenging. "Yes, that's exactly what you're gonna do. I'm gonna sit here and scour all these books for angel stuff and when you get back in a day or two, I'll be an expert."
"No, I don't want you alone," Dean insisted. "Sam can stay with you."
Alex raised her eyebrows, becoming extremely serious. "No."
"Oh come on, aren't you two over your little spat yet?" Dean was so flippant about it. Alex felt a genuine pang of sadness, losing a little fire. It wasn't a little spat. It was... not speaking to each other for four months. Dean inhaled heavily. He heard her answer, silence or not. "Then I'll stay with you."
Alex softened—he was just trying to look out for her. "Dean—I'll be fine. You've left me alone tons of times before. You and Bobby and Sam go investigate and I'll do the boring stuff." She jerked her thumb toward the books. He looked at the pile with slight distaste, mulling it over.
"She'll be fine here, Dean," Bobby added. "In fact, might be safer here than with us. This place's basically Fort Knox."
Reluctantly, Dean agreed. "Yeah. All right."
The Next Day
In the AD 400's the Greek philosopher Dionysius the Areopagite described a hierarchy of angels. Based on his writings, angels are traditionally ranked in nine orders. The highest order of angels is the seraphim, followed by the cherubim, thrones, dominions, virtues, powers, principalities, archangels, and angels.
According to this system, the first circle of angels—the seraphim, cherubim, and thrones—devote their time to contemplating God. The second circle—the dominions, virtues, and powers—govern the universe. The third circle—principalities, archangels, and angels—carry out the orders of the superior angels.
Alex looked up from the book and blinked several times, glazed over. She glanced at the clock and realized she had been doing this all day. Scrawled notes on scrap paper littered the desk and several volumes lay open. Sighing, Alex rolled her sore shoulders. Her head was now packed full of angel lore, but she couldn't be sure what parts were real or not. It was mostly speculation and hearsay, but if Alex had learned one thing being raised in the hunter life, it was that most myths and legends came from an element of truth; sometimes a large element, sometimes small. She didn't feel like telling Dean, but she was beginning to believe that Castiel really was what he said. There didn't seem to be anything else he could be. However, it was jarring and hard to reconcile. She had pictured angels to be... different. As glowy, poetic, gentle beings with fluffy white wings. Not as... a robotic invincible guy who showed up and knocked out your friends then told you God had work for you.
She briefly remembered Castiel's promise: "I'll see you again soon." She shivered despite not being cold.
Self-conscious, Alex shook her head and decided it was time for more coffee. She got up and cranked Bobby's ancient coffee maker in the kitchen, and that's when she thought of Dad's journal—maybe it would have some kind of clue to angels. She left the coffee brewing and went into Bobby's guest room, which had been her room for the past few months. The small space had a bed, dresser, and an old mirrored bureau. Her oversized duffel bag was plunked there. Alex had never been in the habit of unpacking clothes, ever, as almost every day they were leaving the place they had been the day before.
Alex dug through her beat-up bag in search of the journal. All her worldly possessions were right here—old socks, torn jeans, and few faded t-shirts (some were Dean's old band shirts from middle school), the odd knick-knack or memento. The whistle on a silver chain that she used to wear around her neck, an oversized manila envelope of old notebooks she had used to talk to people with. Her fingers bumped up against a small square of paper in the bottom of the duffel, and momentarily forgetting her journal hunt, she pulled it out, turning over the yellowing envelope in her hands. Family Pictures the scrawl across the front declared in Dad's handwriting. There was only one photo inside.
It was a picture of Mom standing out in the yard holding her baby twins, one in each arm on either hip. She smiled broadly. The twin on the right stared blankly into the camera, and the twin on the left chewed on his or her hand—Alex wasn't sure which one was which. Little Dean stood beside Mom, arms at his sides as he squinted at the camera. Alex searched her mother's face in the photo, trying to remember her. But she didn't, not at all. She wondered who had taken the photo. It had probably been Dad, since he wasn't in the picture. Or, he might have been gone at the time... that would match up with the rest of her life.
Alex tucked the photo back into the envelope and pulled out the journal from the very bottom of her bag. The familiar shape and weight of the book always brought bittersweet feelings. She had been writing down some of their latest travels and encounters ever since Dad disappeared and then died. Seeing the page where Dad's handwriting ended and hers began always brought a moment of somber reflection.
From the other room, she heard her phone ringing. She hurried to answer, journal in hand. When she saw the caller ID, she relaxed. "Hey Dean."
"Alex." From that single word, she knew something was wrong. "You okay?"
"Yeah, fine. What is it?" She set the journal down on the study desk, listening intently.
"Something freaky," he said, and he sounded scared. "Some kind of vengeful spirit on steroids. A bunch of hunters this way are dead—I mean ripped apart dead. And Sammy just got attacked in the friggin' bathroom of this random gas station by the ghost of Henriksen."
"What?!" Alex's chest clenched in panic. "Oh my god—is he okay?"
"He's fine. No thanks to me. I should've called you sooner, but I had no idea these spirits were mobile."
Alex stopped, frowning hard. "But... ghosts can't just show up where they want. How is that even possible for Henriksen's ghost to be at a random gas station?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out. Bobby should be back to you before we are, maybe a couple hours. We're a little further out. Get the salt, get the iron, blockade yourself in, you got it? I'm pretty sure all hunters are targets right now."
Alex pictured her brothers, far away from her and being hunted by vengeful ghosts. Her stomach turned and she cursed herself for staying behind. "Damn. Okay, you guys be careful. I'll be fine."
She heard a heavy, gusty breath. "You better be." He sounded pissed at himself. "I knew I shouldn't have let you stay behind."
"Relax. I'm gonna go get the salt and iron now." Alex paused, thinking of Sam getting attacked. She swallowed, cleared her throat. "And, uh, tell Sam I, uh... love him, will you?"
Dean paused awkwardly. "Uh, yeah, okay. See you soon."
"And Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"I, uh, loveyoutoo." She hung up fast, not giving him a chance to reply. She wasn't super into expressing her feelings. It had felt necessary right then, but it still left her feeling highly awkward. She let out a breath and shook herself.
She began scrolling through her contacts to call Bobby and see how far away he was. Eyes glued to the phone, she turned around. But when she bumped up against a solid form, she gasped and jumped back, dropping the object in her hand.
Unblinkingly, Castiel looked back at her, appearing just the same as he had the other night—trench coat, business suit, wild hair, blank expression. "You're not safe here," he announced, reaching out for her.
"Whoa don't touch me!" Alex warned, jumping back, her heart hammering from sudden adrenaline.
He visibly tried to figure her reaction out. "Do you assume... that I would hurt you?" Alex made a face. Um yeah I assume you would hurt me! He looked slightly irked. "Alex, if I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn't be able to stop me."
Cocky son of a bitch, wasn't he. She raised her eyebrows. "Well that sure as hell wouldn't stop me from trying, angel wings."
His eyes narrowed just slightly, as if he didn't understand. "My name is Castiel, not 'angel wings.'"
She paused for a beat, thrown off at the reply. "Uh, yeah, I get that," she said tersely, "now go away."
He seemed mildly perplexed. "I don't have time for this. Take my hand." He held out his hand to her and she looked at it like it was diseased.
She edged away from him. "Shouldn't you be bugging Dean about becoming a servant of God? He's not even here."
"I know that. I've been ordered to protect you."
Disbelief and doubt made her face slam into a pinched frown. "...What? Why? Since when?"
"The reason why was not made known to me." His reply bore no emotion. "Something about you makes you important to my Father."
Alex looked at him narrowly. First Dean, and now her? This was getting ridiculous.
He held out his hand again, but she stood her ground, silently refusing. A muscle jerked in his cheek—was that impatience? "I won't force you to come with me," he said. "But I highly advise you to. You're in grave danger."
"I'm always in grave danger," she countered sarcastically, to which his frown deepened slightly. "I told you. I don't want your help—get lost. I'm not gonna say it again."
He stared at her for a couple seconds blankly, then clear annoyance showed. "Fine," he muttered, and the way he said it could almost have been sassy. Then he was gone, leaving Alex in shocked silence.
What... the... hell. How weird.
Remembering Dean's phone call, Alex turned to go downstairs to the weapons cache—and the panic room she and Bobby had built two months ago—but before she could take a single step, the radio suddenly turned on, crackling with white noise. Uh oh. Alex slowly looked over at the radio, her blood beginning to pump through her veins quicker. The lights flickered on and off, once, then twice. And then, she felt it. The room had gone ice cold. She exhaled, her breath a small cloud in front of her. "Shit," she whispered, cursing herself for not grabbing a weapon already. She could feel a strange presence behind her, and she swallowed nervously. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing straight up. Alex braced herself, turning around carefully, unsure of who would be standing there, just knowing she was in the presence of a ghost.
A small young woman with dark hair and delicate features gazed back. She was dressed modestly, her hair parted precisely and braided neatly to the side. A small silver cross hung around her neck. Recognition dawned and Alex felt her face go slack. "N-Nancy?"
"Hello, Alex." Nancy looked very pretty, even with the pale, cool cast death had left on her ghost. Alex recalled with growing horror that Nancy had been one of Lilith's most recent victims—killed mercilessly after helping Alex and her brothers narrowly escape the clutch of death.
Alex swallowed. "You, uh... don't look so good," she said weakly.
"Yeah, well, death does strange things to a girl," Nancy replied, voice too cheerful and too pleasant, resulting in a sinister quality.
"I'm... sorry you died," Alex offered honestly, even while she tried figure out what nearby objects might work as a weapon.
"Me too." Nancy sighed with melodrama. "It was the worst pain I ever experienced!" She became more somber, the air of theatre leaving her voice in favor of dark anger. "Lilith flayed my skin off me, bit by bit. It was agony—pure agony. Where were you? You should have saved me. I needed to be saved." Alex felt herself grimacing, knowing exactly where this was going. She slowly, slowly edged sideways and backward, where she knew the iron fireplace tools rested. "I died a virgin, you know," Nancy continued sadly. Her eyes darkened, and a menacing little smile creeping as her voice went soft and singsong. "And so will you."
Alex froze, shock ringing over her entire body. How the hell did Nancy know that?
The ghost smirked, rolling her eyes. "Oh, Alex, you're so precious. I know everything about you. How you feel so inadequate and long so badly for a chance to prove yourself to your brothers, for a chance to be noticed by the big, beautiful world out there..." Nancy clearly enjoyed Alex's horrified expression. "Poor little Alexandra, she never did have friends like the other little kids, did she? I mean, who wants to be seen with the freak? Every new school, same old story... no one wanted you around. And, ha, forget the possibility of a boyfriend! What did you have to offer?" She cocked her head to the side. "The same thing you have now. Nothing."
Alex's insides burned as Nancy continued with growing glee. "No one liked you then, 'cause you were defective. And no one likes you now, because voice or not, you're still the same. Broken. A loser reject. Nobody." Out of the corner of Alex's eye, to her left just a bit more near the fireplace, the fire poker and shovel. She wet her lips. It was now or never. "You're a total freak," Nancy continued, showing no signs of stopping.
"Look who's talking, bitch," Alex spat. Nancy's expression turned to stone even as Alex grabbed the fire poker and wildly swung it like a baseball bat at the space that Nancy's apparition occupied. The ghost's image dissipated at the blow.
"Ouch," Nancy giggled. Alex whirled to see the ghost behind her looking smug. "You know, the night I died at the police station, I really appreciated you speaking up and offering yourself instead of me, Alex. Oh wait... that's right! You didn't." The ghost's expression became deadly for a beat before she resumed speaking in a perky tone. She advanced slowly. "I mean, two virgins in one place... what are the odds, right? You coward. You could have saved us all." The clock struck three in Bobby's study behind them and Nancy dipped her chin down, smiled broadly without showing teeth. "Well well well, look at the time. It's your turn to die."
Alex again swiped the poker wildly and Nancy's apparition melted into the air, but then reappeared behind Alex and slammed her across the room, smashing her face-first into the kitchen counter where she and a bunch of stuff from on the counter tumbled to the ground. Alex groaned, pain blossoming in her ribcage as she struggled to get up. A large can of kosher salt rolled to a stop near her foot. Alex snatched the can up despite the stabbing pain in her ribs. Nancy approached slowly, enraged. Without even touching her, Nancy flipped Alex around wildly like a rag doll, sending her slamming back to the floor face down. A horrible crack sounded as her chin hit the floor and Alex screamed in pain, barely managing to hold onto the can of salt.
Nancy began dragging Alex, who clawed at the top of the salt in clumsy desperation, the blinding pain overwhelming her motor skills. Once she had it open, she jerked the can hard over her shoulder, sending a huge spray of salt backwards. Weakened, Nancy flickered out for a few seconds, giving Alex enough time to scramble to her feet and stagger to the basement, down the stairs, and toward the iron panic room. All without sight or sound of Nancy—until Alex rounded the corner and saw the ghost standing in front of the doorway to panic room. "Running from your problems is never a true solution, now is it?"
Again, she sent Alex flying backwards at full force. Alex crashed into the staircase sideways and more pain exploded in her side. She heard screams of agony—and realized they were her own. Alex crumpled to the ground onto all fours, barely able to breathe from the shooting pain in her ribcage. She still gripped the can of salt in one hand for dear life. She saw Nancy's feet in front of her, then felt the ghost lifting her by two fistfuls of jacket. "You. Should. Have. Saved. Me!" Nancy roared, all the former playfulness replaced with sheer rage. Wheezing for air against the pain, Alex turned her hand and shook the entire remaining contents of the salt container onto Nancy's apparition, and she fell to the ground as the ghost dissolved, shrieking in anger. With a speed she hadn't know she possessed, Alex raced the final few steps, yanked the door of the panic room open and slamming it behind her. Adrenaline fading as she began to shake, Alex collapsed into a sprawled sitting position on the floor, barely able to breathe. Were her ribs broken? Were her lungs punctured? She could barely see from the pain. She wrapped her arms around herself, teeth gritted in torment. She could taste blood in her mouth. Her chin and jaw felt broken. Shooting pains stabbed through her entire face and neck.
"Oh Al-eeex," came Nancy's sing song voice on the other side of the wall. "Don't mind me. I'll just wait out here for you. I have allllll day, Alex. And when your brothers get here to save you..." she trailed off and laughed, a soft, haunting sound full of foreboding.
Alex sobbed, gasping. It was like breathing through a straw. She wondered if she were dying—her chest felt strange and heavy, and the world was spinning. She was going to pass out. She'd passed out enough times in her lifetime to recognize the lead-up.
"I told you there was danger," came a deep voice. Alex swore in surprise, flailing backwards up against the wall. She found herself abruptly looking into the grim and increasingly familiar face of Castiel. He crouched down in front of her. "Hold still," he commanded, reaching for her. She shrank back fearfully, and he paused.
He looked into her wide eyes and she went still, breathless and pained and unsure—and also unable to look away from him. His face had an actual expression on it. He seemed imploring, vaguely concerned. Alex's tense body softened after a couple heartbeats. Whoever he was… he wasn't there to hurt her. She could understand that much. He held her gaze a moment longer, then his hand came to rest over the area just above her stomach. The touch was warm and solid, and soothing white light came out beneath his palm, startling Alex. Underneath his hand and inside of her muscles, bones, skin, she felt a strange and fiery sensation. Not unpleasant, but so foreign that she didn't know how to process it. She looked at his hand there on her ribs, the light glowing beneath it, then back at him—he concentrated his studious gaze at his hand intensely, and Alex could not find it within herself to drag her eyes away from a thorough study of his face.
When the light died away, the pain in her ribs was gone. She could breathe again. Stunned, she looked at him with a new gaze, unable to hide her surprise. His hand came up to cup her chin, his thumb lightly resting on the center of it and she jumped at the unexpected touch of his hand. Again, warm light, a fiery sensation, and his frowning stare rested on her chin, not her eyes. He was handsome, more handsome than she remembered noticing before. He had a clefted chin and defined jaw; his nose was strong and pleasant, his brow fierce and broad. He had strange, wide lips that offset those brilliant blue eyes. Eyes that appeared to be both weary and curious all at once. Age lines scattered his face, but somehow he still seemed boyish and youthful. His eyes moved up and met hers right then. Alex looked away quickly.
Touching light fingers to the places that had just been bloody, Alex found normal, soft skin. Her chin and jaw were healed. So were her ribs. "T-thank you," she said softly, feeling very odd indeed.
"You're welcome," he replied, that deep voice sending chills up her spine again. His hand fell away, but his intense gaze did not. Alex suddenly felt that he was too close. Much, much too close. As if he read her mind, he stood up and offered her a hand. Usually she never would have accepted, but being a little awed by the man—no, angel—who had just saved her life, she took his hand and stood, feeling as though she were in the presence of a superhero or god, almost. However, she would immediately regret the trust she'd placed in him.
Even before she had finished rising to her height, she heard a metallic clicking and felt something cold snap onto her wrist—handcuffs?! With surprising speed, Castiel locked the other half onto the gun rack that was bolted into the wall. "Hey—what the hell?" Alex yanked at the cuffs in alarm. "What are you doing?! Take these off me!"
"I just saved your life," Castiel replied with as much feeling as if he were commenting on the weather. "Twice." He held up a small silver key and then placed it on the little desk at the other end of the room, far from her reach. "You'll be safe here until they find you."
"Hey!" But he was gone again, leaving Alex frantically tugging at the handcuffs. "Castiel! CASTIEL!" She rattled the cuffs in desperation—but he didn't reappear, and no answer came to her screams. No phone, surrounded by ghosts, and locked in the basement where Bobby couldn't hear, Alex was unable to warn anyone in any way. She yanked at her restraints again, howling in frustration. "Son of a bitch!"