Song Remains the Same
Chapter 18 / Speak of the Devil
"Loss takes everything you love in an instant, yet gives you a lifetime of sorrow."
- Saim .A. Cheeda
The Next Day
Alex took another drag from her cigarette and blew, watching the smoke flutter off into the cold midday air. It was quiet and overcast which didn't seem fitting. Where was the smoke, the fire, the devil and his forked tongue? Sitting on top of the hotel roof, she watched the city below. None of those people had any idea about what a complete and utter shitstorm was headed their way. Must be nice. Her feet dangled off the edge of the building—about an eight-story drop. She took another drag on the cigarette. She felt queasy from low blood sugar. She hadn't eaten since yesterday at least, if not longer. She honestly couldn't remember.
It was hard to want to eat when you had failed to stop the devil from rising.
When she and Dean arrived at the convent, they had been too late to stop Sam. It was almost laughable how they had walked into the whole thing, how Ruby had used and tricked Sam—and yes, he had realized, but it had been too late. Alex remembered that final scuffle—she and Dean bursting into the room to see Sam and Ruby struggling, Lilith dead—her blood running down onto the floor, spiraling into an ever-tightening circle. Dean and Sam killed Ruby as Alex dove to the ground in a desperate last-ditch effort to stop the blood from touching in the centermost point with her bare hands. But it was too late. With no choice to run, they tried to escape, only to become trapped in the convent in the room where Lucifer's burning presence began to seep out of the hole opening up in the floor. The three Winchesters had clutched each other in terror, the brothers sandwiching their sister, trying in vain to shield her from what was about to happen. It was the end, and they all knew it.
And then, suddenly, it wasn't. Without explanation they were safely in an airplane over the city, alive, well, and very confused. Add that little miracle to the list of unexplained phenomena.
But despite that miracle, not everything was right in the world. Castiel was gone. Alex stilled, her hand in midair, cigarette forgotten. When Chuck told them that the angel was dead… there had been this feeling like being hit in the gut with a hammer. All Alex could think was no with every part of who she was. Not Cas. He was supposed to survive. He was supposed to be invincible. He wasn't supposed to die for us. For me.
A silent tear spilled onto her cheek and slid down her face and she wiped it away angrily with the palm of her hand. He died in vain, and she would carry that with her for the rest of her life, adding him to the forever-lengthening list of people who she'd cared about and lost. Caring about him had snuck up on her. She still didn't entirely get it. She thought of the wild hair and clear blue eyes, the expressiveness his face had taken on in some moments, giving her glimpses of his truest self. The dream at the Tilt-A-Whirl tortured her. As did his confession yesterday that yes—he felt afraid. There was so much more that she had wanted to know about him. She wished she could have protected him better somehow. He had proved himself brave and selfless—and the cost was his life.
For the millionth time she thought of his response to Chuck when the writer had protested "but you're not part of this story!"
For a minute there, when Castiel had told Chuck, "we're writing our own ending," Alex had looked at him and felt so much something that she wanted to burst. He'd made his choice. And now he was gone. Just gone. Why did practically everyone they met always die? Alex flicked her cigarette off the roof and again wiped her cheeks. Castiel would remain a mystery she would never solve. Buried in her memories, a question mark. A curiosity.
Following the loss of their only angel ally, Sam wallowed in shame and hopelessness while Dean's demeanor said he felt too fed up to deal. That left Alex stuck in the middle, mourning her guardian angel. She yearned to be someone else. Just a regular civilian who had no idea about this supernatural Heaven and Hell crap. Every day the burden got heavier, and her back threatened to break. Every time she thought she knew how bad it could be, it got worse.
She looked up at the heavy gray sky above and said a silent I'm sorry to Castiel, who shouldn't have died like he did. Who shouldn't have died at all.
"Sad we need these, man," Dean said, eyeing the hex bag in his hand. "Angels, huh? They were supposed to be the good guys."
"Yeah," Sam agreed half-heartedly, putting the other bag at the opposite end of the motel room.
Dean watched his younger brother unenthusiastically then took the hex bag in his hand and stuck it on top of the TV. He paused to consider the irony of what he was doing. This was really a whole new brand of crazy. Angels had allowed the apocalypse to take place just so that they could get their rocks off killing Lucifer themselves. They didn't get how insane that was. Zachariah's words earlier bothered him—the douchebag had the nerve to tell Dean that he needed their help to defeat Lucifer. No thanks. He'd do it on his own. Angels weren't invincible and they could be killed. Dean already knew that much.
However, he wasn't sure how of how to go about it. How exactly do you hunt down a fallen angel; and more importantly than that, where could they get their hands on an angel blade? Would that even work on Lucifer? Even if they figured all those little details out, Dean knew it was all in vain if he and his siblings couldn't hold it together. His family was ripping at the seams. There was Sam, messed up on demon blood and acting like a simpering, guilty idiot. There was Alex, depressed and withdrawn for reasons Dean wasn't sure of, but he had a few guesses—an apocalypse both your brothers started probably didn't exactly leave her jumping for joy.
Dean could feel Sam staring at the back of his head. Annoyed, he turned and looked at Sam, gauging his brother carefully. Sam looked relatively normal, which was what didn't make sense. Unlike when he'd been locked up in the panic room, Sam was now completely lucid, alert, and sober. Dean had to tell himself to stay cool. He was still mad as hell about everything that had happened—Ruby, the demon blood, Sam trying to choke him to death… and who could forget Sam hitting his own sister? That's what bothered Dean the most. He remembered the tenderness and fierce devotion that the twins had for each other in childhood. The way they defended each other to no end, stuck up for each other even when the other was definitely wrong, cried when the other one was upset. Fast forward about fifteen years and Sam had done something he couldn't come back from. Dean could feel himself getting pissed. Sam was still staring at him ruefully.
Dean cleared his throat, attempting a conversational tone. "So, uh, how you doing? You jonesing for another hit of bitch blood or what?"
Sam shook his head, his expression earnest and expressive. "I-It's weird. Uh, tell you the truth, I'm fine. No shakes, no fever. It's like whoever… put me on that plane cleaned me right up."
Dean wasn't sure what to make of that but was careful to respond neutrally. "So, supernatural methadone."
"Yeah, I guess." Sam tried a smile, paused, growing slightly trepidatious. "Dean—"
"Sam." Dean cut him off, and fast, turning around and walking back to the motel table, avoiding looking at his brother. "You don't have to say anything."
"Well, that's good," Sam said softly. "Because what can I even say? 'I'm sorry'? 'I screwed up'?" He laughed awkwardly which only made Dean's blood boil further. "Doesn't really do it justice, you know?" Sam continued. "Look, there's nothing I can do or say that will ever make this right—"
Dean was unable to hold it in any longer. "So then why do you keep bringing it up?!". He leveled Sam with a deadly gaze and pointed a threatening finger. "Look, all I got to say to you right now is if you ever—ever hurt our sister like that again… you're done, man. You touch her, you even threaten her—we are gone, and you are dead to me." Sam was stunned as Dean continued, his voice a low, angry rumble. "I'm serious, Sam. You crossed a line. After everything you've done… I don't know why I even let you come here with us!"
Sam's jaw clenched, he looked down. "Yeah, no. I get that." When he looked back up again, he could barely met Dean's eyes. "Trust me. It won't ever happen again, Dean. It... it shouldn't have happened at all." Sam breathed in shakily, shutting his eyes for a second, as if in pain. "I... hate myself for what I did." His eyes opened again, beseeching Dean. "To both of you, and with Ruby, and… everything. It scares me, Dean..."
Dean turned around. "Yeah, well, me too."
"I didn't know what I was doing at the time!" He sounded like he was making a plea for his case.
Dean turned back around challengingly. "And that makes it okay?"
Fumbling, Sam wet his lips. "No, of course it doesn't, but—"
Dean held up a hand for silence, reaching the end of his anger. "Look, all I'm saying is, why do we have to put this under a microscope?" He was tired. Goddamn tired. "Let's just move on. I said my peace, you said yours, now let it go. I can't talk about this anymore."
Sam took a beat then nodded. Dean could tell that his little brother had a lot more to say… but he didn't care right now. He was too pissed, too tired, too messed up to even think about all this crap. He sat back down at the flimsy motel table and resumed cleaning his gun sullenly.
"So uh, where is Alex, anyway?" Sam asked hesitantly.
"Said she needed some air." Dean paused and looked up at Sam. "I wouldn't get your hopes up, Sam."
"About what?"
"What do you think?" Dean asked, meeting Sam's gaze evenly. "I doubt she'll ever be able to trust you after that. I'm sure as hell not sure if I can."
Sam shifted slightly at the edge of Dean's vision. Dean didn't even have to look. He could hear the heartbreak in Sam's tone. "Right."
"We have more important things to worry about right now anyway," Dean said, ignoring Sam's emotional distress. "Like hunting down the friggin' devil."
Sam took in a deep breath and nodded, clearly forcing himself to push aside his feelings. "Yeah. Okay." He came closer and sat down at the table. "So where do we start?"
Dean paused. "Yeah… uh… about that. I'm not entirely sure."
When it started drizzling, Alex finally left her spot on the roof and made her way back to the room, hugging her jacket around herself against the dropping temperature. She reached the room and opened the door to a very unexpected sight. Her brothers were both standing in the middle of the room with a sort of small, mousy woman. She was touching Sam's chest, practically nestled there. Alex froze in the door frame. "What's... going on?"
Dean gave her a look, and Sam attempted a smile in the woman's direction—it looked more like a grimace. "Can you, uh, stop touching me Becky?" Sam asked, apparently too polite to physically step back.
"No..." the girl, apparently named Becky whimpered, and leaned closer, her hand rubbing over Sam's pectorals.
Alex looked at Dean in confusion. "Dean! You promised no more hookers!"
At that, Alex finally had Becky's attention. The woman's jaw was practically on the floor. Sam took the opportunity to back up from her. "I'm not a hooker—I'm... Becky. Mr. Edlund—Chuck—sent me, to deliver a message. To Sam and Dean." At the mention of them, she forgot her offense and smiled breathlessly up at Sam, who looked highly uncomfortable.
Becky seemed to think of something and looked at Alex again. "Ohhh…" she nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in understanding. "So you must be Alex. Huh." She looked Alex up and down appraisingly. She didn't seem to know what to think. She looked mildly disappointed or disapproving. It was hard to tell which. Puzzled, Alex looked to her brothers for an explanation.
"Becky, uh, read the books about us," Sam said, to which Becky turned and beamed up at him.
"Every single one," she all but gushed.
"Great. Good for you." Alex muttered. She glanced at Dean who rolled his eyes in exasperation. Becky was now staring at Sam's chest, entranced. This was so bizarre it was beginning to get funny. Alex tilted her head to the side, mystified.
Sam looked like he was screaming internally for assistance and glanced at Dean, then Alex, his eyes saying 'help me!' but when his two baffled siblings did nothing, he was forced to take matters into his own hands. "Uh, listen, Becky. Thanks for the message. But, we gotta, uh, get back to…" he went blank for a second. "Uh, hunter stuff."
"Oh wow!" Becky squealed, sounding completely starstruck… but she didn't take the hint, just continued to smile widely, breathing through her mouth, gazing at Sam like he were the most amazing thing she'd ever seen.
Alex cleared her throat and put a firm hand on Becky's shoulder, used her other hand to jerk a thumb at the door. "In other words, you gotta leave."
"Oh! Oh." Becky's face got kind of sad. "Okay, yeah. Sam… so good to meet you." Becky walked sideways out of the door, her eyes never leaving Sam (who was clearly scared out of his mind behind his polite smile). Alex shut the door on Becky without ceremony and turned around, then clasped her hands together and leveled Sam with dramatic goo-goo eyes.
"Oh Saaaam," she mocked, earning a soft, embarrassed laugh from Sam.
"You're so fiiiiirm," Dean purred, his expression a mix of flirtatious suggestiveness and slightly sinister intent.
That did it. All three of them shared a chuckle, and for a minute, they forgot. They forgot the stigma and the tension, they forgot they were angry with each other, that the world was falling apart, that nothing was okay. Even before it began it was over. Sam's smile faded into a conflicted expression, and with the loss of his smile, Dean and Alex's faded too.
"So," Dean said, clearing his throat and looking at Alex. "Sam's number one fan had a message from Chuck. 'The Michael sword is on earth. The angels lost it.'"
"The what sword?"
"No clue. That's why I'm calling Bobby. I'll be back." Dean stepped out, leaving the twins in the silent motel room.
Alex looked at Sam sidelong, considering trying to talk to him. But she wasn't sure how to. He was looking at her in the same way, like he wanted to say something but couldn't. He took a deep breath, hesitated, opened his mouth, shut it again, cleared his throat, then left in a rush, muttering something about "back later" before the door shut.
Alex watched him go in disappointment, the familiar sadness returning. The silence in the room was deafening.
Dean shook Alex awake when Bobby showed up, which must have been several hours later. She should have felt rested from the nap she didn't even mean to take, but she only felt more tired, and with a killer headache to boot. Bobby shared some findings on Michael's sword as Alex hung back and tuned out, sitting cross-legged on one of the beds. She picked at the chipped red nail polish that was still on her fingernails. She was really getting frustrated.
"Sam, stop it," Dean thundered, and Alex looked up, confused—what had she missed? Bobby was staring at Sam angrily.
"No, Dean. Bobby, it was me who broke the final seal," Sam said, his voice full of pained remorse. "I killed Lilith, and I set Lucifer free."
"You what?" Bobby asked in disbelief.
"You guys warned me about Ruby, the demon blood, but I didn't listen. I brought this on." Sam might as well have been in front of a firing squad.
Bobby stood up, his expression so full of fury that he was barely recognizable. "You're damn right you didn't listen. You were reckless and selfish and arrogant!"
Sam shook his head hollowly. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, yeah? You're sorry you started Armageddon?" Bobby was practically snarling now. "This kind of thing don't get forgiven, boy. If, by some miracle, we pull this off… I want you to lose my number. You understand me?"
Brokenhearted, Sam nodded, even as Alex's mouth hung open. "Bobby!" That wasn't like him to be so harsh. She received a wrathful glare from Bobby. Confused, Alex looked at Dean, who didn't say a damn thing in Sam's defense.
Sam swallowed, struggling, his eyes downcast. "There's… there's an old church nearby. Maybe I'll go read some of the lore books there."
"Yeah," Bobby retorted sharply. "You do that."
Sam was no longer able to maintain eye contact, and still nodding, as if in shock or a daze, he turned and left, shutting the door softly behind him. About two seconds of stunned silence on Alex's part passed and then she hopped off the bed, grabbing her jacket from where she had tossed it earlier. "Where the hell you going?" Dean asked.
At the door, with her hand on the knob, Alex turned and looked at him unflinchingly. "With Sam."
Bobby's face scrunched in something like disgust. "With Sam? He jump-started the end of the world, and you wanna hold his hand?"
Alex scoffed. "Bobby, what the hell has gotten into you?" She glanced at Dean. "Both of you." She turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her.
Sam walked down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, eyes on the ground in front of him. He had really, really messed up this time. Every dark suspicion he'd had about himself was true: he was a monster inside. He had been blinded and controlled by his addictions, his fears, his insecurities. He couldn't do anything right—that had been his worst fear growing up, and yesterday, that fear had been confirmed once and for all. The faces of the people he'd let down flooded his mind. Dean, superior, disappointed, unforgiving. Bobby, enraged and hateful. Alex, hurt and distant. Dad, always disappointed, always unsatisfied. Jess, who never had a chance. Not with him in her life. Maybe Sam was poison. Maybe everything and everyone he touched was doomed to be destroyed. He looked up and sniffed loudly, trying to ignore the pain. He blinked fast because his eyes were threatening to flood.
A shout behind him startled him out of his thoughts. "Sam, wait up!" He turned to see Alex jogging to catch up. He stopped walking, his heart clenching in pain at the sight of her.
"What is it?" he asked cautiously, preparing himself to be attacked again.
With a light shrug she stuck her hands into her jacket pockets. "I'm coming with."
"What, they sent you to babysit me?"
"Uh, no," she said, her tone him suggesting that was ridiculous but funny. She smiled at him despite some misgivings he saw in her eyes still. That simple act meant everything to Sam. She nodded her head in the direction of the church he was headed to. "Come on, this lore isn't gonna read itself."
"Got anything?"
Alex looked up at her twin from the huge book she'd been leafing through for the past hour. "Nothing about the Michael sword being an actual physical object, if that's what you mean."
"Me either." Sam let out a very tired, very frustrated sigh.
They sat across from each other in the church study. It was a fancy room with religious paintings on the walls and many thick books lining the shelves. Above Sam's head and on the wall behind him, there was a huge watercolor of an angel holding a scroll. Every time Alex looked up, she stared at it. The angel was barefoot in flowing robes and had fluffy white wings paired with a dreamy expression. Angels did not look like that. They looked like handsome businessmen with confused, stern scowls forever etched onto their features...
She looked away from the painting and at Sam instead.
With his hands resting on either side of the book and his eyes not seeing the space in front of him he looked lost and alone. His jaw worked weirdly, the muscles flexing and clenching. Without any warning he looked up, his expression agonized and vulnerable. "I just want you to know I'm sorry. So, so sorry. If you never forgive me, I'll understand." A little surprised at his sudden confession, Alex opened her mouth to reply, but he was already talking again. "How can you even look at me? After what—what I've done?" Emotion made his pain raw across his features. "God, I just... what happened? These things inside me Alex, I thought I could outrun them—but—but..." his face twisted up in pain, "I don't belong anywhere near you, near anyone I love." His fist clenched tight where it rested on the table. "I was so stupid to think no one would get hurt—I endangered you and Dean and it's because... because..." his voice choked up, "I'm cursed!"
"Sam." Alex reached out and put a hand over his hand that was still balled into a fist. He stilled, looking at her hand then her in surprise. She was intent. "That's not true, everything you just said..." she looked at him hesitatingly, and even though it was hard—she wasn't the best at expressing herself, she needed to try. "Look, I love you, okay?" She didn't say those words much and it was hard to say them even though it was the truth through and through. "You're not cursed. You're—you're gonna be all right."
His expression showed stunned disbelief. "You... you don't wanna lose my number?"
Alex's heart hurt at that question. "No." She tightened her grip on his hand. "He didn't mean it, I know he didn't. It's not like Bobby to say that kind of stuff."
Her brother looked like he was dying to believe her. His voice dropped in volume, he swallowed, his eyebrows wobbled towards each other. "You—you don't think I deserved what he said?"
Alex shook her head earnestly. "No."
Sam's expression broke as his composure cracked. "I'm sorry," he confessed through a sudden onslaught of pained tears. "So, so sorry."
Alex was already knocking her chair back and halfway around the table, wrapping her arms around Sam's massive shoulders, hugging him tight.
He tensed for a minute, not accepting the embrace at first—then his arms gingerly circled her as she rested her chin on the top of his head. He wept bitterly but quietly, his body shaking violently. Alex just stayed there with him, swallowing tears herself. She really couldn't stand to see him in so much pain. She thought of how he had hit her but told herself... that wasn't Sammy. That was the demon blood. She decided right then and there to forgive and forget it this one time. If it happened again, by God, there would be hell to pay. But today... she put it in the past.
After a minute Sam let out a few shaky breaths and drew back, pulling himself together. He looked up at her, kind of embarrassed and awkward. Alex's mouth quirked up on one side in a crooked smile and she tapped him affectionately under his chin with her index finger—something she'd done since she could remember, since they were pre-schoolers. At that familiar, fond gesture—one that hadn't been shown in what felt like forever—a small, real smile pulled Sam's lips upward. His face relaxed. The smile reached his eyes.
"Let's get outta here, Moose," Alex suggested, using one of Dean's favorite nicknames for their brother. She was already reaching for her jacket. "I don't think we're gonna find anything here."
Sam stood up, towering over her, looking more himself—clear-headed and calm, if a little red-faced from the tears. He ruffled her hair affectionately, earning a good-natured protest of "heeeey!" from Alex, who ducked away, laughing, actually laughing. He hadn't done that in forever.
They were okay the whole walk back, talking about things that didn't matter: how gas station sandwiches were literally the worst, their conflicting opinions on which character on 21 Jumpstreet was the best, and how they would kill for another chance to taste Crystal Pepsi. Maybe it was a truce or just them trying hard to gloss over what happened two days ago, but it felt good. It felt nice.
As with their life, the lull in tragedy was doomed to be short-lived. Sam and Alex got back to the motel and found Bobby stabbed and dying on the floor, Meg the demon trying to kill Dean. Naturally, they'd taken care of the demons quickly, but Meg had escaped. Another demon bitch they'd have to kill another day.
As they raced a dying, bleeding Bobby to the emergency room, Dean told them Bobby had been possessed the whole time, the demon inside him trying to find the Michael sword before they did. He insisted that they had to go to some place in upstate New York called Castle Storage where the sword was packed away, and now. They had to leave Bobby behind to undergo emergency surgery while they made a frenzied five-hour car drive in a desperate bid to beat the demons. The entire way was tense. They all worried about Bobby and all wondered what this sword of Michael would do in the wrong hands. Alex wanted to stay with Bobby, but Dean insisted it was all hands on deck.
It was a few hours before sunrise when they pulled into the empty parking lot of Castle Storage. Dean jerked the car into a parking space and they got out, grabbing weapons out of the trunk. "Looks like we beat 'em," Dean said, casting glances around—the place was quiet and still. Alex cocked her shotgun with a satisfying click-click.
"Stay close together just in case," Dean said and led the way to the storage unit. They entered, shotguns held to their shoulders… and then… stopped, mystified. Dead bodies littered the floor. Demons.
"What the…" Sam trailed off.
"I see you told the demons where the sword is," came a voice from behind them. The Winchesters whirled to see Zachariah smiling patronizingly at them, two other angels flanking his left and right.
"Oh, thank god," Dean said sarcastically, recovering from the surprise. "The angels are here."
"And to think… they could have grabbed the sword any time they wanted." Zachariah raised one of his hands and the metal door slammed closed, trapping them inside the small storage unit. Sam inched a little closer to Alex protectively. "It was right in front of them all along." Zachariah shook his head, chuckling.
"What do you mean?" Dean demanded dangerously.
"Well, we may have planted that particular piece of prophecy inside Chuck's skull, but it happened to be true. We did lose the Michael sword. We truly couldn't find it. Until now. You've just hand-delivered it to us."
"We don't have anything," Dean countered calmly.
Zachariah blinked a couple times, almost rolled his eyes. "It's you, dumbass. You're the Michael sword."
There was a confused silence. "Come again?" Dean asked.
"Yup, interesting, huh?" Zachariah's voice was exceedingly bright and bubbly. "What, you thought you could actually kill Lucifer? You simpering wad of insecurity and self-loathing." At the insults, Alex made a face. It made sense now. That's where Uriel had gotten his people skills from. Zachariah came closer, a superior smile on his face. "You're just a human—Dean. And not much of one."
"Hey," Sam shot darkly, earning a cursory glance from Zachariah.
"What do you mean, I'm the sword?" Dean asked, ignoring the insult.
Zachariah smiled, as if in excitement. "You're Michael's vessel."
The shock that statement rendered the Winchesters silent and aghast. Dean shook his head, as if there had clearly been a mistake. "What? No…" but Zachariah was dead serious. Dean lost some strength to his voice. "Why—why me?"
"Because you're chosen! It's a great honor, Dean."
"Oh, yeah," Dean said, his tone full of sardonic enthusiasm. "Yeah, life as an angel condom. That's real fun. I think I'll pass, thanks."
Zachariah shook his head, his expression disappointed and a little offended. "Joking. Always joking. Well… no more jokes." He raised his hand, his fingers like a gun, and pointed at Dean—then shifted and pointed at Sam. "Bang."
There was an audible crunch and Sam fell, a sound of agony ripping from his throat. Even before Sam had hit the ground, Zachariah pointed to Alex, and repeated, "Bang." Alex's knees both exploded in pain and she screamed, collapsing against blinding agony.
"You son of a bitch!" Dean shouted. Zachariah leveled him with a grim stare.
"Keep mouthing off, I'll break more than their legs. I am completely and utterly through screwing around. The war has begun. We don't have our general. That's bad. Now, Michael is going to take his vessel and lead the final charge against the adversary. You understand me?"
On the ground behind Dean, Sam and Alex both writhed in agony. Dean was shaking at this point. "Yeah? And how many humans die in the crossfire, huh? A million? Five million, ten?"
"Probably more," Zachariah said breezily. "If Lucifer goes unchecked, you know how many die? All of them. He'll roast the planet alive."
Dean paused, thinking fast. "There's a reason you're telling me this instead of just nabbing me. You need my consent. Michael needs my say-so to ride around in my skin."
"Unfortunately, yes," the angel said with a sigh. "There is no other way. There must be a battle. Michael must defeat the serpent. It is written."
"Yeah, maybe," Dean said, almost sounding like he was considering it. "But, on the other hand... eat me." Zachariah's face fell as Dean raised an eyebrow. "The answer's no."
"Okay. How about this? Your friend Bobby—we know he's gravely injured. Say yes, and we'll heal him. Say no... he'll never walk again."
Sam and Alex looked up at Dean, whose expression was unyielding. Then they looked at each other.
"No," Dean repeated through gritted teeth.
Zachariah nodded, then countered again. "Then how about we heal you from… hmm… stage four stomach cancer?"
Dean frowned then suddenly doubled over, coughing and gagging, falling over onto all fours. He spit blood into his palm, then looked up at Zachariah defiantly. "No."
"Boy. You sure drive a hard bargain!" Zachariah commented with false enthusiasm. "Let's get really creative. Uh, let's see how… Sam does without his lungs."
Sam suddenly went silent, his mouth open and closing as if he were gasping for air.
"Are we having fun yet?" He looked at Alex and made a face like he'd just noticed something. "Oh and look, Alex is suffering from advanced throat cancer. Tragic."
Alex, who was holding onto her dying twin tight, felt her entire body convulse and she coughed up blood in a sudden, violent fit, her breathing ragged and shallow. Dean looked between his siblings in alarm as Zachariah came to him, grabbing his chin, forcing him to look him in the eye. "You're going to say yes, Dean," Zachariah said balefully.
"Just kill us," Dean fired back.
"Kill you?" Zachariah stood up and let go of Dean. "Oh, no. I'm just getting started."
Alex gagged again, choking on huge chunks of blood in her throat. She could barely concentrate, barely breathe, barely move from the pain that seized her body. Beside her, Sam was bucking, gasping for air. And just when Alex had lost hope... a bright light and fierce wind filled the room. Zachariah turned, Alex squinted and looked away, a hand attempting to shield her vision. The blinding light faded and she looked up again, groaning against the pain—and she almost fell over.
Castiel stabbed one of Zachariah's henchmen in the neck and threw the angel to the ground, his trench coat whirling around him as he turned and slammed his fist into the other angel's stomach, raising the knife high. The other angel struggled, holding Cas off for only a second. The angel blade flashed in the light, and the two of them smashed into a pile of boxes, sending everything flying.
Sam quaked and Alex clung onto him hard. "Hang on, just hang on Sam!" she begged, gagging on more blood, almost drowning inside of herself. Nearby, Dean was on the ground, groaning and coughing.
With brutal finality Cas slammed his opponent face-first up against a wall and stabbed him with the blade, then let the body fall lifeless to the ground. He drew back, at his full height, his face radiant with energy, with power, with confidence. He stared down at Zachariah, his face furious, intense, fiery.
Beneath Alex's hands, Sam had stopped moving. She stared down at him, alarmed and choking on her own blood. Oh god, Sam!
"How are you…?" Zachariah asked, clearly in shock.
"Alive?" Cas replied in his deep, familiar voice. "That's a good question. How did these three end up on that airplane?" He motioned at the Winchesters, his eyes briefly meeting Alex's before returning to Zachariah—he saw her physical anguish and his voice picked up speed and became harder, more assertive. "Another good question. Because the angels didn't do it. I think we both know the answer, don't we?"
"No," Zachariah said softly, hollowly. "That's not possible."
"It scares you as well it should." Castiel's voice darkened with a threatening, commanding quality. "Now, put these boys and their sister back together and go." His face was almost a snarl. "I won't ask twice."
Zachariah disappeared and Alex jumped, startled, when Sam suddenly shot up, looking around in alarm and confusion, breathing heavily. Confused, Alex suddenly realized her knees were okay and her throat was fine. Shakily, she wiped blood away from the edges of her mouth as Sam stood and pulled her to her feet. Had she hit her head? Was this real?
"You three need to be more careful," Castiel said, approaching them as his gaze skimmed over them, checking their conditions.
"Yeah, I'm starting to get that," Dean said as he stood up and dusted his hands off on his upper legs. "Your frat brothers are bigger dicks than I thought."
"I don't mean the angels," Castiel said impatiently. "Lucifer is circling his vessel. And once he takes it, those hex bags won't be enough to protect you." He came even closer and raised both hands, roughly putting one on each of Sam and Dean's chests. Alex, who was standing behind them and between them, jumped as her brothers both jolted and gasped.
"What the hell was that?" Dean asked, a hand on his chest as he flinched back.
"An Enochian sigil," Castiel said. "It'll hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer."
"What, did you just brand us with it?"
"No. I carved it into your ribs," Cas said, as if, naturally, they should have known that. He looked directly at Alex and lowered his chin slightly, made a 'come here' motion with his hand, indicating that it was her turn.
Dean and Sam stepped aside so that she could move forward, which she did in a daze. There he was, flesh and blood right in front of her with his eyes locked onto hers. "Hi Cas," she said in a breathless and quiet voice. "…You were dead."
His rigid expression softened a shade at her greeting. "Hello, Alex. Yes I was." His hand, warm and rough came to rest against the bare skin of her chest, right below the dip of her collarbone. The sensation of the touch startled her into stillness. She didn't have time to think about it anymore, as suddenly there was a scraping, burning sensation all over the inside of her torso. It wasn't pleasant. Before she could fully process the strange feeling, it was gone altogether.
Castiel stepped back with a hooded glance at Alex then looked over the Winchesters again, apparently satisfied with his handiwork. "H-how are you alive, Cas?" Alex asked.
He looked at her with a strange expression. "That remains to be seen," he said cryptically, then disappeared without a word, leaving three very confused hunters behind.
Dean gave a huge sigh. "Dammit. Same old Cas." He sounded kind of fond though and smiled lightly, relieved that they were all in one piece. He went to the door and yanked it up and open. "Well, this has been a fun night."
"Fun?" Sam repeated as he pushed the door up far enough where he could walk under. "Yeah, being lungless is a blast, Dean."
"Hey, I'll try anything once," Dean quipped, in amazing spirits for having just been dying on the floor a minute ago. Sam rolled his eyes and mumbled something like yeah right.
Alex paused before she followed her brothers back to the car. She was frowning deeply, staring back at where Cas had been standing a minute ago. How was he just alive again? And why the quick exit? She breathed in deeply, mind spinning. She had a thousand questions, but he was alive... and that, for now, would have to be enough.
Three Days Later
Alex sat across from Bobby who was in his wheelchair, staring out the window listlessly, just as he had been for the last few days. "Bobby." He didn't acknowledge her and she tried moving her face closer into his line of sight. "Bobby." No reply. "Three days of nothing from you… come on. Gimme something to work with here."
He only glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then looked back out the window. He was upset, and understandably so. His knife wound hadn't killed him—however it had paralyzed his legs. He wouldn't say a word to any of them. Not even her. But that didn't stop her from trying to get a reaction. Alex pulled one of her knees into her chest, the other leg dangling. "This reminds me of the time Dad was so mad at me that he gave me the silent treatment for a week." Bobby looked at her, his expression fuzzy, like he didn't know what she was talking about. "When I dropped out of high school by forging his signature on all the paperwork. Don't tell me you forgot about that."
Bobby, remembering, smiled slightly, but quickly scoffed, covering it up with a frown and he looked away, still refusing to reply. Alex rolled her eyes. He was pouting and silent, kind of like a mad five-year-old. He crossed his arms, only serving to make him look even more like a sassy, petulant child. Alex shook her head good naturedly and looked up, hearing Dean's voice.
"Since when do angels need a cell phone to reach out and touch someone?" he asked, coming into view. With him was Sam—and Castiel. Alex stood in surprise at the unexpected appearance of the angel.
"You're hidden from angels now—all angels," he said. "I won't be able to simply—"
Beside Alex, the sound of Bobby's gruff voice startled her. "Enough foreplay." The guys all looked their way. "Get over here and lay your damn hands on."
Castiel's lips thinned into a line. "I can't."
Bobby turned his chair on Cas, his expression deadly cold. "Say again?"
"I'm cut off from Heaven and much of Heaven's power," Castiel explained, walking into the room. Alex watched him in somewhat stunned silence. She should be used to him popping up with warning, but she wasn't. "Certain things I can do," Cas continued. He acknowledged Alex with a brief glance. "Certain things I can't."
"You're tellin' me you lost your mojo just in time to get me stuck in this trap the rest of my life?" Bobby asked, his voice rising, especially toward the end.
"I'm sorry," Castiel said.
In reply, Bobby glared and turned his chair back around. "Shove it up your ass."
"At least he's talking now," Dean muttered.
"I heard that," Bobby grumbled.
Cas turned away, expression hard to read. "I don't have much time," he said, speaking in hushed tones, forcing the Winchesters to come closer. "We need to talk. About your plan to kill Lucifer."
"Yeah?" Dean was mildly enthused. "You wanna to help?"
"No," Cas replied without missing a beat. "It's foolish. It can't be done."
Sam and Alex exchanged puzzled frowns. "Oh, well then thanks for the support," Dean said with a disingenuous smile.
"Why not?" Alex asked. "Isn't Lucifer just another angel with some, you know, special features and bonus material?"
Cas shook his head shallowly. "No. He's more powerful than any angel or any demon. He cannot be killed." He looked at Dean, then Sam. "But I believe I have the solution. There is someone besides Michael strong enough to take on Lucifer. Strong enough to stop the apocalypse."
"Who's that?" Sam asked.
"The one who resurrected me and put you on that airplane," Castiel said, and from the way he was speaking—a little faster than usual, a little more emphatic—it was easy to tell he really believed in whatever plan he was brewing. "The one who began everything. God." There was a short, startled silence. The Winchesters exchanged a long, skeptical glance. Castiel breathed in deeply, looking resolute. "I'm gonna find God."
At that, Dean turned and closed the door of the room and repeated "God?"
"Yes," Castiel replied simply.
Dean made a face. "God."
"Yes!" Cas replied, getting exasperated. "He isn't in Heaven. He has to be somewhere."
"Try New Mexico," Dean said, a little smirk playing on his lips. "I hear he's on a tortilla."
Castiel's expression showed confusion at the joke. He shook his head, taking Dean literally. "No... he's not on any flatbread."
Sam paced in the corner near Bobby and Alex had taken a seat on the bed. At the flatbread comment, she had to suppress a laugh.
"Listen, Chuckles," Dean talked down to Cas, "even if there is a God, he's either dead—and that's the generous theory—"
"He's out there, Dean," Castiel insisted, his tone taking a decidedly aggressive edge.
"Oh come on! Look around you, man!" Dean threw his hands in the air. "The world's in the toilet. We're literally at the end of days and he's off somewhere drinking booze out of a coconut, all right?"
"Enough." Castiel glared. "This is not a theological issue. It's strategic." He came closer to Dean, his expression fierce. "With God's help, we can win."
"It's a pipe dream, Cas," Dean said in dismissal. That seemed to touch a nerve.
"I killed two angels this week," Castiel breathed, his expression twisted in genuine anger. "My brothers. I'm hunted. I rebelled. And I did it, all of it, for you, and you failed. You, your sister, your brother destroyed the world—" Sam looked down, Alex became indignant as Cas continued, "—and I lost everything, for nothing. So keep your opinions to yourself."
Dean made no reply, stunned into guilty silence. But Alex stood up. "We destroyed the world?" she asked disbelievingly. "Do you have amnesia? You and the whole choir up there have been trying to set Lucifer free this whole time—what the hell did we have to do with getting roped into all this?!" Cas looked startled. Like he'd conveniently let himself skip out on remembering the facts. "Stop playing victim," Alex continued harshly, angry at him for multiple reasons. "My family is not responsible for the apocalypse and you know it, so cut the shit and sack up." The room went silent.
Castiel blinked three times, apparently speechless.
"Damn." Dean commented, saying what everyone else in the room was thinking.
Alex stormed out of the room, blood boiling and heart racing, briefly wondering how she could be mourning Cas one day and then wanting to bash his head in the next. He was fucking maddening!
All of the men watched her go—Dean, Sam, and Bobby, impressed—Castiel looking more like he had been run over by a train.
That Night
Alex stood on the roof of the hospital and tried to relieve some stress by smoking in secret. The air was chilly and the stars overhead were plenty, beautiful, and calming. Standing at the edge of the building, she propped an elbow on the stone half-wall and alternated between watching traffic idly and stargazing as she smoked lazily.
Bobby was going to be discharged in the morning, which was good news, but Alex dwelled on Castiel. Was she too hard on him? She'd let her temper dictate her response. Maybe God had brought him back—who else could have? Did she even believe in God? She didn't know, but she hadn't believed in angels until recently.
Behind, she heard footsteps approaching, and she thought she recognized Dean's gait—which subsequently sent her into high alert. Oh shit. Busted. She threw her cigarette down and tried to crush it underneath the heel of her shoe quickly, like a teenage kid afraid of the wrath of their father.
"Dean, look, before y—" She turned around and stopped mid-sentence, surprise overtaking her face. "Oh."
It was not Dean. "Hello Alex."
She swallowed, abruptly nervous. "Hi." What was Cas doing here? An uncomfortable smile came over her lips—her way of trying not to acknowledge how confrontational she'd been earlier. "Taking a break from finding God?" She tried to look casual. "It's been, what…" she glanced at her watch briefly. "Six hours. Don't tell me you found him already."
"No," Cas said in a low, somber voice. "I haven't."
He said nothing else and it made for an extremely awkward silence. Alex waited, looking at him expectantly, then prompted him when he still said nothing else. "Okay. So-ooo…" she looked at him with even more expectancy and he frowned, not seeming to get it. "Any specific reason you're up here, or…?"
There it was. Understanding came over his features. "What you said to me earlier," he explained, deeply thoughtful. "I haven't been able to stop thinking of it." Alex's stomach flip-flopped. "I accept that we all have some fault in what happened. But I think you're correct. I… stood by idly and allowed your family to be manipulated. I see now how wrong it was of me to say what I said. To imply what happened was your family's fault. I think in my anger, I... shifted blame wrongly."
Eyebrows up high and mouth open slightly, Alex faltered. She was truly taken aback. "Is this... an apology?"
"Yes," he answered plainly.
Alex's face relaxed. Yet again, she was drawn into curiosity over him. Approval, even. She was hesitant to forgive and forget, but for the moment, she could let it go at least a little. "Well, for what it's worth... I think you did the right thing, even if it took you awhile."
Her words seemed to surprise him and humble him. "Thank you."
"I... should probably say sorry, too," Alex admitted, fidgeting a little as her eyes grew shy. "Kinda lost my temper on you back there." She cleared her throat and ran a hand through her hair self-consciously before crossing her arms and putting on an inscrutable expression. "Maybe a little harsher than I should have been."
Was Castiel touched by her words, or was she making that up? "It's forgotten," he said, and his face was so soft that he might have been smiling.
With a thoughtful inhale, Alex stuck her hand out for a handshake. "Truce?"
His eyes lowered to her hand and he looked at her questioningly, then slowly put his hand into hers, obviously unsure if he were doing it right. Alex tightened her grip and gave him a firm handshake. She was about to let go, then her inner prankster suddenly had an idea. And without changing her face at all, she just kept shaking his hand, waiting to see if and when he'd realize the handshake was going on too long. Castiel's eyes narrowed to little slits but he said nothing, just let her keep shaking and shaking—but he definitely looked suspicious. The lunacy of it was threatening to send Alex into a fit of laughter but she managed to keep a straight face for about three seconds more. And then she couldn't do it anymore. She snorted and then a huge peal of laughter burst out of her as she doubled over, hands braced against her thighs.
"Is… everything all right?" Cas asked, vastly confused, his head tilted to the side as he hunched over slightly, peering at her face.
Recovering, Alex straightened up. "Yeah," she said, face soft from laughter, a breathy grin still on her face. His worried expression struck her as so cute in that moment.
Cas however was apparently trying to solve another problem. "I don't understand what you found to be amusing just then," he said, clearly trying hard to figure it out. And that made Alex smile again.
"Nothing. It was dumb." She shook her head, letting her gaze linger on him. "Hey. I'm... really glad you're okay, Cas," she said earnestly, thinking about everything he'd done for them. Was he perfect? No. Was he doing the best he could? Yes. She really did think so. She thumped him twice on the side of the shoulder. "You're a good friend for helping us."
His eyes slid to his shoulder questioningly. "Thank you." His gaze traveled back to her eyes and a short silence spanned between them before the angel spoke again. "I... should return to my work," he said, sounding mildly reluctant. "I'll be in touch."
Alex nodded once, contemplating him softly as she thought of him doing this on his own. "Be careful out there."
Cas's eyes went down to the ground, looking directly at the cigarette she'd stomped on a few minutes ago. His eyes came to hers meaningfully. "You know… smoking cigarettes is a bad habit."
Alex's eyebrows raised as a surprised, challenging smile came over her face. "So is telling me what to do."
Oddly enough, her playful comment seemed to almost amuse him. "So I've gathered." He paused, then mimicked what she'd done a moment ago—thumped her on the shoulder twice—but awkwardly, and after he did it, he gave her a silent look that seemed to ask did I do that correctly?
Thoroughly amused at him, Alex shook her head, eyebrows pulled together even as she smiled, trying to figure him out. "You are something else, Castiel."
His eyes crimped suspiciously. "Something other than what?"
The question had her laughing again—and his confusion tripled. "It's, it's a saying," she said, a stupid grin on her face. It started to fade as she explained. "Means… you're... you're something special. Something different than everything else." Saying it like that shouldn't have felt so revealing, but it did. He was doing it again—looking at her so intensely that she felt cornered and suddenly vulnerable. She thrust her chin out once, nodding off to the side, trying to look unruffled. "Enough with the twenty questions. Go find God."
His eyes scrutinized her closely for a minute more, then he nodded, said he'd be in touch, and disappeared, leaving her alone under the stars once again.