Song Remains the Same

by R. W. Winters

For Alex Winchester, normal has never been in the equation. Mute since the nursery fire, she grew up on the road chasing ghosts with her brothers and father. When her voice is inexplicably restored and the angel Castiel appears claiming to be her guardian, both of their lives change forever in ways that Heaven and Earth never expected. Castiel/OFC. Sisfic - S4-9 - Alternate Ending.

20. Above Us Only Sky

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 20 / Above Us Only Sky

"And I'm finding in myself the things that chase me to the corners:
in the dark, far from home—the sins of longing for you."
- The Crash Years

---

Two Days Later

"Dean. We have got to stop driving." Alex was cramped, uncomfortable, and going crazy in the passenger side seat. None of all that was unusual per se, but after sixteen hours of it with only three or four short stops, she really was beginning to feel like she might commit murder if they didn't pull over soon.

Dean ignored her. She waited a few more seconds and then tried again, her tone bordering on pushy. "You've been driving for a million hours straight and you haven't slept in like three days. Can we please stop?"

He acknowledged her with a half eye roll. She could tell he was tired as hell but fighting it. He had a lot on his mind—guess you would after trapping an archangel and nearly being fried by wacky lightning powers. Alex thought back to Raphael's grand speech about God being dead and the angels who would bring the end of the world. Raphael had then suggested that they should consider that Lucifer was the one who had resurrected Castiel—something that had startled all three of them. That suggestion was still eating at Alex. And she could tell it had shaken Cas too. After leaving Raphael trapped in a ring of holy fire, they'd gotten out of there. Cas, clearly disappointed and troubled by the encounter, had disappeared shortly after without saying much of anything. But at least he'd survived the encounter. A small mercy.

"Dean," Alex prompted again.

A muscle jerked in his cheek. "What."

Getting annoyed too, Alex huffed at him. "What's your problem?"

"I'm tired and I've been driving all day!" he retorted.

Alex gave him a wan look. "How many times did I offer to drive?" she reminded flatly. He ignored her and huffed loudly. Alex took a deep, tired breath and watched the buildings pass by outside. "You think God's really dead?"

Her brother chuckled sardonically. "Alex, I don't even think God is real."

"Then where did angels come from?"

"Planet Voltron," Dean wisecracked.

Alex patiently refrained from jabbing him in the side and thought a minute instead. "Maybe God got lost out there," she suggested. "It's a pretty big universe. Maybe he forgot who he is. Maybe someone trapped him somewhere to get him out of the picture..."

She got an unamused expression. "Or maybe it's all friggin' nuts and you're starting to sound looney tunes."

It was a possibility. Alex pulled out her phone to check it for messages—usually she forgot that she even had a phone unless it rang, but after getting a text earlier that day from Cas, she was curious if she'd hear from him again. He had written Does this message appear on your device? After laughing about how awkwardly he had phrased himself, she texted back, No. And about two minutes later, he had texted back, What about this one? And she and Dean had giggled uncontrollably, Dean commenting that he forgot how much fun gullible people were.

Cas kept unintentionally throwing these funny, ironic, surprising moments into their lives that somehow made things brighter. Alex almost didn't want to admit that to herself, because it was almost like they had replaced Sam with Cas there for those two days when they were tracking Raphael. And that made her feel guilty. She thought about being with the angel on that porch under the stars and how scared she'd been at the thought of him dying. Her heart was warm to know he was alive and well. Still here.

After about twenty more minutes, Dean finally gave in and pulled over onto the side of the street in front of a motel in the heart of Kansas City—Alex left all of her stuff in the Impala, Dean grabbed his backpack, and then they headed inside, but not before being accosted by some religious pamphlet-passing guy asking them if they had thought about God's plan for them. If only that guy knew.

Even as they got into the room, Dean's phone rang. "Oh look, angel calling," he said sarcastically before answering.

Alex half listened, catching snippets of Dean's side of the conversation as she crammed the contents of a pack of crackers into her mouth for dinner… at one point, Dean covered the mouthpiece and in amusement told her, "He says the voice told him he's almost out of minutes." Oh, Cas. She finished the crackers with a grin and tossed the wrapper as Dean continued walking the length of room, still on the phone. "Yeah, uh, in Kansas City. Century Hotel, room one-thirteen. No, whoa, whoa, not now. There's stuff we gotta do. Like what? Like sleep! Just pop in first thing tomorrow morning." He hung up and tossed his phone onto one of the beds.

"What'd Cas want?"

Dean was taking his jacket off. "He says the Colt is still around… the demons have it… and he thinks that's what can kill the devil. We just gotta track it down."

"I thought no one could kill that guy," Alex said with a frown. Cas had said as much.

Dean shrugged. "Well if we can, I'm two thumbs way, way up. Colt, here we come."

Alex scratched her head, squinting. "Okay yeah but we track it down how?"

Dean groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands. "Lemme think about that in the morning." He all but crashed into one of the beds, hugging a pillow into his face before ceasing to move. Poor guy was exhausted.

Alex thought a moment then pulled out her phone, composing a new text message, addressing it to Sam. She glanced Dean's way, feeling like she was doing something wrong. She returned her attention to the phone keyboard, poised to type—and then, nothing. She didn't know what to say. How are you? No, that wasn't enough. Just took Cas to a brothel few days ago and almost chopped a guy's hand off, how are things your way? Or, maybe, Dean is being an asshole (what else is new) and oh btw God is dead. How's the whole demon blood problem? She sucked in her cheeks thoughtfully, then put the phone down softly without sending anything.

She had no idea of how to reach out to Sam. She didn't really want to believe that Sam was rejecting the family, but it had been true before, hadn't it? Alex pulled her jacket off and glanced at Dean—he was already snoring. She figured some sleep herself wouldn't hurt and went to her own bed, switched off the light, then fell asleep fast. She dreamed that she heard Dean talking on the phone, but couldn't remember what about, or who to.

---

Alex opened her eyes to the morning light and immediately knew something was wrong. Below her, the bed was hard and poking into her—and when she looked, she realized why. She was laying on bed springs. What the—she looked around and became even more alarmed—the room was the same room but looked like it had been through hell and back. There was disintegrating wallpaper, debris all over the floor, cobwebs in the corners, rusted, broken lamps on the cracked bedside tables. Freaking out, Alex jumped up, shaking Dean. "Dean! Wake up!" she whispered urgently, knowing she needed to be on guard. He was groggily blinking, then realizing what he was laying on, he shot up. "Something's wrong," Alex said. "I mean like, wrong wrong."

Dean got to his feet, as confused as she was. He went to the window, and she heard him murmur a soft "what the hell?" She joined him there and saw the street they had parked on last night—her mouth dropped open. As far as they could see, the entire city was in shambles and ruin, like there had been riots: Wrecked, burned-out cars, trash everywhere, graffiti all over everything, broken store windows. And not a person in sight.

"What the hell happened last night?" she asked, stunned. Did we sleep through a nuclear bomb or something?

"I dunno, but we're getting the hell outta here." Harrowed, Dean grabbed her arm, pushing her toward the door. When they got to the ground level and realized the Impala was gone, Dean's quiet panic went up two notches—and that, in turn, freaked her out. The car being gone meant that they only had the things they'd taken with them into the motel room—which was Dean's bag, as Alex had left hers in the car. So, no weapons, no car—and no clue what was going on.

Dean wandered down the street tensely, looking at everything in shocked silence. "We shouldn't be in the street," Alex whispered, trying to tiptoe as she trailed close behind. Her boots kept crunching on glass.

Dean turned suddenly, going stock still. "Did you hear that?" he cautiously headed down a wide alley way and Alex followed, sweeping everything with nervous glances. A small, skinny little girl was huddled over some broken glass on the ground. Her hair was matted, her skin was filthy. Dean approached. "Hey, kid—are you okay?"

Alex looked at the little girl, then her eyes went up to the graffiti leering at them from the end of the alleyway. She froze, her heart seeming to stop. Spray painted in blood-red letters: CROATOAN.

Alex looked back at the little girl, at Dean leaning down to touch her shoulder—and made a horrible realization. "Dean, no!" she warned in a shout, yanking him aside even as the girl looked up and lunged forward, a piece of jagged glass in her hand. Dean and Alex dodged backward in tandem, barely missing being cut. The slash had been so violent that the kid almost pitched herself off her feet—and taking the only chance he might get, Dean kicked the kid in the face. She fell over, going still. Dean breathed heavy, mostly from surprise and adrenaline.

They glanced at each other. "That was just wrong," he commented grimly. No time for sympathy, Alex nodded her head toward the ominous graffiti, and he saw it then muttered, "aw crap."

Just then a bunch of disheveled, agitated adults, maybe twenty of them, rounded the corner—Alex's blood chilled. Dean grabbed onto her, already backing up. "This is the part where we run!" he yelled, and run they did for their very lives, not even sure where they were going. They rounded corner after corner, trying to lose the rapidly gaining Croatoans in the destroyed city streets. And suddenly, they rounded another corner and ran right into a high, chain link fence that shuddered on impact. Dean and Alex whirled, realizing they were cornered, weaponless, and probably as good as dead.

And then without warning, the sound of semi-automatic gunfire rang out and several of the Croatoans in front of them jerked and dropped as bullets pelted the crowd. Dean and Alex grabbed at each other and fell to the ground for cover, half-crawling half-scrambling toward another nearby alleyway. Dean pushed Alex ahead of himself. "Shit!" he swore, panting as they narrowly dodged several bullets and found cover in the narrow, stinking alley.

Alex was shaking and panting, pressed up against the wall beside her brother. "What the hell?!" she asked in a gaunt, breathless whisper over the sound of continuing gunfire. "Kansas City got infected and destroyed overnight by the Croatoan virus?!"

"Not possible," Dean said, shaking his head. "N-no way." But he didn't sound so sure. The sound of gunfire died out.

Dean craned his neck, peering in the direction from where they had just come. Alex recognized the look on his face—he was trying to figure out what to do.

After a couple seconds, he looked back at her. "We'll wait til dark and hop the fence. Stay sharp. You got your knife?"

She gave him a look—duh.

---

"I don't get it," Dean said, holding his phone up in the air. "No service. The hell is going on?"

Alex fiddled with the car's radio, but there was only static on every channel. They were driving down an entirely still highway in the dark of night. Every now and then they passed wrecks, abandoned cars, or fires, but they saw no people. It was eerie. After they had found a way out of the city, they had seen a sign posted on the outside of the fence that said the city was a "Croatoan Hot Zone." The sign had been dated August, 2014—a date that was like five or six years into the future. So, there was that. Alex glanced at Dean. His expression was rigid as he drove.

"You really think Bobby will be able to help us?"

"Well who the hell else could?" Dean retorted.

"He might not even live in the same place in two-thousand fourteen." Alex hoped she was wrong.

"Or he could be dead," Dean said bluntly. Alex looked at him in surprise. She hadn't even considered that. And now she was. Her stomach twisted sickly.

"'Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia.'" The Winchesters both jumped at the sound of a new voice behind them, turning fast to see Zachariah sitting in the back seat reading a newspaper leisurely. And suddenly, this entire thing made perfect sense.

"I thought I smelled your stink on this Back to the Future crap," Dean growled.

"'President Palin defends bombing of Houston,'" Zachariah continued, casually reading from the paper, then looked up smiling. "Certainly a buyer's market in real estate. Let's see what's happening in sports. Oh… that's right—no more sports. Congress revoked the right to group assembly. What's left of Congress, that is. Hardly a quorum, if you ask me."

Dean's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "You are not funny, man, so stop trying."

"How'd you find us?" Alex demanded.

Zachariah spoke in a pleasant conversational tone. "Afraid we had to tap some unorthodox resources of late—human informants. We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups. They've been given your image, told to keep an eye out."

"The Bible guy outside the motel—" Dean surmised. "He, what, dropped a dime on us?"

"Onward, Christian soldiers."

"Very funny... now send us back, jackass," Alex said acidly.

"Oh, you'll get back—all in good time," Zachariah said with a friendly smile. "We just want you two to... marinate a bit." His friendly persona faded, and he leaned forward, talking with a soft, dangerous tone. "Three days, Dean. Three days to see where this course of action takes you..." he then looked at Alex meaningfully. "And your family."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alex asked, disliking his tone.

"It means that your brother's choices have consequences," Zachariah said. "This is what happens to the world and your little family pack if Dean continues to say 'no' to Michael. Have a little look-see." And then he disappeared, leaving two very frustrated Winchesters.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. "Three days. Fine. Great. Friggin' great. I already don't like this."

"I sure as hell hope Bobby can give us some damn answers," Alex muttered grimly.

But trying to contact Bobby would prove to be a dead end. They found his house in a state of abandonment, his wheelchair rusted and bent and turned over in his living room. Bobby was nowhere to be found.

They did find one lead—a black and white photograph of some gun-toting guys they didn't recognize. Bobby was in the front of them, sitting in his wheelchair, holding a gun too. Beside him, there was a guy who looked kind of like Cas. They stood in front of a sign that read Camp Chitaqua.

After doing some fast old-fashioned research with some local maps and directories, Dean and Alex located the camp. It was only a couple hours from Bobby's, and they raced there in breakneck speed. Dean was convinced they would find Bobby there. Alex wasn't so sure.

The camp was surrounded by chain link fence and had armed patrols—Alex argued in whispers with Dean, saying they should wait for daybreak instead of just sneaking in and risk being shot in the middle of the night—and he almost listened to her. Almost. But then he saw the Impala sitting off in some overgrown weeds, broken down and rusted out. He had muttered, "Oh, baby, no…" and climbed the fence. Alex had followed, pissed but unwilling to be separated. She did hang back by the fence when he crept over to the car. It was out in the open, and she had a bad feeling about it.

"Dean—" she protested in a hissed whisper.

"Oh my God…" Dean said, touching his car frantically, not paying attention to his sister. "Baby, what'd they do to you?"

Alex saw the shadowy figure too late and wasn't able to warn Dean before he was hit over the head. Alex ran out of where she had been hiding, ready to deck this guy who had just knocked out her brother. "Hey!"

The man whirled, and when their eyes met, both froze momentarily in astonishment. "What—" Alex managed, gaping at the assailant's face. In that brief pause, his face changed from shock to aggression, and there was suddenly a fist flying towards her face. The whole world went dark.

---

"Look, man—I'm not a shapeshifter or demon or anything, okay?" she heard Dean say.

Alex groaned, grimaced, and opened her eyes, blinking against double vision. She awkwardly sat on some dark wood flooring and her wrist seemed to be tethered to something when she weakly pulled at it. "Yeah, I know," Dean's voice replied, as if he were talking to himself.

Alex looked up in confusion, seeing two things: that she was handcuffed to a metal ladder, and Dean was beside her... and Dean was also in front of her.

She suddenly remembered everything: Dean getting knocked out, her rushing in, then seeing that Dean was the one who had knocked Dean out. She looked back and forth at the two of them, stumped. "There's two of you," she muttered while wondering if she was high. "Why are there two of you?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out… 'Alex,'" said the Dean who was holding them hostage. He said her name as if he didn't believe that was her. He looked back at her Dean. "I did the drill while you were out. Silver, salt, holy water—nothing, both of you. But you know what was funny, 'Dean'? Was that you had every hidden lock pick, box cutter, and switchblade that I carry. Now, you want to explain that? Oh, and the, uh, resemblance, while you're at it?"

"Zachariah." Dean said simply.

"Come again?"

Dean fixed the other Dean with a contemptuous look. "Zach plucked us from our beds in two thousand nine and threw us five years into the future."

This apparent future version of Dean's eyes narrowed. "Where is he? I wanna talk to him."

"We don't know," Alex told him, catty.

"Oh, you don't know," he retorted doubtfully, matching her tone.

She raised her eyebrows slightly. "He's not exactly on our speed dial."

Her Dean was watching the exchange with an odd expression, like maybe he was realizing what it looked like to see himself argue with his sister. He then cut in, drawing the future version of himself's attention. "Look, I just want to get us back to our own friggin' year, okay?"

Future Dean stood up from where he had been leaning against a table. "Okay. If you're me, then tell me something only I would know."

Dean went into deep thought, glanced at Alex then sighed defeat, looking at the other version of himself. "Rhonda Hurley. We were, uh, nineteen." He glanced sidelong at Alex and cleared his throat. "She, uh, made us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny." Alex was now looking at him with an open mouth. Dean awkwardly rubbed his neck, avoiding her gaze. "And, uh, we kind of liked it."

The other Dean looked impressed. "Touché."

Alex, however, was trying not to dissolve into laughter. "Woow. Did you feel really pretty, Dean?"

Dean finally turned to her, looking very serious. "I swear you to secrecy, right here and now."

Alex pssh-ed. "Yeah we'll see." She was enjoying the look on his face. This would make for excellent blackmail if she ever needed it.

The 2014 Dean just watched, a strange expression on his face. Something like sadness. He wiped it away. "So, what, Zach zapped you two up here to see how bad it gets?"

"I guess," Dean said. "Croatoan virus, right? That's their endgame?"

The other Dean nodded. He looked tired. "It's efficient, it's incurable, and it's scary as hell. Turns people into monsters. Started hitting the major cities about two years ago. World really went in the crapper after that."

This was a lot of heavy information. Alex's Dean took a pause then looked up again, suddenly thinking of something. "What about Sam?"

2014 Dean went still, got quiet. "Heavyweight showdown in Detroit. From what I understand... Sam didn't make it."

Alex felt her heart drop. No. How? "We weren't with him?" she asked in soft disbelief.

A long, somber pause. "No." 2014 Dean looked down, withering slightly under his sister's wounded, questioning gaze. "No, me and Sam, we haven't talked in—hell, five years."

"What, we never tried to find him?" Dean asked, shellshocked.

There was a jaded, if guilty, scoff. "We had other people to worry about."

"Like who?" Alex asked a little angrily—because why would any version of Dean let the family fall apart like that? She suddenly realized another question demanding an answer. "What about me?" she asked. "Where the hell am I in all this mess?"

Dean nodded and looked down, like he'd just been waiting to be asked that. "Not here."

"Okay... so where?"

Dean stood up, took a couple steps toward the door, then looked back at them with a strange expression as his jaw clenched and unclenched. "Alex Winchester... is dead and gone."

"What?"

Dean scoffed. "Yeah. Dark times, what can I say?" He turned to leave. Beside Alex, her Dean was positively speechless and horrified.

"What do you mean, what can you say?" Alex repeated, not sure she believed it. "I'm dead? You're joking, right?"

"No, I'm not joking." He looked slightly sick. "You died eight months ago, okay?"

Alex felt stung. This was a surreal conversation. Her curiosity, as morbid as it was, got the best of her. "How?"

He let out a soft air-laugh, a sound that had no happiness in it at all. He looked bitter. "I don't think it's best for you to know that little detail." He turned to leave, and the other Dean strained against his handcuffs in disbelief.

"Where you going? You're just gonna tell us that crap and leave us here?"

2014 Dean turned and looked at them, irritated. "Yes. I got a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors out there with an apocalypse hanging over their head. The last thing they need to see is a version of The Parent Trap, and Alex back from the friggin' grave. So, yeah, you stay locked down." He left, slamming the door behind him, his retreating footsteps the only sound.

"... dick!" Dean exclaimed, earning a funny look from his sister. They were silent and still for a few seconds, trying to process all of it.

"Okay." Alex looked at her brother. "So have we decided if this real or not?"

Grudgingly, Dean looked her direction. "For all our sakes… I hope not. But I don't wanna wait around to find out." He looked down and began digging at a nail in the floor with his fingernails.

Alex cleared her throat. "What're you doing?"

He shot her a look. "How else are we gonna pick these handcuff locks, genius? I'm not sitting here cuffed all day until I come back."

Alex just smiled and calmly pulled the lock pick out from underneath her shirt where it hung on its silver chain. She dangled it in midair and then pointed at it. Dean looked at her in a mixture of confusion and pleasant surprise. "When did you start wearing that?"

"You're too observant for your own good," she replied sarcastically, fiddling with her handcuffs and the lock pick. "Remember that time I got locked in the panic room? I didn't like that very much, so…" she trailed off. Her cuffs snapped off and she began working on his. "Good thing I never mentioned it to you, or you—twenty-fourteen you—might have known about it and taken it." She thought a second and frowned. "Wait. But if this is real… the real future… then why doesn't twenty fourteen you remember this? Wouldn't the you here in front of me be the same one later? So, the guy who just left, would be you, but later—and would remember doing this. Right?"

Dean gave her the weirdest, most confused face ever. "Huh!?"

"Never mind," she said, feeling a little confused herself. "It made sense in my head." His cuffs fell off with one last turn of the lock pick. Now free, the siblings stood up.

Dean turned on Alex, his face stern. "Okay, I'm gonna go find Cas. You stay here."

"Stay here?" Alex asked in protest, unable to believe he would ask that of her, especially in this crazy place.

Dean gave her a deadly serious look. "Yes. You heard him—uh, me. You're not alive anymore in this version of the future. These people see you, recognize you, they will shoot you on sight. Think you're a Croatoan or a zombie, I dunno. So, yeah. Stay here."

Not at all happy about it but conceding to the point, Alex complied, sitting down in one of the kitchen table chairs as Dean left the cabin. She folded her arms, frustrated. Too much of her life had been spent sitting and waiting around. All of five minutes passed before she stood, shaking her head, and left out the back door, stealing through the thick brush and skirting around the back of the cabins. Dean was always making her stay behin—ouch!—she walked right into a bunch of briers and heard a huge ripping sound. She looked down and swore softly—her shirt, Dean's old Metallica shirt—now had an impressive tear right up the center. She pulled the brambles away with just the tips of her fingers, wincing against the sharp pricks. She could see Dean going up into a cabin near the edge of the camp. She didn't see anyone else around and stole closer, then ducked down and froze as a handful of women came out of the cabin, talking and laughing. She waited until they had all walked away to steal a little closer.

She crept around the side of the cabin, and could hear two voices inside, indistinct, but both male. One was definitely Dean. She waited there at the corner of the cabin, peeking to see if the coast were clear. One woman was still visible, but heading up into another cabin. Alex could hear her brother's voice. "Dude, what happened to you?"

"Life," was the strangely nonchalant reply in a voice that was very familiar—Cas? There was an odd laugh. "I recognize that look Dean. I'm past help, but thanks for your concern." That definitely sounded like Cas, but something was off. Alex glanced around—the coast was clear. She dashed up the stairs and through the beaded doorway. It was dim inside, but she recognized Cas immediately, even if he didn't look like himself.

There was a strange, goofy smile on Cas's face—he sat on a wooden chest and looking up at Dean—but when Cas glanced at her, the smile fell and was replaced with shock. He shot up to his feet, his mouth open, his eyes wide, expression almost horrified. He looked like he had seen a ghost—which, she supposed, he kind of had, if she were really dead in this future.

"Hi, Cas," she greeted, kind of cautiously. "You look…" She trailed off, taking him in, not sure how to react. "Different."

Truthfully, he was barely recognizable and it shocked her. Cas looked incredibly rugged yet worn down in a way Alex couldn't describe. He had a scruffy beard and his hair was longer, tousled and unstyled. He had dark circles under his eyes. His outfit was the strangest part: He wore a loose, long-sleeved tunic and stretchy pants. He even stood differently, and the expression on his face was so unlike anything she'd ever seen there before. It scared her for a second, honestly, that gaze in his eyes.

He didn't appear to have heard a word of what she had just said. He was just staring. The blood had drained out of his face. His expression wobbled, he looked down, and when he spoke, it was almost like he was talking to himself. "Yes, of course. You're… you're here. Why didn't I realize?" His eyes were doing weird things as he looked at the floor. Widening, then squinting. "Dean from two thousand nine, Alex from two thousand nine…" He moved strangely. "Makes sense," he mumbled, a hand on his head. "Makes sense."

Alex frowned, looked at Dean, then sniffed the air slightly. Was that weed? Alex was quickly getting more and more confused. "Is he stoned?"

"Among other things," Dean said, and gave her an unhappy look. "You weren't supposed to come out of there until I came and got you."

"Relax." She was distracted by Cas as she spoke to Dean. "No one saw me."

Dean sighed in aggravation. "Fine. Well look, halo over there can't take us back to our year, says he's got no angel power left." Cas looked up from the floor at them, and he appeared physically ill. "So basically," Dean continued, "we're stuck. With this weird-ass version of Cas."

Alex and Cas's eyes met and she felt her eyebrows moving in together as she studied his strange expression and old, weary eyes. What happened to you?

The sound of the beaded doorway opening caused the three of them to turn and look. A tan woman with blonde hair peeked in, smiling at Cas. There was an oddly suggestive kind of quality to the smile. "Cas, we're ready for you in my cabin."

He glanced her way clearly irritated, not really even looking at her. "Not now, Tiffany," he said, gruff and impatient and maybe a little embarrassed. He waved a hand, trying to tell her to go.

She looked immensely confused. "But—"

Cas flew off the handle. "I said not now!" he practically shouted, trembling, his eyes wide and expression disconcerting. "Get out!"

Dean and Alex glanced at each other—more than a little surprised by the outburst. The girl left, looking offended. Cas began to pace the floor. "What, changed your mind about the orgy?" Dean asked sarcastically, and Cas shot him an angry, frazzled look. Alex looked at Dean and balked. Orgy? Last time she'd seen Cas, he was a stuttering, fumbling, frightened virgin who had never even been kissed. Cas said nothing in reply. He wouldn't meet either Dean or Alex's eyes.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever, there a bathroom here?"

"In there." Cas replied distractedly, gesturing vaguely.

Dean left the two of them alone and Alex studied Cas in confusion. He wouldn't look at her, only ran a hand through his hair as he made a weird grimacing face. "What's happened to you?" Alex asked softly, looking around the cabin. "Incense… candles… weed?" She paused. "Orgies?" She couldn't quite believe that part.

His expression worked so oddly that for a moment, she thought he was going to cry. "Just… ways to pass the time," he said in a strained voice. He was still looking down. Alex was entirely caught off guard by this entire scenario.

"Ways to pass the time," she echoed faintly. There was a sadness in that phrase that she felt somewhere deep down. "You okay?" she asked. "What's… what's going on with you?"

His eyes came to hers and he seemed so wretched. "I've… lost a lot," he said gruffly, then turned, beginning to straighten the things on top of the dresser behind himself with shaking hands.

What could he have lost? Besides apparently his mind? He continued to needlessly busy himself with tidying the top of his dresser—a little mirror, a photo frame with a pressed flower in it, a comb, an empty bottle of perfume, an incense burner. Alex was sorry that he was upset at her appearance, but she had questions. She cleared her throat and stepped a little closer. He could clear up a couple things and then she would leave him to get high in peace. "Hey, uh, Cas, is it true?" she asked gently. What a weird question she was about to ask. "That, you know, I died?"

Something knocked off the dresser when she asked that and Cas went still. He suddenly looked so tense that he might snap. For a second, he made no reply. Then, soft and almost inscrutable a single word came: "Yes."

Her stomach flip-flopped with a weird, sick feeling. "How?" she asked intently, taking another step toward him and craning her neck around, trying to see him better. His profile was gaunt and rigid. Pained.

Slowly, he turned his head to look at her with eyes that seemed wounded. "A mistake." His voice wavered and he looked away again. "It was a mistake."

Alex waited for him to say more, but he didn't. "What kind of mistake?"

Cas suddenly whipped to face her. "I can't talk about this to you, okay?" he all but snapped, startling Alex with his loud voice. The wildness in his eyes fell away when he saw the look on her face. "It's—it's... I just can't talk about it." He gave no further explanation.

"O-okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—I didn't realize." Alex was embarrassed. Cas obviously felt the same.

"It's all right," he said faintly, and yet again, he wouldn't look at her. Alex however, watched him closely, trying to figure this strange version of Castiel out.

As her eyes traversed his worn features and age-lined face, then down his scruffy neck and smooth chest the tunic revealed, she noticed a silver chain hanging around his neck. Whatever was on the end caught the light, and she could see a flash of silver shapes there in the V of the unbuttoned tunic. Wait a minute—! Without a second thought she reached out and grabbed the necklace, consequently pulling him a little closer as she examined the two shining objects on the end of the chain with wide-eyed, slack-jawed confusion—her old silver whistle, the one she'd had worn as a kid and teen!—and her dad's wedding band, the one she wore all the time! Stunned beyond words, she looked at Cas, then back to the items, then at him again. "Why do you have these?"

Cas stared back at her, the oddest look on his face at her proximity and question. He closed his hand on the items and pulled the chain gently, tucking it back into his shirt. He backed up. His body language was guarded. "You gave them to me."

Alex smelled bullshit. "I gave them to you," she repeated in disbelief. "And why the hell would I do that?"

Cas looked away and shook his head. "Just… good luck charms. It's not important."

Alex gave him an exasperated look. "Still allergic to straight answers, huh? Fine; listen, have you got anything I can wear? This shirt got ripped on my way in." She pointed to the giant tear on her shirt, and he seemed to notice it for the first time.

His eyes slowly raised to hers. With a great deal of reluctance, he nodded toward the dresser. He was acting so strange. "Bottom drawer."

She opened the drawer and froze. She recognized most of the clothing there—her green and gray flannel button up, her Guns N' Roses tank top, her light green t-shirt with the smudge of vamp blood on the hemline that she'd never been able to get out. What the hell? She was beginning to feel afraid, almost. She looked at Cas for an explanation. "What are you doing with these…?"

He shrugged, scratching the side of his head. He looked physically ill again. "You and I were, uh... roommates."

"Roommates." Alex turned very slowly, looking at the one bed… then back at Cas questioningly.

"Yes, roommates," he repeated blankly, then began to walk out. "I need some air."

"What, I slept on the floor?" Alex called after him, but he had already left. No. Something about this was majorly off. He was lying or leaving something out. One little voice whispered that maybe they'd been... together. A couple. But she quickly shut that thought down. That couldn't possibly be true, could it? She was left to look around, puzzled, wondering if this were a huge joke. Roommates with Cas. That sounded like a sitcom or something. Dean came out of the bathroom at that moment. "This future is fucking bananas," she complained.

"You're just now figuring that out?" he asked sarcastically.

---

Alex changed into one of the tank tops in the drawer, one she didn't recognize—it was too weird to wear one she already owned—and about five minutes later, they could hear the cars rolling in on gravel. "Oh look, I'm back. That didn't take long," Dean said, then went outside. Alex stayed on the porch of the cabin, watching from a distance. Cas stood a few feet off from the porch as Dean ambled toward the new arrivals. They were all opening beers and drinking at a Jeep. And then without any warning, 2014 Dean drew his gun and pointed it at one of the men's backs. "Hey. Hey! Watch out!" 2009 Dean shouted even as a single shot rang out. The other two guys looked up and saw the two Deans standing ten feet apart.

"Dammit," 2014 Dean said, and then glared at his confused soldiers, taking a couple seconds to think of a way to remedy the weird situation. "I'm not gonna lie to you! Me and him—it's a pretty messed up situation we got going. But believe me, when you need to know something, you will know it. Until then, we all have work to do." He pointed an angry finger at Dean and said, "My cabin, now."

Alex came down from the porch, rushing to Cas's side, watching future Dean roughly manhandle her Dean into the cabin.

"What's he doing with him?"

"Bitching him out, probably," Cas said idly. Disgruntled, Alex looked at him oddly.

One of the soldiers stepped closer to them, looking at Alex with narrowed eyes. "Wait—she died. I remember her. She was here when I first got here… then died. How can you still be alive?" His hand was crossing his body to the pistol on his hip.

Even as Alex recoiled, someone flashed past her. Cas lunged forward with blazing speed, socking the other guy in the jaw with everything he had, a certain wild and sloppy but brutal energy to it, unlike the other times she'd seen him kick ass—but the guy went down onto his back from the force of the impact, and Cas stood over him, grabbing him by his jacket viciously. "Don't touch her, Will, not you, not anyone! She's fine. Not a Croat, not anything! And keep your mouth shut about this, or you'll have to deal with me." He shoved the guy and took a couple backward steps toward Alex, keeping his body between her and the guys.

"What, the camp drunk?" Will retorted, wiping blood from his lip and getting up slowly. "That's real scary."

Cas's voice lowered, and he sounded more like she remembered. "Don't make me tell you twice."

Will considered, then rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man." Will looked at Alex suspiciously but he and the others left.

Cas turned to her, his expression now much more familiar: grim, dangerous. "Go back inside my cabin."

"But—"

"Just go!" he snapped.

Alex looked at him indignantly. "Look, I don't know why you're acting this way, but—"

He took her by both arms suddenly, startling her. His eyes were desperate, he seemed on edge like he was close to losing his mind. But he spoke carefully, forcing himself to calm down and reign in whatever emotional breakdown he was close to having. "Alex, please just do what I say, go back into the cabin. Please."

Blinking a couple times in surprise, Alex shut her mouth, frowned, then muttered, "Fine."

She returned indoors and crossed her arms, watching Cas through the window. He stood in front of the cabin, running a hand through his hair. He almost looked like he was going to be sick. He slowly came to the porch and sat on the steps, putting his shaggy head in his hands. Alex's anger died down in a sudden wash of empathy. She wondered how that could be Castiel. He looked like Cas, but... what had happened? Was this really his future? It made no sense. He was nothing like he used to be.

Alex looked around the cabin, giving it a better once-over. Candles, a Buddha statue, an exotic looking rug. The single, big bed. There was a dresser, a chest, a couple chairs and a small table. She glanced back outside where Cas remained unmoving, and she turned back around, eying the wooden chest curiously. She went to it and cracked it open as quietly as possible—then went still. His trench coat was neatly folded up there, and the sight of that triggered deep, surprised sadness. She touched the garment gently with just the tips of her fingers, and she remembered him in it, just a couple days ago, as they traveled across the country in the Impala then sat under the stars, discussing what a real kiss was.

She shut the chest softly, shaken up. Even though she knew better, she poked around and went to the closet, opened it curiously, then eyebrows went up as she saw what the shelves were lined with—hard liquor, and lots of it. She picked a bottle up, recognizing the green liquid as absinthe. Damn, Cas. To the left of the shelves were some of his clothes on hangars, and behind that, she recognized the sleeve of one of her oldest, most worn out cargo jackets. Seeing their clothes hanging together was odd. Poignant in a way she didn't think she understood yet. Below the clothes, there were some boxes piled in disarray, and she frowned, peering at the one on top.

The contents of the box were jumbled—a bunch of pill bottles. She raked through them, realizing what they were with another pang of shocked sadness. Opioids and amphetamines. Some of them looked like they had been half used up, most were nearly empty. She held a bottle of Oxy in her hand, suddenly so very sad. Oh, Cas. What happened to you? And more than that… why? Her heart hurt inexplicably for him. She carried the bottle with her and went to the window where she could see him.

He hadn't moved. Shoulders slumped forward, shaggy head of dark hair in his hands. Who was that guy? Moreover, what happened to the Dean she knew? He'd just shot a guy in the back, told her she died without so much as blinking, said he hadn't talked to Sam in five years—this really couldn't be the future. It just couldn't. She didn't believe this.

Cas came back in after a couple more minutes, avoiding looking at her. She, however, was watching him closely, concealing the bottle she still held from his sight. She had a theory and had to know if it were right. "You're not an angel at all anymore, are you?"

He let out a soft, grudging sigh. "What gave me away?" He smiled cynically. His eyes were unaffected and dead. "Yeah. I'm not like I used to be," he said, and the amount of self-loathing in his voice was staggering.

No shit. She held the bottle of pills up to see how he'd react. His face went cold when he realized that she knew his secret. She was perplexed. "You know this shit could kill you, right?"

His eyes raised to hers and there was an emptiness there that was devastating. "Kinda the point."

His words punched a hole in her. "You wanna die," she surmised in soft heartbreak.

His expression wavered and he came a little closer, his jaw held tightly. "Life's just not working out for me these days," he said with a surprising amount of sarcasm and he snatched the bottle from her unceremoniously. Too stunned at his behavior to do much of anything, Alex gaped, watching as Cas walked the length of the room and tossed the bottle into the trash can. He ran a hand through his dark, unkempt hair and then composed himself, clearing his throat. "Yeah. So, what part of two-thousand nine are you from?"

Alex looked at him cautiously. "Early spring. We just hunted down Raphael and got jack squat."

"Yeah," Cas said, thinking. He chuckled to himself, a bittersweet and short sound. "I remember. We sat on the porch and you told me what a real kiss was." Her surprise at his comment showed and Cas's eyes fell away from hers. "It stuck with me," he explained heavily, and brushed past her to go to his closet. He pulled his tunic off and over his head as he went.

The sudden half-nakedness startled Alex all over again, but Cas seemed to think nothing of it and didn't notice how Alex stared at his bare back, and as he turned around, his broad chest and shoulders. It was shocking because he had scars. On his strong, tanned arms he had a few white lines like scratches, there was a blotchy raised pink spot on one of his biceps—a bullet wound? Smaller, dark long shapes—a few on his shoulders, a couple across his ribcage. Those looked like a knife had left them. For a second, she let her eyes wander down his torso, to the flat stomach and tapered hips. He turned around again, his back to her again. His very strong, defined back. Alex touched her neck and cleared her throat. It was a little warm in here.

Cas got another shirt out of his closet and shrugged it on then buttoned it up. The things of hers he wore around his neck glinted in the light as his fingers went up, button after button and Alex eyed the ring and whistle sidelong. She'd given those to him as 'good luck charms'? She looked at the bed again, then at her stuff hanging in the closet.

Roommates. Considering Cas again, she didn't believe that for a second, but the other option seemed just as ludicrous. Could they have been… involved? Like, romantically? Or was that a crazy thing to think? Because really, in what version of reality would she go for an alcoholic drug addict who apparently loved orgies? And in what version of reality would Cas decide Alex was what he wanted? In what version of reality would Cas even have the ability to have a romantic side? She heaved a frustrated sigh.

When Alex plopped down onto the end of the bed and began to fiddle with a shoelace, Cas froze. She missed the way his face tightened in pain simply from seeing her sit on the bed. His voice grew strained and he doubled its gruffness to hide the emotions. "Come on, I need to take you to Dean's cabin," he said, pointing sharply at the door and hiding everything underneath a sour expression.

Alex looked up at him with curiosity, slowly standing. "Why?"

"You just... can't stay here," he said darkly, stone-faced, and was already heading out the door, throwing a "follow me" over his shoulder.

Cas took her to Dean's cabin like he said, then made himself scarce for the rest of the day, unable to face Alex for even a second longer. He would go back to his cabin and pour himself the strongest fucking drink he could find, anything to cover up the shame that was burning him alive inside. He would contemplate the alcohol, battling himself as he filled with self-hatred so strong that it sent him into rage. He'd then throw his glass against a wall and sink down with his face in his hands as he cried bitterly, like the broken, hopeless man that he was.

What had he done? How had he let himself become this? He was appalling and disgusting, a shell of who he'd been, a sorry excuse for a man. He'd been able to forget reality in recent times with the drugs, the booze, the women he'd filled his hollow existence with to feel something (anything) save the pain of her loss. But today, looking into her eyes again… he was miserable with himself for how deeply he'd betrayed her and her memory.

This wasn't just his cabin. It had been theirs.

---

In Dean's dark cabin just after sunset, Alex lurked with her brother and watched as the other Dean and a woman named Risa leaned over a map. Cas was sitting at the table in a lazy, casual stance—his ankles crossed and propped onto the table. His gaze was on the unseeing side though.

Why the gathering? Well, it had become abundantly clear to Alex, for one, why Zachariah had sent them to this specific date. 2014 Dean had finally tracked down the Colt—the same one Cas had mentioned to them in 2009—and with it, he planned to kill the devil. Not next week, not next month. Tonight.

"Lucifer is here," Dean said, jabbing his finger into a circled portion of the map. "Now. I know the block and I know the building—"

"Oh good," Cas wisecracked, cutting Dean off. "It's right in the middle of a hot zone."

Dean gave him a cursory, challenging glance. "Crawling with Croats, yeah. You saying my plan is reckless?"

"If you don't like reckless, what about insouciant?" Cas retorted without missing a beat. Dean made a face, clearly not appreciating the attitude or understanding the word either. "Are you saying we, uh, walk in straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the Croats, and we shoot the devil?" Cas continued, his sarcastic tone and matching facial expressions causing Alex to stare. He hadn't looked at her even once since he'd shown up again.

Dean just narrowed his eyes at Cas. "Yes."

Cas leaned further back in his chair, giving Dean an unamused look.

"Yeah, well, no one's forcing you to come, Cas," Dean growled, to which Cas sighed, relenting.

"I'm going. Of course I'm going." Cas looked at the 2009 Dean. "But why is he? I mean, he's you five years ago. If something happens to him, you're gone, right?"

"He's coming," Dean said authoritatively. "Alex too… we could use the extra gun. She's a damn good shot."

"What?" At that, Cas's feet came off the table and his expression changed as he sat up straight. "It's too dangerous to take her there, let alone Dean!"

2014 Dean tilted his head to the side at the outburst, frowning, looking at Cas with a suddenly intent gaze. "Cas… are you sober?"

Cas looked caught, as if that were an accusation he resented.

2014 Dean was clearly genuinely surprised. "Last time you were straight was…" he looked at Alex and his tongue nervously darted out as his eyebrows shrugged upwards. "A while ago."

Cas ignored the comment, getting physically agitated. "They shouldn't go, Dean, and you know it."

"Hey, we're right here, you know," 2009 Dean said. "And we wanna go. So, end of discussion."

Cas turned on him angrily. "Aren't you listening to me? It's much, much too dangerous for either of you!" He looked between both Deans, trying to find back up. When he got nothing, he grew hostile. "Fine," he snapped, and then pointed a finger at Alex while he looked at 2014 Dean. "But Dean, she's not going. I won't let her."

That comment definitely caught Alex's attention. "You won't let me go?" she asked incredulously even as she stood up, becoming defensive. "That's not your decision."

Cas's pained eyes darted to her and he was deeply upset. He looked away, his jaw tight. "You don't understand."

"I don't think you do," Alex challenged, to which Cas said nothing, only clenched his jaw even tighter.

2014 Dean gave Cas a dirty look, shook his head and stood up, map in hand. "We're locked and loaded and on the road by midnight. One of you take Alex and get her a weapon, one of you start getting the grunts moving." Dean looked at the other Dean. "I need some time alone with... myself." That would have been funny in different circumstances. In these, it was just adding to the feeling of a bizarro world.

"I'll get everyone rallied," Risa said, already heading out of the cabin.

"I guess that means you're with me," Cas said to Alex, sounding positively thrilled about it. What was his problem? She didn't like that, him telling her she couldn't go along on the assault. He was starting to sound like Dean for god's sake. Alex couldn't handle all these fucking men trying to tell her what she could and couldn't do. Either way, she shouldered that and followed him out of Dean's cabin and to one of the rusted tin sheds that offset the camp's mess hall.

After he had basically kicked her out of his cabin that morning, she hadn't seen him again all day and he was currently acting just as oddly as before. He was dressed differently, though. Not like some hippie anymore. Instead he wore faded jeans, military style boots, a button up, and a rugged cargo jacket. He looked rakish and handsome, but his face, his eyes—they were still hollow and avoided looking at hers.

The storage shed he took her into was about ten feet long and ten feet wide and the walls were lined with gun racks and those racks brimmed with semi-automatic weapons. Cas went to the back of the shed and pulled one down. "Here ya go," he said apathetically, holding a machine gun out to her. "AR-15. Your favorite."

Weird... she didn't favor AR's particularly, but she didn't see a point in protesting. Her hands brushed over his as she gave in and took it. His expression went cold. Alex froze, thinking she had done something. "What is it?"

He shook his head, suddenly kind of laughing and smiling, as if what she said was funny, but there was no light in his eyes. He threw a hand up briefly. "Look around us! Everything's wrong." The smile was fading into a dark expression. He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered a curse word in frustration, trying to compose himself.

Alex watched him, unsure how to react to his behavior. She turned her attention to inspecting the gun, even though she felt unsettled. "This has a good weight to it." She looked down the sights. "Not bad. I can see why I like it."

Cas said nothing—he turned so that he wasn't facing her. He began poking around on a shelf that had ammo boxes stored in disarray. Alex set the gun aside for a second, studying him. She had to try again—had to. She was sorry he had a hard time with it, but she needed to know. "How did I die, Cas? Come on. Please, tell me. It's important." She gently grasped one of his arms, trying to get him to look at her.

Appearing nearly revolted he stepped back, refusing to look at her, looking at the guns beside him instead. "It's—it's best if you don't know."

"Why? I mean, it's my future, right? I deserve to know. That's the whole point of Zachariah sending me and Dean here."

"No, I don't talk about it anymore," he said lowly, refocusing on the ammo boxes and starting to sort them for no reason.

Alex stood right beside him, getting in his space. "Cas—" she started.

He abruptly lost his composure. "I said I don't talk about it anymore goddammit!" he shouted, trembling with what looked like terror. Startled, Alex stepped back from him and his features went from furious to hollow. "No, don't—don't be afraid of me, please," he begged, and his voice grew tight with grief. "I'm sorry. I don't… I don't like to talk about what happened that day."

Newly cautious, Alex felt her eyes narrowing. "Did you see what happened to me?" she asked carefully.

He didn't fly into a fit of rage. Instead, his eyes clouded with a sheen of tears and he let out a miserable, pained breath and looked down, putting his face into his hand, letting his shoulders slump. "I was with you when it happened," he confessed quietly, then let his hand fall and with a sick expression, he looked at her, not bothering to hide his distress. "I could have saved you. If I'd been just a little faster. Just a little faster." His eyes were glazed over and stared into middle distance unseeingly now. "Alex... I let you die." Again, his face crumpled and he ducked his head away, hiding his face behind a hand as a miserable choking sound came out of the base of his throat.

"Hey, hey... it's okay," Alex said, trying to calm him down. She put a hand onto his shoulder. Her touch startled him and his hand dropped away from his face. He looked at her with the strangest expression and seemed unable to help himself. He reached out and let his hand cradle the side of her head with great and bittersweet affection. Stock still, Alex stared at him, her hand drifting down from his shoulder. "W-what are you doing?" she whispered.

His heart was in his eyes as he studied her. "Have you really not figured it out yet?" he asked softly and sadly, then stroked his thumb against the skin of her cheek, conveying great tenderness in the touch. Hurt warm across his face when she stared at him in near-fear and he took his hand away, becoming conflicted.

Her loud pulse filled her ears and shock flooded her veins. "...We weren't just roommates."

"No," he confirmed, just a murmur. His eyes held hers apprehensively. "We weren't just roommates."

Alex was shaking her head kind of hollowly. "No," she breathed. "No. That's crazy. You're not serious. You and me?" His expression flickered just slightly, as if he were offended by that assumption. Alex struggled with what that meant. "I mean… you and I… we lived together?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "We… we slept together?"

Cas didn't say yes or no, but come on Alex, of course you would have if you lived together. But she was so emotionally young when it came to relationships and romance, having never even kissed a man, that the idea of sex and living with someone—let alone the rugged, jaded man in front of her—had her dizzy.

Cas saw that and was gentle. "I understand this is probably a lot for you to process," he said somberly, his eyebrows pressing in a little further. "I… I wasn't going to tell you... but I know how obvious it is."

Alex did a mental double take. Her eyes went wide. "Oh my god, wait—did I do orgies too?" Had she been on drugs as well?

"Wh—" Cas's face went both embarrassed and insistent. "No, never," he said, then paused, his humiliation etched onto his face. " I was never with anyone but you. Ever. Until after you died." Another punch of shock to her stomach at his words and the love and commitment it seemed to imply. His shame was tangible. "I'm so sorry," he whispered as his eyes fell. He was apologizing to the Alex she hadn't become yet but it hit her hard, made her feel strange. Hurt.

"I... don't understand any of this," Alex said, barely able to find the words. The painful conversation was hard and unexpected, and the way he looked so defeated and hurt was difficult to watch. His sadness kept radiating off him and sinking into her, so she tried for half-hearted humor to clear the air and cover over her own emotional distress. "I mean aren't you, I dunno... like several thousand years too old for me?"

He chuckled, a surprisingly fond smile coming over his face, softening his features, making the pain ebb away. "That's not the first time you've asked me that," he said affectionately, and the way he looked at her... she recognized the look without ever having seen it before: longing. Alex went blank again. Cas swallowed, looking genuinely apologetic at her expression. "I'm sorry. I've made you uncomfortable."

It was hard to know what to say. "I mean, I feel like I'm tripping balls right now Cas," she had to admit.

His mouth turned up in a crooked little smile, and he spoke without thinking. "So to the point. I always lo—" he caught himself, his expression going rigid, "...enjoyed that about you."

Alex didn't miss what he was about to say, and she blinked a couple times as her heart turned a flip of shock and awe. She just couldn't believe this. Her and Cas? How? Sure, she had definitely admitted to herself that she found him incredibly attractive and interesting and she enjoyed being around him recently... and yes, she'd pondered what he might be like to kiss or hold, but she blamed the romance novels for those thoughts.

Alex shook her head no slowly. If this were some kind of cruel trick of Zachariah's, she didn't want to fall victim to it.

Castiel saddened in front of her, somehow aware of what she was thinking without her even saying anything. Maybe on an impulse, he touched her arm with his hand, resting it there just above her elbow, bare skin to bare skin, his thumb tracing down slowly. The touch startled her, warmed her. Made her feel. He sought her gaze, his brow wrinkled. She stared at him, feeling incredibly short of breath. The way he touched her was just so unlike what she had expected. There was a familiarity to his touch that was stunning. He stared back into her gaze, expression intense and unreadable, his eyes flicking from her eyes to her mouth, then back. He looked at her like he knew her—intimately. And then he said this in a whisper: "I wanted to kiss you, that night on the porch, you know." Alex's whole world combusted as her heart and nerves burst into pitter-pat staccato.

"Why didn't you?" Alex whispered back, stuck in the magic of this unimaginable moment.

"Couldn't figure out how to ask…" he murmured, and his eyes dropped to her lips—the yearning on his face grew more intense—and Alex pulled back, flustered and freaking out. Rejected and destroyed, Cas's face fell, then he slammed his emotional shields up, shoving a box of bullets at her. "Sorry. Here. Should be enough ammo."

He abruptly brushed past her, making a quick exit out of the shed, leaving Alex by herself with a racing heart. The place where he had touched her softly still tingled, and she cursed herself for being intimidated. The look in his eye made her shiver, and not from cold.

---

It was midnight and a full, bright silver moon hung directly overhead. Alex headed toward where all the vehicles were starting up, her weapon slung over her back, her jacket over her arm. She paused when something caught her eye she hadn't noticed before.

Over past where the cabins ended and the woods began, in an overgrown patch of land, there were maybe twenty wooden crosses sticking up out of the ground. In morbid curiosity, she wandered over. Some of them were fresh. One of the graves already overgrown with grass was crudely engraved with the initials A.E.W. Alex went still—Alexandra Elizabeth Winchester? Was this…? Someone was coming up behind her. She turned to see Chuck, who she had seen earlier that day while she and Dean were waiting around. He gave her a tight smile, hands shoved in his pockets. "Hey, Alex."

She looked back at the grave with her initials on it, ignoring his greeting. "Chuck, is this—?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, kind of grimly. "That's your grave."

She could think of nothing to say. Her troubled eyes took in the little bunch of yellow wildflowers there at the base of the cross. She wondered if Dean did that. "Someone put flowers on it."

"Yup," Chuck said. "Cas does." This statement drew a stunned looked from Alex. Chuck was oblivious, looking at the cross as he continued. "He always does. It's the only thing he does consistently around here. Well, besides drink and cause problems."

Someone hollered Chuck's name, and the prophet threw a "gotta go" at Alex as he hurried off. Alex watched him leave speechlessly, then looked over where Cas was loading up some weapons into an SUV with Risa. He had a rifle slung across his back and looked so manly—a shiver yet again ran up her spine when she thought of his thumb rubbing against her arm, his hand touching her face, his eyes full of so much. He'd been about to say he'd loved her, back in the shed. Her throat felt tight with tears and Alex turned her attention back to the grave and the flowers. They were fresh like they'd been put out recently, so carefully arranged, tied with a tiny little strand of twine in a very uneven bunched up shape, like he'd try to tie a bow and not been able to quite pull it off. She smiled a little through her pain and confusion. That was more like the Cas she remembered—kind of clueless on how to do everyday things. Like tying bows.

How strange to stand at her own grave. Somehow, even though it was more than just a little macabre, she thought how nice it was to know that someone still looked after her and still remembered her—and that someone just happened to be her guardian angel. She wasn't sure if that were ironic or kind of beautiful. On impulse, she crouched down and pulled a single yellow flower out of the gathered bunch, then slipped it into her jacket pocket.

---

Cas shut the tailgate of his SUV and rounded the corner of the vehicle only to be confronted by present-day Dean, who was glaring. "Okay, you wanna tell me what the hell that was that back there?"

"What do you mean?" Cas asked, to which Dean gave him an unamused look. Cas could tell from the look on Dean's face that he was about to get chewed out.

"The way you got all bent out shape about taking me and Alex on our little field trip? Don't ever challenge me like that again."

Cas looked away, agitated. Dean stepped closer, his voice lowering gruffly. "You know, as much as I despised you and my sister together, I need you to get your crap handled, and pronto. If Alex, the one from our time, could see what the way you roll these days… the women, the drugs, the days on end you stay wasted with chicks you won't even remember the name of the next day… what do you think she'd say, man?" Cas couldn't look at Dean in the eye. Dean sounded disgusted, and Cas felt disgusting. "You think you're honoring her memory with this crap?" Dean continued, and Cas felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "You're really over her that easy, Cas?"

That final comment made something snap inside Cas, and he looked sharply at Dean, struggling to control himself. "I will never be over her, Dean."

Without any warning, Dean shoved him back against the truck violently, his voice a harsh growl. "Well if that's true, you sure as hell have a funny way of showing it!"

Cas grabbed Dean roughly and shoved him back, all of his pent-up anger and sorrow boiling over into outrage. "I loved her, Dean!" Both men were frozen like that for a moment, fistfuls of the other's jacket in their hands. Breathing heavily, shaking, Cas struggled to maintain a straight, calm face. "You know I loved her. More than anything—" His voice broke. "But I don't know how to do this anymore!"

Dean shoved him and let go, bitter. "It's a damn shame what you've become, Cas."

Cas glowered, struck by the irony of it. "I could say the same for you, Dean."

There was a brief silence and Dean let the comment go, looking Cas up and down judgmentally. "I can see you shaking, man. What kind of crap you on now?"

"Nothing," Cas admitted, looking away. "Which is the problem."

Dean scoffed at him, disgusted. "You picked a hell of a time to start rehab, Cas."

"Dean—"

"No—shut up. I don't wanna hear your lame excuses anymore. Nothing you ever say can make this—" he vaguely gestured at Cas, "okay with me. Just hold it together a little longer. We need to do this right and kill the devil. You with me?"

Cas's jaw clenched. "Yeah, I'm with you," he replied caustically. He looked at the man who he used to call his good friend and felt nothing but bitterness and shame and regret. Dean was looking at him as though Cas were the biggest disappointment and failure he had ever seen.

The sound of approaching footsteps on the crunching gravel alerted them that they were no longer alone. "Everything okay here, guys?" Dean from 2009 asked. Alex was behind him, hefting her gun.

"Yeah, everything's just peachy," 2014 Dean said, then brushed past them roughly.

"God, that guy is a douche," the other Dean said, watching him go.

Alex chuckled at that. Cas looked at her out of the corner of his eye, the sight of that little smile of hers making his heart twist in ways he couldn't bear. He motioned to his SUV, turning away before either of them could see his face. "Let's go. We're about to move out."

---

The car bumped down the back road they had turned off onto, and Cas glanced to his side. Dean was still awake, but Alex had fallen asleep about thirty minutes into the drive. Her head lolled on Dean's shoulder as he stared out the window tersely. Cas returned his gaze to the dark road ahead. This was so risky, and he couldn't believe he was actually driving these two to the place where they should be the furthest from. He blinked a few times, trying to stay alert. He felt horrible physically. He hadn't been this clear in a while, and now he remembered why. Everything hurt.

Dean was digging through the glove compartment. "You got anything for a headache?" He pulled out an orange medicine bottle and squinted at it. "What the hell are these? Amphetamines?"

Cas snatched the bottle from him. "Give those to me."

"What the hell are you doing with those?" Dean asked, sounding genuinely shocked and even a little offended. It was almost as bad as when Alex had discovered his habit. Almost.

Cas shook his head, shamefaced, but trying hard to just stay aloof. It was easier to be less emotional with Dean. "Nothing, today."

Dean sounded hesitant. "Uh, right... don't get me wrong, Cas. I, uh. I'm happy that the stick is out of your ass, but—what's going on—w-with the drugs and the orgies and the love-guru crap?"

Cas gave him a sidelong glance. "I'm not an angel anymore." Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, I went mortal," Cas said, with distasteful emphasis on the last word.

"What do you mean? How?"

He thought a minute about how to answer, shook his head tiredly. "It wasn't by choice, if that's what you're asking. I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving. But when they bailed, my mojo just kind of—psshhew!—drained away. And now, you know, I'm practically human. I'm all but useless, Dean. Last year, broke my foot, laid up for two months." Without warning, he remembered Alex bringing things to him when he had been stuck in their cabin—he remembered her doodling on his cast a few times (a few appropriate things, and a few maybe not so much)—dropping a kiss on the top of his head when he had been complaining about how much he hated sitting for so long. His chest tightened at the memories. He'd loved her beyond anything and everything. Her loss destroyed him.

"So, you're human," Dean was saying. "Well, welcome to the club, I guess."

Cas just shook his head sadly. "I used to belong to a much better club. Look at me. I'm powerless. I'm alone, I'm drowning. Not even sure why I even bother getting out of bed most days."

Dean looked at him strangely. "Geez. So… the drugs? The women?"

Cas sucked his cheeks in, stared at the road ahead, loathing himself. "Guess that's just how I roll."

Dean looked deeply bothered. "Right. Yeah."

Cas fell silent, his grip tight on the steering wheel, his stare blank and straight ahead of himself.

His mind was full of noise and confusion, of memories of his wayward downward spiral into who he'd become now. At first it had just been alcohol abuse to deal with her death. Being drunk had soothed the void in his life and helped numb the excruciating pain from losing the only one he'd ever loved—the only one who'd ever truly loved him. He'd drank more and more and more, testing his limits, trying to kill the pain and despair that hounded him and made life a miserable affair. It had worked well enough.

And then one night, around a campfire with a bunch of newly-rescued people fleeing the Croatoan virus, the unthinkable had happened. Drunk out of his mind, Cas had stumbled off from the group and one of the girls had followed him into the woods, pulling at his jeans as he fell back against a tree, unable to even stand. She'd had hair the color of Alex's and completely out of it, Cas hadn't even known who she was, had just seen the top of a brown head of hair bent low over him and he'd thought it was her, his Alex, doing that to him.

When she looked up at him after blowing him, Cas had seen her face and almost passed out in horror at the realization—he'd pushed her away and run stumblingly back to his cabin, retching violently off the porch. It was treason and he cursed himself for it. But it would get much worse. A month or so later he woke up after a night of being high off his ass and drunk to the point of passing out. A woman he didn't know had been naked in bed beside him, in Alex's place. Dismay and panic had set in over Cas, then fury—no one else belonged there, ever. Only Alex. He'd gone a little crazy and immediately kicked the girl out, not even dressed. He'd been so shaken up at her presence and what had clearly happened between them that he'd thrown a sheet at her and tossed her clothes after her, slammed the door in her face uncaringly and reached for more booze immediately, almost having a full-on panic attack in the process.

He hadn't been sober once since then. Not until today.

He could barely stand to face himself. The things he'd done. The ways he'd tried to escape the pain, the high he'd been chasing every single day to keep his suffering at bay. It was a wonder he wasn't dead yet. It wasn't like he hadn't tried a few times. But somehow… he was still here.

And now the worst part was that so was she. She saw what had become of him, understood in some small way how he'd betrayed her and spit in the face of their love. If she could see him now, if she knew what he'd done… she would hate and despise him. Just as she should.

---

They arrived to the city outskirts just before sunrise and the convoy stopped to regroup.

Cas put his truck into park and then looked down at Alex, whose head sagged awkwardly on his shoulder—he'd taken a sharp curve a few minutes ago and she'd just kind of fallen into him. Dean was already getting out, slamming the door behind himself. Cas looked down at Alex's sleeping face, so familiar and so missed. Hesitantly, he gently brushed a few strands of her hair away from her face as his heart squeezed. Her skin was so soft under his fingertips. Her quiet breathing and just barely parted lips were the most beautiful thing he could ever remember seeing. As his eyes flickered over her face, all he could think was I miss you so much. His throat closed in grief and his eyes ached as tears threatened to come. He tried to memorize this feeling. But all he could think of was the day she died.

Cas pulled away, shaking. His entire nervous system was shot to hell. He needed a hit of something. He glanced at the floorboard, where he'd stuck the bottle of amphetamines. But then, beside him, Alex stirred, sitting up slowly, squinting. "I fell asleep?" she asked groggily.

"Yeah," he confirmed, trying to sound like he wasn't in the middle of a near-breakdown. "We're here. Just waiting for a few others to arrive, I think."

She sighed and stretched, oblivious to the way he watched her. "Okay. So, let's go kick Lucy's ass, huh?" She gave him a playful but helpless little smile. And his heart broke a little more even as it healed a bit, too.

Alex got out of the SUV, shutting the door behind her. The sun was just coming up and it looked like it would be a dim, overcast day. It was already warm out. She went to the back of Cas's SUV where the tailgate was down. Dean was already with the others, who were congregated around Risa's SUV, maybe about forty feet away—why had Cas parked so far off? Alex peeked around the edge of the vehicle, up toward where Cas was. He was just standing there, staring at nothing, in front of the driver's side door.

Momentarily forgetting her gun, Alex went over to him. "Hey—you okay?"

He took a step away then turned around, looking at her plainly, his featured etched with a haunted expression. "No. I am not okay." Hesitating, Alex went to him, then because it felt right, she put a hand on his shoulder gingerly. At her touch, he visibly became emotional—and Alex pulled her hand back like she'd done something wrong. "Please, don't stop," he pleaded quietly a heartbeat later. "All I've been able to think about since seeing you again is just holding you again."

Words that struck straight to her heart and inexplicably made tears spring into her eyes. The pain in his words was unreal. The yearning inescapable. "Some mornings I'll wake up, and for just an instant, I—I forget. I forget you're gone. And I turn over and see you're not there and..." he was barely holding tears back. "You were the one bright spot left in this world for me," Cas continued shakily. "All the shit I've done to myself these past few months… it's all to forget the pain. I've made so many mistakes and I can't take any of it back but..." He inched closer, making her breathless. "Alex…" he trailed off, his expression desperate, intense. "Please… I..."

"What?" she prompted, searching his gaze anxiously. Her voice was barely audible. She didn't let herself run away this time as the moment ramped up.

He swallowed, and his voice was just above a whisper. His eyes clung to hers. "Kiss me."

Her stomach dropped. "...W-what?" she asked faintly.

"Please," he said, his voice just a broken whisper. "I just… I can go in there and face the devil, face death, the whole nine. If you kiss me." He wet his lips nervously. "One last time," he paused, thinking of something, then smiled in the softest, saddest way. "Or… first, I guess. For you." He gently caught her hands in his.

Alex looking up into his eyes, her heart hammering faster than she could ever remember. "I wanted to kiss you that night on the porch too," she whispered, her strange way of agreeing.

He understood. His expression changed and she saw his breathing hitch. Hers did too. The earnestness and the trepidation in his eyes made her dizzy. His chest touched hers as he closed the distance between them, one of his hands came to the side of her neck, the pad of his thumb tracing her jaw. She could smell him and it was so heady—linseed oil, firewood, incense. Her veins sang with anticipation, terror, curiosity, and excitement. Cas leaned down, the side of his nose brushing against the side of hers as he softly pressed his lips down onto to hers, giving her a careful kiss... and the soft touch sent a zing! of thrilling feelings shooting throughout her entire body. She softened toward him as her eyes fell closed. Her heart shot through her chest as he drew back, just a little and just for a second, his lips soft and open, just centimeters from hers—she could feel him breathing against the skin of her lips. Oh god—her body was in overdrive. His hand, now at the back of her neck, gently pulled her to him as he kissed her again, a soft, aching little touch that was maddening, that was infuriating. Instinctively, Alex could tell he was holding himself back for her benefit… but she surprised even herself when she escalated things.

Alex pressed into him hard as she tilted her chin up further, grabbing a fistful of his shirt as she kissed him in a desperate way she hadn't predicted and hadn't known she even possessed. Her other arm reached up and circled around his neck to pull him closer possessively. Her sudden actions seemed to unleash something in him—there was a low moan from someplace deep in his throat and she felt one of his hands crush against the small of her back, pulling her firmly against him. His other hand was tangling in the hair on the side of her head. His heartbeat thundered against her chest. His mouth moved with hers now boldly, taking her into a deeper kiss, showing her the way, and Alex felt like her body had been lit on the sweetest, most heavenly fire. She couldn't concentrate on one thing—the way their mouths were entangled, the sound and feel of his labored breathing, the warmth and solidness of him everywhere against her—all so indescribable, so beyond stunning.

Their breathing was becoming heavy and noisy in each other's mouths, and the way he pulled at her was becoming more and more passionate. Alex heard a strangled sort of moaning gasp escape her mouth into his as her back hit against the side of the SUV. She might have imagined it, but she swore he whimpered as his hands skimmed down to her hips and grabbed roughly, lifting her up easily, pinning her against the truck almost harshly. His body pressed hard against hers, maybe he didn't remember who she was. But she didn't care. She didn't even consciously realize that she wrapped her legs around his waist or locked her arms around his neck, hands gripping his head tightly—she was completely caught up in the way he kissed her: wild and free, desperate and hungry, with his whole body, with his heart and soul. It felt like she was the only thing he wanted in the world. Like he worshipped her. As he held her like that and kissed her so furiously, she couldn't deny it: she wanted him so, very, badly.

The sounds of more cars pulling in nearby cut the moment short, and they broke apart, breathing heavily, stunned. Cas gazed at her with eyes full of raw emotion as he still held her. She could only stare back—reeling, aching, confused, entranced. Her heart raced.

Cas hesitated, then gently pushed a strand of hair back from the side of her face, never looking away from her, his eyes full of unspoken things. His hand stayed there at the side of her face, tender and sweet. He looked heartbroken and in love at the same time... and Alex supposed he was remembering moments she hadn't even lived yet. After that kiss, she knew one thing: This man, this version of Castiel, had loved her. Loved. In a way she couldn't even comprehend. She touched the side of his face with a tenderness she hadn't even known she felt, letting her thumb brush against his cheek. A tear ran down his cheek as he cherished the moment fully. "We belong together," he whispered earnestly, absolutely stunning her again. His vivid blue eyes seemed so full as they searched hers, and his hands held her so caringly. The moment felt indescribably intimate on a level she had never experienced.

And because of that, Alex abruptly pushed away and slid down. She walked a few shaky steps off, her back to him, overcome with emotion she wasn't sure what to do with. She took a few unsteady breaths, trying to gather her thoughts. After a few beats he came up behind her, and there was a long, strained pause.

"You asked me how you die."

She turned around slowly at his soft words. He was pensive and grim. "You and I went on what was supposed to be a simple mission. Recon, far outside the city. But we got cut off, and there were Croats, too many of them. And, by the time we took them all out…" his voice softened, his eyes shut. "You were infected with the virus. You begged me to kill you before... before the change." He opened his eyes again, and she saw that they were shining with tears. "I said I couldn't, not with… not because of…" he swallowed, blinked, tried to stay composed. "But it didn't matter. I had to." He looked right at her. The raw pain on his face suddenly made sense. "And I did. I shot you and then watched you die." Again, his eyes began to shine with grief.

Alex shook her head, wordless, realizing in faint horror why he felt so responsible and traumatized.

Cas looked down. "I was supposed to be your protector. Forever. And I failed. I hate being just a man." After a long beat of silence, he took a deep breath then cleared his throat, forcing himself to recover a little. "The point of me telling you this is… you and Dean have to change it. Have to. Because this —" he looked around, gestured vaguely, "isn't how it's supposed to be."

"Cas, I—" she started, but was cut off by a familiar, gravelly shout over somewhere behind the other cars.

"Hey! You two clowns comin'?" one of the Deans yelled. The other one bellowed, "We don't got all day!"

Cas and Alex looked at each other a moment longer. There was so much more to say. But it would have to wait. Or never be said at all.

"Coming," Alex called back, then turned her gaze back to Cas. "Cas..." she started, but she was cut off when he unexpectedly drew her into an impulsive, earnest hug. His arms felt strong around her and his hand cradled the back of her head. His face was buried in the side of her hair. He trembled and Alex was taken aback at him yet again. He was so human. She slowly put her arms around him too, noticing how their bodies fit so well. How safe his arms felt. Her emotions were going haywire, her throat felt tight. She shut her eyes tight, trying to steady her breathing.

When he drew back there were tears swimming in his eyes. "Thank you," he said softly and stroked his hand down the side of her head, his eyes holding hers. He leaned in and kissed her cheek softly. His eyebrows drew together deeply, making him look grieved. Alex leaned into his touch helplessly and softened into the warm press of his lips, inhaling his woodsy scent. She turned her head a second later, letting her lips meet his again. Immediately reacting, Cas's hands both held her face as a long, slow kiss lingered. Alex felt the love in his touch and it almost broke her. A tear slid down Cas's cheek and his hand tightened on the back of her head, like he was trying to hold onto something he knew was already lost.

"Alex! Double time!" One of the Deans was calling, and the moment was interrupted.

Cas pulled back, letting go of her and with surprising deftness he composed himself. "Wanna go kill the devil?" He flashed her a crooked, disarming grin despite everything.

Alex's eyes rested on his face and a soft, sad smile spread across her lips. He intrigued her, burdened her, and made her ache, this Castiel. He hid his pain so well. But not so well that she couldn't see it. "Sounds good," she answered, trying to match his tone of voice. But she sounded soft and sad, like she felt.

Cas gave her an understanding, bittersweet smile, then headed toward the back of his truck and pulled out their guns as Alex smoothed her hair, straightened her tank top… both of which had gotten a little askew. Cas saw her and gave the smallest little coy smile at that—like they shared a fun little secret—and he looked so boyish. She smiled back, suddenly feeling shy—she tucked some hair behind her ear. He hoisted his gun, and then tossed her hers. For a brief moment, Alex didn't ever want to leave 2014.

---

Dean and Dean headed up the group, taking the lead about ten paces in front of everyone. 2014 Dean glanced back at Cas, Risa, and Alex, noticing that Cas and Alex were close to each other, that Cas kept looking at Alex every few seconds. Dean gritted his teeth, stepped a little closer to himself. If this guy really was him in 2009, which he was pretty sure he was, then he deserved a warning.

"Hey, word to the wise," he said, garnering a cursory sidelong glance from himself. "Keep Cas and Alex away from each other, you hear me? If it weren't for him, she'd still be alive."

"Huh?" Dean asked, clearly not following.

"Just do what I said," Dean insisted in a harsh, low voice. "Put a damn end to it. Don't let them be together."

"Cas and Alex?" Dean asked in a low, disbelieving voice. "Like, as in, together?" He suddenly seemed to think it was a joke, and chuckled. "Come on, man. What're you smoking?"

"Just shut up," Dean snapped, exceedingly annoyed with himself. "Trust me. He is her death sentence." He grabbed his other self by the shirt, demanding the other one's gaze. "She dies, dude, you get that? And that's on him. I didn't know, so I didn't have a chance of stopping it. Now you do." He shoved him away. "So I hope to god you do something about it, man." He clenched his jaw, then stalked off.

Dean sobered, looking back behind them at where Alex and Cas followed. The way future-Dean had said that didn't sound like he was lying.

---

Just outside the Jackson County Sanitarium, Alex glanced again in the direction that both Deans had gone about five minutes ago. They only had a couple more minutes until they stormed the building ahead of them where Lucifer was.

After her Dean had asked for 'a word with himself,' the two Deans had disappeared behind a building. She didn't think she could wait any longer and turned to Cas, who was beside her. "I'm gonna go find the Deans."

"I'll come with you," he said, but she shook her head, standing up.

"No. I'll be right back."

He stood too, looking terrified. "No, Alex, I can't let you go alone."

She stopped to look at him plainly, warningly. The small group didn't need to be any more disbanded than it already was, and the Deans were just around the other side of a building within earshot. "Stay here," she repeated. "I'll be back." She paused, giving him the smallest, saddest smile. He stood tall and brave, a gun slung across his body and 'fighter' written across everything about him. And at her command he looked conflicted but he stepped back, silently agreeing to stay behind.

Castiel watched as she left—and even though that wasn't his Alex—not completely—it was still Alex. From any time or dimension, in any shape or form, she was the one he loved.

Alex hurried off, not knowing that was the last time she would see that version of Cas. If she had known, she would have looked back at him again. Or maybe not left at all.

She darted over to the building she'd seen the Deans go behind, and when she rounded the corner, she stopped short—one Dean was standing over the unconscious form of the other. "Son of a bitch," she muttered, cautiously approaching Dean. It wasn't her Dean. Her Dean was the one laying on the ground. "Care to explain?" she demanded suspiciously, very aware of where her weapon was and contemplating using it.

"Just a little… disagreement," he said, eyeing her with a look she didn't like.

"My ass," she retorted. "Liar."

He shook his head and laughed—a sound tinged by sadness. "Goddamit kid I've missed you." The smile faded. He looked oddly stricken, but only for a second. He lunged and reached out to grab her hard by the arm. "Sorry, Al. I recognize that look. You were about to run. Well, I can't let you do that. See, Dean here was gonna warn everyone that I'm going in the back while they go in the front."

Alex didn't pull away. She was too shocked at what this meant. "You're using those people as a diversion? Even Cas?"

Dean yanked her closer. "I have to!" He was breathing hard, and his eyes were crazed, wild. "I got to kill Lucifer, and I've run out of damn options—what the hell else am I supposed to do?" Alex opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. "Listen to me, Alex. Do not get involved with Cas. I'm begging you." He paused, his face full of a pain she hadn't seen there before. "He's the signature on your death certificate."

"…What do you mean?"

He just shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry about this. I am." And he drew back and hit her hard, letting her fall to the ground unconscious.

Dean Winchester stood over his baby sister, breathing hard, unable to believe himself on the one hand, but also to the point where he couldn't afford to care anymore. He had one thing left to do. One thing. Kill the devil. And he wasn't going to let his sister or himself stand in the way. Dean dragged Alex about fifty feet off, down an alleyway. He crammed her between a dumpster and a trashcan, figuring that when the 2009 Dean woke up, if he couldn't find Alex, that would stall him a little. Dean looked at his unconscious sister and allowed himself a final moment of gentleness. He knelt and moved her hair off of her face. She really was so beautiful. She had been so full of life. Bitterness swelled in his heart as he remembered the day she died in 2013. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair—everyone he loved had died. He stood up, Colt in hand. Well, now it was the devil's turn.

When Alex came to, she sat up, breathless, panicked, and beside a smelly dumpster. Shit! How long had she been out? She scrambled to her feet and ran, trying to find her bearings. There was wind and lightning, but no other sounds—no gunfire, no shouting. She rounded a corner, and halted almost in mid-step—in front of her, Dean and—"Sam?"

He was wearing a white suit and looking at her with an odd, lifeless smile. "Hello, Alexandra."

Beside her, Dean was shaking his head. "That's not Sam. That's Lucifer."

"...What?" Alex breathed, suddenly understanding why Zachariah had made them come here. "No..."

Lucifer laughed a little at her protest. "Oh, yes, Alexandra. Yes." Absolute horror overcame Alex.

Lucifer then looked at Dean, a patronizing smile on his face. "While this little family reunion of ours has been sweet, honestly, I have things to do." He looked at both in turn. "Goodbye. We'll meet again soon." He turned to go.

"You better kill us now!" Dean shouted.

Lucifer turned back around. "Pardon?"

"You better. Or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And if I don't find a way, she will. One of us will be the end of you, you hear me?"

Lucifer was vaguely amused. "Fascinating. Well, I swear this to you. You won't say yes to Michael. You won't kill Sam, you won't be able to save Alex from her own foolish choices." He shrugged almost modestly. "Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Sam will die, Alex will die. Nothing you can do will change that. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up—here. I win."

Dean shook his head, his expression completely tortured. "You're wrong."

Lucifer smiled. "See you in five years, Dean." He disappeared.

There was a ground-shaking roll of thunder, and lightning cracked the sky in two. Alex and Dean looked at each other, aghast. Then Dean grabbed at Alex, catching sight of something behind them—Zachariah, and he was reaching for them.

Suddenly, they were in the quiet motel room in Kansas City. Alex almost fell over, dizzy from the sudden change.

"So, Winchesters." The two of them turned to see Zachariah behind them, smiling.

"Oh, well, if it isn't the ghost of Christmas screw you!" Dean growled.

The angel ignored the comment, looking between them animatedly. "You saw it, right? Both of you! You saw what happens. Dean, you're the only person who can prove the devil wrong. Alex, you're reasonable… tell your brother here—just say yes. Avoid all that pain, all the sad outcomes, all the death and guilt." He raised his eyebrows, smiling bigger. "Huh, Dean? What do you say?"

Alex looked at Dean, and for a moment, she had no idea what he would say or what he would do—they had just been to a future where Sam's body was Lucifer's vessel, where Alex was dead, where Dean was a shell of himself.

Dean turned away from Zachariah. "I say… nah."

"'Nah?'" Zachariah's smile was gone. "You telling me you haven't learned your lesson?"

Dean turned back around. "Oh, I've learned a lesson, all right. Just not the one you wanted to teach." He stood in front of Alex protectively, but she wasn't sure what good that would do. Zachariah could probably rip them to shreds with a single thought. Still, she inched a little closer to her big brother.

"Well, I'll just have to teach it again!" Zachariah said, his expression murderous. "Because I got you now, boy, and I'm never letting you—"

And suddenly, they were somewhere else entirely, standing beside a road under the light of a street lamp. And there, between them, holding them each at the arm above the elbow—Castiel. He gave them a little smile as he let go.

"That's pretty nice timing, Cas," Dean commented, looking at Cas with a lot of relief. Alex was doing the same—seeing Cas as he was supposed to be—trench coat, clean-shaven, in his right mind—and it almost counteracted all the heaviness of the past three days spent in 2014. Almost.

"We had an appointment," Cas was replying to Dean, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.

Dean put a hand on his shoulder. "Cas… don't ever change." Cas smiled a little more at Dean, then looked at Alex. Immediately, she told herself not to act suspicious. His expression flickered and she looked away, her pulse a little faster than normal. He contemplated her a moment longer, then turned his gaze to her brother.

"How did Zachariah find you?" he asked Dean.

"Long story. Let's just stay away from Jehovah's Witnesses from now on, okay?" Dean pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Cas asked. Dean glanced at him as he scrolled through his contacts.

"Something I should have done in the first place. Calling Sam." He walked a couple steps off, phone to his ear.

Thank God, Alex thought. At least one good thing would come out of that crazy trip to the future. She glanced up again. Cas was watching her intently and she couldn't help it... she looked at him longingly, seeing the Cas she'd met in 2014. "Alex. What happened? What did Zachariah do?"

She still couldn't quite look him in the eyes. "He, uh, sent us to twenty-fourteen. To see the future. What he said would happen, if… if we don't stop it. If Dean doesn't say yes to Michael." She trailed off, finally looked at him from under her lashes, her chest aching with sadness. "It was, uh, pretty... crazy."

He was frowning intently. "In what way?"

"Um." She was having trouble forming sentences. "Every way." She looked at him kind of sidelong, trying to reconcile the Cas of 2014 with this one. They didn't even seem like the same person—and she couldn't help but remember, in torturous detail, what she and the Cas from 2014 had done beside a beat-up old truck. She almost felt ashamed, like she had done something behind this Cas's back—but it had been with him, only a later version of him, right?

Castiel frowned slightly, his eyes narrowed in confusion as he looked at her. "What is it?"

"What's what? It's nothing…" she said, trying hard to appear normal. But he didn't seem to be buying it.

His head was tilted to the side. "You've never looked at me like that before." Castiel said. His words made her wither. "What is it?" He sounded distinctly suspicious, or maybe it was her guilty, confused conscience. He stepped closer and she was looking up at him, similarly to the last time she had, right before they had kissed. She couldn't control herself. She was breathing faster, remembering every little detail of those lips, that mouth—oh god. It all flooded her mind at once. The cabin, Cas's drug addiction, the sight of tears in his eyes, the feeling of his arms hugging her so tightly. His almost-confession of love. She swallowed. "Something's wrong," Castiel insisted levelly, searching her eyes. He seemed concerned, which only made Alex feel more.

She shook her head, trying to think of anything but this man in front of her. "It's nothing."

Cas didn't ask again, but his eyes didn't stop their close study of her either. Dean was coming back, putting his phone in his pocket. His intrusion was a blessed relief. "So, Sam's gonna meet us halfway."

Speaking of Sam. "Dean, did you know?" Alex asked. "About Sam being Lucifer's vessel?"

At that, Cas looked distinctly surprised, but stayed silent.

"Yeah. The other me told me. And, actually, Sam told me. Last night, here in two-thousand nine, when he called in the middle of the night."

Alex was hurt immediately. He had never once mentioned anything to her about it, and it wasn't because he'd lacked opportunity. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Her brother gave her a hooded glance. "Dunno. Guess I hoped it wasn't true," Dean said. "Didn't want you to be worried if you didn't have to be." He shook his head then finally looked at the angel. "Cas, I begged myself to say yes to the angels."

Cas squinted. "I don't fully understand that sentence."

Dean paused. "Right. It's kinda trippy. Long story, actually. Listen, can we just fill you in later? I'm tired as hell and me and Al need to hit the road if we're gonna meet Sam in the morning."

Cas nodded. "Of course. You have my number."

Dean held up a finger. "Can you bring the Impala here, or…?"

"Oh. Of course." Cas disappeared for all of three seconds, and suddenly, the Impala was right there sitting on the side of the street, and Cas was where he had been three seconds ago.

Beaming, Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder. "You are one handy guy to have around, Cas!"

"Thank you. Call me when you are ready to discuss the events of this journey to two thousand and fourteen," Cas said.

"We will," Dean said.

Cas glanced at Alex, who had already been looking at him. And then he was gone.

---

Life was back to normal again. Dean driving the Impala, Alex in the passenger seat. Except she felt like everything had changed. "You're awful quiet," Dean commented, as if reading her mind.

"Lot on my mind," she replied vaguely.

"Me too. Glad we got outta there." He chuckled. "I was such a friggin' jerk, huh?" She shrugged. She could feel Dean looking at her sidelong. "Listen," he said. "I know this much for a fact. You're not dying in twenty-thirteen. Sam's not gonna be Lucy's chew toy. And, hell. Cas isn't gonna end up a mystic stoner guy. Not if I have anything to do with it. That version of the future will not happen."

Alex looked out her window, troubled. "But what if it does? Lucifer said—"

"You're seriously gonna listen to that twerp?" Alex gave him a weird look—he had just called Satan a twerp. Only Dean. "Nope," he said authoritatively. "I'm changing the damn story. Screw fate. Calling Sam, getting him here back with us—that changes everything." Alex looked down at her lap. She hoped that was true. Dean cleared his throat. "Listen, I told myself… er, the twenty-fourteen me told me to watch out for something. For you and Cas. As in, together."

Alex played it off as a ridiculous idea, even as her heart skipped a beat. "Very funny."

Dean looked at her intently between glances at the road. "You're not, I dunno, into him, or…?"

"Dean. Come on. The guy's practically asexual." She went silent. She had actually kind of believed that herself, until the whole brothel thing. Now, with that and a full-blown make-out session with him under her belt, she wasn't so sure. However, she was still talking, trying to convince him otherwise and get him to stop asking. "Twenty-fourteen Dean had some screws loose. No offense. Now shut up, I have a headache."

"Fine, whatever. All I know is I'm not letting Lucifer get Sam. I don't care whatever else happens. Not my family."

Alex stared out of the window if the Impala, not even fully hearing Dean. She was replaying the memories of 2014 over and over, unable to stop herself. She almost wished she hadn't kissed that future version of Cas, because now, she would never be able to look at the current version of Cas the same. Her body could still remember how his hands, his hips, his arms, his mouth had all felt in excruciating detail. Maybe the most torturous part of the memory was the way he'd held her and kissed her cheek. She'd felt the way he loved her in that embrace and touch. Felt it in every part of herself.

She reached into her pocket, fingers touching the very real little yellow flower she had taken off her grave. The flower he'd put there. She pulled it out gently and looked at it, twirling it somberly between her thumb and forefinger.

---

2014

Cas held himself up at the window just barely, watching as Alex and Dean confronted Lucifer, then disappeared when Zachariah touched them. And with the knowledge that they survived, that they had gone back to their own time, Cas let go, too weak to support himself anymore. He fell over and rolled over onto his back, his own blood pooling all around him from several gunshot wounds he'd sustained. When Dean had returned with no 2009 Dean or Alex, Cas had almost lost his mind with worry, had almost decked Dean right then and there, accusing him of being an idiot, of risking their lives. Dean had commanded him to "calm the hell down, chill out Cas, they went inside ahead of us, okay?!" And sickened because he had known he shouldn't have let her out of his sight, Cas stormed the compound, so afraid that she would die again and he would stand by again and let it happen again.

Now he groaned painfully, coughing and shaking. But at least he knew Zachariah had spirited them back to the year they had come from. A small assurance as he lay dying.

He stared at the ceiling in agony, trying with the last of his strength to pull out the photo in his pocket, the one he always carried. His hand shook violently as he brought the wrinkled photo close to his face. Even through his pain, his face relaxed briefly as he gazed at the picture—in it, he and Alex stood proudly wielding guns and confident smirks. They stood shoulder to shoulder. Partners. In life together, no matter what. He remembered how happy they were then, despite the shape of the world around them.

His eyes went to her torso, and he felt his throat clench as his thumb traced across her stomach on the photograph. She hadn't been that far along. Tears sprang into his eyes as he looked at the woman he loved, carrying his unborn child, the child who never had a chance, the child only he and she had known about—a blessed secret they had treasured together in the private, quiet, space of their relationship. Cas felt the tears running down his face now. The photograph had been taken just a week before they both died. One week after this photo was taken, he would be forced to kill both the woman he loved and the child she carried.

He remembered how she had begged him through tears, screaming for him to shoot her before she could turn on him. He in turn begged her not to make him do it, said he couldn't, couldn't—she had grabbed his gun, pulled the barrel into her stomach, told him he had to. He knew she was right, but God. It had taken everything, everything to pull the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot still haunted his every waking moment, his every sleepless night.

He remembered her shallow breaths, her blood all over his shirt, his trembling hands. And then, as only she could, she smiled at him through her pain, touched the side of his face, whispered something only for them to know. And they had shared one last, tender, goodbye kiss. Tasted each other's tears. She'd held his gaze, and she'd been afraid. She'd clutched one of his hands, trying not to be. He remembered thinking, how did this happen? How did I let this happen to her? He held himself together, just a little longer so that the last thing she saw wasn't him falling apart at the seams. She would want him to carry on and be strong. And even though he had known that he couldn't carry on without her, he wanted her to think he would. He remembered his choked sobs as she died—her warm body going slack in his arms, her head falling to the side. That day, he had learned what it meant to weep, to beg a god who wasn't even there to please fucking change this! That moment was like dying, but the worst part was that he had to go on living.

In all the thousands and thousands of years he'd existed, Castiel hadn't lived until he had met her. And that day, when she died it was like he had died, too.

Cas clenched the photo tightly, his vision wavering, his breathing labored. He blinked rapidly, vision going dark. This was the end, but he suddenly didn't feel ready. He began begging whatever God or power out there to save the one he loved from this outcome.

This time, let the ending be different. Please, please, please… give us one more try, a chance to live. And if not me, then at least for her.

He blinked unevenly, as if sleepy.

And unable to hold on any longer, Castiel let out his last shuddering breath and closed his eyes for the very last time.

---

Author's note: I have an AU version of this chapter (with steamy scenes) on my profile as a separate story called Darkest of Your Days.