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.

21. Tore Me Down

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 21 / Tore Me Down

"And every silence all around me is screaming through the walls."
- Copeland

---

Later That Day

Dean and Alex got out of the Impala at the same time, slamming their doors in unplanned unison. Their hands went into their jacket pockets as they leaned back on opposite sides of the car, facing different directions. Sam would meet them here soon just as agreed—and Alex was anxious. About everything.

The late afternoon was cool and gloomy, a misty fog blanketing the landscape. A crow gave a harsh cackling call somewhere nearby, and cars passed by on the adjacent highway in muted whooshes.

"You okay, Al?" From the sound of his voice, she could tell her brother had turned his head slightly toward her.

Inside her jacket pocket, fingers moved against the wilting yellow flower there. All she could do was shrug, her back still to him. "I guess."

There was a short silence, then a soft attempt at a chuckle. "Yeah, me neither."

She heard him shift, breathe deeply, and let it out a troubled sigh. She knew he was thinking about everything they had seen in 2014. A world gone to complete and utter hell. She hadn't really slept since, even though she was exhausted and needed rest badly. All she could do was remember, remember. Lucifer, in Sam's body—no light or life in his eyes, only chilling malice—Dean, a broken, harsh shell of a man who had lost his way—and… him. Alex shut her eyes at the thought.

Castiel. Never in a hundred years would she have guessed he could ever turn out like that. Fallen from grace. A fucked up human just like the rest of them. Beaten, broken, scarred, destroyed in ways she didn't even really understand. And in love with her, or at least with the person she would become...

How were you supposed to come back from that? From going to the future and finding out the angel who saved your brother, restored your voice, and defied Heaven to help your family… that all he wanted before going to his death was a kiss from you? And how did you even begin to confront the floodgate of intense feelings it all set free inside?

Alex didn't know how to process. She knew at least one thing for sure: she hadn't been able to stop thinking of him, both of him. She was trying to figure out when the one she knew now in this present time became that Cas, the one who loved her and wanted her like that. Moreover, when had she begun to feel that way about him? Although, if she were being honest with herself… hadn't she already started to, a little bit? ...More than a little bit?

She closed her eyes, remembering a clutter of moments and sensations in rapid succession:

Every time he'd healed her—the touch of his hand, the blazing intensity in his eyes.

That look on his face any time she'd been hurt, even just a little bit.

How he hadn't understood her anger at him about his blind obedience to Heaven—then subsequently found it within himself to rebel.

The soft look he gave her sometimes that no one else ever had.

Him healing her voice. Him healing her voice. She would never be over that one.

The unforgettable kiss she couldn't stop reliving.

She opened her eyes again.

Earlier that very day, when he asked her what was wrong, she'd lied to his face. And he hadn't believed her. Her breathing hitched slightly as she realized... he was learning her. She shuddered softly, swallowing thickly.

Cas had gotten under her skin without her even realizing. He was so unassuming in that way. She hadn't guarded herself well enough, because she hadn't expected it. Not only because she never really anticipated having any kind of real relationship—but because he wasn'thuman. He was an angel. The body he inhabited wasn't even his. Not really. She forgot sometimes. That Castiel was the blinding light that had glowed underneath his skin when he healed. That Cast was some kind of heavenly, celestial spirit who had traversed the universe for thousands—hundreds of thousands?—of years. But even when she thought about this massive, baffling reality… it changed nothing about the way she felt.

It was like fate got off on torturing her. And damn, did it know how. That kiss in 2014 haunted her. His arms around her, the words so full of meaning and love, the tender and desiring look in his eyes. She could still remember every part of him against her in the kiss they had drowned in.

Her thoughts made breath shorter and the rising anxiety around it pissed Alex off. The more she thought about it, the more unsure she felt about the authenticity of what had happened. If the 2014 they'd visited was some elaborate prank by Zachariah designed to mess with her head, well, it had worked. The more she thought about it, the more she thought that had to be the case. Because in what world would an ex-angel hold her like that and kiss her like that? The angels were messing with their heads like before.

…Probably.

And in that 'probably' laid the problem. Alex understood she was going to drive herself crazy over this for a long time to come and already felt exhausted by it.

"There he is," Dean said, and Alex came out of herself. Looking up, she could see a dark car rolling closer along the dirt road, and she stood up straight. The car came to a stop.

Sam's familiar figure got out and Alex went to him, almost running the last two steps. She momentarily didn't care about all the water under the bridge—she was just so, so relieved. They hugged tightly then Alex looked up to search his face. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He looked strained and nervous, offering a brave smile. "It's really good to see you. I've missed you guys."

Dean, who had sauntered up slowly, was more reserved. "Sam."

Sam's expression fell, and then Dean pulled out Ruby's knife. For a second, Sam and Alex both stared at it nervously, but then Dean held it out to his brother handle first. "If you're serious and you want back in… you should hang onto this. I'm sure you're rusty." Sam accepted the blade with hesitation and Dean sighed, getting ready to apologize. "Look, man, I'm sorry. I dunno. But I was, uh—wrong."

Sam looked at Alex, then back at Dean apprehensively. "What made you change your mind?"

Dean and Alex exchanged a fleeting glance. "Long story," Dean answered a couple beats later. "Point is… maybe we are each other's Achilles heel. Maybe they'll always find a way to use the two of us or the three of us against each other, I dunno. I just know we're all we've got. More than that—we keep each other human. We keep each other alive."

Sam was touched by the words. "Thank you. Really. Thank you. I won't let you down." He looked at Alex. "Either of you." She gave him a hopeful smile. Sam took a deep breath, fixing Dean with an intent gaze. "So, what now?"

"We make our own future." Dean gave off the impression that he was optimistic. But Alex noticed how tensely he held himself.

Sam considered then nodded, sort of hesitant and earnest at the same time. "Okay. Yeah. Sounds good."

---

That Night

Dean looked closely at Alex to make sure she was really asleep. She breathed deeply, her mouth open a little bit. She was exhausted (hell, he was too)—but she hadn't slept at all in the three days they visited 2014 except in Cas's truck for maybe an hour. So she was pretty conked out now. She slept on her side with her arms crossed, head turned into the pillow, hair all over her face, breathing wheezy and deep. Yup, definitely asleep. A little smirk tugged at Dean's mouth. He turned, beer in hand, and sat across from Sam in the dim motel room, his momentary amusement at Alex fading. He really didn't want to have this conversation, but he knew he'd been putting it off for far too long now. With Sam back, with everything he'd seen, it was time.

He'd already told Sam briefly about 2014 on the car ride that day, but there was something else, something that felt even bigger and darker eating at him. He waited a couple seconds, getting up the nerve while Sam typed away on the laptop. Dean cleared his throat gruffly. "Okay, look, Sam. We gotta talk."

Sam glanced up curiously, his fingers going still. "About?"

Dean clasped his hands on the table and his beer now sat to the side, forgotten. "You're not gonna like it."

Sam hesitantly nodded. He shut his laptop, picking up on the fact that this was going to warrant his full attention. "The demon blood? Yeah, I kinda figured you'd want to talk about it. We haven't yet, I mean, not in depth." He paused, looking down, an exasperated little smile on his face, his eyebrows shooting up. "You kinda didn't let me before."

Dean ignored Sam's passive aggressive comment—it wasn't demon blood he wanted to talk about, not really. There was something almost worse. "I, uh, I know I promised you a few years ago we wouldn't talk about this, uh, particular incident again, but after everything that's happened… I think we gotta." He looked at Sam meaningfully, and for a second, his brother stared, confused. And then chilled understanding washed over Sam's face and he went totally still and silent. He looked at Dean with a questioning, dread-filled gaze. Dean forced himself to maintain eye contact. "Come on, Sam—I just came back from five years in the future where you said yes to Lucifer and the world went to hell because of it. I need to make sure that's not gonna happen."

Sam's chin was low, his eyes staring at Dean balefully, nostrils flared. "It won't."

"How do you know that, huh?" Dean challenged. "I've been thinking about it, and hard too. All the things you've done up to now." He paused weightily. "And not just recently."

Sam looked cornered and pissed. "Dean, you promised we wouldn't talk about that again."

"Yeah well that was before I knew you were Lucifer's friggin' vessel," Dean hissed. Sam's eyes fell away from his.

Dean's jaw worked, clenching and unclenching. He wanted to get up and walk away, but he needed to keep going. He stared Sam down. "Look, all I know is that I got to keep this family safe. And lately I've been thinking, do I have to keep this family safe from you?" Sam's eyes snapped up to his. "I need you to be straight with me. If we're gonna hunt together, if you're gonna sleep in the same room as Alex, you need to tell me you're not gonna go down that road. I need to know you are not going to say yes to Lucifer, no matter what."

Sam just looked at him, sullen and tense. "I told you. I'm not."

Dean sat back in his chair. "You're gonna have to do a little bit better than that, Sam. I mean I hate to say it, but it makes sense now. Lucifer, wanting you."

Sam was glaring at the table, his cheeks hollow from his clenched jaw. "Because of the things I did as a kid."

Dean's eyes dropped, staring unseeingly into his lap. "Yeah."

Their eyes met at the same instant, guarded and mistrustful. Sam wet his lips, obviously trying to stay collected. "Look, I haven't done any of that stuff in like fifteen years, maybe more." He paused. "I promise."

Dean leaned in, voice a little lower. "Yeah, you're a real nice guy aren't you. You think I buy that sensitive, understanding crap you peddle? I've known you your whole life, Sam. And I know you're not really that guy." He paused. "I've seen how dark you are inside." Sam looked stung and fearful, and Dean just looked at him, grim. "I remember, Sam. You probably think I forgot, right?"

"What, Dean?" Sam muttered, looking like he was trying to brush it off, "It was just angsty kid stuff, like me trying to deal with being angry about everything. So what, I started a few fires at a couple schools, stole some stuff? No one was hurt, no one found out it was me."

"I found out. I did," Dean said gruffly, and paused, feeling physically sick as he thought about it, barely able to look at Sam now. "You're lucky I never told Dad about any of that shit you pulled. But you know the fires and stealing weren't even what I was talking about."

Sam's eyes locked onto Dean's face, and he looked caught, guilty, afraid. There was a very long pause, where he struggled for words. "I—I don't know why I did that. I still don't know why, Dean."

"I do," Dean said grimly. "It was Azazel, Sam. That blood he dripped into your mouth? It pumped through you then when you were a kid. Just like it's pumping through you now."

Sam could say nothing. He was shaking his head in absolute horror. "What I did... it wasn't me. It wasn't."

Dean met his brother's agonized gaze, and he almost choked on the lump in his throat. "Sam… it was."

It had been a cold fall day. Frost on the ground, dead leaves falling off the trees. Dean and Alex had been playing hide and seek around one of the motels. Dad was gone, as usual. Sam had gone off on his own, probably to the gas station down the street. Maybe Alex was hiding behind the motel? Dean really didn't like it when she decided to get creative about her hiding spots. He always got worried if he couldn't find her right away. He told her a million times not to hide outside of the motels, but sometimes she did anyway, always so amused by his angry rants.

He had looked all over their room—no Alex—he had checked the lobby of the motel—no Alex. So he went around the back of the motel and that's where he heard a strange sound, like a cat crying. Rounding the dumpster, he froze at what he saw. Sam sat there in between the dumpster and the painted brick wall, holding a mewing kitten in his hands. Scattered around Sam were dark furry, bloody lumps—Dean realized with horror that they were dead kittens that had literally been pulled to pieces. The word horror was not strong enough for what Dean had felt seeing that.

Sam had seen him and startled, face suddenly blank. For a minute, Dean had thought Sam was possessed, so he grabbed his little brother and shoved him against the wall and shouted the exorcism chant. Nothing happened. And that meant the dead kittens, the blood splattered on the ground and on Sam's hands—that meant it was Sam who had done that. Sam. And with fear and shame and horror, Sam had broken down, claiming he didn't know why he did that, that he had been in a trance and hadn't known what he was doing, please don't tell Dad, please don't tell Alex, I'm so scared, help me Dean, please help me. In scared-shitless silence, Dean had helped Sam get rid of the little torn up bodies, then wash the blood off his hands. Sam swore he hadn't been in control or even aware as it had happened. And Dean had accepted it, because any alternative otherwise was too horrific. After that, they never spoke of that day again. Dean had never quite looked at Sam the same way though, and Sam had never quite been able to look at Dean without shame touching the edges of his eyes.

Dean wanted to believe that the kittens had been a freak one-off circumstance, but maybe that was denial. Sam hadn't been perfect. He'd started fires at school. He'd stolen. Dean had covered for him or ignored that stuff, figuring it was because they had such a hard childhood. That Sam just needed an outlet for his anger and disappointment. But… now Dean wished he had seen those signs for what they really were. Sam was dark inside, and not because of anything Dean or Dad had done or not done. Because now, after all Sam's betrayals—the demon blood, beating Dean to a pulp, consorting with Ruby, lying constantly, attacking his own sister, killing people with his mind—Dean saw that his biggest mistake was willful ignorance. But he still really wanted to believe Sam could conquer this.

"Dean." Startled out of his gruesome thoughts, Dean realized Sam was staring at him, vaguely accusingly. "You said you wouldn't hold that stuff over my head. So are you going to let it go, or aren't you?" Dean said nothing, and Sam's eyebrows knit together. "I would do anything to take it all back."

"Yeah, you've said that before," Dean said dully.

"Because I mean it," Sam insisted, angry again.

Dean looked at him long and hard, then took another swig of his beer, not even tasting the now-lukewarm liquid. He set the bottle down, staring at it. "Yeah, I said I'd let that stuff stay in the past. But you said you were okay and then I find out a few weeks ago that you're sneaking around behind my back, drinking demon blood, lying to your family through your teeth. You chose a demon over your own family. You literally attacked our little sister as I watched. And you damn near killed me!" Sam looked at Dean resentfully. Dean just stared back. "So, yeah. I got every reason to bring up the past. Because you're not okay."

"Really, Dean? I mean, are any of us okay?" Sam asked with one of those little nervous laughs of his. Dean fell silent and Sam leaned forward intently. "Have you taken a good look at Alex lately?"

"Of course I have dude, I'm the one that's been with her this whole time!" Dean fired back. He poked his index finger down hard onto the tabletop for emphasis. "All the years and times you've disappeared, it's been me and her. Dad, not always, you, not so much, but me and her, yeah. Always. So don't you try to tell me I don't know when something is wrong with her. She's fine."

Sam sat back in his seat with his arms crossed, looking at Dean with an air of superior annoyance. "Don't kid yourself, Dean. Something's really eating at her."

"Maybe it's you, Sam!" Dean exploded, shooting up to his feet. "Did you think of that?"

"Why is it always me, Dean?" Sam fired back, on his feet now too. The brothers were practically shouting, not even remembering it was the dead of night and they weren't alone in the room. "There's a lot more to this than what I did!" Sam roared, getting in Dean's face. "What about what you've done?"

A small, grumpy voice made them both turn. "What the hell are you two yelling about?" Alex was sitting up halfway, groggy and annoyed, her hair sticking out to the side.

"Nothing," Dean said, glancing tersely at Sam. "Go back to sleep."

She mumbled something sour, groaned, then flopped back down and tossed her arm over her face.

Conversation cut short, the brothers just kind of glared at each other, then Sam sat back down, re-opened his laptop, and scowled at the screen, clicking the scroll pad harder than necessary. Dean swiped his beer bottle off the table angrily and paced for a minute, pissed off. It had been a lot easier with Sam gone. A hell of a lot easier.

Whenever Sam was gone, Dean had this tendency to believe they could work through their issues and not fight. And it never went that way, ever. Maybe it was because fate had been building them towards this divide since they had been born; this showdown that was supposed to go down between Michael and Lucifer. Dean scoffed at himself. He didn't even believe in fate.

Dean glanced at his sleeping sister's form, then at Sam, who hunched over his laptop. All Dean could think is that he hoped he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his life. Sam was a good hunter, a decent human being most of the time, and his brother who he loved deeply. But could he be trusted? This was pretty much the last chance Dean could afford to give. And that thought was heavy enough to break Dean's heart in two. He didn't want to think about it.

So he just sat down on one of the beds and crossed his arms. He wasn't going to sleep until Sam did.

---

One Month Later

Alex smoothed another page of Dad's journal down as she slowly flipped through. She was careful not to wrinkle or leave dog ears. She ran her fingers over words in Dad's bold penmanship. Usually, she looked through the journal for the purpose of research. But today she just was missing the way things used to be. When they were younger. Even though it had been shitty, it hadn't been this shitty. She didn't miss Dad as much as she just missed a time when her brothers weren't walking on eggshells around each other and putting her in the middle of it. Alex took her fingers off the page, thinking offhandedly about a nap. She was tired to her bones.

The last month had been silent. No Cas. No angels. No demons. Just monsters of the week. Currently she and her brothers were in Nebraska in a town where people were being killed off by practical jokes—one girl scratched her brains out after the kid she was babysitting put itch powder in her brush. The Winchesters traced the murders back to a boy named Jesse. Somehow—they weren't sure how yet, they had just met him earlier that day—his irrational fears were killing the townspeople.

Alex would have been really fascinated by the case in times past as it was so out there and unusual, even for them... but right now, she didn't even know why they were bothering. Wasn't the world about to end? And here they were doing grocery runs.

She hadn't slept well in forever, well—her whole life, but it had been worse lately. Lots of nightmares. More than usual. A lot of them involving Cas, the one from 2014. She kept dreaming about him dying alone, laying on the ground and choking on his own blood, afraid and alone. She would wake up sweating and panicked, sometimes even tearful. The saddest part was, if she and her brothers changed fate, she was mourning a person who would never really exist. But he had burned himself onto her heart. She could never forget. She would never forget.

The door of the motel opened, making her heart jump. It was Dean, by himself, keys jingling as he tossed them down. "Hey," she greeted, glancing up at him momentarily from the journal. "Where's Sam?"

"Still out, digging up stuff on the kid," Dean said, and stopped in the middle of the room, looking at her tersely. "You okay?"

She didn't miss the confrontational frown on his face, but instead flipped another page pointedly. "Yep."

"Uh huh." He let out a grumpy sounding sigh then came and sat beside her. Alex glared at him, silently warning Dean to back off while he still could, but he just stared back, unimpressed, and then asked, "Okay. So who pissed in your Cheerios today?" Alex gave him a sullen glower. He tried a half-way concerned expression. "Come on Al, level with me. You've seemed… I dunno, kind of out of it for the past few weeks."

She looked away silently. Both Dean and Sam had been giving her looks the past few weeks, trying to see what was wrong with her, why she had been so quiet. She'd been purposefully avoiding them. Making excuses and not talking much.

"Tell me," Dean prompted, and he wouldn't look away. It wasn't a threat, but it almost sounded like he was warning her that she'd better or else.

"I don't know," Alex muttered evasively. "Nothing."

Dean gave her an annoyed look, crossed his arms. "Bullshit. Total, complete bullshit."

Alex's eyes flicked up to his. "Fine. You wanna know what's wrong? How about every single damn thing, Dean?" She set Dad's journal down and crossed her arms. "I used to think life sucked and that was before the whole apocalypse, Lucifer, Michael thing. So if it didn't suck before, it fucking blows now. You wanna know why I'm acting weird? Because I don't think we can win this." Her confidence faltered. "I don't."

Silence. Dean seemed surprised by her outburst. "I'm not letting Sam say yes," he finally said, as if reminding her of something she should already know.

Both of her eyebrows shot up. "Letting?" Alex could have rolled her eyes. "Don't kid yourself. Sam's gonna do what Sam wants to do. He may be trying to play nice right now to earn your good graces back Dean, but seriously. Are you that dumb? Sam's got enough pride to match yours and then some."

Dean's scowl deepened, he held up his hands defensively. "Whoa, why are you getting on my case?"

"Well someone needs to," Alex snapped. "You're being stubborn and stupid. How many times has this exact issue gotten us an inch from losing our lives? Your pride and shortsightedness."

Dean looked stung, but more than that, he looked like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. His scowl had fallen. "You think I'm gonna say yes to Michael."

Alex almost wished she hadn't said anything because of the look on his face. She grasped for a gentle way to be honest. She looked down, staring absently at a loose thread on the blanket. "They'll find a way to convince you. Whether it's using me or Sam or something else." She looked at him. "Yeah. I do."

His expression was sad. Hurt. "You should trust me more than that. After all we've been through?"

Alex bit the insides of her cheeks. Her voice was unsteady, but she looked at him squarely. She couldn't stop now. "It's because of all we've been through. I know you, Dean. Better than anyone else. They'll figure out a way."

His jaw clenched oddly, he looked down. For a minute, she thought he was going to concede that she was right. Then he shook his head and stood up, walking away. "No. You're wrong. I am not gonna say yes. I don't care what those sons of bitches threaten, what future they show me…" He turned back around, and he had this look on his face like complete belief. "We're gonna find a way to avoid all of this. Fate and destiny and all that crap? I'm not letting it dictate my life. And by the way, do me a favor and stop feeling sorry for yourself all the damn time."

"That's not fair!" Alex protested, standing up hard. "I'm not… feeling sorry for myself." She stared at him a second as her true emotions came out. "I'm scared, Dean."

Her brother looked taken aback, like he hadn't even considered that. Alex looked at him pleadingly. "I don't wanna be. But have you looked at our family lately? We're torn apart. It's been nothing but fights and tension and us barely able to hold it together. I can't concentrate, I can't think straight. I can't sleep at night. I'm never hungry. All I can think about is what the future is gonna look like for us. Because if we're not together in this, I don't think we stand a chance."

For a long beat, Dean reeled as he let her words sink in. He opened his mouth to say something. And then the door opened and Sam walked in, a stack of papers in his hand. "So, I found out some stuff about Jesse," he said, then looked up, took in their expressions, and frowned. His timing was absolutely awful. "What's… going on?"

Dean glanced at Alex, who was sitting back down on the bed, expression hard to read. "Uh, nothing. Everything's fine. What'd you find out about Jesse?"

Sam clearly didn't believe it, but with one last questioning glance, he dropped the subject.

And just like that, they all proceeded to artfully avoid the elephant in the room—just like they had for the rest of their lives.

---

? ? ? ? ? ? ?

Alex sat up, suddenly awake and very befuddled. She was in a bed with white sheets and a fluffy comforter, in a nice, clean, bright carpeted bedroom. The walls were a soft beige color, the air smelled like fresh laundry. Photos of children's faces dotted the walls. Panicked confusion overcame Alex. What the…? Above what was probably the closet door, there were wrought iron words that proclaimed "Live - Laugh - Love" in curly black script. Alex tilted her head to the side. Huh?

There was a porch to her left with big sliding glass doors that were currently open, letting in the sound of happy birds singing. She could see a manicured green yard through the railing and was that a... Buick in the driveway?! She stared around the room some more. This definitely wasn't a motel. She couldn't remember what had happened yesterday—where had she been before this? She couldn't recall anything recent, her brain felt like mush. She suddenly heard water running behind the closed door of what must be the bathroom. She jumped out of the bed, tense and backed up against one of the walls. "Sam!" she hissed, awkwardly poised to fight or run, she wasn't sure which. "Dean?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the bathroom door opened beside her head. "Sweetie, you gonna get up anytime soon? It's almost seven o'clock."

She almost fell over, recognizing the voice before he walked through the door—it was Cas, but—what was he wearing? And what happened to his hair? And why had he just called her sweetie? He wore a pair of tailored light-colored dress pants with a crisp, well-fitting white button up. His dark hair was slicked down and parted neatly on the side. He slung a red tie around his collar, using the mirror beside the bathroom door to watch himself do it.

Even though that looked like Cas, she was almost a hundred percent sure it wasn't. Was she dreaming? This didn't feel like a dream. Alex tilted her head to the side. "…Cas?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out," he said with an air of distracted annoyance, concentrating on his image in the mirror. He glanced at her, almost judgmentally. "You getting dressed or what?"

She hadn't even realized she wasn't in her regular clothes. She looked down, realizing she was in a fuzzy bathrobe and patterned pajama bottoms. What the hell was happening? She tried harder to remember where she had been before here, but her mind felt muddled, she couldn't think.

"I picked out an outfit for you," Cas said, nodding toward the closet door. She followed his eye line to a little red dress hanging on the closet door knob.

She looked at it then looked back at him incredulously. "No!"

He glanced at her, amused. "Oh, really?" He snapped his fingers. And suddenly, she was wearing it. She gaped at herself—it was skintight and short with a plunging neckline and no sleeves. She glowered up at him. He was grinning, which looked strange on Cas's face. Almost creepy, in fact. "Looking good, hon!" He sauntered up, his half-done tie forgotten. He put his hands on her hips and started to pull her to him.

"Hey!" She shoved him away. "Keep your damn hands off me!"

He pulled her to him despite the protest, a disturbing little smile on his face. She couldn't break his vice-like grip. He laughed patronizingly and put a hand on the side of her head, petting her hair. "Oh Alex, sweetie, I can touch you however much I like. We're married."

Alex stared. "Married?"

"Um, ye-es," he said in a bizarre sing-song voice, and pulled her right hand up, indicating the huge glittering diamond on a silver band. It was gaudy as hell, and Alex almost recoiled at the sight of it on her finger. That was the moment when suddenly, Alex remembered: she and her brothers had been investigating some cartoony deaths and Dean had theorized a trickster was involved behind the bizarre murders. Holy shit. This had to be the she were right, it wasn't just any trickster. This had to be the Trickster. Oh my god. Okay. Now it made sense. Okay. She stared into the face of 'Cas' and almost called the Trickster out right then and there, but instead shut her mouth, realizing she had an opportunity here. She would pretend she hadn't figured it out and take him out when he didn't expect it.

Fake Cas let go of her and examined himself in the mirror, adjusting his perfectly knotted tie and straightening his cufflinks before he grabbed a piece of candy out of the bowl on top of the dresser and popped it in his mouth. Alex watched from the corner of her eye, suspicion confirmed. "The kids are probably hungry," he said through the candy. "You should get a move on."

"The kids..." Alex repeated, suddenly feeling very afraid. None of this is real, she reminded herself. And in the kitchen, she could probably find a weapon—tricksters had to be stabbed with a wooden stake dipped in the blood of their victim. Wouldn't the victim be her in this situation? So, all she needed was a stake. Surely she could find some piece of wooden furniture or something.

Cas was heading out of the bedroom door, looking at her expectantly. Alex resisted the urge to shove him through the wall, and instead followed him downstairs, trying to appear as though she didn't know what was going on. She didn't have to pretend for very long. They went down a massive staircase and through a lavish household that was a complete zoo. There were children… everywhere. All of them had dark brown hair.

There was a shrieking screaming wail—a crash—a dog barking—screams of delight—and screams that were just screams—as three kids ran past, rolls of half-unrolled toilet paper in their hands (...why?). Alex saw more kids jumping on the couches, one standing on the table and practicing ballet with a bucket on her head, another one doing karate moves on another who was crying and screaming in protest—and still more threw cereal at each other. One boy off by himself was walking on his hands and then fell backwards into a pile of toys, and three more children popped out of the pile when he plummeted in. Alex was unable to set her eyes on how many there were. "Holy shit. How many damn kids do we have?"

"I lost count awhile ago," Cas said, shrugging, then gave her a disapproving look. "Also, language, hon."

They passed a little girl who drew stick figures on the wall with dark red lipstick—her hair was smeared in what appeared to be vaseline. "Jess, no sweetiekins," Cas said as he passed, and scooped the kid up, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

Alex didn't even have time to react as two more of the kids appeared out of nowhere and started yanking at her skirt, shouting "Mommy! Mama!" and one of them was saying "I want cereal, I want cereal!" The other kid seemed outraged by the suggestion and tackled the first one. "No, pancakes!"

There was a huge crash and Alex whirled to see a huge flat screen TV had toppled to the ground in the middle of the living room. Cas gave the little girl wailing on the floor a withering look. "That's why Daddy said not to use the TV as a balance beam, Jillian." He looked at Alex pointedly. "Alex—what are you doing? Take care of this."

"I don't—" she started.

Another kid ran up to her, an upside-down squeeze bottle of jelly in hand that left globs of it splatting all over the wooden floor. He wore sticky purple jam all over his face, too. "I'm making jelly on poptarts, look Mommy! Yay!"

Something crashed into her leg—a little boy with shaggy brown hair being tackled by another little boy with short hair. "Joey won't give me my monster truck!" One of them screeched. There was an enraged scream. "Jared, it's mine!" They began rolling around on the floor, hitting each other.

Alex felt dizzy, turning around and seeing nothing but endless amounts of children doing insane things—she stumbled toward the kitchen, desperate to find a way to end this bizarre thing. "Johnny is eating my deodorant again!" someone said to her right, but she just kept walking toward the kitchen until she slipped on something wet—there was a bucket of mopping solution there beside her foot, a lot of it spilled onto the floor—one of the kids had his head dunked into it. Alex wasn't even sure what compelled her, but she stopped and plucked him out, holding him at arm's length as sudsy Pine Sol dripped from his wet head. The kid screamed bloody murder and kicked like a madman, spilling the rest of the bucket everywhere. Alex backed away. This is why she didn't like kids. They were like insane asylums on wheels!

"JENNA! GIVE THAT BACK!" and "Jackson! JACKSON! STOP JACKSON!" and "Joan won't give me the markers, I WANT THE MA-aAaAa-RKERS!" Their names started with J. ALL of them. Who the hell would do that?

Cas sat primly at the kitchen table as crazed kids bounced around him throwing things and fighting with each other. He opened a newspaper pleasantly, looking at her lovingly. "Coffee, please, hon," he said, then returned to his paper. "And make it snappy. I don't wanna be late to work." Thoroughly pissed off but resigned to not fly off the handle, Alex turned around and went into the kitchen. She didn't miss the fact that as they had walked through the house, she had spotted zero doors. This wasn't a real house. There was little point trying to get out. So instead, she swept the kitchen with her eyes, trying to devise a plan.

She saw a bunch of stuff she wasn't sure of—pretty sure that was a blender, and that was a toast-maker—ah ha, a knife block. And beside it, a bunch of spatulas and such in a container. She saw a wooden mixing spoon. Well, beggars couldn't be choosers. She took it out and cracked it in half over her knee with a loud cough then looked over her shoulder. The Trickster was still reading, not paying attention. She grabbed a knife from the block and steeled herself, already grimacing before she even cut. She opened her palm up, held it flat, then sliced into the skin. Shit, it never got easier, cutting yourself. Bright red blood flooded out from the cut across her palm and she stuck the splintered end of the wooden spoon against it, rolling it around in her blood. This better work. She glanced at the Trickster again, and her stomach lurched. Why did he have to look like Cas? It wasn't going to make this any easier. She grabbed the coffee pot in her other hand, held the wooden spoon behind her back with her bleeding hand, approaching him slowly.

He glanced at her, annoyed. "Are you gonna pour it or not?" Alex whipped out her makeshift weapon and leapt forward, stabbing the splintered, bloody end of the spoon into his chest, purposefully not looking at his face—she couldn't. But she did hear him scream out in pain. She stumbled back, temporarily horrified. All the kids had stopped and were staring at her and Cas was slumped in the chair, the spoon sticking out of his chest at a weird angle, his eyes staring unseeingly off into space. Alex was breathing hard, staring around in a panic, waiting for the illusion to disappear as her expression quickly became more and more upset. Nothing was changing.

"Really, sweets, pro-obably shouldn't kill me in front of the kids. It's not the best example to set." She whirled. Another Cas! He looked the same as the dead one did—same outfit, same creepy smile. He began to approach, and without a second thought, Alex raced back the way they had come, kids clambering after her. After bounding up the stairs, she slammed the bedroom door behind her and locked it, panicking. Why hadn't that worked?! And now she was feeling a little dizzy from blood loss. She looked at the gash in her hand—and squeezed her hand into a fist, trying to stop the bleeding. She had cut herself a little deeper than she meant to.

"A-hem."

Alex turned around fast. There was Cas, looking at her with his hands on his hips and a little smile on his face as if to say 'did you really think you could lock me out?' He stood in front of the open doors to the balcony, looking pleased with himself.

"Okay, Trickster, good one. Very funny." Alex was practically giving off steam at this point. "Hilarious."

He ignored her. "You know, I don't want to be critical, but I've noticed you can't keep it together here lately. Ever since the kids… and your weight gain… I just… you don't try. It's not hard to do your job—cook, clean, take care of the kids…" he bit his lip, looked up and down her body slowly with hungry eyes, "please me sexually..."

That was the last straw. Alex walked right up to him and shoved him off the edge of the balcony over the railing where he fell with a huge crash on top of a plastic playground. "I know that's you, Trickster, now cut the bullshit!" she bellowed.

He grinned up at her. "Ouch."

There was a sound behind her, like fabric flapping in the wind, and Alex turned around then almost fell over because standing a few feet in front of her… "Cas?" Her heart leapt to the sky. The angel in the trench coat took in her outfit, then the room, an odd expression on his face. "Is that really you?" she asked.

"Yes, of course it's me," he replied, and he sounded urgent. "I've been looking for you and your brothers for days—you've been missing."

"What?" He met her wide eyes and then looked off at the space behind her, his frown deepening.

Alex turned to see the Trickster, still in Cas's form, standing behind her, giving her a chastising look. "Now, honey, pushing your husband out of a window is not a very nice thing to do."

"Husband?" Cas repeated with narrowed eyes, and stepped forward putting himself between Alex and, well, himself. "Who are you? Why have you trapped her here?"

The Trickster giggled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Cas's frown deepened further, and he paused. "Yes. That's why I asked."

There was a sigh and a roll of the eyes. "Oh, Castiel, you always were so awkward," Trickster said, and Alex looked at him sharply—not missing the inference that he knew Cas.

At that point, Cas apparently decided he was done talking to the Trickster and turned around, reaching for Alex purposefully. "Let's go." But before he could reach her, Cas went flying backwards, yanked roughly into the thin air like a rag doll, slamming into the solid wood dresser behind. It cracked in half at the impact, and Cas's body was immediately yanked forward again, flying headfirst into the opposite end of the room. Bits of plaster went flying everywhere as he collided with a wall and cracked it, leaving a huge gaping hole. Alex stared in horror, unable to physically move. Stumbling to his feet, Cas stared at the Trickster, seeming to be confused and almost alarmed. He had a bloody nose. "How—?" he started, but the Trickster cut him off.

"Sorry, bored! Bye bye!" He snapped his fingers, and Cas disappeared. The Trickster turned to Alex, giving her a smile. "He's just precious, isn't he?" Alex stared back, terrified. How the hell was a mere trickster doing this? How was he yanking around an all-powerful angel without even breaking a sweat?!

"What did you do to him?!" Alex demanded angrily, grabbing Trickster by two fistfuls of shirt. "I'll rip your head off!"

He seemed delighted. "Aww, are you worried about him? How sweet." Suddenly, he morphed into the familiar face of the Trickster—he was a small guy with big brown eyes, an expressive face—and she hated him.

Alex leveled him with a death glare then let go with a shove and backed up. "There you are."

He spread his arms wide, looking pleased with himself. "Here I am!"

Alex could barely contain her rage. "What the hell is going on here? What game are you playing? What did you just do to Cas? And what have you done with my brothers?"

"Ah, relax," he said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Castiel will be fine." He made a face. "Maybe." He grinned, his eyes bright. "And your loser brothers? They're stuck in TV land." He almost giggled at her confused expression. "While I wait for them to do what I want, I figured, hey, why not a little side entertainment with my sidepiece, huh?" He paused, pretending to be very thoughtful. "Plus, I kinda let them know I had you here to convince them to hurry up the decision."

"What decision?"

His lightness was suddenly gone, replaced by chilling resolve. "I want them to stop messing around and say yes."

Alex felt chilled. Surely, he didn't mean… "Say yes?" she repeated.

He rolled his eyes. "Duh, Alex, get with the program! To Michael, to Lucifer. I want your brothers need to quit dragging their feet and play their damn roles already so we can get this show on the road already." He pulled a bored face. "It's getting real old."

Alex shook her head, looking at him coldly. "Look, I don't know what angle you're trying to play, but they won't do it."

He laughed with great enthusiasm, his eyes crinkling up and sparkling. "Not even you believe that, babe." He shook his head as the laugh faded.

Alex glared. He was right. And it pissed her off that he had called that bluff. "Why do you care? And don't you realize the whole world's gonna burn if Michael and Lucifer have their little class reunion?"

"Yeah, I know all of that. I just need it to happen so I can get on with my life, and have my moment while we're at it too," Trickster said, then made a goofy trumpeting announcement sound, complete with miming playing a horn, further mystifying Alex. He became faintly more serious. "And you need it to happen, too, Al." His use of Dean's nickname for her made her skin crawl. "You know why? Because you're tired of the whole damn thing. You know just as much as I do." He shrugged, trying to be cute. "One of them has to die. It's that simple."

"Neither of them has to die you dick," Alex growled.

He just smiled softly, crookedly. "Keep telling yourself that. You can't change it. Can't do a damn thing." He grew almost sympathetic. "As usual, kiddo." Alex's stomach jolted at the insightful barb. Like it or hate it, she could only stare into his eyes as he read her for filth: "Is it getting to you? Do you realize? You don't matter. And hell, I don't either. Sucks, doesn't it? Sam and Dean, they're the ones God and the Devil have grand purposes for. They're Cain and Abel all over again, Thor and Loki. And you? No one cares." He shrugged, feigning concern. "You're just the pretty one." He gave her a patronizing smile.

Alex squeezed her fist, feeling the blood wet in her palm. "Fuck you."

He tilted his head to the side, looked at her almost fondly, but the expression was tempered by an underlying amusement at her pain. "You know, I can see why he likes you. Castiel. You've got this vulnerable, not vulnerable, jaded-by-the-world yet innocent-little-flower vibe going. It's cute. Must have been quite the matchmaker at work for that little budding romance." She glared at him from the corner of her eye. Trickster was immensely pleased with himself. "It's funny, Al. You and I are a lot more alike than you think."

Alex had never heard anything more laughable. "I am nothing like you."

He feigned surprised. "What—you don't feel tired of your family bossing you around? Trying to control who you are and fighting over you? Telling you who you're supposed to be? See, I have older brothers, too." His expression darkened with a quiet anger. "And just like you, I'm the awkward third wheel. The black sheep. Difference is, I grew some balls and left, because I knew if I stayed I'd forever be the monkey-in-the-middle. Well." He spread his arms wide, grinned. "Baby, look how far I've come! Free to be me!"

Alex blinked with exaggerated boredom. "Are you done?"

Trickster beamed. "You, are, adorable." He grabbed her face in his superhuman strength hands, clasping her cheeks joyously for a second as he grinned. "We're gonna do this kid. You and me." He let go and Alex stumbled away indignantly. "Gosh, would ya look at the time." He put his hands on his hips. "I could stand here all day and chat, but... I have other stuff to do." He wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully. "So, here's the deal. While those two loser brothers of yours play my game, you're gonna survive. We're gonna get you in good fighting shape. Face your demons, yada yada yada." He wiggled his eyebrows again, but his smile was almost ominous now. "Admit it. You've been waiting for your chance to prove yourself, Alex. To do things on your own. But you've been too scared to try life out without precious Dean and sweet Sam in your back pocket. So, I took care of that for you!" He grinned like he'd done her some huge favor. "I decided to open the show with a little comedy. Gotta hand it to me, right? It was funny. You, married, with kids. Like that'd ever happen." He winked as Alex glowered. "I picked the angel because, well, I've seen inside your mind… saw that little crush of yours. So, so sweet." He looked around the room. "You two have a lovely home here."

Alex was made of stone and Trickster pouted. "Aw. Am I boring you? In a little while, you'll be wishing I was still here yakking your ear off." There was an ominous quality there that made Alex's pulse pick up. He grinned ear to ear, his perky demeanor back. "So. Survive. I'll be watching! And, hey... I might even make a few guest appearances."

"What—" Alex asked, then suddenly fell onto cold ground. Wait—where had the carpet gone?

Disoriented, she looked around. She was in a dark building—a warehouse? An old factory? She pushed herself up off the dusty floor, looking around while feeling sick and woozy, possibly because of her palm, which was still bleeding. She really needed to stop the blood loss. She realized she now wore fatigue-style pants, a tank top, and combat boots—was she back in the real world? She checked her back belt loop for her knife, but nothing was there.

She heard a soft sound somewhere nearby—a footstep? She froze, remembering what Trickster had said. Survive. Shit. She a door just to her left labeled control room. She slipped through it, shutting the door quietly then turning around—where she startled. She wasn't even in the warehouse anymore—she was in a dingy old motel room. She could smell the musty cigarette-smoke. Sitting on top of the cheap air conditioning vent that ran the length of the window, a little girl sat. Oh my God. That was her. Maybe seven years old? A couple GI Joe action figures sat nearby, forgotten. Little Alex stared out the window silently, her feet in beat up sneakers. Her dark brown hair was an unbrushed mess and she sat as still as a photograph. Her expression was so haunted, so sad. Alex watched herself, frozen. Outside, Dean and Sam played catch without her, and she remembered that all she wanted to do was go out there and play, too. She tried to walk forward toward herself, but suddenly felt her feet stuck. She looked down in confusion. Mud?

She couldn't move and was sinking downward with alarming speed. She struggled uselessly, sinking deeper into the ooze. She looked up, panicking, and saw nothing but marshy swamp and tangles of reeds in all directions. Oh god, she remembered this night. The Winchesters had been in swamps hunting a vengeful spirit and she'd gotten separated from her brothers, taken a wrong step, then gotten stuck. The whistle around her neck, she needed to blow it. She fumbled, clutching with trembling hands, and tried to blow, but she couldn't. Help, she wanted to shout, but she couldn't. She blew again, and a weak little sighing whistle sounded. Fear clenched her heart in a fist. She felt herself collapsing backwards, the world spiraling around her, and she couldn't grasp onto anything solid.

Alex fell sideways, the ground giving way into nothing, and then suddenly she was sprawled on short, clipped grass. She tried to stand, managing clumsily. She was in a wide-open park. She saw Sam just a few feet away, maybe twelve years old. He was with a bunch of kids around their age. Alex vaguely remembered this day. She had wanted to play football with the other kids, but they hadn't let her, if she were remembering right.

She watched young Sam, laughing and tossing the football back to another kid. "So, touch football, two taps for tackle," one of the boys said, then nudged Sam, pointing at Alex, who lurked at the edge of the park near the swings out of earshot. "Hey, isn't that your sister?"

"Yeah," Sam said, not sounding very keen.

"Why not go get her, she can play too."

Sam seemed reluctant, then surprised Alex with what he said next. "Nah. She's got problems. She can't play."

"Huh? Why not?"

"She just can't, okay? Asthma, bad leg." Lie after lie poured out to Alex's complete shock. "Be right back," Sam told the other kid.

Sam jogged over to Alex's younger self, and when he got to her, he shrugged. "They said they don't want you to play." Alex's mouth fell open at the complete and total lie—and little Alex tried to hide her disappointment but didn't do such a good job. And then Sam had the nerve to pretend to comfort her and put a hand on her shoulder, as if he felt bad for her. She had her notepad out and scribbled: U play. I watch.

"You sure?" And his face looked so concerned. Little Alex nodded, putting on a brave, I'm okay face. But Alex remembered how she'd felt. Heartbroken. Left out—as usual. Sam jogged back to the kids who were waiting for him. Alex watched the scene with totally new eyes. Anger—so much anger. Why? Why would Sam do that? What the fuck was that? How many other times had he lied to her like that? Her whole childhood she thought Sam had been on her side. That he'd protected her from cruel kids and tough moments and bullies. But after seeing that, she didn't feel so sure. Had he manipulated other situations, too? If so, why? She felt like her heart was breaking in half, and all the trust and love she had left for Sam threatened to shatter. On cue, the park seemed to melt away, and she was spinning around, unable to see anything, only feeling the sensation of rushing headlong through nothing.

"Come on, can't we just leave her for once? I can help on this hunt, Dad, you know I can—you need me on this one." Alex looked around, recognizing Dean's voice. She was outside a motel room, in the soft haze of twilight, watching a scene she didn't recognize. Dad and Dean were talking there, standing in a mostly empty parking lot. "Having her along will just slow us down, you know it will," Dean was protesting, and Alex felt a cruel sense of betrayal slap her—was he talking about her? "So why can't we just leave her here? She'll be fine."

Dad looked at Dean angrily. A look he had given his children so many times. "Just do what I say, Dean. Stay here with your sister. Just watch your damn sister. I'll be back."

As if on cue, a few-years-younger Alex poked her head out of a motel room door, her expression curious as she looked at her dad and brother. And then, with horror, Alex realized she did know what day this was. This was right before Dad had disappeared. A few weeks later, she and Dean would go find Sam and life would fall apart all over again. She stared at Dean, who was looking at younger-Alex with what she thought was reluctance, even a touch of resentment. Somehow, that hurt worse than anything had hurt in a long time. She felt tears gathering in her eyes. Tears of pain. She shut her eyes, trying to remove herself from the memory, then heard the sound of screams and shouting. Her eyes popped open and she was no longer in a parking lot with Dean and Dad.

She was now in an alley way, behind a building. She heard someone shouting an exorcism chant. She didn't remember this—she followed the voice and found Dean, maybe eleven or twelve holding a young Sam against the wall of the building. Sam looked terrified and he was covered in blood—his hands, his shirt. Alex was confused—then she looked down. There were these strange furry, bloody shapes littering the ground at their feet. Alex froze, shocked. What was this? What was happening?

"You're not possessed?" Dean asked Sam, sounding beyond horrified.

Sam was sobbing. "I d-don't know why I did it, Dean!"

Alex stumbled backwards, almost unable to breathe—no, that couldn't be real. That couldn't have happened! Suddenly, everything went dark, and she bumped into something, maybe a table. The lights came on and she squinted, shielding her eyes with a hand. "You can't be serious, John," she heard Bobby say, and she blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting. She was in Bobby's study. Dad and Bobby faced each other as if they were in the middle of an intense conversation. She frowned. This wasn't a memory of hers. Bobby and Dad looked a lot younger than she'd ever remembered seeing them look.

Dad was upset. "Bobby, come on. Try to understand. This isn't the life for her."

Bobby didn't look upset—he looked downright pissed. "John, if it's that important for you to protect her from the life, then quit the life."

Dad made a face she had seen him make a lot of times. Unwillingness. "You know I can't do that."

"Can't, or won't?" Bobby didn't sound like this very often—Alex could tell he was very, very angry. "John… I can't believe you're even considering this."

"It would keep her safe, Bobby, and you know it," Dad protested, but Bobby flew off the handle.

"She's your daughter, ya damn fool!" Bobby shouted. "You keep her safe! You!" The men looked at each other angrily. "You're tryin' to duck outta your responsibility."

Dad threw his hands up. "She makes everything harder, Bobby!"

"That's what kids do!" Bobby shouted again, then got in John's face. Alex didn't understand. "You really just want to give her up? Abandon her, sign her over to the state and then be done with her? She's not a pet for cryin' out loud. She's your six-year-old daughter. She needs her family. Maybe more than other kids do!"

As suddenly as it had started, the scene faded to black. Alex was suddenly back in the warehouse, breathless with tears in her eyes. Her pulse pounded from dizzy adrenaline and fear and grief. Suddenly, all made perfect, heartbreaking sense. The way Dad kind of passed her off to Dean. The way he always had this hesitation when he looked at her. Like he was disappointed in her, or disappointed in himself. Just disappointed period. He hadn't really given her any credit until her late teenage years. She had tried so hard to just get his attention, but she had always felt forgotten and overlooked. Now she knew for real. He hadn't wanted her. He hadn't wanted her. The pain of the rejection was almost physical and she leaned against the wall like she might be sick. More than anything she just wanted to break down. The pain was literally almost unbearable, her chest hurt.

And beside her, the doorknob turned.

Alex jumped back, panicking, realizing she had wasted valuable time not finding a weapon. She had maybe one second to try and clear herself mentally. Like a rod she pressed herself to the wall behind the door. A dark head poked in, and she brutally shoved the person head first into the wall, a desperate and stupid move. The owner of the dark head of hair seemed to have expected that, and grabbed her even as she pushed him. He whirled her strongly, shoving her against the wall.

Alex's entire body went limp, she couldn't breathe. Horror and shock came over her features. "D-Dad?!"

"Hi, baby." The sound of his voice—which she hadn't heard in years—sent a chill down her spine. It's not really him, it's not really him. But it looked just like him, the white hairs in his beard, the dark eyes, the tired wrinkles around his eyes, the crooked smile so much like Dean's. But his expression was chilling and filled with malice. His elbow bone was dug into her shoulder painfully and she protested, trying to wiggle free. He chuckled, smiling at her fondly. "You thought you got rid of Dad a long time ago, huh?" She looked at him in a mixture of confusion and pain, as his smile broaded into a patronizing grin. "Oh yes. I know, sweetie. I know you were relieved when Daddy dearest died."

She tried shaking her head, choking back tears. "No, no I wasn't," she protested weakly.

"Aw, that's my girl. Living in denial." He smiled proudly then touched the side of her face with the backs of his fingers.

She winced, trying to pull away. "Get away from me…" she panted, blinking against vision that was becoming foggy.

"You hurt, baby?" he asked, his expression filled with concern. He grabbed her hand, looking at the cut… then ground his thumb into the wound. She screamed and he bellowed. "Pain is part of life, Alexandra, now stop being so damn weak! You have been nothing but one let down after another to this family, nothing, you hear me?" He threw her hand down, ending her agony and reducing her to a whimpering, shocked mass of nerves. He seethed in her face as she remained stock-still and traumatized. "So, riddle me this," he breathed. "Think you can find it inside yourself to kill me?"

"…Kill you?" Alex repeated, going still in terror.

He chuckled. "It's a dog-eat-dog world, sweetheart. Kill or be killed." His hands were both gently coming against her throat, and then suddenly pressing against with brutal crushing force. He smiled pleasantly as he choked her.

Alex struggled against the vice-like grip on her throat, but couldn't get her legs to work, as they weren't even touching the ground anymore. Desperate and sloppy, she drew her palm back and smashed it full-force up and against Dad's nose, stunning him—he stumbled back and she fell while breathing in panicked little gasps. She scrambled to her feet and ran the opposite direction, out the door and down a flickering hallway littered with old wires and trash.

She could hear him following and was consumed in all-out terror. She needed to keep her head or she wouldn't survive this. At a spring, Alex rounded a corner and came into a wide, open, echoing room. She went slack against the wall, struggling to breathe. Beside her foot, a rusty old shovel. The second she saw it, she grabbed it up and began wielding it like a staff, wincing against the roughness of it against her cut-up palm. She could hear heavy, running booted footsteps coming closer. She swung madly as he rounded the corner, hitting him in the face with the shovel with enough force to send him flying backwards. He must have had his hunting knife out, because it went skittering across the floor, and Alex dove for it without thinking. Even as her fingers closed around the hilt, she felt herself knocked sideways. Dad was over her, pinning her down by the wrists, but she'd held on tight to the knife, refusing to let go.

"Now, Alexandra, put the knife down," he coaxed, grinning maniacally. "You wouldn't want to hurt your dad."

"You are not my dad," Alex spat with a surge of adrenaline, then she brutally drove her knee up into his stomach and violently yanked her wrists forward and down, breaking his grip long enough to push him over. Even as he was rolling off her, she was drawing back, without hesitation, still halfway on the ground. She plunged the knife into his chest with a scream. His face showed shock, horror, pain, and Alex just pulled back, stunned, taking the knife with her. She was half sitting, agonized, shaking, watching him fall to the ground dead. Oh God, oh God, she couldn't breathe—she knew that wasn't Dad—but she wanted to vomit. She looked at the knife in her hand, covered in bright red blood.

She almost dropped it in horror—but then she heard "Oh, A-lex…" in a soft, sing-song voice.

She looked behind her, recognizing the voice with dread. Sam. He stood there completely still as she managed to stand up shakily. He had a chilling smile on his face—it reminded her of Lucifer, and she stumbled back, barely able to stand up anymore. Something snapped in her—instinct took over. She knew if she didn't take her chance and attack now, she'd probably die.

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but before he had even drawn a breath, she flipped Dad's knife deftly in her hand, twirling it so that instead of hilt she grasped the blade. She drew back and threw it with a pained grimace and the last of her strength. It sank with a horrible squelching sound into his chest. He looked at the knife, then at her, shocked. Then fell forward onto the ground. She looked at his still body in alarm. That's not really Sam. You didn't just kill Sam. But that look on his face when he'd looked at her, the knife in his chest—

Alex suddenly jumped back as shotgun blasts kicked cement up just a few inches in front of her feet. Dean was in front of her smiling, slinging a shotgun over his shoulder casually, grinning at her as he loped forward out of the shadows. "Hiya, kiddo! Now what'd you do that for?"

No, not Dean. Not Dean now. He looked at Sam, perplexed, then kicked his brother's lifeless body over and yanked the knife out of Sam's chest. He looked at her and gave her a 'someone's been a bad girl' look. He dropped the shotgun, and with the knife in hand, he sauntered over.

Alex backed up, hitting the wall behind her, momentarily unable to do anything—this was Dean! She had waited too long to run away, and he was suddenly right there, and her chance at escape was gone. He pinned her against the wall, smirking, bringing the knife up to trace a soft line against the skin of her neck. She could feel Sam's blood leaving a wet line on her skin. She stared, horrified and frozen, trying to find it within herself to fight Dean off. She couldn't. She had nothing left. He smiled at her sweetly. "Just like I thought. Dean's your Achilles heel, isn't he? It's kind of sweet how much you love this dumb jock."

His chin lowered, his eyes staring with malice. The knife went lower, then he held the point against her chest, twisting slowly, and she sobbed as it broke the skin. Maybe she deserved this. All she knew was she was too weak and there was nothing left. She looked away, defeated and crying, ashamed and in pain. The knife dug deeper and she cried out again, like a child, like a coward. And then, behind Dean, Cas appeared—a furious expression on his face like Alex had never seen—and she jolted, mouth falling open as he grabbed Dean by the shoulder with crushingly ruthless force, ripping him off her. Dean attempted to stab Cas, but the angel grabbed Dean's wrist and bent it down, his grip unyielding, his eyes blazing. With absolute and ferocious power Castiel hit Dean across the face, and Dean went flying across the warehouse. He did not move again.

Alex had fallen and was slumped against the wall, dazed, watching Cas in a mixture of disbelief, relief, and joy. He was already walking back toward her at an urgent pace. "I don't know how he's doing this," he said, speaking very fast. "I tried getting your brothers, but—" suddenly he fizzled out again, disappearing just as he had been about to get her. Alex's temporary relief was gone, replaced with despair and anger.

Suddenly, the Trickster stood in front of her, smirking. "Damn! I knew this would be entertaining, but really? Killing your own Dad? And Sam? I am impressed, Alex!"

"You son of a bitch," she managed, trying to summon some fire, but only sounding broken. "Why are you doing this to me?!"

He snapped his fingers and she was yanked to her feet as if held by invisible hands. He looked angry. "Because you need to grow up, Alex. Stop depending on your stupid, selfish brothers who are only going to let you down and tear your family apart! Face it, your family is a sham and you've been falling victim to their lies your whole life!"

"Leave me alone!" Alex screamed, ready to commit murder. She hated him for everything he had shown her.

He seemed momentarily incredulous. "Did you even see what I showed you? All real. One hundred percent. You should be thanking me! They act like you belong to them, like they own you. You let your brothers boss you around, control you, tell you who you are. It's sad, Alex! You're sad." He seemed more and more off his rocker with every new thing he said. "Haven't you ever wondered if there was more to your life? Something called destiny?"

Alex shook her head hard as her breathing raced. "Is this even about me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Guilty as charged," he confessed theatrically, then sighed as if he were relieved. "Guess you could say I'm pretty much the Alex of my family. No one thought I'd ever measure up or be anything." He smiled, an oddly cold quality to the expression. "So, hell, I decided I didn't need 'em. Let them tear each other apart, I don't care." He huffed and chuckled. "Look how many fucks I give." He paused, then furious, shocking anger overcame his voice and face. "Zero! ZERO! I give zero fucks!" He glared. "And neither should you—you sorry, stupid child."

Alex looked at him oddly. "You're wrong about us being alike. I'm not jumping ship the second things start to go to crap and I'm not walking away, even if everything you showed me was real. If they go down, I'm going down with them. I don't care if we're the biggest walking disaster on earth. That's my family." Maybe she said all that to try and get under his skin, or maybe she meant it. At this point, she wasn't even sure.

Trickster groaned loudly. "Oh please! Even after everything I just showed you? Really? Damn. I don't know if you're incredibly loyal or just stupid as a rock."

"I don't care what you think," Alex said darkly, then began to smile of all things because the jig was up. She felt so physically weak, but still managed to point at him knowingly. "You're not a trickster. There's just no way. Not the way you slammed my angel around like it was no big deal, the way you refuse to die when killed. You're something else. And I'm gonna find out what. My family, and all those innocent people you've killed? I'm gonna make sure you rot in hell for what you've done."

He tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowed, either amused or indignant, she couldn't tell which. "You really think you're in a position to be threatening me?"

Alex stared at him unflinchingly. "Too late."

That comment wiped his expression off his face, and he matched her stare for a moment, then raised his chin, a slight smile returning to his face. "Well. I've figured it out, Alex."

She frowned. "Figured what out."

His smile got a little bigger. "Your worst nightmare, of course." He was wagging a finger now, pacing the floor in front of her. "It's not fighting, it's not killing, it's not a normal life, it's not your past…" he paused, looking at her with that soft little smile on his face. "It's your future."

He snapped his fingers, and the dark warehouse was replaced. Under a flat gray sky, Alex and the Trickster stood in a circle of overgrown grass. Weathered gray stone headstones fanned out in all directions—stretching out as far as Alex could see on all sides. She looked at the Trickster, who was smiling softly. "Your worst fear. Being completely and totally alone." He gave her a knowing smile, pleased with himself. "Oh, I'm good." He gave her a faux-stern frown. "Now. You sit here and think about what you've done, young lady. Oh, and try not to bleed to death." He rolled his eyes and disappeared.

Alex looked at the gravestones that surrounded her with increasing alarm, turning in a slow circle, reading the engraved names with panic. John Winchester. Mary Winchester. Dean Winchester. Sam Winchester. Bobby Singer. Adam Milligan. The gravestones stretched miles in all directions, all littered with names of people she had known or failed to save. Anywhere she looked, she saw a name she recognized.

And then she saw an obviously shallow grave, marked only with a simple wooden cross. It was almost hidden among all the other markers. On the wooden cross hung a silver chain with her dad's wedding band and her old silver whistle. She immediately knew who it belonged to. Cas. Forgotten, anonymous. No name on the cross, just something of hers that he had clung to in those last months of his life. From nowhere, a single yellow bloom floated downward, settling on the ground in front of the cross.

Alex's hands raised to grip either side of her head. Dead. They were all dead! She stumbled backward, overcome with spinning horror. The world seemed to be dissolving around her and the feeling of death and dying and being alone forever punched into her like a nail. She fell onto all fours and she thought about the future, about losing her brothers, her anchors—she thought about Cas in 2014 and she thought about everything the Trickster had shown her and she was petrified out of her mind. Her chest was too tight to breathe, and her heart raced so fast that she almost passed out. Her vision began to swim as her head became light and the full-blown panic attack shook her to the core. In her hands, she clenched onto the grass as hard as she could, afraid she'd fall off the face of the earth if she didn't. She tried shutting her eyes. It's not real, it's not real. But it was real. Everyone was dead and she was dying too and she sobbed out. Someone help me!

She heard a soft sound in front of her and heard him speak her name in a soft, worried voice. Then there were footsteps coming toward her and Alex herself being drawn up by her arms. Her heart spasmed in relief when eyes bluer than the sky stared at her in dismayed concern. She didn't even think about it. She crashed into him, crying and humiliated and unable to do anything but hold onto him for dear life. And with her arms circled as tight as she could manage around his middle inside the trench coat, she clung to how solid and real he was. She tightened her arms until it hurt, because she was terrified that he'd disappear again.

Cas remained sort of frozen, not sure what was happening. Alex was crushing him (not literally, of course, that would be impossible) with her arms. She was shaking as sobbing sounds wracked her entire body. He did not like this sound. In fact, he quickly realized that he detested it.

He looked down at the way she circled her arms around him. He had seen humans do this before, and knew it was a hug. He carefully, calculatingly brought his arms around her, gently, then a little tighter, matching it to the way she was holding onto him, only not as hard—he felt the need to be gentle. He paused, wondering if he were doing it right even as he noticed how it felt, her smaller form there against his. He could hear and feel her breathing like this. Even through the layers of clothing, there was a steady little thumping rhythm against his chest, her heart beating fiercely. Inside, Castiel somehow melted, overcome with some feeling he didn't know the name of.

The longer they stayed like that, the calmer she became, and Cas felt himself relaxing too as she quieted. The top of her head was right there in front of his face, and without entirely meaning to, he leaned down, just a little. His nose brushed her hair. He could faintly smell shampoo and soap. She shuddered in his arms.

Her head was shifting onto his shoulder now, and the tip of her nose brushed against his neck. The little grazing touch startled Cas, sending a strange feeling shooting through his body. It was not unpleasant. He could feel her uneven breathing hitting the skin of his neck. A sensation that once he felt, he couldn't stop focusing on. His vessel flushed with warmth, and a surge of protectiveness overcame him. His arms tightened around her on instinct. Not because of calculation—but because he responded on some raw, human level that was still buried deep inside of the vessel.

Somewhere in the back of his thoughts, he was fighting to remember who he was—an angel of the Lord, holding a human girl in his arms. But he didn't let go, even though he knew he should. He couldn't. And so he did not let go, despite knowing better. He thought about how he had watched Alex for more than a year. He had seen her crying. He knew the sadness she hid from others. She almost always cried alone, when she thought no one else could see. The sight had always unsettled Castiel, even when he'd been in his true form. But her grief had never affected him as deeply as it did today. He felt angry that she had been made to feel this way, and angry because he didn't know how to fix it... and helpless, because he wasn't sure if it could be fixed. She was so much more torn apart than he had ever seen her.

Finally, Alex pulled back, hesitant to look at him. Her expression was ashamed and upset. He hadn't even noticed how it happened, but now both of his hands gripped her right above the elbows, and hers mirrored his, resting lighting in the crooks of his elbows.

Her face was streaked with tears and her eyes were red. He had been experiencing intense helplessness for the past few days, trapped in the Trickster's world, but this sight made him feel utterly powerless. It was as if her sadness seeped out of her, and into him. How could that be?

With the pad of his thumb, Cas wiped her right cheek, removing the tearstains there, his touch whisper-soft and hesitant. She seemed to stop breathing for a second, looking at him with wide, wondering eyes. He stilled—had he done something wrong? Then her head tilted just to the side, almost as if she were leaning her face into his hand. Her eyes wondered at him again. His vessel felt a strange reaction in the vicinity of his chest and Cas withdrew his hand, not understanding. He was suddenly apprehensive, suspecting himself of something, but he didn't know what. Alex looked up at him somberly. Her eyes were so dark and big and filled with an emotion he didn't recognize.

His eyes traveled her entire face, the face he knew so well now. His eyes stopped, resting a beat on her soft, parted lips. He imagined himself leaning down and touching his lips to hers, conveying the gentle and paradoxically strong things he felt for her with his mouth. The thought shocked him. He realized the pulse in his body had picked up, his breathing was shorter, his nervous system felt jittery. Panicking slightly, he let go of her. What was happening to him?

She looked at him pleadingly. "Cas, please say you can get us out of here."

There was an odd lurch in his vessel's stomach. "No. I don't know the way out. This trickster is very powerful." He looked down, then noticed the palm of her hand—bloody and raw. More than just a little scrape. "You're bleeding," he said, stunned that he hadn't noticed sooner.

He looked down at himself then pulled some of his shirt out of the waistband of his pants and ripped the fabric. He held her bleeding hand and wrapped the strip of white fabric around the cut snugly. She winced as the cotton touched the open cut skin then looked at him uncertainly, watching him as he concentrated. He met her eyes, just for a second, then looked back down, tying a clumsy knot. He appeared vexed, and Alex remembered, offhandedly, when he had told her to count her scars. He was still looking at her hand and still holding it in both of his. And then, she almost thought she had imagined it, he brushed the exposed skin where her fingers met her hand. A completely unnecessary action. She looked at him with a racing heart. He was now staring at the spot on her chest where fake-Dean had dug the knife into, just above where her heart was. His fingers brushed against it, his eyebrows knitting further. He breathed out, looked at the graves, and let go of her hand. After a moment, he looked back at her grimly.

"I saw the things he showed you. He tried to keep me out, but he couldn't stop me from watching. I saw everything. What Sam did. What your father did. Everything."

Alex hugged her arms around herself even though she wasn't cold. "All my life I've been trying to survive. And I have. But why? So I get to see this? Everyone I ever loved or cared about, dead?" She felt manic suddenly, enraged. "Why did the Trickster do this to me? Is his idea of revenge? I would have preferred he just kill me and gotten it over with instead of dragging me through this shit!"

"No," Cas said intensely, but she was already continuing.

"And now I find out Dad didn't even want me, that I was nothing to him?" She swallowed, losing some fire. "And maybe I already suspected that. But Dean—thinking I was a burden. Sam, lying to me, manipulating me, making me think he was looking out for me—the other stuff—" she was getting pissed again. "I lived my life blind, not just mute! How did I not know all this shit?! It was staring me in the face and I didn't see!"

"Stop." His strong tone startled her and drew her attention to his blazing eyes. "This is exactly what the Trickster intended."

She looked at him, really looked at him. "You're gonna die in twenty-fourteen, Cas. All alone. And what's worse…" her eyebrows pushed inward. "I think you wanted to die. You wanted it."

Cas frowned. "I don't—"

"My god, I'm convinced now, Cas. Zachariah's right. Sam's gonna say yes, because he's dark inside, he'll say yes, and the world will burn, and Dean will try and stop it and he can't, and I can't do anything about it, obviously—my brothers are tearing the world apart, and god, what am I supposed to do, or can I do anything—?"

"Alex—" Cas tried to cut her off sternly.

"It's so funny," she continued bitterly. "Me thinking my life mattered, you saying God had some purpose for me, it's a joke Cas, all fucking lies—"

"Alex, stop!—look at me!" He almost shook her. "Look at me!"

She did, suddenly vulnerable and clear eyed, begging him to prove her wrong. He didn't seem to know what to say, and she looked at him desperately, waiting for him to relieve her fears, to tell her everything was going to be okay.

Her vision wavered as her consciousness struggled. Shocked, Alex blinked hard and long. "I've… lost a lot of blood," she whispered weakly. The concern on his face doubled.

And then they were not there anymore.

---

Dean and Sam stood with the "Trickster" in front of them—encased in a ring of burning holy oil. They had realized after he dragged them through an odd TV reality, slung Cas around like a rag doll, and refused to die that he was something else entirely—an angel, and probably a pretty powerful one. Their hunch paid off. In the just-lit circle of fire, the Trickster clapped slowly, his bluff called. "Well played, boys. Well played. Where'd I screw up? How'd you know?"

Sam answered. "Nobody gets the jump on Cas like you did. Only another angel could slam him around like that."

Dean leveled the Trickster with a superior little smirk. "Mostly it was the way you talked about Armageddon."

"Meaning?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, call it personal experience, but nobody gets that angry unless they're talking about their own family."

Trickster seemed mildly irritated by that statement. "So which one are you?" Sam asked. "Grumpy, Sneezy, or Douchey?"

Rolling his eyes at the terrible joke, the Trickster sighed. "Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel."

Sam's forehead wrinkled. "Gabriel? The Archangel?"

"Guilty."

Dean sauntered forward a couple of steps. "Okay, Gabe. First things first. You are gonna bring Cas and Alex back here from whatever hell you stashed them in."

"Oh am I?" Gabriel asked deviously.

"Yeah. You are," Dean said calmly. "Or we're going to dunk you in some holy oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel." Gabriel's smile faded. He waited a couple seconds, and then with a churlish eyeroll he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

Dean looked behind himself to see a slumped, bleeding, half-conscious Alex being held up by Cas, who was breathing heavily, blood running down his nose and the side of his face. His hands on Alex seemed to be the only thing holding her up. "Alex! What happened?!" Sam asked, rushing to them as Dean rounded on Gabriel.

Angry was putting Dean's disposition lightly. "What the hell'd you do to her?!"

The archangel just smiled and shrugged innocently. Cas glared daggers. "He put her through a series of hells for his own personal amusement."

Dean's expression was murderous as Gabriel smiled nonchalantly. "What can I say, she delivered—I laughed, I cried, I learned new things about myself."

"You son of a bitch!" Dean shouted.

"I should have known this was you, Gabriel," Cas said with disgust.

Gabriel held up his hands in defense, acting like he didn't know what the issue was. "Hey, before you deep fry me, consider this. I didn't really do anything to her. It was all inside her already, I just… nudged a few feelings around. Brought a few things to the surface." He looked at all three of the men in turn. "You're the ones who did this to her. You."

Dean stepped closer, his expression dangerous. "Why?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Why not? She and I are practically the same person—the yin to each other's yang—and I'm tired of her blind loyalty to your dumb, sorry asses. All the two of you do to her… all my family has done to me… is tear apart everything worth loving. You wondering why I became the trickster? My own private witness protection. I skipped out of Heaven, had a face transplant, carved out my own little corner of the world so I didn't have to deal with the shit my family surrounded me with." He wagged his eyebrows. "Sound familiar? Remember when Alex ran away, Dean? Too bad she crawled back."

"Of course she came back, this is her family," Sam said, almost snarling as he took a step toward Gabriel from where he'd been standing beside Cas.

"What family?" Gabriel asked in humored disbelief. "Turned against each other, tearing at each other's throats? Why the hell you think I brought you here and did this to you? Why would I be trying to get you to play your roles? Because I am tired of my family tearing itself to shreds." His good mood was gone. He was suddenly, intensely angry. "I need it to be over!"

Dean shook his head, lips in a thin line. "You are something else. You got some nerve, involving my brother and sister in your douche-nozzle family drama. You're all a bunch of assholes." He glanced over his shoulder, thinking of something. "Uh, no offense, Cas."

"None taken," Cas said darkly.

Gabriel looked positively ruffled at Dean's comment about his family. "Shut your cake hole. You don't know anything about my family. I love my father, my brothers. Love them. But watching them betray each other, slowly kill each other? I couldn't stand it! Okay? So I left, and I stopped caring. And now it's happening all over again."

"Then help us stop it," Sam said, trying to appeal to reason.

Gabriel scoffed. "It can't be stopped."

"You wanna see the world end?" Dean asked in angered disbelief.

"Haven't you been listening?" Gabriel shouted. "I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other thanks to you two! Heaven? Hell? I don't care who wins, I just want it to be over!"

Sam shook his head, desperate. "It doesn't have to be like that. There has to be some way to, to pull the plug."

Gabriel looked at Sam patronizingly. "You do not know my family. What you guys call the apocalypse, I used to call Sunday dinner. That's why there's no stopping this, because this isn't about a war. It's about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other—and guess what, there was nothing anyone could do about it. Not me. Not your sister."

"What are you talking about?" Sam demanded.

Gabriel's expression fell. He shook his head blankly. "You sorry sons of bitches. Why do you think you're vessels for angels, huh? Think about it. Michael, the big brother, loyal to an absent father, and Lucifer, the little brother, rebellious of Daddy's plan. Their younger sibling they fight over and don't even realize they're driving away or damaging in the process. That was me. That's her."

Dean and Sam both looked at Alex, who was vaguely lucid. She stared back at them, her expression pained and tired. Gabriel wasn't done. "You were born to this, Winchesters. It's your destiny! It was always you! As it is in Heaven, so it must be on earth. One brother has to kill the other, and it's to the point where I don't care who dies."

"What the hell are you saying?" Sam demanded, getting more aggravated by the second.

"Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you three? Because from the moment Dad flipped on the lights around here, we knew it was all gonna end with you. Always. This is real, and it's gonna end bloody—it's just destiny. That's just how it's gotta be. Accept it. The Winchesters and the apocalypse go together like chips and guac!"

Dean came close to the edge of the ring of fire, his glare unrelenting. The flames reflected in his dark eyes, a menacing effect. "Shut up. I ain't accepting shit. We're outta here." He turned and went to Cas, reaching for Alex. Cas let go reluctantly.

"Uh. Okay. Guys? You're just gonna, you're gonna leave me here?" Gabriel asked from inside the ring.

Sam took Alex from Dean, helping her out through the door as Dean hung back. "No. We're not, 'cause we don't screw with people the way you do. And for the record? This isn't about some prize fight between your brothers or some destiny that can't be stopped. This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family!" Dean pulled the fire alarm roughly, and the sprinklers and alarm went off. "Don't say I never did anything for you," he shouted over the noise. Gabriel glared angrily, water raining down over his head. Dean didn't look back.

Sam had Alex sitting on the trunk of the Impala and was checking her for injuries as she woozily fought to remain conscious. "Cas, what the hell happened?" Dean demanded.

Cas ignored the question—he was looking at Alex intently. "She really needs to be taken to the hospital. Her physical injuries are worse than I thought. Meet me there."

He reached out and touched Alex's shoulder, even as Sam protested, "Wait—"

But the angel and their sister disappeared.

"Are you kidding me?!" Dean slammed his hand on top of the car in frustration.

---

Eventually, Alex realized she was lying in a hospital bed and being hooked up to things. Poked, prodded. Cas stood beside the bed, watching her with a grim expression. She felt lucid again, at least for right then, as his eyes met hers. "I should have known when I couldn't get to you," he said. "That he wasn't simply a trickster."

Alex sighed a very long sigh. Her head felt like it was three feet outside of her skull. "He's called the trickster for a reason. He fools everyone." Cas didn't look reassured at her statement. In fact, he looked even more depleted. "I'll be fine, Cas," Alex said weakly, because she knew she would be. "I always get back up." She paused, her face blank, her mind ghosting over the new wounds that were fresh in her mind from the scenes Gabriel had showed her from her younger years. "I always survive," she murmured, half to herself, then glanced at Cas.

"I'm supposed to be your protector." He sounded anxious.

She looked up at him appraisingly. "Even after you're cut off from Heaven and kicked out of the angel points club?"

He looked at her without guard of any kind, only devotion. "Yes. Still."

It made her skin flush over, made her—ouch! She winced as a nurse stuck another IV needle in her arm. A muscle jerked in Cas's jaw. She watched them hang a bag of saline solution and hook it up. She then glanced at Cas, suddenly worried. "You're not gonna just disappear again, are you?" Her gaze faltered—she had sounded way too desperate. "I just—I don't wanna be alone." But after the graveyard… he knew that, didn't he?

His eyebrows moved just a little closer together. "I will not leave your side," he promised.

That small statement made her feel so much better. She half-smiled. "Thanks, Cas." She watched as he pulled up a chair beside her and sat there with his hands clasped in his lap.

Growing somber, she remembered everything that had happened in the graveyard and subsequently looked down into her lap, flustered. She had thought, just for a moment, when he had touched her face, wiping her tears away a his eyes met hers so soulfully that maybe, maybe there was something there. That maybe the way he had felt about her in 2014 was already there somewhere. Sidelong, her eyes swept over his face that was becoming so familiar. Something about it stuck with her, etching itself inside her mind.

His face wasn't the only thing etched in her mind. She couldn't even begin to think about the memories she'd been shown about Dean, Sam, and Dad. She refused. Instead, she focused on her hospital wristband. And without even wanting to, she thought of kissing Cas again. The heart rate monitor suddenly sped up a few beats, and Cas looked at it, frowning in concern. Alex shrank back into her pillows, just knowing her face was giving away everything. Cas just didn't know what that everything was.

She had to let that kiss go and just focus on the present moment, stop overthinking everything and tricking herself into hoping that could happen again. Offhandedly, she thought of the weird reality where the Trickster… or, Gabriel, she guessed, had made her think for a split second she was married to Cas. She felt a little embarrassed, wondering if Cas realized the significance of that. She glanced at him. He was leaning forward over his knees now, his fingers laced through and face intense. Devastating. He was just devastating. Handsome and magnetic. She was in way over her head.

Still, she timidly asked her favor. She knew he would hear her out. "Cas, can you do me a favor? Don't tell my brothers. About the husband-Cas thing with the Trickster. They'd never let me hear the end of it, and I just… it's weird. Please." She hoped she didn't have to explain further.

He looked at her a moment. "Of course." He paused, then seemed to have an idea, the smallest little smile coming over his face. He held out his hand, the pinky extended. For a split second, Alex looked at his hand in confusion before she remembered. With a surprised little smile, she extended her pinky and they wrapped their smallest fingers around each other's. "I am forever bound," he said, clearly pleased that he had remembered this and applied it in the proper social context.

He looked so proud of himself for making a joke and remembering a gesture she'd taught him. Alex couldn't help it. Even after everything today—all the pain, all the horrible pain—that sight of him smiling, eyes bright with a pleased, boyish twinkle warranted no other reaction from her—she smiled too. The smile reached her eyes, and Cas's face softened as he visibly reveled. Heart skipping a beat, Alex's smiled faded as the angel's eyes burned into hers.

---

Dean and Sam rushed into the hospital room to find Cas sitting beside Alex's bedside. "Oh my god," Sam breathed. Dean, a fist to his mouth, stood still, physically trying to contain himself at the sight of Alex in the hospital bed.

"She's sleeping," Cas explained, standing when he saw them. He came and joined them at the foot of the bed.

"Son of a bitch," Dean managed, his expression almost terrified, although a little less than before Cas had said the part about her only being asleep. "Will she be all right?"

Cas's frown deepened. His eyes went to Alex's sleeping form. "Physically, yes."

"And… not physically?" Dean prompted.

Cas's eyes slid to Dean's. "I don't know." They all looked at her sleeping shape. Cas's expression was unreadable. "Something is wrong with Alex."

"No shit, Sherlock—she just got torn to shreds in Gabriel's little house of horrors!" Dean almost shouted.

Cas glanced at him, perturbed. "No. I—" he paused, searching for words. "It's not that. It's something else."

"What do you mean?" Dean demanded, getting even more agitated.

Cas seemed frustrated, and answered Dean with an air of aggravated shortness, staring at him cynically. "I'm not sure, Dean."

Dean made a face and rolled his eyes, then huffed, letting it go, but mad about something else, of course. "Fine, oh and by the way, next time maybe let us know which hospital you decide to beam up to, Scotty. We went to three other ones before finding you here." He brushed past Cas and went to Alex, putting his hand on the side of her head. He stroked his thumb across her hair, a pained and worried expression on his face that Sam and Cas couldn't see.

"Okay, well can you tell us the details of what happened to her?" Sam was asking Cas.

Sam got a sidelong glance from Cas, who seemed to be thinking deeply. "Yes," the angel said momentarily. "Gabriel showed her memories that were intentionally chosen to make old pains resurface. And he made her kill your father—at least, someone who looked like him. And then you, Sam, as well. And he tried to make her kill Dean. If I hadn't been able to get there… I believe she would be dead right now." Both the brothers looked at him, understanding perfectly, horrified. Cas's expression, too, was unusually terse.

"Son of a bitch. I should never have let that asshole go." Dean glared daggers at the space in front of him.

Sam, however, was tilting his head to the side, eyes narrowed. "So she killed someone who looked like Dad? And me? But... not Dean?" He got a little cynical smile on his face. The kind he got when he was pissed about something.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Cas asked, drawing a startled look from both Winchester boys. Cas looked at Sam with what could only be called a glare. "I saw her memories, Sam. What you've done." Sam's face went blank, then Cas stepped a little closer. "And I know what you did to her recently."

There was a darkness to Cas's voice that was making Sam look nervous. "Uh—yeah, I—"

Cas stepped a little closer, pivoting his chin down, staring at Sam unflinchingly, levelly. "Do not ever lay a hand of harm upon her again. Do you understand?"

Sam was frozen, staring, mouth half-open. Dean, however, was looking at Cas incredulously. "Whoa, dude—are you seriously threatening my brother right now?" He approached with a glaring frown. "Is that any of your business?"

Cas turned, looked Dean straight in the eyes. "Yes. As a matter of fact, it is."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, really?" He was indignant. "Last time I checked, this was my family, not yours."

Cas's eyes narrowed. "I only want to be clear with Sam that I will not allow him to physically harm Alex like that again."

Sam looked reluctant, guilty. "Well, I won't. Trust me."

Just then, a nurse came to the door and looked directly at Cas, tapping lightly on the doorframe with her knuckles, a chart in her other hand. "Excuse me, sir, we have the pathology."

Cas nodded. "Go ahead."

"Well, she's severely dehydrated and it kind of looks like sunstroke, or heat exhaustion. But, all of her labs are fine. She just needs some rest and fluids. We already got the stitches in her palm wound, so we'll discharge her in a couple days, once we make sure she's shipshape. Nothing to worry about."

She smiled pleasantly at Cas, who nodded once more. "Thank you." The nurse left.

Cas looked at Dean and circled back. "Look, the reason I was trying to find you and realized you three were missing is because I had news to share. I have it on good authority that a demon named Crowley has the Colt." At this piece of news, both Winchesters looked intrigued. Cas continued. "I've gotten close to finding him. I think I've almost... 'got' him."

Dean nodded gruffly. "Good. Good. Okay. Well, let's get Alex rested and back to Bobby's. Then, we find this Crowley dude, get the Colt, kill the devil. Sound like a plan?"

Cas was stoic. "Agreed. You two go rest. I'll watch over Alex tonight."

Dean appeared immediately taken aback, then quickly gruff. "Oh I don't think so." Cas frowned, not understanding. "That chair over has my name on it. And Sam, you're not going anywhere either. I want you all where I can see you." Sam rolled his eyes faintly but he said nothing.

Dean sat down in the chair beside Alex's bed and slouched down into the seat, kind of sullen and pissy. No one said anything else.

Eventually, the brothers fell asleep, leaving Castiel as the only one awake. The hours ticked by, but he stayed at Alex's bedside, unmoving, listening to the beep, beep, beep of the heart rate monitor, watching the night shadows shift and move across Alex's sleeping face. The blinds on the window patterned the room with stripes of darkness and soft slats of moonlight.

After staring at it for hours, the angel finally reached out around four in the morning and brushed an errant strand of hair away from Alex's face with his fingertips. She looked so peaceful as she slept. She sighed at his touch, and Castiel was transfixed.

---

Author's notes: I wanted to develop the idea of Sam having a darker side. I've always felt his backstory was lacking something, so I took matters into my own hands… PLEASE GUYS DON'T FREAK OUT I AM NOT CHANGING SAM TRUST ME PLEASE I KNOW WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS—and keep in mind, things may not be what they seem... I pinky promise you it will all be okay and be explained further.