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.

24. Honeymoon's Over

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 24 / Honeymoon's Over

"How can I change tomorrow if I can't change today?"
- Hatebreed

---

Cas had disappeared to 'discover Anna's intentions' about ten minutes ago.

Sam sat stock still on one of the motel beds with elbows leaned onto his knees and hands clasped. He glanced at his twin, who had been sitting in the same spot since Cas vanished. She had a hand on her knee, the index finger tapping constantly. She stared at the floor, deeply pensive. He could tell she was chewing the inside of her cheek like she did when something was really bothering her. He also knew she was exhausted—sleep deprived from the constant nightmares she'd been having lately. She hadn't said anything about it, but Sam had heard her waking up breathless and scared for the past few weeks. Since Carthage, he was pretty sure. He hadn't said anything because he knew how she was about this stuff. She'd tell them when she was ready—or never at all.

Sam glanced at his brother, who was pacing in agitation, true to normal form. "Come on, how long does he need, anyway?" Dean demanded in a mutter, gesturing angrily with one of his hands.

As if on cue, Cas reappeared in the middle of the motel room, startling them all. Sam immediately noticed that he looked different than he had a few minutes prior—almost like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. After a brief beat in which the angel quickly laid eyes on all three of them, the angel looked from Sam to Dean grimly. "I found Anna."

"And?" Dean asked impatient and urgent.

"And she wants to kill Sam," Cas replied harshly.

Aghast, Sam shot to his feet. "What? Why?"

Cas looked at him dead in the eye, his expression foul. "She believes it will forestall the apocalypse." He turned around and marched over to the motel table without any further explanation.

Alex stood up with an incredulous expression on her face. "By killing Sam?" She sounded like she hadn't heard right.

At the table, they could only see Cas's profile—he was pulling something out of his pocket—chalk? But when Alex asked that he went still, his expression pinching slightly, a muscle jumping in his cheek. His eyes slid in her direction, but he didn't look right at her. "Yes." He refocused on what he'd been doing and began drawing vigorously on the table. He sounded impatient, like he was explaining something obvious. "No Sam—no Lucifer. Destroy the vessel, destroy the devil. That's her mentality."

Dean, who had taken a minute to digest, was shaking his head. "Really? Anna?" He sounded a little let down. "I don't believe it."

"It's true, Dean," Cas replied, sending a glancing dart of a scowl over. He sounded on edge and Sam looked at him intently, realizing that Cas was deeply upset—maybe because Anna had a point. Maybe because Cas thought Anna was right. Sam swallowed, his heart beating fast.

"So she's gone all Glenn Close, huh? Well, awesome." Dean said flippantly.

Cas looked at Dean with narrowed eyes, expression filled with malevolence. "And who, the hell, is Glenn Close?"

There was a shocked pause in the entire room at Cas's rude, angry question. Dean looked at Cas oddly. "Uh… she's no one, just this psycho bitch who likes to boil rabbits."

Unamused and perturbed, Cas gave Dean a dirty look and returned to drawing. His chalk strokes were sharp and jabbing—Sam looked closely and saw that Cas's hand shook. Damn, Anna must have meant business. Sam had never seen Cas so shaken up. Afraid almost. Which kind of messed with Sam and made him afraid too. He approached Cas cautiously, using a soft, appealing tone. He had to know. "The plan to kill me—would it actually stop him?"

"Sam, what?"

Sam glanced at his dumbfounded sister but ignored her shocked question and wide eyes to look at Cas again.

The angel had gone still again, listening hard as Sam asked again, rephrasing the question. "Cas, what do you think? Does Anna have a point?"

There was a heavy silence and Cas looked at Sam darkly, then glanced at Dean, who still hung back with grim apprehension. "No," the angel finally said. "She's—Glenn Close." He resumed writing with the chalk. Sam wasn't convinced—but let it go for the moment. He could feel Alex looking at him, deeply disturbed. He glanced at her then at Dean who looked similarly troubled. Sam was stumped.

He cleared his throat, going over towards Cas. "What are you doing, anyway?" he asked, looking at the strange symbols the angel was marking onto the surface of the table.

"A ritual. It will show me where Anna is so that we can go after her."

Dean frowned. "What, look for the super angel-powered chick that wants to gank Sam? Why poke the bear?"

Cas looked at Dean with an impatient, narrow-eyed glare, once again seeming to be short-tempered. "What bear?"

"He means why tempt fate," Alex explained.

Again, Cas tensed up when she spoke to him. He didn't look at any of them. "We... poke the bear because Anna will keep trying. She won't give up until Sam is dead." He grabbed a bowl that had been sitting on the counter and slammed it down with more force than necessary onto the table. "Therefore, we kill her first," he said with dark resolve. He vanished without warning.

"What the—" Dean started only to stop when Cas reappeared, a jar in hand.

Ignoring the Winchesters, the angel poured the contents into the bowl on the table. He began to recite something in Enochian. "Zod ah ma ra la—ee est la gi ro sa."

Red flame shot out of the bowl and in unison Cas stumbled back in sudden pain, bracing himself against the back of one of the chairs—he had screwed his eyes shut and breathed heavily, wincing. Sam and Dean exchanged surprised looks, and Alex had taken a couple quick steps forward. "Cas, are you—"

"Fine," he said tersely, straightening, avoiding looking at anyone but Dean. "I've found her."

"Okay," Dean said. "So where is she?"

"Not where," Cas said, frowning deeply. "When. It's nineteen seventy-eight."

Alex spoke first. "...She went back in time?"

Beside her, Sam was equally confused. "Why nineteen seventy-eight? I wasn't even born yet..."

Cas looked at Sam grimly. "And you won't be if she kills your parents."

The twins stilled, understanding, exchanging an apprehensive look.

"Anna can't get to now you because of me," Cas said darkly. "So she's going after them."

"Take us back right now," Dean commanded.

Cas looked at him with cynicism almost. "And deliver you right to Anna?"

Dean didn't back down. "They're our parents, Cas, we're going."

Cas shut his eyes, frustrated. "It's not that easy." He walked a few steps away.

"Why not?" Sam asked.

Cas turned, giving him a peevish glance. "Time travel was difficult even with the powers of Heaven at my disposal."

"So, what, you're like a Delorean without enough plutonium?" Dean asked.

"I don't understand that reference." Cas looked at Dean unhappily. "But I'm telling you, taking this trip, with passengers no less—" the angel shook his head somberly. "It'll weaken me."

"I can stay here," Alex volunteered, to which Cas's eyes finally snapped over to her.

"No," the three men said in unison.

Alex made a mildly disgruntled face, becoming semi-embarrassed. "Geez, just trying to lighten the load."

Sam looked from her to Cas, was looking at his sister intensely, his expression unreadable—Cas seemed to feel Sam's gaze and glanced at him, then looked away, jaw working. "There might be more angels who are in on this plan of Anna's," Cas muttered, eyes darting back and forth over the floor in thought. "I don't want any of the three of you out of my sight."

"See, even more reason for us to go with you," Dean reasoned, approaching the angel insistently. "Cas, they're our mom and dad. If we can save them, and not just from Anna... I mean if we can set things right, we have to try."

"'Set things right'?" Alex repeated, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

Dean sent her a pointed look. "Warn Mom about the nursery fire, Azazel—all of it. Stop the whole shitstorm before it even starts." Dean said it like she should have already known what he meant and been on board, but Alex looked as surprised and unsure about that as Sam felt. In fact she almost looked upset as she stared at Cas.

Cas didn't notice her looking at him, as he was staring at Dean intensely. "You truly believe you can change the past, Dean?" he questioned cynically. His voice lowered, his chin pivoted downwards—which made him look foreboding. "Even after last time?"

"Well it's at least worth a shot, man!" Dean said, growing exasperated.

Cas seemed equally frustrated in response, looking from Dean to Sam, glancing just barely at Alex, then looking down to his left. He shook his head grimly. "This is not a good idea."

"Yeah well, good ideas aren't exactly our strong point," Dean said sarcastically. But he had the air of triumph to him in the slight smile and the way his chin was raised. Like he already knew Cas would do what he'd demanded.

Cas looked at him long and hard then gave in with a deep huff. "Fine," he muttered. "I'll be back with the required essentials." He vanished once more.

"'The required essentials,'" Dean mocked in a cartoony voice. His voice returned to normal. "Nerd."

Cas reappeared just as quickly as he'd disappeared with two large, ancient looking ceramic jars in hand. "We'll need some kind of bag," he said.

"Here," Sam grabbed his duffel and shook the contents out then handed it over. Dean was grabbing his jacket and tossing Sam his. Alex grabbed hers from where it had been thrown over the side of a chair. They weren't going to waste any time. Sam swallowed. This was all his fault.

"Holy oil," Cas explained as he put the two jars into the bag. He then pulled out an angel blade from inside his trench coat. He gave Sam a significant look as he shrugged on his jacket, pausing. "Do not lose this." He put it into the bag and zipped it shut. "Ready?" Cas handed Sam him the bag.

Sam took the bag and swung it up onto his shoulder, attempting a smile, but it didn't quite work. "Not really."

Dean, Alex, and Sam gathered facing Cas, Alex between her brothers. Cas raised his hands, about to touch them and send them back—but Alex's voice suddenly stopped him short. "Wait, Cas—how bad exactly is this gonna set you back?"

Cas didn't look at her when he spoke. "I'll be a little out of sorts when we arrive," he answered curtly. Sam glanced down at his twin, who appeared frustrated by Cas's shortness. Sam glanced back at the angel, who still refused to look at Alex. Sam frowned, his instincts telling him something was going on between these two.

He didn't have time to wonder. Cas's fingers were coming toward his head—and then suddenly, the motel room was gone.

Sam almost fell over as the ground beneath his feet changed and then everything else, too—beside him Alex grabbed on and they steadied each other as they looked around in a daze. They stood in the middle of a busy street and a loud horn blared behind them alarmingly close—the three Winchesters whirled as a car screeched to a halt, almost hitting them. "Get out of the street!" the driver shouted.

"Watch where you're going!" Alex countered in a shout, making a rude gesture in his general direction even as Sam pulled her toward the sidewalk.

"Guys!" Dean barked, and Sam stopped short as a second car almost ran them over, jerking to a stop and almost knocking Sam over when the bumper hit his leg. The driver looked at them like they were crazy, and Sam awkwardly shrugged, mouthing 'sorry!' and stumbling forward as Alex pushed him along, trying to get them out of the street even as she kicked the bumper out of spite. "Learn to drive, asshat!"

The three of them made it to the sidewalk, disoriented. "Ah, shit," Alex panted, scanning the area with a hand to the side of her head. She looked worried and confused, and then she asked what Sam was wondering: "Where's Cas?"

"I dunno," he said breathlessly, seeing no sign of the guy. "Did we make it?"

"Unless they're bringing Pintos back into production..." Dean said, pointing at one of the cars, "I, uh, I'd say yes."

"Oh my god!" Alex suddenly exclaimed. Her brothers both followed her gaze to Castiel, collapsed against the side of a car a few feet away. He looked barely conscious at first glance.

"Cas!" Sam exclaimed, already hurrying over—he dropped into a crouch, grabbing onto the woozy angel. "Hey, hey, hey!"

Dean and Alex were already on either side of Sam—Dean bent over, and Alex knelt on knees while grabbing Cas's arm and asking his name. The angel, usually so aloof and composed, appeared in pain and disoriented. He was gazed at Sam's twin in a daze. Blood ran down out of his nose.

"Take it easy, take it easy," Dean commanded gruffly, looked at him intently. "You all right?"

Looking anything but, Cas frowned in pain at nowhere in particular. "I'm fine," he grumbled. "I'm—much better than I expected." Sam was surprised to hear that—this seemed pretty bad to be 'much better than expected.' He made to start helping Cas up, but without warning, Cas coughed violently, gagging up blood, and then went slack, his eyes rolling back in his head. He pitched sideways and would have fallen over if Sam and Alex hadn't mutually caught him.

"Cas… Cas!" Alex got no response. She looked at Sam, wide-eyed. "Did he—did he just pass out?" She looked at Dean, aghast. "Is that even possible?" She looked at Cas again, who had brilliant red blood dripping out of the side of his mouth. "Angels don't pass out! Do they?!"

Sam put a hand in front of Cas's mouth, checking for breathing. It was there. "Well, he's breathing. Sort of."

Alex held the pads of her pointer and middle finger against Cas's neck for a couple seconds. "Pulse seems normal," she said, but she didn't sound too relieved. "A little out of sorts my ass." She almost sounded pissed underneath all the worry.

Unsure, Sam sat back slightly to look at Dean, who had straightened up and was looking around in a disconcerted way. "What do we do?" Sam asked him.

"Hell if I know!" was the immediate response. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't have time for this, man." He let go of his nose and huffed a frustrated breath, then turned and walked off a few steps. Annoyed, Sam muttered an 'I'll be back' to his sister and got up, following Dean. Cas remained with Alex holding him up and peering at him anxiously in between cautious glances thrown around.

"Okay Dean, we need to figure this out, now," Sam said.

"I know, I know," Dean said, unable to stop pacing. He grabbed his own chin, his eyes scanning the area kind of desperately. And then, his eyes stopped. Sam looked where Dean was looking—The Prairie Court Motel. Sam looked at Dean, not understanding. Dean however clapped his hands together once decisively. "Okay, here's what we do. We put Back to the Future over there up in a motel, safe and sound where he can sleep off this—whatever—while we go gank Anna."

"...Leave him alone?" Sam was a little surprised at Dean's idea.

"Well the other choice is just a little inconvenient, Sammy," Dean said a low, tense voice, starting to sound defensive and backed into a corner. "I don't got time to drag around a big unconscious dude, do you? Weekend at Castiel's doesn't sound like my idea of a good time!"

Sam made a face. "No but… you're saying we leave our ticket out of here… behind?" Dean made a face of his own at Sam's question. "Cas likes to disappear on us when he's, you know, lucid. What if he wakes up and forgets we're here or—" Sam stopped. He could speculate forever and there just wasn't time. He refocused to his main point. "We can't leave him, Dean. It's a bad idea."

"And we can't take him with, either," Dean argued, getting more impatient by the second. "So what choice does that leave us?"

Sam gave a frustrated huff, glancing toward where Cas and Alex were—then paused, the perfect idea striking him. "Alex can stay with him!" He said with great enthusiasm, not sure why he hadn't thought of it already. "Make sure he doesn't wander off when he wakes up!" He paused, looking back at the angel, suddenly bleak as he considered. "If he wakes up."

"You have got to be kidding me," Dean said darkly, and Sam felt himself raise an eyebrow slightly. Was Dean seriously still on this whole keeping Cas and Alex apart thing?

"Dean," Sam said, deadpan. "Get over yourself." He got an evil eye from his brother but just rolled his eyes. "You're making a big deal out of nothing—even if you thought Cas might try something—and that is a huge if—does he look like he's up to doing something like that anytime soon?"

Dean looked at Sam unhappily, then in Cas and Alex's direction. "I mean, just look at them, Sam!" Dean hissed, jabbing his hand out demonstratively. Sam looked—all he saw was Alex supporting a passed-out Cas while looking concerned.

"What?" he asked, looking back at Dean oddly. "All I see is Alex and her friend Cas who she's worried about. Who is also, um, super unconscious at the moment!" Dean responded by clamping his lips into a thin line. Sam stayed calm. "I'm right about this Dean. And you're being a little bitch."

"Am not," Dean muttered, then cut his eyes sharply to Sam, narrowing them slightly. He seemed to have thought of something, folded his arms, suddenly giving off an air of superiority. "Anna's after you Sam—maybe I should leave you here with Cas, huh?"

Sam's expression fell in exasperation. Dean couldn't just let it go. Of course not. Sam huffed. "No, Anna's after Mom and Dad now, she doesn't even know I'm here. And, I mean, think about it. Alex is safer here!" That last part got Dean's attention, just like Sam knew it would—they looked at each other significantly. If there was anything they would always agree on, it was that they wanted their little sister to be safe. Speaking of, she had noticed them exchanging words and had left Cas propped against the car to walk over with terse expression.

"What are you two arguing about now?"

Dean spoke up before Sam could. "Sam here wants you to stay behind and babysit Cas while we go do all the fun stuff."

"We need to make sure he doesn't disappear on us while we go take care of Anna," Sam quickly added.

Alex's eyes flickered between the two of them for a long beat, her expression unreadable. "So... I'm automatically the one who stays behind while you guys run off and save Mom and Dad, face down a rogue angel who's after Sam, risk your asses and possibly get killed in the process?"

Dean looked at Sam, his expression suggesting Sam was done for. Sam pressed his mouth downward in a kind of shrug, briefly as he tried to appear nonchalant. "Yeah, basically."

Alex glanced back at Cas, pausing, then looked back at them. "You guys need me on this one."

"Yeah, we do—to make sure our time machine doesn't go AWOL," Sam said, trying to appeal to her sensibility.

His twin folded her arms challengingly. "Okay, well, why can't you stay? You're the one Anna's after, right?"

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line—this was his favorite thing, when it turned into a sibling rivalry contest. Dean looked at Sam, as if to say 'see? I was right.' Sam took in a long breath to keep patience. "I can't stay because I am going," Sam insisted, looking at Dean pointedly, then Alex. She was incredibly annoyed with him. Sam huffed, tried again. "Okay, here's another idea: Dean stays with Cas."

Dean looked at Sam as though he'd suggested Backstreet Boys were real musicians. "Hell no!" he retorted. "I'm the oldest and I'm going, that's final."

Sam let out a deep breath through his nose. "Okay, then by that logic, Alex is the youngest, and she stays."

"Youngest by one minute and forty-seven seconds, Sam!" Alex protested. "That doesn't even count!"

Sam muttered under his breath, "It does though."

Dean had a hand on the side of his head and chopped it down through the air, approaching his wit's end. "Look you two morons, at this point, I don't care which of the two of you stays!" he thundered. "Time's wasting—Anna could've killed both Mom and Dad by now and have time left over to go catch tonight's episode of The Bob Newhart Show!" He glanced from Alex to Sam, irked. "Okay, look," Dean muttered, "you two settle this the old-fashioned way and we're done and moving on, end of story." He waited about one second then jerked both hands up at them. "Today, guys!"

Alex and Sam contemplated each other reluctantly then Sam raised his eyebrows at her in challenge. Unamused, she gave an aggravated "fine!" under her breath.

Sam made a fist and cradled it in his other hand. His sister mirrored him tersely. They didn't need a countdown or go signal—in unison, they started. One, two, three times they hit their own palms, and then on the fourth count, Sam held his hand flat—paper—and Alex kept her hand in a fist—rock. Sam's face broke into a triumphant grin and he covered her fist in his hand. "Paper beats rock!"

Alex made a frustrated sound. "Yeah, fine. Whatever. I can accept defeat." She let out a gusty sigh. "You a-holes really owe me one for this." Sam noticed that she didn't sound that mad though, just kind of apprehensive. Dean, however, was over the entire thing and ready to get going.

"Yeah, great, whatever, let's get you two checked in so we can get this show on the road," he said, already striding back toward Cas. Sam watched Alex, who was looking at Cas with a weird expression. He thought it was worry, which made sense. He knew she really cared about the guy—it was her guardian angel after all, why wouldn't she? Alex seemed to sense her twin's eyes on her and looked back at him petulantly, which only entertained Sam.

"Hey, don't act like you hate it so much," he teased in a low tone, grinning as he nudged her. He got an 'I hate you' face in return.

---

The Prairie Court Motel

Alex ran the washcloth under hot tap water. Sam and Dean were already gone—they had checked her in a couple minutes ago, thrown Cas down on the bed and then left in a huge hurry—but not before Dean had told her they would call by ten o'clock or be back that night—and if not, to come looking. So here Alex was in 1978, holed up in a quiet motel room with an injured angel… but that wasn't even the best part. As odds would have it, the only room available at the motel was the honeymoon suite… and when they said honeymoon suite, they meant it.

The room was covered in cheesy red heart motifs and there were several cheesy paintings of red roses displayed across the wood panel walls. A cheap bottle of complimentary champagne perched on the dresser, no ice or anything though—beside it sat two slender toasting glasses with gold hearts etched on them. There was a heart shaped tub in the bathroom, a little sculpture of cupid aiming a bow and arrow on the bedside table, and a plaque hanging above the bed that said, 'Love Conquers All.' In short, the room was ugly as shit. Finished wetting the cloth, Alex rung it out and exited the bathroom. She'd had seen some corny motel rooms in her day, but this one took the cake.

However, she wasn't so much focused on the room decor as she was the guy on the bed. Laid flat and unmoving, Cas looked just the same as when Dean and Sam had left—unresponsive. She paused a second, taking in the sight of him. Somehow, the blanket he laid on (which, of course, was a tacky heart print) seemed put there to insult her or taunt her. He looked so handsome. Like he could have been sleeping. Well, except for the streaks of blood across his lower face.

Alex gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, one leg folded under her as she leaned over him carefully, steadying herself with the light touch of her palm to his chest. Blood was drying underneath his nose at the edge of his mouth... and she felt almost sick. He hadn't been telling the truth about how bad off the time travel would leave him, the idiot. And now she was left not knowing if he'd recover—when he'd wake up—or if he'd be okay at all. Was this some kind of angel coma? Or the equivalent of hitting his head hard? How long would this last for? Would he be permanently damaged? And then, a more disturbing thought… was this him losing his 'angel mojo' like he'd talked about in 2014?

There was no way to tell, not yet, so she didn't need to get herself completely bent out of shape over it. She was powerless to do anything except clean him up, but since that was the only option, that's what she did. With her palm still pressed against his chest, she began to carefully dab the washcloth at the blood that ran down from his nose. Alex reflected momentarily about how she just wasn't sure about this. Part of her was really screaming in frustration at being 'left behind' as her brothers went and hopefully stopped Anna from killing Mom and Dad… but… on the other hand, she really couldn't feel too upset, because being here when Cas woke up and making sure he was okay—that felt immeasurably important too.

Still, Alex's mind went back to the other perspective—she could be out there helping her brothers stop a crazy angel from murdering her parents, one of whom she'd never even known. As soon as Dean had demanded Cas take them back to 1978, Alex had been struck by the frightening and intriguing thought of meeting her mother. The weird thing was, she didn't know if she even wanted to—she had spent her whole life having no memories of her at all, only a couple of snapshot photographs, some stories, and nice sounding hand-me-down memories from Dean. So the idea of actually meeting Mom and putting a real, living, breathing face to the name was gray area for Alex. In the deepest parts of her heart, she felt like it was easier to write Mom off as some stranger in a grainy photo than see her as a real human being. Not knowing Mom made it almost painless to exist without her. Just thinking that made Alex feel shitty. Mary Winchester would be ashamed to know her daughter was that shallow and heartless and afraid.

There was also the thought of seeing Dad. She remembered when he died. He'd told Dean goodbye. He'd had a last conversation with Sam, too. But hadn't said anything to her at all. Maybe he'd been waiting for the right opportunity that never came, maybe he just had died before he got the chance, or maybe he just hadn't wanted to. He had never talked to her much or liked having one-sided conversations, which you tended to have with a mute person—and he'd never 'gotten' her like Sam and Dean had. He'd always looked at her with this kind of stand-offish look in his eyes. Like he just didn't know what to do with her and didn't even wanna try. She remembered trying so hard to make him proud. She'd learned to shoot straighter, draw faster, load quicker than her brothers. She'd memorized sigils and wards and spells, more than Sam and Dean. But he'd never done what she'd wanted him to do: just look at her with pride and joy. He'd acted proud some days, he'd sometimes laughed at the purposefully funny things she'd done and said (well, written), he'd patted her shoulder a few times in approval. All things she thirsted for. It had always felt like he was holding back. Like she needed more. But more never came. And there were the nights he'd drink too much and get angry. Those nights were the ones that dominated her memories.

She didn't want to see Dad again, she realized. And she didn't know how to feel about that.

She thought about what Dean said about setting things right—he wanted to warn their parents about Azazel and stop the nursery fire, Mom dying, everything. What if he did, and what if it worked? It would change literally everything. Alex pictured herself living a life where she possessed a voice and had two parents who worked normal jobs. She pictured herself living in one house, going to one school. Having Christmases at home and always knowing where she'd be falling asleep come bedtime. Making cookies for bake sales and having a mom who would braid her hair and teach her how to talk to boys. Alex fear guns and knives; she'd be squeamish at the sight of blood. She'd go to prom and get excited about turning sixteen and subscribe to shallow magazines about fashion—she'd spend time complaining about minimum wage and how her MP3 player was a piece of crap—she'd have a dad who was proud of her, smiled at her with his eyes, talked with her. There would never even be a notion in their minds about this cursed version of life they'd ended up with.

Alex looked at Cas. If Dean changed the nursery, it would change this, too.

She moved onto the blood streaked at the edge of his mouth, slowly tracing the washcloth into the corner crease of his lips. She had to hold his face steady with her other hand. Underneath her palm, his jawline felt rough from stubble. She realized the only sound in the quiet room was of his deep, steady breathing, and her eyes darted to his chest, which rose and fell rhythmically underneath her hand. She refocused.

She'd cleaned Dean and Sam up a million times, but this was very different. Alex was able to really look at him now, really look. The angel's piercing gazes had always sent her eyes running away. Today, she could look as long as she wanted. Her eyes flickered around his face, first resting on his long, dark eyelashes, then the soft crease where his lips met each other, then the hollow of his cheekbone. The scruff of his five o'clock shadow. The cleft of his chin, the graceful line of his jaw. The little dark curls of shaggy hair behind his ears. The weirdly beautiful vertical lines across his lips. The little, barely noticeable wrinkles along the ridge of his nose. The uneven line where his dark, messy hair met his forehead… the rebel tuft of hair sticking up on the top of his head. She smoothed that down gently, haltingly, looking at his face again—then brushed his hair back from his forehead without thinking. An unnecessary action. But she had done it anyway. She looked at his lips again. She could hear another sound in the room now—herself, breathing a little harder than what was normal, because she was unintentionally remembering a kiss from 2014.

Exasperated with herself, Alex made a couple last gentle swipes of the washcloth. His face was clean now and Alex sat quietly, contemplating him from the corner of her eye. Now what? I'm a little rusty on angel first aid. She checked his pulse again, fingers to neck—it was normal. She hesitated, pulling her hand away into her lap, watching him carefully for any change. But he didn't move at all, didn't make a sound.

Alex got up and tossed the bloody washcloth into the trash then turned around, folding her arms to study Cas apprehensively. She found herself staring at the plain black dress shoes on his feet. They weren't scuffed or dull at all, they looked brand new. How does he do that? She remembered the first time she'd seen him that she, Dean, and Bobby had shot him up pretty good, but the next time she'd seen him, he was in the exact same outfit—mysteriously sans bullet holes. Since then, she'd gathered that he seemed to be able to regenerate his clothes. That, or he had a magical heavenly closet somewhere with an endless supply of the same outfit. Hmm. And that… didn't seem likely. Regeneration it is. But if he had the power to alter his appearance like that, it struck her as a little odd that he chose to remain in the same, ordinary things. What a strange creature this Castiel was turning out to be. She'd been so unsure about him at first. She'd hated him in some moments, for fuck's sake. She continued to watch the sleeping angel sobering. Things had changed so much since then.

She sat down on the edge of the bed again, fixing where one of the lapels of his coat had turned inwards. She thought of how the trench coat—the cheap suit—the ten-dollar tie—the things he wore were so ordinary, so unlike everything Castiel was: powerful and surprising, a lightning storm contained in a glass bottle. But, she reminded herself with a sudden note of gravity—that the clothing, the messy hair, the now-familiar face—that was Jimmy Novak, or at least it had been, once. She was struck with a pang of guilt thinking of Jimmy and wondering what had happened to him.

She rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand, getting up to pace. This whole situation was so screwed up. God, maybe it would be best if Cas just stayed knocked out this whole time, however long it took Dean and Sam to return. Because if he woke up and started treating her weird again, Alex wasn't sure if she could take it. It sucked to have Cas skirting her like she was the plague. Grimly, she thought of this one girl Courtney that Sam had been good friends with in seventh grade—best friends, really... until Courtney told him that she liked him and wanted to be his girlfriend. Sam, definitely not on the same wavelength, had started avoiding her at all costs because it was so awkward for him and he didn't want what she wanted at all. The friendship fell apart into nothing. In middle school, who cares? But... wow. Alex was the Courtney in this situation. She felt embarrassed about the revelation. She would take back the hand touch in a heartbeat if she'd known it was going to ruin whatever they were before. She stopped pacing, looking sidelong at Cas's still form. Friends. They had been friends. And that should have been enough for her.

Miserable, Alex tried not to notice how Cas's clothes were too big. His white dress shirt, especially, kind of stuck out and bunched up. His trousers, however, laid flat against him, and she could see the taper and angle of his hips underneath. She swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable and needing to look anywhere but at Cas—still, her eyes wandered to his hands, which laid still beside him. Rough, large, warm, strong. Those hands had healed her, held her, wiped tears off her face—those hands had snapped handcuffs onto her one day... then ripped handcuffs off the next. She thought of the irony of that. How when she first met Cas, he'd had zero problem leaving her cuffed in the basement at Bobby's. And then roughly a year later he'd savagely torn another pair off, the most upset she'd ever seen him.

She shivered at the thought of Lucifer, remembering when he'd shoved her to get a rise out of Castiel. The angel looked positively murderous when the devil slammed her against the wall—Cas had drawn himself to his full height looking ready to destroy everything in his path. And Lucifer had said, softly, far too close to Alex… "Look. How protective he is of you." As if he were pleased with the display, like it was something that fascinated him. He'd almost sounded triumphant—but why? Cas was her guardian angel. Wasn't he supposed to be protective? She had begun to think about this very idea a lot the past couple of weeks—theorizing that maybe that was the exact reason why she'd gotten so confused about Cas and his feelings toward her. She'd interpreted the way he looked at her wrong. His attentiveness and care weren't because of romantic feelings or emotions. She got it now—she'd made the mistake of looking at it from a human perspective. He had some kind of profound, deeply rooted bond to her because he was her guardian angel. She'd made the mistake of assuming things—that, paired with what had happened in 2014—she'd just been dumb. It was obvious that whatever she and future Castiel had in 2014 was because he was human.

Really, Alex… thinking an angel could fall in love with you.

She'd laugh at herself if it wasn't so pathetic. She had seriously been reading too many romance novels. They were starting to melt her brain.

Alex stopped pacing and told herself to get her head straight. She needed to stop mooning around like an angsty teenager and get to work preparing. If Anna showed up, Alex wanted to be ready. It seemed unlikely, but it never hurt to be ready for a worst-case scenario in her experience. She shrugged her jacket off and tossed it toward the heart-shaped coat knobs dotting the wall beside the door—the jacket totally missed but she didn't care. She had caught sight of herself in the mirror above the dresser. She looked so plain, so tired, so haggard. With deflated esteem, she looked back at Cas. Decisively, she drew her hunting knife out of the sheath on her belt and shoved the sleeve of her flannel shirt up a little bit. Holding her arm out in front of herself, she took a deep, reluctant breath—this never got an easier—then sliced into the skin there, suppressing a pained sound as blood flowed out of the cut. Satisfied, Alex re-sheathed her knife and went over to the bed again.

On the wall above the bedside table, Alex began to fingerpaint in blood, the strokes forming the angel warding sigil. She'd added this symbol into her mental catalogue a long time ago. Funny how drawings and shapes combined just so could save your life, trap a demon, or send a spirit into the void.

After finishing the sigil, Alex washed her hands and grabbed a dry washcloth from the bathroom to held it against her bleeding arm. She leaned against the bathroom doorway for a minute, waiting for the blood flow to stop as she studied Cas. He looked so peaceful. She wondered if he would dream, and if he did, what those dreams might be. She smiled softly at the sudden thought that she was watching over her guardian angel. Alex promptly stopped herself. These were more of her ridiculous Harlequin Romance influenced thoughts.

The sound of silence rang in her ears all over again and Alex let out a soft, frustrated breath of air as her mind turned to worries over Sam and Dean. If they screwed this up and got themselves hurt or killed, she would murder them. Getting exasperated, Alex looked around restlessly. She couldn't just sit here and stare at Cas all day, and she couldn't stew in silence about Sam, Dean, Mom, Dad, life... she needed a distraction, stat. She tossed the washcloth away then went and switched the television on—it was ancient, the kind with wood panels on either side of the screen with an antenna the size of a fish tank on top of it. Only one channel came in, and on it, some movie she'd never seen before. The picture quality was heinous.

"I tell you this as an artist, I think you'll understand," a young Christopher Walken was saying to an even younger Diane Keaton. "Sometimes when I'm driving... on the road at night…" he said, "I see two headlights coming toward me. Fast. I have this sudden impulse to turn the wheel quickly, head-on into the oncoming car. I can anticipate the explosion. The sound of shattering glass. The... flames rising out of the flowing gasoline."

Alex was not amused with her luck. This looked like a great movie to watch while she was already kind of depressed. But, at the very least, it was some background noise. She sat cross-legged on the far edge of the bed at a respectable distance from Cas. Close enough to keep an eye on him and make sure he was still breathing. Far enough to not be considered a total creepy stalker. She glanced at the cut on her arm where the blood was beginning to clot. She absently rubbed an eye, thinking coffee via an IV would be epic just about now. Unseeingly, tired eyes wandered to the TV screen. She didn't want to fall asleep—because every time she did, the nightmare, the one she'd had for weeks now, consumed.

---

"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"

Castiel heard a soft masculine voice speaking somewhere nearby. It was dark and his eyes were closed. What was happening? He remembered bringing the Winchesters back to 1978, then subsequently collapsing...

"Oh, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do," the voice continued, as Cas, eyes still closed, realized how weak his vessel was. Hazily, he was recalling performing the locating spell to find Anna, then he remembered his conversation with her in the warehouse. His eyes snapped open, his pulse suddenly skyrocketing. He remembered everything. His eyes darted back and forth, staring widely at the dark, unfamiliar ceiling above. The things Anna had shown him about the future clambered loudly for attention, sending his entire vessel into panic and confusion. He heard the same male voice speaking still nearby, but didn't catch the words, his ears buzzing loudly.

He seemed to be inside some kind of room and on a bed. Cas looked to his left and promptly froze. Within arm's reach Alex laid on her side facing him with eyes closed. Her head rested on her arm and her knees were drawn up toward her chest. If he hadn't seen her shoulder slowly moving down and then back up as she breathed, he had been a fraction of a second from believing she was dead—the memory of seeing her lifeless body covered in blood was so pervasive in his mind that seeing her there beside him like that had convinced him, just for a moment, of the worst.

But she was alive—and asleep—beside him. Cas let out a breath he hadn't realized had been held, then was suddenly struck by the realization that they seemed to be alone. Where were Sam and Dean? His eyes searched around the room briefly, as he winced against the difficulty of raising his neck even four inches. He was immediately confused by the overwhelming barrage of strange, red decorations that covered the room. He could see that the television was on. It was dim in the room—a motel suite of some kind. He couldn't hold his head up any longer and gave up, letting it thunk back onto the pillow.

He looked back at Alex, the strangest and most overwhelming combination of emotions overcoming him. In the most literal sense, he felt he couldn't take these sensations and thoughts. They violently ricocheted around in his head, spilling over into each other then multiplying and they were too much to bear—Cas wanted to grab his head in his hands and silence it all, just make it stop. But his arms were too weak to move, and even if he could move them, there was a terrible suspicion inside that no physical action on his part could ever quell this chaos inside of him—the noise in his mind wouldn't stop or end. He seemed to have no choice but to lay there lost in despairing, horrified thoughts.

He dwelled helplessly on the future where a fallen version of himself had been in love and with the woman beside him now. He was once again feeling his breath shortening as he wondered how. Castiel had watched humans since the dawn of time but hadn't ever imagined himself becoming one. He hadn't ever thought he would be anything but a servant of Heaven. But in this supposedly certain future, he had fallen from grace and forged a new life with the woman beside him... sharing a home... and more. Cas blinked rapidly, eyebrows knitting further together. His heartbeat was fast, and he could feel it in his throat. The sounds from the television became muffled background noise as his mind dove deeper and deeper into wondering. He had created a child with this woman in the future. Him, a father. A lover. A person. Intimidated, Cas could not begin to wrap his mind around all of the implications.

He watched Alex closely as she continued to sleep. He felt such fierce protectiveness and desperation rise—quickly followed by shame and fear about the future. He heard an echoing gunshot and saw her dying moments bolting painfully across his mind. Could that really be where the future would take them? He didn't want to believe it. He thought of everything else briefly—Dean's cold and heartless demeanor, Lucifer walking the earth in the flesh, the Croatoan virus all but destroying the world. None of it seemed quite as awful as the knowledge that he could be responsible for Alex's death. Not only her death. But the death of the new, growing life within her. Aain, the thought of the child overwhelmed him and he sent the thought away. It wasn't difficult. He was lost in so many other huge, clambering thoughts. The possibility that he could hurt Alex in any small way inspired intense fear like he'd never felt before. He could never, never let that version of the future happen.

All roads lead to the same destination. He'd said that to Dean once. Now Castiel didn't want to believe his own assertion, because if it were true... what Anna how shown him was inevitable. In that moment, Castiel swore to himself that he would find a way to make sure what he saw never happened. Even if he had to kill himself.

"Sin from thy lips? Oh trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again." the man on the television said with great emotion.

Cas glanced down to just beside his right foot where he could just see a couple on the screen kissing with fervor. The sight of it made him think of the kiss he had witnessed between the Alex beside him now and the Castiel of the future. Quickly after the shock of witnessing such a passionate and sexual kiss, a dark, foreign feeling had shimmered through him. He wasn't entirely sure what it was. Why had she done that? And moreover, why hadn't she told him about it? Her strange behavior toward him when she'd gotten back from 2014 now made sense. He wanted to be angry that she hadn't told him about the kiss—but then, in quiet realization, he thought perhaps he had no right to think she owed him an explanation. Still, he couldn't brush aside the feelings of betrayal. And confusion. And, he realized in surprise—hurt. Was this jealousy?

Offhandedly he thought maybe that was why she had kissed him so readily in the panic room… because she had done it before. He felt a sudden surge of loathing and hatred toward that angel-turned-man who had fallen apart, gotten Alex killed, then had the audacity to involve 2009 Alex and touch her like that. Castiel didn't recognize that man as himself. He was left feeling empty and bitter. But then his mind turned to the knowledge of how he had taken the memory of the panic room from her. Ashamed, he thought cynically that perhaps this is what the humans meant by 'irony.' She had hidden something from him—and he had taken something else from her. They were 'even,' weren't they? So why did it feel so awful? So many lies and half-truths.

He remembered seeing Alex and Dean right after he'd whisked them out of Zachariah's clutches. He'd immediately picked up on the fact that something was wrong with Alex. He'd asked her about it and she had sidestepped. He'd asked again. She'd insisted she was fine, but the way she'd looked at him… he hadn't believed her. He remembered standing there beside a busy street later that night alone, hands in his pockets. Wondering about what she'd seen in this dark future that had rattled her so thoroughly.

Deep sadness and frustration burgeoned as he realized that if Alex had told him about the kiss, he wouldn't have known how to react. He wouldn't have understood, not then. She had probably known that. He pondered. Perhaps the kiss in 2014 was bothering her in the same way that he was bothered by what he had done in the panic room. He couldn't know—she carried so much sadness with her, and sometimes, he thought perhaps she was cracking under the weight.

He looked at her thoroughly now. She often looked so weary and burdened, but right now, her face was relaxed and peaceful, soft. He had studied her face countless times before, but never tired of the discourse. During his existence he'd observed innumerable humans, but none of their faces drew him like hers did. He didn't even know why. How many other people possessed similar features? And yet, there was no one in existence now or ever who was as oddly captivating as Alex was to Castiel.

She should have been insignificant. But she wasn't. Not to him. He thought of it for a moment: him, a thousands of years old celestial being. Her: a fleeting, mortal blip on the timeline of eternity. But she was realer and grander to him than the Sistine Chapel or the Garden of Eden or Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

He loved the barely noticeable freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and the slightly mismatched shape of her eyebrows, the uneven arc of her hairline, the flyaway hairs that never seemed to tame… the sight of her eyelashes dark and fanning out against fair skin… he'd counted their number before. His eyes ran from the point of her chin up along the swoop of her angular jaw, then flicked over to the soft pink lips that were parted just slightly—and then he felt guilt crash over him like a wave breaks over a rock. The soft smile he hadn't realized was on his face faded. He remembered what it had been like to kiss those lips. And he longed to feel it again, the other-worldly quality of his mouth and hers, together.

Castiel couldn't look away from her. And when he realized he couldn't look away, he felt the sensation of panic eating at him from inside. He needed to be distant from her, because being close to her made him weak in the strangest of ways and in turn endangered her. He knew if he could stay far away, if he could let their relationship be resigned to a few interactions per year… he would keep her safe from that future where they were in love, broken, and doomed. But despite his recent attempts to keep them apart, fate seemed to be determined to push them together. Like now. He literally couldn't move his vessel, it was so weakened. And she was right beside him—the object of his every thought and desire.

Alex shifted in her sleep, moving her arm slightly—Cas froze at the sight of a streak of bright red blood there—and then he immediately reached out a weak, shaking hand and gently turned her wrist toward him, trying to see where the blood was coming from. He could see a cut, clearly self-inflicted there on her forearm, partially covered by her halfway rolled up flannel shirt sleeve. It looked like it wasn't bleeding anymore, but that didn't matter much to Cas—why had she cut herself? He looked around—then saw it. She'd drawn an angel-warding sigil beside the bed on the wall. He relaxed, just a little, but felt largely unhappy. She should have taken his blood to do that, not hers.

She stirred suddenly, frowning in her sleep, then made a soft sound, like in pain. Castiel went still, unsure what was happening. Again, she whimpered, and becoming concerned, Cas touched her arm, saying her name. Her eyes shot open, wide and darting around, momentarily confused. Then she saw him and stopped moving. "Cas?"

They looked at each other for three very long seconds and then Alex was sitting up, perturbed while looking around like she was dazed. "Did I fall asleep?" It seemed to be a rhetorical question because she squinted at her watch, then went wide-eyed. "For… shit, three hours?!" She grimaced and rubbed her forehead, distressed.

Cas watched her from where he laid. "Were you dreaming just now?"

She turned her attention to him. "Uh, yeah, I think." Cas waited for further explanation, his forehead wrinkling. But she shook her head, acting like it didn't matter. "It's nothing." She then looked at him pointedly, and tilted her head the side just slightly, eyebrows close together in concern as she assessed him. "Are you good? What happened?"

It was shameful to be stuck lying flat on the bed, unable to move much, her so high above him. He felt foolish. "My vessel isn't as strong without Heaven's power behind it." He explained, not able to keep his face from showing his discomfort about that fact. He paused. "I... don't think I can even sit up at this point."

"Damn." Alex looked worried. "You'll be okay though, right?"

He wondered if she were worried about getting back to her year, or about him. "Eventually." She looked kind of unsure about his answer. "Where are Sam and Dean?" Cas asked, and she swung her legs around toward him, sitting cross legged.

She cracked her knuckles, eyes dodging his tellingly. "Gone after Anna."

"…They left you here with me?" Cas wasn't sure he understood why Dean would allow that.

"Someone needed to keep an eye on you," she said, giving him a very small smile.

Cas let out a heavy breath regretfully. "I shouldn't have listened to Dean. I should have come alone," he muttered. "Traveling with passengers… it's weakened me. I'm all but useless." It was highly dangerous that they were here in 1978 and he couldn't protect them against Anna.

Alex gave him a lecturing look when he said that he was useless. She didn't say anything about it though. Instead, she asked, "Do you wanna sit up?"

He frowned deeply. "I can manage it myself." He lifted his neck, shifted his arms… and promptly realized he couldn't. It felt like the entire world were sitting on his chest. Also, everything hurt.

Almost amused, or maybe that was fondness in her expression, Alex rolled her eyes at him as she got up and rounded the bed then came to his side while giving him a soft little 'told you so' smile. "Okay, up we go," she said, hooking her arms under his. She used her body weight to drag him upwards along the bed while lifting him toward her—he was surprised at her strength. Grunting, she propped him against the headboard—and there was a fraction of a second when she drew back but without completely retracting her arms from him where they looked each other in the eye and inexplicably remained still. Her hazel eyes caught the lamp light in the room and appearing to be almost amber in color at that moment—he was fascinated, intrigued... and then she pulled away, uncomfortable but trying to act as if she were at ease, trying to smile, looking more like she were grimacing. Cas realized that Sam made the same face sometimes. "There's no shame in, uh, asking for a little help now and then, Cas," she told him, attempting a light chuckle. He looked away. No shame? Then why did he feel nothing but?

He glanced at her sidelong. "You must be upset to be left behind."

She seemed surprised by his comment, thinking about it for a beat before shrugging in good nature. "Nah, it's okay. I mean, hey. It was my turn to watch over you I guess." She smiled at him, but it was a hesitant, cautious smile. Cas remembered her saying something like that in the vision Anna had shown him. Castiel withered. Alex seemed to react poorly to that and sobered with disappointment, looking away.

"My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late!" a young woman lamented on TV.

Alex huffed and got up abruptly, switching off the program before she turned back around with folded arms. Pensive, she cleared her throat then looked at him squarely. "Cas… did I do something wrong?"

Cas swallowed, nervousness increasing. "What do you mean?"

There was a pause. She shifted where she stood restlessly, her eyes dropping away from him. "I just—you've been acting kind of, I dunno, weird toward me since Carthage." The blood in the veins of Castiel's vessel suddenly felt cold—did she somehow know what he had done? "And I just think," she continued hesitantly, "did I do something to like upset you, or...?" she stopped and looked at him in apprehension as she waited for his reply.

Castiel looked away and kept his voice and face neutral despite the internal racket of fear and guilt. "No, of course not." It wasn't a lie, but Castiel knew he was lying by avoiding the truth. "When humans want something really, really bad, we lie," Dean had told Cas not long ago. Cas didn't even desire to lie or hide things, especially from her... but he had trapped himself here where it was the only option. He couldn't tell her the reason why he'd been more distant was because of what happened in the panic room. She couldn't know about his momentary lapse in control. Especially now, considering what he had seen in the future. And yet he could see that it left her thinking she'd done something to push him away. Castiel marveled sorrowfully at the mess he had created. He didn't even know how to fix it, or if that were even possible. He watched her as feelings of loathing went pinging around inside of him.

Alex chewed on the inside of her mouth—Castiel could tell from the way her cheek hollowed out on the side. "I was really drunk the night before Carthage, okay?" she said, and Cas was perplexed. That wasn't true—she hadn't been drunk. Perhaps just slightly inebriated. "I, uh, don't really even remember most of what happened," she said, and Cas swallowed, feeling his teeth grit together, feeling his eyes drop down and away from her. "And whatever I might have said..." she continued awkwardly, looking at him as if waiting for him to understand. And suddenly he did. She thought when she had touched his hand… he closed his eyes briefly. "Whatever I might have done..." she continued, highly uncomfortable.

He cut her off before she could continue, but he couldn't look at her. "There are no ill feelings, Alex. You did nothing wrong."

Did she believe him? Her face was scrunched oddly. "Are you sure? Because you just haven't been... you the past few times I've seen you and I just thought—"

"Of course I'm sure," he all but snapped, hating being stuck sitting on a bed. He was afraid of what she might discover if she kept pressing him for answers, he despised himself for what he had done. She was startled at his tone and sharp look. Cas was startled too and his eyes went down, his voice softened. He tried to find an excuse, another lie. Anything to sweep away the chance of her finding out what he had hidden away. "It's… Lucifer… and also my search for God… I can't find answers on either anywhere, and—I'm highly vexed." It wasn't a complete lie, but it still felt like one. Alex seemed to be thinking his answer over and grew sympathetic. Cas felt a wash of shamed relief.

"So, no luck with the whole God thing." She came to sit at the foot of the bed near his feet.

The whole God thing. Cas shook his head and pressed his lips together, avoiding her eyes. "He's nowhere to be found."

"But you haven't given up." Neither a question nor a statement.

"I can't give up." There was too much at stake. And besides that, there was nothing else left to believe in. Everything else had failed Castiel. Heaven, his brothers and sisters, his own decisions. "He's out there somewhere. I don't know why he's… hiding." His word choice of 'hiding' made him quiet for a moment. Why would his father hide when he was needed so desperately? It would make sense when he finally found God, he told himself. Perhaps it was a part of the design. A test of faith.

Alex looked down at the bedspread, quietly disturbed. "Don't know how you can have so much faith in someone who is refusing to be found."

"Didn't you believe in your father?" Cas questioned. "Even when he went missing?"

Alex looked at him with a caught off guard expression. "Uh... no." She glanced off to the side. "I thought he'd finally just split, honestly." Her chin moved forward in an odd expression like reluctance, then her eyes came to look at him uncertainly. She thought for a minute longer. "My dad and I… he failed me in so many ways. How would I have faith in him? When he treated us, me so…" she stopped and glanced his way. "I mean… you saw what he tried to do, right? Give me up?" Her words paused him.

He realized his mistake in temporarily forgetting that pivotal moment Gabriel had shown Alex: John Winchester talking to Bobby Singer about disowning her. He remembered seeing the memory from where he'd been fighting to reach Alex, and at first, not understanding what the two men were arguing about. And when he had understood, he'd felt appalled. A father should protect his child, this was his solemn duty. And Alex had been more vulnerable than most children. Therefore, her father should have absolutely protected her, never even considered letting her leave his sight, not even for a moment. Castiel felt something inside him darken as he thought of John Winchester trying to abandon the one who had been entrusted to him.

He spoke slowly, frowning, his voice affected by everything he was thinking about. "He never should have even considered… 'giving you up.'"

She looked at him from the edge of her eyes. "Why not?"

Those two words shocked him. "How can you ask that?"

"Because I get it," Alex said darkly. "I was just… in the way. He didn't want me." Her voice wavered almost imperceptibly, leaving Cas feeling helpless to wonder why she would assume that or believe that.

"I don't understand," Cas said, looking at her intently.

Alex looked at him fleetingly, and her jaw working back and forth as she clenched it. She didn't say anything for a long moment. "He drank a lot. He said a lot. The kind of stuff you don't just forget." Her hand gripped bedspread tightly beside her leg, and he thought perhaps she didn't even know she was doing that. "That stuff you saw that Gabriel put me through?" she asked softly. "That wasn't half of it. Not even close." Her voice steadied and she raised her chin then drew a deep breath. "So, no. I didn't believe in him when he disappeared… even though we'd kind of been getting a little closer at the time… I just thought he finally got tired of it all. Of Dean and me and our shit." She looked very small and sad sitting there at the end of the bed. Her shoulders sloped forward as she looked at her feet. "I lived my whole life never knowing when he'd be back. If he'd be back." Guilt and pain flashed across her features. Alex shook her head, absently rubbing the side of her forehead with her fingertips. "He was a good man. I know he was, deep down." There was a lot of deeply conflicted emotion in those words. "But I don't think I believed in him. Ever." She paused. "He never believed in me."

Cas was quiet. For a moment, he couldn't look at her. When he did, she peered at him in intent curiosity. "Have you ever even met God, Cas? Dean told me one time that Anna said only a couple angels have ever met him."

"That's true," Cas admitted, understanding the unspoken question and waiting for her judgement. "I'm not one of them."

There was a short silence. "No offense but… how can you believe in a guy you've never even met?"

He glanced up at her from the corners of his eyes. Her heartfelt question seemed far worse than a flippant insult—which was what he had expected. He let the silence hang for a moment. "It's getting more and more difficult," he admitted grudgingly.

She shifted to face him better, a hand on her knee, all traces of her former distress replaced by inquisitive curiosity. "If you find God, do you think he'd actually be up for stopping the Michael Lucifer slapping contest? I mean, isn't them facing off part of his grand plan?"

She phrased things strangely. Similarly to Dean. Castiel felt himself frown as he thought over the question. "I'm not sure. What I believe about that anymore."

He watched her reaction to his words—it made her think deeply. And so was he: trying to quiet the creeping doubt within that God would never be found. He'd searched the world for months now—he was running out of places to look. But God had to be out there somewhere, he had to. Cas watched Alex again and her eyes snapped back to his—they were an impossible color; every shade of a forest filtered by late afternoon sunlight. "Cas, I need to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me," she murmured. "Does Anna have a point?"

He took a moment to understand what she was referring to. "About killing Sam?" Cas paused heavily. "Perhaps."

Shrewd, she contemplated him intently. "That's not what you said when Sam asked you that."

"I didn't want to acknowledge it as an option," Cas said, avoiding her questioning gaze. It was an uncomfortable subject. "I still don't."

She sat back a little, her face thoughtfully softening. "When I first met you—you would have killed him without hesitation if you thought it would stop Lucifer."

She was right. So much had changed since then. "That's true," he acknowledged, not sure why it left him conflicted. Commands and orders had been his entire existence, he hadn't questioned the will of Heaven. And now, he did nothing but question it. He let out a long breath through his nose. But when he looked up at her again, he forgot the unsettled pain for a moment.

A soft smile pulled at Alex's lips and the action softened her entire face. She looked at him in a way he didn't know how to describe. The air in the room somehow came to stillness, allowing him to hear his vessel's heart beating in his ears. Cas wanted to know what she was thinking. What made her look at him like that. He didn't have to wonder long. "You've just—you've changed so much," she said, and unlike the way Anna had said it to him earlier (as an insult) Castiel recognized it as a deeply pleased admission, and somehow it caused him to feel pleased, too. Alex was still looking at him with those soft, open eyes. When she spoke, she said something no one had ever said to him before. "You know what? I'm proud of you, Cas."

He felt a rush of something in his vessel, a visceral spike of instant and pleasant surprise—she was proud of him? He felt lighter somehow, but it quickly faded into confusion. "Why?"

"...Because you've decided to be your own person, make your own choices." She sounded approving. Which only made him feel rotten inside. If she only knew what choices he'd made—the things exercising free will had caused—she wouldn't be speaking to him. She would be regarding him with a disdain he deserved.

Distracted by thoughts of the panic room, he grew sullen and dark. "It was simpler just obeying orders."

"Sure." She seemed to empathize with him, unaware of his inner struggle. "It always is easier to just do what you're told—but it's not always better."

He thought about what the future could lead them to if he didn't stop it now. "How do you know?" he asked slowly. "If you're making the right choices?"

She shrugged, not realizing the weight of his question or why he asked it. "A lot of times you don't," she said, then reconsidered. "Most times you don't." She looked at him intensely now. "But this one? Trying to save Sam… find another way to shut down Lucifer…? It's the right choice."

"But how do you know it's the right choice?" he asked, thinking of Lucifer alive and well in 2014, of Alex dying in his arms, of Dean unrecognizable and merciless. He was desperate to know how he could learn whether he was on the right path or not.

"...I just do," she said, and the way she said it… he believed that she was certain. It assured him in a very small way, but he was still unsure how he could know for himself when a choice was right or not. He felt foolish, a thousands of years old angel seeking advice from a twenty-six year old human. Perhaps she thought him foolish. But she didn't look like she thought that. Unlike her brother Dean, she never looked at him with deep-seated annoyance or displeasure—not anymore. She used to. He felt a ripple of fear inside as his stomach clenched. Perhaps that future where they were close wasn't as far off as he had assumed. After all, it wasn't long ago that she had told him she hated him. Clearly, that had changed.

Disturbed, he stared at his right knee. "How can I know about other choices I have to make? How do I know if they're right?"

She let out a heavy breath, thinking, maybe trying to find a way to explain. "You take the days as they come. Do your best to do the right thing," she paused. "And learn to be okay with not always knowing." She had grown introspective, looking at a vague place in front of herself. "Because trust me." Her eyes flicked back to his. "A lot of times... you just won't know."

How true that was. "It sounds simple when you say it like that," he said, downcast.

"That's the funny thing about life though." She didn't sound like she found it humorous. "Nothing's ever as simple as it sounds." Cas attempted to shift himself and grimaced. Concerned, Alex watched him. "Are you in pain?"

"It's tolerable," he said. "If I don't move."

"I'm sorry. If I had known you'd be messed up this bad…" Alex trailed off, pausing. "I would've insisted you guys leave me behind."

"I wouldn't have let you stay," Cas said, to which she gave him a faintly combative eye. But she said nothing and instead glanced at her watch tensely. Cas looked at his feet sprawled in front of himself unmoving on the bed. He was still unable to move and his vessel was exhausted. He should have come alone and taken on Anna himself instead of listening to Dean. Another poor choice. He refocused on Alex, who had gone over to the window and peered out. "You're worried," he observed.

"Yeah, what else is new?" Her arms crossed and she sighed, sounding resigned. "I've spent my whole life worrying about those two stupid jerks." She said 'stupid jerks' with an odd amount of affection and a sad little smile. Cas frowned, watching her with a confused expression.

"I... don't understand. You used an insulting term—but with a tone that indicates fondness."

Her crooked little smile got a bit bigger as she looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Family, friends… they get to do that." She paused, then unexpectedly added, "You ass."

Castiel opened his mouth to ask why she had referred to him as a posterior, then stopped. She was looking at him with a playful expression, trying to press her lips into a straight line, but her smile was evident. Cas felt himself smiling a little, too. Family and friends got to do that. He was smiling more now, and she chuckled, eyes crinkled. He understood. She was implying he was her friend, or perhaps even family, that he was among a special group of people to her. It made him feel like he was soaring inside. And then, came the crash at the thought of her dead body in his arms four years into the future. His smile fell.

There was a sudden knock and they both looked in unison as a voice called "Housekeeping!" and the door swung open. Panicking at the unexpected intrusion and unable to move, Cas watched helpless as Alex, already halfway to the door, drew her knife behind her back, hiding it there, ready to attack. The knife still had her blood on it.

"Room's not empty," Alex said, stopping the door halfway with her foot, mostly blocking the newcomer's view into the room.

"Oh, sorry honey!" said the woman. Cas could just see the top of her head and part of her face from in the gap between the door and Alex's arm. "Thought this room was empty." Craning her neck she eyed Cas curiously, then grinned widely. "Damn, looks like you wore him out good!" She winked at Alex in an exaggerated manner.

"Uh—yeah, thanks," Alex said and turned, shutting the door in the woman's face and locking it with the chain this time. She re-sheathed the knife, a lot less amused than a moment prior.

Cas tried to decipher meaning. "That woman. What did she mean you… 'wore me out good'?"

From Alex's expression, he was surprised she didn't ask 'are you serious?' Instead, she pursed her lips. "Umm, well, this is the honeymoon suite," she said, eyes darting around, expression strange. Cas's frown deepened. He didn't understand what that meant. Alex gave him a testy look, expelling a huff. "She, uh, thought we were… that we had… I guess, you know." Cas waited. No—he didn't know. "She thought we had sex, Cas," Alex said, exasperated, her ears and cheeks a little redder than they had been a moment before. "And that I… tired you out." He was silent and she folded her arms again, becoming sarcastic as her cheeks grew even redder. "You know what sex is, right?"

Cas gave her a hooded glance, just as uncomfortable as she was. "I've existed for thousands of years. Of course I do." He helplessly remembered the image he'd seen of Alex and himself in the future: her on his lap, legs on either side of him, their arms wrapped around each other, his hand skimming upwards along the front of her body… Cas's skin began to feel hot all over. He tried not to imagine it or wonder about it: Sex. With her.

In Heaven it was said that sex was something God had created for humans to express love, but Castiel had observed that idea wasn't always true. Many humans had sex with complete strangers—he almost had, thanks to Dean's insistence. Cas remembered that woman—Charity? His vessel hadn't reacted at all to her, not positively. Not how it reacted to the woman standing across him in this room right now. His eyes finally found Alex as he vowed that she would never know the extent of his sinful thoughts.

She felt his eyes and met his gaze guardedly. It was absurd—just her eyes meeting his made his vessel react.

"Awkward, right?" she commented dryly on his continued silence, then rubbed the back of her neck self-consciously. "Hey, so, let's not mention that to Dean. Ever."

He heard her, but he was distracted by thoughts of the future and fears of what it would bring. Did he possess the ability to change it? In moments like this where she was close, he wasn't sure he could resist forever. He'd already proved to himself that he was weak enough to stumble—the panic room. And he'd seen a future where he'd given in and paid the ultimate price. The loss of Alex, the one he was sworn to protect. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, seeking an answer he wasn't sure she could give. "If you knew the future were certain... unchangeable... would you still try to stop it?"

Her immediate response was to make an almost cynically amused face. She walked over slowly, almost swaggering like Dean did sometimes. "Uh, yeah. I mean, look at my right now. Lucifer, Michael…? Everyone says it's fate, that it's already a done deal." She stopped, staring at the wall in front of her blankly. "Everyone except Dean and Sam."

Cas frowned. "What about you?"

She glanced at him again, grim. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep it from happening. You know that." Her jaw was tight, her voice was hollow. She looked afraid. He could see it in her tense shoulders, the rigid lines between where her eyebrows pushed together, her fingers nervously pressed flat against her legs as she stood still. He remembered seeing this same fear in her as long as he could remember. The fear that she would lose her brothers and have nothing. He considered telling her that even if they left, he would remain with her forever. But saying so would feel too intense. And he couldn't bring himself to tell her.

There was a long silence and Alex sank to the bed again as she breathed out heavily. She sat near his feet and stared into middle distance.

Cas looked around the room, searching for an answer. Some sort of reassurance that this difficult scenario would work itself out. All he saw were hearts and roses all over everything in the room. The sight of them irked him and he felt a scowl on his face. "These heart shapes are inaccurate," he muttered, and surprisingly, Alex looked at him with a strangely amused expression on her face, the pensive look fading away.

"That reminds me." She stood up and went to the dresser, grabbing a small square thing off it. She pulled little cards out of the little box and sat down, this time not on the edge of the bed, but in the middle of it, only arm's length away. She sat cross-legged. "The greatest pastime ever invented: a deck of playing cards," she said, shuffling the cards expertly. They made pleasing little papery sounds. She glanced at him doubtfully, pausing. "Do you know how to play poker?"

Cas looked from the cards to her in all seriousness. "Gambling is sinful."

She stopped her task, looking at him oddly. "Well, so is murder." He looked at her blankly. "I've seen you get smitey a time or two." She glanced back at him from underneath her eyelashes. "So cards can't be that bad, right?" Cas was silent in his uncertainty. Alex began dealing cards, giving him a little peacemaker's smile. His unease faded. "We'll play Go Fish instead."

---

"So weird how this was in the honeymoon suite though," Alex said, moving her game piece to a purple square and subsequently cringing. "Stuck in the molasses swamp as usual," she muttered in a sigh, then glanced up at her guardian angel.

Cas drew another card from the deck, engrossed. He looked so at ease, unlike the Cas she was used to—he was relaxed, eyes not squinted up, eyebrows not furrowed. He really seemed to be into the board game. They'd played Go Fish for a few rounds and Cas had complained (well, stated, but she called it complaining) about the lack of fish imagery, saying it with such serious concern. She'd laughed at the comment then poked around the room and found, of all things Candy Land in a dresser drawer (and the remains of a joint too). She'd swiped the blunt for later.

Cas was now propped onto his side, his head resting in the palm of his hand—he seemed to be slowly regaining his strength, which was encouraging. He moved his piece to a red square just a few squares away from the 'home sweet home' square. "I'm winning," he said, looking at her with an almost sly smile on his face.

Alex gave him an overly dramatic look from where she sat across from him. "Don't be too confident, buddy." She turned over her newest card and smirked. It was a blue card, freeing her from the swamp and taking her forward one square ahead of his.

She grinned triumphantly and he drew another card then raised his eyebrows… and showed her the yellow card, moving his piece to the 'home sweet home' square. And then he surprised her by making a face like she had a minute ago. "You shouldn't be so confident… buddy," he parroted, and it sounded hilarious coming out of his mouth. Alex dissolved into giggles (which didn't happen—ever). The giggles turned to full on laughter—because he looked so funny propped there like that, his face in his hand like a little kid, looking so pleased that he'd won the dumb game. Her guardian angel, the Candy Land champ. It was in, one word: adorable. She shook her head, still laughing.

She wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Care to go double or nothing?" He was confused and she laughed again easily. "I mean, wanna play again?"

Understanding flashed across his features, then enthusiasm. "Yes, again," he said, readily moving their pieces back to the beginning as Alex grabbed up the color cards and shuffled. This was bizarre to say the least—playing a kid's board game with her wounded angel—but it also felt good because he wasn't holding her at arm's length while looking at her like she was the spawn of Satan. Maybe it was just for today or now, but they were okay again and that made her feel better about everything. Encouraged that they could be friends again.

Alex finished shuffling the cards and noticed that Cas was staring at the cut on her arm where blood congealed. It wasn't super visible, just the end of it from beneath where her shirt sleeve was rolled up, but his smile faded and his eyes flicked up to hers. "You shouldn't have used your blood for the sigil."

"Why not?"

"You could have used mine."

Alex made a face like she didn't understand how he could suggest that. Did he forget he had been bleeding and unconscious and had frightened the living daylights out of her because he'd been bleeding? And he thought she'd just merrily slice into him for more blood? It was almost funny, except not really. "Uh, Cas, I wasn't gonna cut you open—no way."

He looked unruffled, in fact, a little pissed. "So you cut yourself instead."

Alex frowned at his tone then got a little defensive. "It's just a little cut, Cas. Calm down." It hurt like a bitch, of course it did, but she wasn't gonna admit that. Instead, she raised her eyebrows. "Do you know how many times I've had to bleed doing what I do?"

His eyes met hers stubbornly. "Too many."

And her air of confidence faded just like that. Cas's protectiveness of her sometimes made her feel angry, like he thought she was weak or stupid, but those two words carried a different conviction. Like he hated the fact that she hurt. She looked away. When he said things like this to her… she couldn't help the way she felt. "Well… I did it to protect us," she supplied stiffly. His somewhat stern expression faded. Alex put the Candy Land cards down, staring blankly. "I think Lucifer is inside my head," she blurted suddenly. Castiel's expression went cold and Alex fumbled verbally. "Or, or something."

"What do you mean?" he asked intently, and he suddenly looked every bit the Cas that had stood at the edge of a circle of holy fire and stared the devil down.

Alex wasn't sure why she'd just blurted that out—she hadn't told anyone about it, had been too freaked out about it, hoped it would stop or go away… she folded up Candy Land, moved it and the cards to the side, anything to avoid looking at him—

"Tell me, Alex," he insisted, voice deeper than she remembered.

If she were going to tell anyone, it should be him. "I've been having this recurring dream," she said waveringly, finally looking at him and trying not to sound as freaked out as it made her feel. "Since the night before we tried to kill him."

"What is the dream?" he asked, dangerous, intense, and needing to know.

Alex wet her lips with her tongue, trying to figure out how to word it, because it was mostly feelings more than images. There really were no images actually, just the vague shadowy interior of the panic room. "It's… strange. I'm in the panic room every time. At first I feel… nervous, like I said something I know I wasn't supposed to. But then I feel good. Really, really happy. Thrilled, kind of. But then it cuts short and there's this horrible fear and I want to run away, but something is… pinning me down. That's the worst part. The feeling of being trapped." She stopped, stumped on her own thoughts. "And then I wake up." Cas's expression seemed like he feared the worst. Alex's stomach turned in anxiety—if it scared him, how bad was it? She waited, but he said nothing. "That weird dream, plus the way he just, called me to him—could he be inside my mind?" No reply. "I mean, how could he be, right?"

Cas was shaking his head, his expression stony. "No, I don't—I don't think it's possible."

"But what if it is?" She was starting to sound as afraid as she felt. "I mean would you even know?"

He avoided looking at her. His jaw was tense. "I'll find out. How Lucifer did what he did," he sounded grave. "But... I don't think that's him inside your mind."

"Well what else could it be?" Alex demanded, starting to fear the worst the more she talked about it out loud. "It started the night of Carthage," she reminded him. That, to her, was the biggest indicator. "Just, test me or something. For a mark or a devil tracking device, I don't know. Please?"

He was reluctant but then after a couple seconds he raised his hand, placing it on her shoulder. He closed his eyes and his face twisted in deep concentration like thought, he remained like that for about ten seconds. Ten seconds in which Alex just stared at the knot of his tie... stuck feeling the weight of his hand on her shoulder. The simplest touch from him started fires in her veins. He finally opened his eyes, frowning. "Nothing," he said. Their eyes held. His hand moved just slightly down to the curve of her shoulder even as the frown softened, his expression becoming unreadable and intense. His eyes were bluer than any sky she'd ever seen. And then he took his hand away and said nothing. The loss of his touch was disappointing.

He looked like something was hurting him physically and Alex moved her head to try and see him better. "You okay?"

His eyes slid her direction but remained downcast. "I'm fine."

He didn't sound fine. Alex didn't think she believed him but let it go, shaking her head as she was plagued by thoughts of Lucifer. If it wasn't some kind of mark inside, how? Any of it? "I just need to know why it's happening. If it means something." If Cas couldn't help her, could anyone? "I haven't even told Sam or Dean about it." She wasn't sure why she'd said that out loud, but it got his attention.

"Why not?"

Alex took a second, thinking about it, not totally sure. Then she shrugged shallowly. "They have enough problems of their own right now. If this isn't something… I don't wanna worry them." There was another heavy pause. "But… if it is something…" she trailed off, not sure what she was going to say. She propped an elbow on her knee and put her forehead in her hand wearily.

Cas was pushing himself up a little into a sitting position while grimacing. He leaned against the headboard, arms at his sides, head turned to look at her. "I won't let Lucifer have you. Or Sam." He paused, suddenly disconcerted as his eyes fell away. "I suppose that's not very reassuring, looking at me right now."

Alex smiled unexpectedly. She almost felt protective of him in that moment, which was an odd revelation to process. "No. It's… I believe you, Cas." She regarded him through veiled eyes, realizing how much she owed him as she thought about everything. Not just Dean's life, but Sam's too. All this angel did was give to her and her family. How could they ever repay him, even a little? Maybe with a thank you. So she did her best, even though she felt a little awkward verbalizing it. "It... it meant a lot that you weren't willing to help Lucifer find Sam that night. I—I didn't think you would continue to say no like you did." And when he had, with her life on the line… she'd been so proud of him. Scared shitless, but proud.

In response to her praise, he seemed to grow even more despondent and maybe a little angry, too. "It was an impossible situation to be put into," he said blandly. "I only got you out of Carthage with six seconds to spare."

Alex felt her eyebrows raise up a little. Had it really been that close to midnight? To when Lucifer said she'd drop dead if she wasn't out of town? That was a close call. "Well, we got out though, right?"

Cas didn't look at her. "Barely." Alex suddenly realized something. This was the exact same kind of crap Dean put himself through constantly. She felt incredibly sad to see Cas doing the exact same thing.

"Don't blame yourself for things that didn't even happen," she told him gently.

His eyes snapped to hers. "Lucifer had you there." He looked almost angry again. "That happened." He was angry now. "He could have killed you, Alex, and I wouldn't have been able to do anything. I barely managed to save your life." His jaw clenched, he looked away, his expression stayed foul. "And look at me now. Helpless again."

Alex stared speechlessly as he got quiet. Whenever he got angry like that, his eyes blazing with a quiet fire that promised retribution, she always mentally took a step back to remember how powerful he was. He could devastate his enemies with just a touch... all while he walked the earth in the body of a man. Castiel was a fierce enemy to have, and an all-important ally. She was pretty sure Sam and Dean didn't quite see him as she did, they seemed to underestimate him. Alex paused. Sam and Dean.

She checked her watch and her stomach clenched. It was almost eleven at night. Crap. This was not good. Dean said he'd call by ten. She glanced at the phone beside the bed, her instincts buzzing. "Something's wrong," she muttered and got up, incredibly antsy. If I don't call you by ten, if we don't come back, come looking. Dean's words to her earlier that day.

She turned to Cas who had started frowning the second she'd said that something was wrong. She looked at him apprehensively, knowing what she had to do. He wasn't gonna like it, and she was pretty sure he would have to stay put, which he'd like even less. He was sprawled there on the heart-covered comforter like a sad rag doll. "Cas—I've gotta go find them. They've been gone too long—are you able to move?"

He looked at her in shock, then frowned even deeper than before. "You can't go alone."

She was already snatching her jacket up off the floor where it had fallen, shrugging it on, and giving him a 'no, duh' look. "That's why I asked if you could move. So can you?"

He struggled a minute, pushing himself up further into a sitting position—then collapsing back against the headboard weakly. The worst part was the little weak groan he let out.

"So, no." Alex grimly glanced around the room. She didn't want to just leave him sitting there, unable to move or defend himself—but she literally had to go find Sam and Dean. Cas watched her finish adjusting her jacket. He looked very unhappy. She'd feel the same if she couldn't move or walk or do anything.

"I won't be long," she told him. "I'll be back as soon as I find them." She turned to leave, but the sound of his voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Wait."

She turned back around. He was pensive. She went to him, watching as he reached inside of his trench coat with a wince then withdrew something—a gleaming silver angel blade. "Take this," he said, holding it out to her.

She stared in shock then shook her head. "I—I can't leave you without a weapon—"

Cas held it out further. "Take it."

"Wait—I thought you gave Sam your blade."

He shook his head slightly. "I gave Sam Uriel's blade. This one... is mine." He held it out even further to her, handle first, the sharp end pointed at himself. Alex was struck by how important this moment must be. He was letting her have the only thing that could kill him, the only thing that could defend him against other angels.

She looked from him to the blade uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

"Take it," he repeated, holding her gaze. Alex looked from his eyes to the handle of the blade in his hand. She gave in and reached out, her hand closing over the handle, fingers brushing against the ends of his as she took it. The blade was surprisingly light and cool to the touch, almost seeming to hum with an energy against her skin. Just holding it was incredible.

Her eyes flickered to his, doubtful. His eyes were already looking into hers. "Anna is very fast," he said in quiet grimness. "Alex, be careful."

At that remark she couldn't help but smirk a little as she slipped the blade into the inside pocket of her jacket. "Always am."

"No," he said grumpily, "you're not."

Maybe that shouldn't have made her smile, but it did a little. The smile faded fast though as she took in his clear dismay. She felt her stomach clench as she thought about the danger and uncertainty of their situation. It was dizzying and overwhelming, really: Dean and Sam, missing, Cas down for the count, a powerful angel named Anna somewhere out there bent on killing her parents and/or Sam. In all the time that had passed already, she thought of how much could have already happened. Terrible possibilities and scenarios played out in her mind's eye. She made herself stop, because if she let herself go there, she'd panic. Days like this she had to think how impressive it was that she wasn't in a crazy house somewhere howling at the walls. Alex zipped her jacket and pulled her hair out of the collar to the side. She couldn't waste any more time. She put on a brave face and nodded once at Cas. "I'll be back."

She paused at the door and looked back as her hand came to rest on the knob. Cas was looking at her in intense discomfort. He didn't want her to go. It was written all over his face. She really, really wished she didn't have to leave him there all alone, but what choice did she have? Cas had asked her earlier about how to know when one was making the right choices. And this was one of those times when she just didn't know.

Conflicted, Alex took in a deep breath and turned, then walked out the door.