Song Remains the Same
Chapter 25 / Meet the Parents
"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
- Leo Tolstoy
The instant the door closed behind Alex, a rush of fear and resistance came over Cas. He struggled again to sit up, needing to be functional and now. But it was the same as before—the vessel pinged in pain all over, refusing to move. He let out the softest growl of frustration. He was completely inept... and Alex was out there alone.
A dark thought lurked at the edge of his mind: Anna might have already killed Sam and Dean both. Meaning that Cas had just let Alex go after them, perhaps to walk directly into a trap. He had placed them all in mortal jeopardy with his choice to listen to Dean's wishes. He cursed himself. What had he done? In all his centuries he had never experienced such a sensation of utter uselessness.
Cas had considered commanding Alex not to go after them, not yet, and not alone—and truth be told, he would have done exactly so in the past. But now he knew Alex well enough to recognize when she had made up her mind. So, he'd done the only thing left to do: sent with her a small part of himself—his blade. It was a small hope of defending herself against Anna, but it was better than nothing.
Castiel thought again of her face as she took his blade with reverence, like she'd almost understood the significance of the gesture. Alex didn't know this—how could she, humans knew nothing of the sacred nature of the angel blade—but angels didn't give away their blades. Ever. Nor did they loan them out. Each angel received one and forfeited it only upon death. Each blade was connected to its angel, and the angel to the blade. To give a blade away was considered an abomination. Castiel knew if Heaven could see him now the Host would be shocked about how many rules he had broken in favor of helping the Winchesters. In favor of protecting her.
Cas struggled again, painstakingly pulling his legs over the edge of the bed. He felt acute urgency. The reality of the risk to Alex's life was pressing on him greater than before and he needed to be where he could see her. Refusing to accept his weakened state, he groaned in pain, pushing himself up with all his strength. He fell forward onto all fours, shaking from exertion.
2010
Dean stumbled, almost falling sideways—jolted by suddenly being sent back to the present-day.
With a quick glance around, he saw that he was in the motel room they'd been in before when they'd left for 1978. Reeling from what had just happened, he struggled to comprehend with a spinning mind: a minute ago, Anna had killed Sam…!
"Dean," came a familiar voice. Turning in dumbfounded shock, Dean saw Sam, who appeared just as confused as Dean was. Overwhelmed with relief, Dean grabbed his brother and hugged him tight. Sam didn't really hug back, he seemed disoriented, and when Dean let go, Sam looked around the motel room in a daze. "What happened?" he asked. "I was—we were in seventy-eight and—Anna—she stabbed me and... I remember…" His look of confusion transformed into realization. "Did I die?"
Dean looked away, disturbed. "Yeah, you did. Anna killed you."
"Explain." Sam demanded.
Dean thought it over—it was a jumble in his mind, too—the entire thing. "Okay, so Anna stabs you… you fall over dead in front of me… then Michael shows up, ganks Anna—"
Sam looked like he'd misheard. "Michael?"
Dean glanced at Sam broodingly. "He was using Dad as his meatsuit. Great, right?"
Sam's look of sheer disbelief summed up Dean's feelings on the whole deal. Smirking humorlessly, Dean began to pace back and forth in front of his brother. "Yeah, I know. He said all this BS about the bloodline, how Dad was a vessel and not the vessel, how free will is an illusion… I'm destined to say 'yes'... blah blah blah. Then he fixed you and sent us back." Dean paused, stopping mid-step, realizing something. His stomach dropped, his heart clenched. He suddenly couldn't breathe. "Shit. Crap!" He looked at Sam in horror, then around the empty motel room, whirling in a frenzied search.
"What?"
Dean looked at his brother in breathless terror. "Alex isn't here, Sam! She's still in nineteen seventy-eight! With Cas!"
Cold realization flashed across Sam's face, then anger. "Dean!" Alex's twin looked curious enough to spit. "How?! Mike zapped you back too fast for you to tell him, oh yeah by the way, my sister's here too, could you give her a ride back?!"
Hackles raising at Sam's, Dean grew confrontational. "Michael was in my head man, I blanked for a minute!"
"You mean you forgot about her!"
At that comment Dean went still. Instead of admitting that Sam was right, he considered punching his brother in the nose. "I told you we should've left Cas alone, taken Alex with us!"
Sam held up two hands defensively. "So now this is my fault?"
Dean ignored his brother's question and turned around, trying to see straight. How the actual hell was he supposed to get her back here?! She was thirty-two years into the past for God's sake! Behind him, Sam seemed to have calmed down a little bit. "Listen Dean," he reasoned tensely. "I'm sure when Cas wakes up, he'll bring her back."
Turning abruptly, Dean stared hard at his brother. "And what if he doesn't wake up, Sam, huh? What then?"
Sam lost bravado, clearly realizing Dean had a point.
"I knew I shouldn't have let her out of my sight, dammit—" Dean knocked a lamp off the dresser beside himself, repeating, louder, "dammit!" Dean glared at the ceiling. "Cas!" he shouted. "Cas! Can you hear me you bastard? You bring my sister back to me right now!" There was a long pause and nothing happened. "Cas?" Dean repeated, but with less power and more fear. Nothing. Dean looked at Sam, who could barely meet his eyes. Quickly crumbling, Dean sank to one of the beds. "Jesus Christ, Sam. What the hell are we supposed to do?"
1978
Exhausted, Alex opened the motel room door and froze—Cas was standing (just barely) and gripping the dresser with both hands. When he saw her, his face washed over from pained exertion to relief. Alex shut the door behind her, already halfway over to him. "Cas! What are you doing?"
He wobbled, gripping the dresser tighter. "I was... preparing to come after you."
"On what legs?" Alex was dumbfounded—he looked like he was going to fall any second and her hands hovered near him, just waiting for him to topple.
"Uh…? These… legs?"
Drained both emotionally and physically, Alex shook her head, grabbing his arm and pulling it over her shoulder. "You need to sit back down." He was weak, leaning on her weightily. She supported him as they walked over to the bed. Alex grunted from the effort—he was very heavy. Admittedly, she was annoyed: She left for one hour and he was trying to kill himself by trying to come after her... when he was clearly unable to even stand unassisted! Unbelievable.
Cas was looking at her—she could tell because his voice was right in her ear. "You're much stronger than you look."
She just looked at him sideways, tone bordering on exasperated. "That's what I've been trying to tell you." They reached the bed. She helped him sit as he'd been before, leaning against the headboard upright. His legs dangled limply off the edge of the bed.
"What did you discover?" Cas asked intently.
Alex's expression was foul. "Nothing. House was empty and dark. They either went somewhere or…" she trailed off. Agitated and fearful, she yanked her jacket off and threw it toward a knob on the wall. It missed. She reacted by bowing her forehead into the palm of her right hand, shutting her eyes, then heaving a frustrated breath. Her eyes flew back open when she felt his hand gently touch her left wrist. Cas was looking up at her with an intense, questioning expression—concern.
Alex swallowed, feeling more unsettled than she had in a while. "Where are they Cas?" she asked, desperate for an answer. "Was I too late? Are they…?"
She couldn't verbalize her fear that they were dead. Cas's hand dropped away, his gaze went into the middle distance, and his jaw flexed tensely. "I don't know."
His answer made her chest tighter and she felt a surge of hopelessness. She stared down at his legs as they hung awkwardly. Almost angrily she bent and grabbed them, hauling them up until they were in front of him on the bed, then she wordlessly walked away by a couple steps. She needed answers, she needed to know what was going on, she needed her goddamn brothers to be okay—but she had jack squat to show for her search and no clue if they were alive or dead or what.
She'd done it in record time, and Dean would have been proud of how fast she'd found John Winchester in the phone book, hot-wired a car, then driven the fifteen minutes across town. She'd been ready to face down an enemy... but had found nothing. And the whole time she'd been out there, she'd been worrying about what if she found Sam and Dean in dead piles on the ground—what if she got back to the motel and found that Anna had come and killed Cas, who had been left defenseless without his blade. Crap, the blade.
She turned back around. Cas was watching her and she could see that he was feeling uncertain. She'd slung his legs down kind of aggressively without explanation, like she was mad at him. She wanted to explain to him. Because that pleased little look he got when he understood was one of the best things Alex thought she'd ever seen—but she felt like if she opened her mouth, all the pent up emotions would spill out into the open. So, wordlessly, she went back to the bedside and took the angel blade from where she'd had it in her jacket. In her hand, the cool metal seemed to buzz with energy. She held it out to him, thought about saying a thank you, but that didn't seem like enough. He took it silently, then he laid it beside him on the bed without even a look at it. She followed the blade with her eyes, perplexed, then looked at him.
"We'll find them," he said.
Alex wanted to believe him. "I should've gone with them," she managed brokenly then sank down, sitting on the edge of the bed next to his waist, her feet remaining flat on the floor. She felt like she was going to suffocate or implode. "I'm so tired of feeling this way—like any choice I make doesn't matter in the end." She let out a weak breath of air. "I made this big speech to Dean and Sam after the whole Gabriel thing and... about how I wasn't going to be a bystander, but look. I am. I always am." Alex had to fight away tears. "And they might be dead now. They might be dead."
"We'll find them, Alex." Cas repeated.
Alex looked at him challengingly. "How?"
His gaze faltered away. He thought hard and he seemed unsure at first. "In the morning. We'll go look together."
"You can barely even sit up," she pointed out harsher than she meant to.
Hurt flashed across his eyes and Alex immediately regretted it. "I know," he replied, and again looked away, unhappy. "I'm sorry. I've failed you."
Why was he making it about him? It made Alex snap. "Just cram the pity party, will you?"
Cas looked at her with a strange, wounded expression and didn't say anything for a couple of long seconds. "You sound like Dean."
Those four words jabbed guilt into her gut. Dean who talked down to Cas? Dean who rolled his eyes at Cas? Dean who didn't treat Cas with respect or trust? "I didn't mean—" she shook her head. "I'm sorry… I just..." She just what? She couldn't find the words and looked down remorsefully.
"You're upset," he stated grimly, and she looked at him again. He looked at his feet. "I understand."
She realized in genuine surprise that he was right—and how intuitive that was of him—but he looked so miserable that it momentarily made Alex want to jump off the planet. She was a jerk. She gritted her teeth. This is why conversations were so hard and why sometimes she just wanted to give up on them completely.
"Yeah, I'm upset. Not upset with you though." Alex wished she could take back the thoughtless comments. She could see the wheels of his mind turning with self-loathing and she tried to catch his gaze. "How could I be mad at you? I mean… after everything? And today you gave me your blade, Cas..." she didn't have to pretend—she literally was still floored by the gesture. Her voice softened tellingly. "I kind of can't get over that."
"I couldn't go with you." He clenched his jaw. "You needed it."
She studied him from the corner of her eye a minute longer. "It left you defenseless." He met her sidelong gaze with a hooded glance of his own.
His eyes flickered down, but then met hers again. "I wanted you to have it."
Her heart clenched with an unfamiliar warmth. It felt like she heard all the things he didn't say just then. She had gotten the feeling that he valued her safety over his own in the past, but today, he'd proved it all over again. She felt largely undeserving and caught off guard, like, how the hell did I end up with this guardian angel who would give his life for me? It was a huge, frightening thought. And yet here it was, this growing sense of trust and… love. Her heart twisted up, her pulse hammered. Her entire body seemed to go on high alert as she realized these things were not fleeting little confused feelings or shallow attraction. No. They were genuine, deep, and unmovable. That word she'd thought just a minute ago. Her confusion skyrocketed. How long had she felt like this?
"What's wrong?" Castiel asked, his head tilting to the side at her silence.
Covering, she quickly flashed a nervous grin. "I, uh… just… thinking how I have the best guardian angel ever," she told him sloppily—and it was a sentiment she did feel—but said in a light, silly tone that didn't reveal exactly how deep that feeling went.
His eyes slid to hers again, sullen. "You're attempting to compliment me," he stated. "But I don't deserve it." Alex regarded him with concern. He heaved a heavy sigh, staring ahead of himself unseeingly, a deep frown etched across his handsome features. "I'm a poor example of an angel. Attempting to serve a God I can't find. Heaven has cast me down. I've made… bad choices. Bringing the three of you here being one of them." He still wouldn't look at her. "I'm not the best anything."
She didn't agree. Not at all. And without thinking, she whispered back what she really thought: "That's where you and I disagree."
Cas's eyes flew to hers, inspiring an increasing heartbeat. Without meaning to, Alex was yet again immersed inside the memory of kissing him—well not him—the future version of him. She felt a pang of loss for something she'd never had... and probably never would. She got up and went to the other end of the room. He's your guardian angel, your friend—and that's all. She repeated this in her head several times as she stood in front of the silent television, trying to believe herself.
"What... are you doing?" Cas asked after a couple seconds. Not sure what she was doing, Alex tried to act purposeful.
"I'm—" she looked down at the television, reached for the knob. "Uh, turning on the TV." The picture quality was shit, and she slammed the top of the TV with the side of her fist… maybe a little harder than needed. The static cleared and she saw Robin Williams on the screen. He was dressed in a ridiculous outfit—rainbow suspenders over a colorful shirt. Alex recognized it immediately: Mork and Mindy. She smiled faintly as she remembered. "Huh. Used to watch this show as a kid."
She looked back at where Cas sat on the ridiculous bedspread underneath the plaque that said, 'Love Conquers All'. Her smile faded. This was the part where she grew up and stopped trying to make this whole Castiel thing into something it wasn't. Accepted that his devotion and care was otherworldly and learned to be okay with that, not always selfishly longing for more. She could do that. She would do that. She had to, otherwise she'd just torture herself over this forever.
"Mindy! My whole emotional life is flashing before my eyes!" Mork exclaimed in animated distress, and Mindy comforted him with don't worry, it was just a bad dream. Alex went back to the bed as Mork was telling Mindy how he didn't have bad dreams, as his alien race had cut off the ability for bad dreams when they had turned off their emotions. Cue the laugh track. Alex remembered this episode, actually.
Cas watched her as she sat beside him on the bed, leaning against the headboard, her shoulder just a foot away from his. She glanced at him. He looked away, watching the television for a moment. "Who is the man with the hair like Sam's?"
Alex looked at him sidelong, abruptly amused. "Hair like Sam's? Oh he'd love that. That's Mork. He's an alien from planet Ork. He came to earth in an egg-shaped spaceship. That girl's his roommate Mindy. But everyone knew they were more than that."
Cas took it all in then frowned. "There is no such planet, Ork."
Alex did a bad job of hiding her amused smile. "It's a show, Cas. Ork is made up. Mork is made up. He's an actor named Robin Williams." Cas almost looked suspicious and Alex tiredly chuckled, watching the angel out of the corner of her eye. He was almost as entertaining as the show. He looked at the screen intently, as if he were staring at an impossible math equation.
"But showing emotions is a good thing, Mork," Mindy was saying kindly.
Mork looked shocked. "But Mindy—that's a no-no, no-no for a Nanu-Nanu!" Laugh track. "Mindy, I've made a decision and I don't think you're going to like it very much."
"What is it?"
"Well, I've gotta stop this before the emotions take me completely over, so… I've got this little door in the back of my mind… I'm going to round up all of my emotions put them behind that door, lock it, and hide the key… in my foot."
There was laughter from the audience even though Mindy looked disturbed. "Are you saying that you won't feel anything anymore?"
"Right on, strike up the bland." Mork stood up, putting his hands at the side of his head. "Goodbye Mindy! I'm closing off my emotions forever."
Mindy jumped up after him. "Wait a minute Mork, don't!"
Alex yawned, unable to stop herself—she was really tired. This reminded her of the nights she and Sam had spent wondering where Dean and Dad were. They'd always had each other and whatever local television shows had been on. He'd always try to get her to watch that '80s Beauty and the Beast show but Alex would beg to watch The A-Team or Miami Vice instead. She blinked sleepily.
"Well you haven't convinced me that I need them," Mork was saying, "so on behalf of my emotions, I'd just like to say… goodbye, sayonara, ciao, ta-ta, catch you later Mama… and shalom! It's been nice feeling you."
"Wait a minute Mork, no, don't!"
Mork's face became emotionless, his voice dropped into monotone. "It is too late. The door is locked. My emotions are shut off forever."
"…Then so's the Mork who I like so well," Mindy lamented.
"Don't worry, we can go on having a non-emotional equivalent of fun," Mork droned. "There are certain advantages. Watch." He smashed himself in the hand with a little stone statue and Mindy cried out then asked if it hurt. "You bet," Mork said without any feeling. "Ow. It's killing me."
"So what's the advantage of that?!"
"I can hurt myself all day without bothering other people," was the stoic reply.
Mindy looked confused, then hurt. "Mork, can that door in your head ever be re-opened?"
"Yes, but I can't do it, because what's behind there is far too dangerous."
Mindy became angry. "You know something, you are really DUMB."
"Nice try, but insults to a man with no emotions is like hay fever to a man with no nose."
Mindy got upset, said Mork ruined her birthday, then accused him of being cold. She then got quiet… sat down… and said it was like part of Mork had died. She began to cry.
"If you think you can get to me by crying, you're wrong," he said, but then asked her name, "Mindy," gently in worry. He quickly snapped to attention, his voice returning to monotone, however, it was more urgent than before. "Fall back, systems to May Day, control tear ducts, think about baseball, baseball!" Then he was monotone again and sat down beside Mindy, who was still crying.
Castiel turned to Alex to ask a question—and went still. She'd fallen asleep sitting up, head sagging into the headboard uncomfortably. Her mouth was open just slightly, some of her hair was in her face. She was fast asleep.
"Ah, once again, I am in control," Castiel heard Mork say emotionlessly. "I can deal with you as any other person." There was a long pause and Mork's monotone softened. "A person with invitingly soft skin. Rosebud lips. And sweet little eyes that leak cute little drops that roll gently down your cheeks..."
Cas heard those things and looked at the screen, feeling strange. This alien man's words struck him in a way that resounded deep inside. He looked back at Alex's sleeping face. Soft skin. Rosebud lips. He swallowed and briefly wondered if he should move off the bed. And then he realized that her head was slowly sliding down, tilting toward his shoulder. He froze, watching.
Her head stopped when her cheek hit his shoulder and he felt a rush of protectiveness. The television was now just a hum in the background. He didn't look at it, not at all. He could smell the scent of motel shampoo on Alex's hair and feel the pattern of her breathing against himself. He didn't move a muscle for a very long time, even though his fingers pleaded with him to touch the skin of her face.
He could see her left hand, resting across her thigh, and his eyes drifted across her scarred knuckles. Above them, a smooth white scar, maybe two inches long, arced across the top of her hand. He wasn't sure what these scars were from, only that they were evidence of the life she'd lived, the pains she'd endured. He knew that on the inside of her hand a dark scar slashed across the center from a wound inflicted in Gabriel's hell world. Each physical mark she carried was a reminder to Castiel of how fragile this human girl was. She was a strong soul, but contained within a vessel doomed to mortality. And he knew that her physical scars did not compare to the numbers of inner scars she'd collected over the years.
Perhaps he could do nothing to remove any scars that she had already received. But after he recovered from this temporary weakness, he would save her from the future that awaited. Whatever he had to do, he'd do it to make sure Alex lived.
She shifted against him again, making a soft sound. Castiel felt his vessel flush over with inexplicable, tantalizing, thrilling warmth. Cas remained unmoving the entire night, watching over her, at peace despite everything else, because she was safe and with him.
Drowsy and comfortable, Alex snuggled into the warmth beside her, sighing a soft, sleepy sound. It felt like she could stay in this blissful half-awake state forever. She felt rested for the first time in forever, if a little sore from the weird position she'd picked to sleep in. She realized, listlessly, that she didn't have the nightmare last night. The shape she was cuddled into suddenly moved a little bit and her eyes shot open as she her senses returned. She had been sitting beside Cas in bed watching TV and... then what? She was staring straight at a button on the familiar beige trench coat. Panicking, she jerked and found herself looking up into Castiel's face just above hers. Realization clapped over her like thunder: She had been sleeping on his lap, basically! Quickly turning red, Alex gaped ungracefully.
"Good morning, Alex," Castiel said, and she had the brief thought, I quit life. He was looking at her softly. She pushed away, embarrassed for numerous reasons, the most immediate being—had she snored? Drooled?
"G-good morning," she mumbled, mortified, her eyes going all over the place, a dead giveaway of how awkward she felt.
"Did you sleep well?"
She knew that was just him being courteous like always, but seriously—Alex currently wanted to fling herself into a distant galaxy. She didn't answer his question, just slid off the bed, all business. There were bigger things to worry about right now.
"We need to go find my brothers," she said, grabbing her jacket off the floor and shrugging it on. She turned around to see Cas standing up and she stopped straightening the jacket to hurry over, already knowing where this was going.
"I can stand," he said, looking immensely excited (for Cas, anyway). He then attempted to take a step and wobbled dangerously. Alex only just caught him as she reached him, bracing with both hands. He'd grabbed onto her either arm.
"Okay, okay, take it easy," Alex told him as she pushed him back up. "Don't get ahead of yourself."
He was stable again and they just stood like that for a couple more awkward seconds—Cas holding onto her as if for dear life and her hands flat against his strong chest. He seemed out of breath and Alex didn't know if this could get any more awkward for her. He was driving her crazy without even trying. She wanted to blush furiously at the thought of sleeping on him all night. "So. How about we go now," she suggested artlessly. Not only was she anxious to find her brothers, but she wanted to escape this moment.
"Yes. But..." Cas was looking down at his feet. "I think I need help walking."
"You think?" Alex grumbled, moving to his side and pulling one of his arms around her shoulder.
Cas got a proud little smile on his face. "That was sarcasm." He sounded like a little kid who had gotten excited about spelling 'cat' right.
Alex wrapped her other arm around his waist like before, trying not to smile, but it was just too easy to vibe with him. "Yes, very good young grasshopper."
He paused and sounded confused again. "I'm not an insect."
Alex had left the stolen car—a powder-blue Dodge Polara station wagon—behind the motel. She and Cas took about three minutes to walk the whole way thanks to Cas and his slow shuffle. She put him into the passenger seat where he collapsed and had to pull his legs in using his arms. Alex said nothing, feeling bad for him.
She hot-wired the car again (as Cas watched with great interest) and they drove the fifteen minutes to the Winchester home. The entire way there Alex was silent, thinking hard about Sam, Dean, Mom, Dad. Hoping to find them there, but not too hopeful. But when they pulled up, she saw a new car in the driveway. The Impala. Her heart leapt in her chest, and she parked the stolen car on the side of the street, suddenly breathless and shaking. This had just gotten really real. Alex got out of the car, glancing constantly at the house for any sign of movement. She reached the passenger side, where Cas had pushed his door open and managed to get his feet on the ground. He braced himself to pull himself out of the car using the doorframe.
"Whoa, Grandpa," Alex said, thinking better of the entire thing. "You better stay in the car and be lookout." Cas paused and gave her quite the disgruntled stare. "Look at yourself, you can barely move!" she pointed out.
The angel was sullen, but not ready to comply. "I'm coming with you," Cas said, grunting as he found his full height. "Like it or not." And he started off without her as if to prove a point. Alex was left to stare at him in slight surprise, closing his door and muttering something about 'stubborn son of a bitch' as she went to catch up to him. She stayed close just in case his legs gave out or something. He was able to walk a lot better than even fifteen minutes ago, she noticed. That was good. Her attention turned to the matter at hand: she stared at the house across from them, heart racing in anticipation as they closed the distance. She had no idea what they would find.
The house was boxy, very sixties in its architectural style. It had a very small yard and a stoop of a porch. When they got to the door she stared it down, breathing heavily.
"What is it?" Cas asked her, noticing.
Alex steeled herself, eyes still on the door. "Nothing."
Despite the fear rising, she took a deep breath then knocked three times and they waited for about fifteen seconds. The door opened, revealing a beautiful young blonde woman. Alex went still. Mom. She recognized her immediately from the photos—she was younger of course. And beautiful, so much more beautiful than the photographs showed. Alex stared, enchanted and dumbfounded. She forgot what she was doing.
"...Yes?" Mary asked, looking between them expectantly with a slight hint of apprehension. Alex swallowed. Mom was young and pretty and so alive. She seemed immortal, godlike, and imaginary all at once. "Can I... help you?" Mary asked, eyebrows furrowing at Alex's continued silence.
"Oh—uh—Yes. Hello," Alex said, suddenly realizing she had no clue what the hell to say or do—this was her mom. She hadn't even thought of making up a cover story and internally began to curse herself. Mary was wearing a floral print apron... like she was baking. Alex glanced around behind Mom, seeing nothing out of sorts. Mary was beginning to get suspicious. Cas was just staring at Alex, waiting for her to say something.
Alex busted out her best on-the-spot lie, trying to think of a way to get them in the house where she could see more and ask questions. "We," Alex said, gesturing between herself and Cas, speaking in an uncharacteristically perky voice, "uh, we are your new neighbors. Just moved in down the street. Thought we'd come over and… say hello!" Alex listened to how ridiculous she sounded. Surely to God no one would buy that crock of crap… but Mary's face broke into a pleasant smile.
"Oh, how nice!" Mary said and stepped to the side, gestured for them to come in. Alex gave Cas a look from the side of her eyes, and hoped he got her meaning, which was 'don't say anything.' "Please, come on in," Mary was saying, and then looked back into the house. "John, company!"
Alex paused, her stomach twisting at the mention of Dad and the knowledge that she was about to see him again. Mary shut the door behind them and gestured toward the living room couch. "Please, sit down," she said graciously, and then seemed to notice Cas, who was moving very slowly and stiffly, walking on his own, but not well. Alex was staying at his side, hovering to make sure he made it to the couch.
Mary looked concerned. "Is... he all right?"
Cas sat down heavily. "Oh, uh yeah, he's… he's got ankle... arthritis... problems," Alex lied as she sat beside Cas. The second she finished saying that she realized how stupid it sounded, because Cas also looked physically ill. The arthritis claim wasn't enough. "And uh he's getting over a stomach bug," she said, feigning a nonchalant attitude. Good God Dean would kill her if he could hear these ridiculous lies pouring out of her mouth. Her heart caught on the thought. Dean—Sam.
Remembering herself, Alex leaned forward to ask Mary about her brothers. And then a familiar voice to her right startled her into silence. "Mary, what's going on?"
Alex froze at the sight of Dad approaching from the hallway. He looked so much younger, a different person than the man she remembered. But she still stiffened and sat up straight, the smile gone off her face.
"John, our new neighbors—" Mary stopped, trailing off, probably realizing she didn't know their names.
"Alex," Alex supplied, then nodded her head toward Cas. "And Cas."
"I'm Mary," Mom said. "And this is John." She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. "Alex. Is that short for something?" Mary asked in polite interest. It kind of sounded like she didn't like the name Alex from the way she said it.
This was ironic. "Alexandra," Alex said, watching Dad's every move hawkishly as he came around to sit beside his wife.
"Oh, how pretty," Mary said, smiling again.
John took a seat and put an arm around Mary, smiling pleasantly at them. "And Cas—that must be short for Casanova," John joked, but only Mary gave him a smile at the comment. Alex was working her hands in her lap, trying to smile, but she couldn't even fake one. Cas's face was like stone. John frowned and he looked at his wife, obviously feeling awkward, trying to make conversation. "Isn't there an Alexandra in your family, Mary?"
"Yes, my great grandmother," Mary said, also a little awkward. The clock ticked loudly in the silence.
This was going just fabulously. Alex cleared her throat and took in a deep breath. Being perky was exhausting. "You know, speaking of family, I was, er, I'm looking for my brothers. Sam and Dean? They said they were stopping by here yesterday, but I haven't seen them since."
"No, sorry—" John said, shaking his head, then stopped, his eyes narrowing as he frowned. "Why would they have stopped by here?"
Good question. Alex stuck her tongue out enough to wet her lips nervously. "Because—uh—"
"Because they were trying to stop an angel from the future from killing you," Cas said, breaking his silence. John and Mary looked at him like he had two heads, then at Alex for an explanation.
She made a 'oh gosh, this happens all the time' face. "Don't mind Cas. Uh, he's a little loopy from the um, allergy medicine."
Mary looked at her with narrowed eyes. Alex could see growing mistrust behind the careful smile. "I thought you said he had a stomach bug."
Shit on a stick, she had forgotten that. "Yes—yes—I did," Alex said, pretending to be at ease, but inwardly scrambling. She laughed a nervous little laugh, jerking her thumb toward a very unamused Cas. "He's got pretty bad allergies, to uh, everything..." Alex couldn't stop the bad lies from coming, a total mess under her parents' confused gazes. "Grass you know and, and um also trees… bushes... it just all messes him up."
Crap. Crap! This could not be going any worse. Mary, however, seemed to be giving them the benefit of the doubt, standing up and giving them a smile. "Let me put on some tea."
Alex watched her mother leave. She could definitely tell something was up. Alex inwardly cussed herself out. Dad was leaning forward over a knee, looking between his two visitors with a polite, if somewhat forced smile. "So, which house did you move into? I... don't remember one being for sale."
Of course not. "Just a few houses down," Alex answered vaguely, shrinking back a little under his gaze. He seemed to notice that. Frowning slightly he turned to Cas, apparently not interested in her anymore.
"You got a job, fella?"
Cas looked at John without any expression whatsoever. "Yes, I am an ang—"
"Anesthesiologist!" Alex put in fast and gave Cas a meaningful look, which he clearly didn't understand. Boiling with nerves, Alex wanted to stand up and shout 'why?!' But she just kept a smile plastered across her face. She had to plow through this, and keep shit together. "So, you didn't notice two guys around yesterday?" she asked, trying to keep her face and tone pleasant. "One freakishly tall one with a lot of hair? The other one kind of smart mouthy and overbearing?"
John looked at her oddly and shook his head. "No, can't say I saw them." He was still looking at Cas, lingering on the previous subject which Alex was trying to sidestep. "An anesthesiologist, huh? That's pretty impressive." He looked at Alex kind of appraisingly, then back at Cas again. "Now, this may be a little improper of me to say, but—Cas?—you look a little too old for this young lady here."
Sure she was red as a tomato, Alex's mouth dropped open and she looked at Cas, who was staring at John bleakly. "He's not my boyfriend," she resisted tersley, then immediately remembered she'd said they were the neighbors, so what else would they be if not significant others? Crap.
Dad looked at her with a darkening expression. "Oh?"
"No," Alex said, shrinking inside, trying to think of something to save face. "He's my—my..." she couldn't think of anything.
Cas was speaking again. "I'm her guard—"
"My gardener!" Alex exclaimed in panic, giving Cas an exasperated look and not even bothering to hide it.
John looked unsure if they were joking or not. "Your gardener?"
Mary reappeared, a cup of tea in hand. She held it out to Cas with a smile. "Have some. Hot tea makes everything better."
Castiel's eyes narrowed. "I'm reasonably certain that statement isn't factually incorrect." Alex nudged him hard with her knee and they two exchange a brief glance. Then the angel looked back at Mary, expression still a little perplexed. But he took the tea. "Um, however… thank you."
Mary sat back down after telling Cas again to 'drink up' and Alex tried to think of something normal to say or comment on. "Your home is lovely," she said, but honestly she hadn't noticed one damn thing about it. "Just the right size to start a family," she continued with false cheer.
Mary automatically beamed at that comment, looking at John adoringly, who smiled at her and put his hand on hers. Alex's heart tugged a little, her facade wobbled. They were in love, and it warmed her heart. John was chuckling. "I can't wait to have a house full of boys."
Alex felt her smile fade a little at that comment. "John," Mary laughed, pushing him lightly, playfully.
"What?" he grinned. "I wouldn't know what to do with a girl."
"That's apparent," Cas muttered darkly. John heard that and frowned, and Mary too.
In fact, Mary stood up, smiled tightly now. "Alex, before you two go… can I get you to help me with something in the kitchen?"
"I'm... not good in the kitchen…" Alex protested.
Mary insisted. "It'll take two seconds, sweetie, now come on."
Okay, so they were about to be kicked out. And with no answers, either! Where the hell were Sam and Dean? Alex stood up and John did too in unison, his hulking six-foot-two frame dwarfing Alex and Mary both. "I've gotta grab my jacket and head to work," John said apologetically and walked toward Alex, holding out his hand—and Alex recoiled by instinct. He was taken aback. "Just… wanted to shake your hand, neighbor," John said, eyeing her uncomfortably.
Alex forced out false casual pleasantness and reached out to shake his hand. "Right. Nice to meet you, John."
Touching him again after his death was very surreal indeed. "You too, Alex." He seemed guarded toward her now. Alex felt bad about it, too. This wasn't the Dad she'd known. Not at all.
John moved over to the couch and held his hand out to Cas, who still sat on the couch, holding his teacup sullenly in both hands. He didn't make a single move. In fact, he was looking at John with something close to loathing. John gave up, looking confused, and he walked back down the hallway. Mary clearly got the same awkward vibes everyone else was getting but gave Cas a polite little smile anyway. "Drink your tea," she said again to Cas, then led Alex toward the kitchen.
Mom was super nice, making tea for the sick guy, insisting he drink it a couple times over—they walked into the kitchen and suddenly Alex was flying sideways into the wall. Mary slammed her there, holding her there with one hand—the other hand held a really huge hunting knife at Alex's throat. "Who are you?" Mary demanded. Surprised, Alex stared at her mom, more impressed with her than anything else. Maybe she should be alarmed, but all she could think was that Dean hadn't been lying… Mom was badass. "I said who are you?" Mary repeated in a low hiss. "You've got hunter written all over you," she shoved Alex a little harder, demandingly. "Are you here to hurt my husband? What do you want?"
"I'm looking for my brothers like I said," Alex said honestly and got another shove in reply.
"Stop with the lies and tell me who you are," Mary demanded.
Okay then.
In the space of a second, Alex grabbed the handle of Mom's knife, sliding her other arm between their bodies in unison even as she savagely bent the knife out of Mom's grip. She used her arm as leverage and whirled Mom around, slamming her against the wall—and suddenly they were just as they had been before, but now Alex was the one holding the knife. Mary looked surprised more than anything else. And then with great intentionality Alex turned the knife away and raised her eyebrows meaningfully, showing her mom she wasn't an enemy.
"...Who are you?" Mary asked again, but quietly this time.
Alex drew in a deep breath. Hell, she had no other clue what to do, so she told the truth. "I'm Alex." She drew herself up a bit. "Winchester." She stepped back, letting mom go. "Your… your daughter."
Mary's expression went from 'did I hear you right' to 'are you fucking kidding me' to 'wait…' in the span of three seconds. She opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped, looking at Alex carefully, scrutinizing her with new eyes as her face began to go soft.
It struck Alex with an emotional intensity she hadn't predicted. Her eyes welled and her heart surged. "People say I look like my dad…" she whispered hopefully, searching for recognition in her mother's eyes. Mary's eyes studied Alex's deeply with a profound quality Alex would remember for the rest of her life. And then Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell over unconscious.
"What the hell Cas?!" Alex exclaimed. Cas had stepped in and touched two fingers to Mary's head, rendering the woman into an unconscious heap. Alex was already crouched, checking her mother's pulse and breathing, both of which were fine, but still. "What did you do?!"
"Michael," Cas said, breathing heavily, standing oddly. "He was here."
"Where?" Alex asked, shooting to her full height.
"In John."
Alex looked at him like he'd gone stark raving mad. "What?"
"I'm not sure how or why, but Michael used John—your father as a vessel."
"Her father?" came a new voice. "The hell are you talking about?" John was there behind them in the doorway, wearing a jacket and a freaked expression—then he saw Mary on the floor and his features went blank. He took a step back, looking at Alex then Cas in fear. "What did you do to my wife?"
"She'll be fine, John," Cas said flatly, uncaringly, then looked at Alex. "She put a dangerous number of sedatives in the tea. Of course, they won't affect me. I don't think."
Alex gaped at Cas, then looked at Mom. Wow, that was double impressive. Sneaky.
"Who are you people?" John demanded, and the way he postured, Alex feared things might become physical—and Dad was not one to mess with.
Castiel drew himself up a little bit. "I'm an angel of the Lord."
John's expression darkened—an expression Alex recognized. "Buddy, drugs are bad." Alex tried to warn Cas with a shout—she recognized when her dad was about to snap—but John was already charging the couple feet between himself and Cas, slamming the angel up against the wall. Alex tried grabbing John's shoulder to yank him off Cas, but John shoved her away and she fell backwards. "What did you do to her?!" John screamed at Cas, shaking him roughly then punching him in the face. "Tell me, now!"
Unaffected—just mildly pissed—Cas just stared down at John his expression chilling, calm. "Do not presume to tell me what to do, John Winchester." He brought two fingers to John's temple. "Now, forget."
John crumpled to the floor. Shakily getting up from where she'd been shoved, Alex looked at Cas in a mixture of disbelief and confusion. "…Did you just erase their memories?"
He ignored her question. "Why didn't you tell me that your father mistreated you?" he demanded, and Alex's face transformed into a mask. She did not answer. "You're scared of him," Cas said, almost angrily. "You were afraid when he tried to shake your hand."
"No I wasn't," Alex defended, but she sounded full of crap even to herself.
Cas just came closer; his expression so intense. "Did he strike you in anger?"
Alex went cold. "How dare you ask me that." It was supposed to have been anger that she said that with, but instead, her voice shook with quiet pain.
Deep sadness blossomed on the angel's face. Like he saw right through her and knew the answer was yes. Alex couldn't keep looking at him. She swallowed painfully. "It wasn't often, okay? It was only when he drank a lot. And only when I deserved it," she said more angrily, then brushed past him brusquely, trying to shove her emotions down deep where they couldn't surface.
Behind her, Cas hadn't turned around. "How could a child deserve such a thing?" he asked quietly. He truly didn't understand. As he looked down at John Winchester's unconscious form, his fist curled tightly at his side in unadulterated anger. Ever since stepping into this house and seeing the man walk into the room, Castiel had been fighting fury. This man had undervalued his daughter, failed to protect her, and considered giving her away—but this new revelation that John Winchester had physically hurt or intimidated his daughter to whatever extent great or small—made Castiel feel like his blood was boiling beneath his skin.
Alex turned around and saw Cas's fist and angry stare aimed at her dad. "Cas." She said, but he didn't look away from her dad. She went over to him, grabbed his arm. "Cas! This guy right here—he's not the guy who pushed me around." He looked at her, his venomous expression fading. Alex's heart almost stopped when she realized his face right then—it was the exact same expression Dean had always had when Dad had gone off the rails and shoved her or yelled at her or, yes, a few times, struck her. Alex looked away, ashamed.
Cas's fist loosened then relaxed and he looked morose once more. Alex shook her head, letting go of his arm. This was a mess, a total mess. "Okay, just—just forget all this—" she said, stress clamoring up to intolerable levels, "Where the hell are Sam and Dean?"
He looked at her for a long, tense moment. "I won't forget this," he said, responding grimly to the first part of what she'd said. "But I'll respect your wishes if you don't want to speak of it again." He looked unhappy but dropped it, squinting around the kitchen, his eyes appearing to take in things that she couldn't see. "They're not here anymore," he said. "I'm fairly certain."
"How?"
"John and Mary's minds were tampered with recently, and Michael's presence… I can sense it… he must have sent them back."
Alex folded her arms and arched a cynical brow. "Their minds were tampered with recently? Wasn't that you just now?"
He glanced at her. "No. Well, yes. But their memories were altered recently, before I even touched them."
Alex shook her head, unhappy. "Did you really have to do that?" It bothered her. And she hadn't wanted that moment with her mom to end…
"I wanted to keep the timeline uncomplicated," Cas said simply, to which Alex gave him a look that said 'really?'
She didn't believe that for a second. "After all the crap about fate being unchangeable?"
"There are certain rules which must be observed when dealing with time travel—" Cas was saying, but Alex, at the end of her rope, unintentionally channeled her oldest brother by cutting him off and shouting, "bullshit!"
Cas's expression flickered in surprise, then became tightly drawn and Alex stood there breathing heavily for a couple seconds, then shut her eyes tight to keep it together. "I need a drink," she muttered before opening her eyes up again.
Cas looked surprisingly guilty, staring down at John and Mary. "I could… undo it..." he said, and his eyes falteringly came back to hers, waiting for her to tell him what to do. Alex looked at him in a mixture of unhappiness at him but also at herself. It didn't really matter if Mary and John Winchester remembered this weird couple in their house in 1978. And when she thought it over objectively, Cas had said all that stuff about being an angel and then Mom had figured out something was up and attacked her in the kitchen—Alex had essentially given away the fact that they were mother and daughter—then Dad walked in on it all. Alex's indignant anger was fading rapidly. Instead, she just felt sad, looking down at her pretty blonde mom on the floor. Then her dad, before he had even been her dad. This was beyond screwed up.
Cas squinted and put a hand to his head. Alex went to him—was he about to start spewing blood again? Then she realized he was listening to something, not in pain. "It's Dean. He's calling to me from 2010." He looked at her. "We should go."
While a bolt of relief struck, Alex simultaneously felt her eyebrows raise in apprehension. "Cas, you can barely stand, how are you supposed to be able to make another trip?"
He seemed genuine enough. "It will be easier with just you."
"…Just as long as you're sure you'll be all right," she said uncertainly. He looked distinctly regretful, then met her eyes somberly.
"I'm not sure of anything anymore," he said, and if the mood had been lighter, Alex might have joked about him being emo. But he meant it, and she could tell. And it kind of worried her, honestly, all this talk recently about his 'bad choices' and uncertainty about making decisions, his insistence that he was useless and a failure. Something was going on with him. He paused, looking at her parents still forms on the kitchen floor. "I can still change it back."
Alex looked at them too and memorized Mom's face, then looked around the kitchen at the gingham decor, the pretty blue teapot and matching cups neatly lined up on a shelf, the cross stitch that had a mother duck with ducklings hanging on an otherwise empty wall. Little pieces of Mary Winchester, little glimpses into her mind and heart. Alex let out a soft breath. She didn't get to have a desire around this subject. It had to be this way. "No. Don't change anything." She faced him and took in a deep breath, nodding once. "I'm ready to go now."
He'd touched their foreheads when he brought them to 1978. But with just Alex, he just nodded somberly, reached out, and grasped her shoulder instead.
"Jesus Christ, Sam," Dean was saying, sounding like he'd reached the end of his rope. "What the hell are we supposed to do?"
Alex and Cas were in the motel room where this crazy thing had all started and Dean was sitting on a bed, faced away, Sam beside him, turned away too. In front of Alex, Cas pitched forward, and she staggered as he pretty much fell forward onto her. "Guys, help me!" she gasped, and both brothers whirled at the sound of her voice.
Sam got to her first, grabbing Cas's woozy form easily, getting him under one arm. "Hey. Hey, hey! Whoa, I gotcha!"
Dean caught the angel under the other arm a fraction of a second later, looking at Alex with utter relief on his face. "You crazy kids," he said, "You made it!"
Cas looked almost drunk, staring at something that wasn't there. "I'm—uhhh," he mumbled, and his eyes rolled back as his head fell backwards limply.
"Not again," Alex muttered, and then pointed at one of the beds, full of chagrin. Her brothers hauled him over to the bed and flopped him down, then turned to look at her. She looked from Cas's unconscious form to them. "Hi," she said tiredly, and smiled at them, so glad it was over.
Sam came over and hugged her tightly and she protested a little, "Mffmfff, Sam!" with her face smushed up against his massive chest.
"We, uh, got a little worried," he explained, letting her go.
"A little?" she asked fondly, rubbing her jaw like he'd hurt her in the hug.
Dean was still beside Cas, looking down at him intently, checking his pulse and breathing. "Seems okay," he said. Alex came over to thew other side of the bed. "How long was he out the first time?"
"Three, maybe four hours," Alex said, remembering cleaning him up, remembering Candy Land, remembering sleeping next to him...
"So what'd you guys do when he woke up?" Dean asked, and even though he tried to sound casual, Alex heard the hidden, suspicious question.
She looked at him completely deadpan. "Lots and lots of sex." Dean's face went completely shocked.
Sam laughed out loud at the unexpected hilarity and Alex's serious expression gave way to a pleased-with-herself smile. Dean, of course, was giving Sam the evil eye, then made a face at Alex. "Ha ha," he rolled his eyes. "Very funny." He looked like he'd never heard anything stupider.
Alex looked at Dean challengingly. "What the hell do you think I did?" she asked. "I went and looked for you when you didn't show. Couldn't find you. Met Mom and Dad though." She shook her head a little. "Good times."
Sam seemed interested in that. "Did they remember us visiting?"
"No," Alex said. "They don't remember any of it. Cas took their memories when we left, too. Don't know how, he's so low on battery power." They all looked at the still form of Cas on the bed.
"I could use a drink now," Dean said. "Beers all around?"
"Beer's not gonna cut it," Alex muttered.
"Bring out the hunter's helper," Sam agreed and Dean rolled his eyes but complied. He got out some plastic cups and a bottle of whiskey.
"What happened? With Anna?" Alex asked. Dean poured three generous drinks. She watched Cas quietly as he explained.
"Well, Anna's dead—Michael ganked her, didn't seem to like her plan to kill Sammy. Michael used Dad as a meatsuit." Dean chuckled darkly, handed a cup to Sam. "More on that later. My brain's fried. But the short and sweet version is that Mom's fine, Dad's fine, Sam's fine. And we didn't change a damn thing. So job well done or whatever." He handed Alex her cup then looked at her, then Sam, then Cas. "Well… I guess this is it," he reflected thoughtfully.
"This is what?" Sam asked.
"Team Free Will. One ex-blood junkie, one dropout with six bucks to his name, one punk-ass kid sister, and Mr. Comatose over there. It's awesome."
"You're not funny," Alex commented, downing a huge burning gulp of whiskey. It helped her feel better immediately.
Dean shrugged. "I'm not laughing."
"What are you talking about, anyway? Team Free Will?" Sam asked.
"They all say we'll say yes," Dean said. "And it's getting pretty damn annoying."
"Well, what if they're right?" Alex questioned, looking at him sidelong.
Dean took another drink. "They're not."
There was a pause. "They might be," Alex said. She didn't like it, but she wasn't going to avoid it, either.
Dean looked at her, expression hovering between a glare and a grimace. "Don't say that, Al."
Alex shrugged and set her cup down on the dresser beside her. "I'm just saying. You've tried to change the past twice now. And neither time worked. Why's the future gonna be any different?"
"Geez, Miss Optimistic." Dean swirled his cup. "Because I've decided. Maybe we can't change the past, but the future ain't written yet."
"Do you really think you can say no forever?" Alex asked. "Run from fate, destiny, whatever, forever?"
"Fate?" Dean repeated, like it was a bad word. "Please. Don't tell me you believe in that BS."
Sam, who'd been quiet this whole time, sipping his drink, finally spoke up. "Michael got Dad to say yes."
"That was different," Dean said immediately. "Anna was about to kill Mom."
Sam looked at Dean intently. "And if you could save Mom... what would you say?" He hesitated a long time, then looked at Alex. "If you could save… Alex, Dean... what would you say?"
"…What do you mean?" Alex asked suspiciously, her frown matching Dean's.
Sam shrugged, setting his drink down too, looking at his twin with a great deal of apprehensiveness. "Sooner or later they're gonna try to use you against us. I mean, they already have a little."
Dean took a deep breath, staring at his now-empty cup. "Why do you think I've been such a pain in the ass lately? I know that. I'm just waiting for someone to swoop in and take her from us. And I can never decide if she's safer with us or without and I can't friggin' take much more."
Sam frowned, looking at the bed behind Alex and Dean. "Whoa—where'd Cas go?"
They all looked at the bed. It was empty. "Friggin' angels, man," Dean said with aggravation. He went over to pour himself more whiskey as Alex felt hurt by the disappearance. "My life blows," Dean said, raising his once-again full cup. "Here's to that."
Alex ignored him, staring at the bed for a couple seconds, then decisively grabbed up her duffel bag. She got her phone out of the side pocket where she'd shoved it last then threw a "be right back" over her shoulder. She left the motel room and went to stand near the chipped metal railing outside there then scrolled through her contacts. She found who she was looking for and hit call. It rang twice.
"Hello, Alex," Cas answered.
"Why do you always leave like that?" she demanded without ceremony.
There was a pause. "Like what?"
"Without a single word or a goodbye," she complained, sounding a little madder than she meant to sound. She tried to calm herself, took a deep breath. "You were passed out on the bed and then you just disappeared—I mean… are you okay?"
"Yes," his deep voice replied. "Perfectly fine."
"Perfectly fine?" she repeated. "Like last time 'perfectly fine'?"
There was another pause. "You shouldn't worry about me, Alex."
She paused, made a face, then smiled helplessly, watching the traffic passing out on the highway in front of the motel. "Yeah well, Cas. Too late for that."
"I see," he replied, and Alex felt herself growing introspective at dangerous levels. She felt like she needed to tell him something substantial, something meaningful.
"Cas—" she couldn't think of how to say all she was feeling and thinking. So, she settled on, "I hope you feel better soon."
"Thank you, Alex." There was a long pause. "Should... we end the call now?"
Alex shook her head, smiling to herself. As usual, she found his social awkwardness completely perfect. "Sounds good."
She didn't hang up though. He had gone quiet again, then asked: "Is this the part where we hang up?"
She held back a laugh, just barely. "Uh, yes," Alex said. Another long pause.
"Now?" Cas asked. Alex was laughing now despite her best efforts.
"Yes, now," she said, grinning. "Bye." She closed her phone. And the realized someone was standing behind her. She turned.
"Finally called that guy from the bar, huh?" Dean asked, giving her a toothy grin. Shit, how long had he been there, and wait—what guy from what bar? Oh wait. Yeah, some guy had given her his number last week. She didn't even remember what he looked like. She ignored Dean's question and rolled her eyes, hoping he wouldn't ask again. He took a swig of the beer he was now holding and came to stand beside her, leaning over the railing. He looked at her long and hard. "You okay?"
Alex felt distinctly guarded. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You saw Dad. Met Mom. Trippy, right?"
"That's… a good word for it I guess," Alex muttered and thought about it a minute. She smiled faintly, remembering fondly. "Mom was… so beautiful. And a total badass."
"Told ya." He sounded so proud.
"I think maybe she might have been able to kick my ass on a good day," Alex said, grinning crookedly. "Wish I'd known her. Even just a little while." She looked at Dean with a more tense expression, her smile gone now. "You're lucky."
He made a soft little airy sound. "Not lucky enough." Dean paused, darkening, and Alex knew he was thinking about how Mom had died, wondering if he could have stopped it.
She picked at one of her nails in distraction. "Dad was… different."
"Yeah, uh. He was." They were silent for a long moment. Dean seemed to sense Alex's internal thoughts.
"You'll drive yourself crazy if you think about it too much."
"About what?"
"What would've changed," he said. "If the fire never happened."
Alex didn't have to wonder. "Everything would have changed. Everything."
She oddly found herself remembering a very random moment from childhood—God, how old had she been… maybe seven or eight? She'd been small for her age then. Dad had been teaching them to shoot shotguns.
"Hold it tight into your shoulder or the kick can break your bone," Dad said, pulling the butt of the gun into Alex's shoulder tightly, yanking her arm up so that the very heavy shotgun was straighter.
Dean, watching from the sidelines, looked uncertain. "Dad, I don't think she's—"
John gave his son a dangerous, silencing look. "Dean, we've been over this. Your sister needs to be able to shoot this damn thing if she's alone and unprotected, you hear me?" He turned back to Alex, who was struggling to hold the shotgun up. "Now line up the sights and fire and," he made a frustrated, impatient sound as she struggled, "for Christsakes, hold the damn thing into your shoulder like I told you."
She tried to stop pissing him off and to just do something right. The shotgun had been so heavy and she had barely been able to lift it, let alone solidly aim or anything. She'd squeezed the trigger and the gun went off. And she'd tried so hard to not cry from the blistering pain when the butt of the gun slammed into her little shoulder, but she hadn't been able to stop herself. Dad had seeming to be annoyed that she was acting like that. "Stop that Alex. Don't cry about it. It hurts a little now but this will save your life someday, you hear me? This will save your life." He relented a little at the sight of her distress and patted her roughly on the head. He'd crouched down to her level. She remembered how strongly he smelled of alcohol. "Sorry, Al. Maybe you're not ready for this, huh?" He stood up as if to walk off and a switch had flipped inside Alex.
Defiant, she'd glared, cocked the shotgun (a feat in and of itself) and reassumed the aiming stance, already wincing. She'd fired another shot, and the pain had been even worse the second time. John—Dad—looked proud of her then. She did it a third time, barely able to hold back tears of pain. And finally she'd gotten a, "that's my girl." And then Sam said something and called Dad over. Dad had walked off. And Dean, watching silently, saw Alex break down crying silently, cradling her shoulder alone.
The bruise and the pain had lasted for weeks.
"You okay? Alex?" Dean's voice startled Alex out of the memory.
"Uh, yeah. Just thinking."
He nodded. He seemed to get it. For all the times Dean was an asshole to her, they really did have an understanding when it came to certain things. And Dad was one of them. Alex cleared her throat, turning her head toward him. "You know, for a little while there, I thought you guys were dead back in seventy-eight. When I couldn't find you."
Dean looked at her sadly. He heard what she hadn't said. "I won't leave, Alex, not forever. You know that."
Alex shook her head, cynical eyes going down into middle space. "I don't believe you," she said, being bluntly honest. "Everyone always leaves."
Dean took another swig of his beer. "Well, not me."
Alex shot him a threatening look. "Better not." She tilted her head to the side, thinking of something, and straightened up a little bit, poking him with her index finger. "Hey, also. You owe me an apology."
Instead of getting defensive or asking 'what the hell for' like she thought he would—Dean nodded and stared out in front of him. "For what Gabriel showed you. Yeah. I know. And I am sorry." There was a long pause. "I didn't mean it, I was just… trying to get Dad to take me with him." He sighed regretfully, and he sounded like he was talking to himself now. "The things I did to try and get on that man's good side." He let the thought go, turning back to her. "You're my kid sister and I'd do anything for you. You know that."
"Then you should have apologized a lot sooner, jerk," Alex said, half-serious, half-joking.
Dean heaved a heavy sigh, getting uncomfortable. "I know. I just… these chick flick moments, man."
"Shut up," Alex teased, grinning at him, bumping his shoulder with hers. "You love them."
Dean's face changed and looked at her with maybe the most emotionally open expression she'd ever seen on his face before. He shook his head. "I love you."
Alex froze and looked at him in shock, not sure if she'd heard right. "You what? Are you… are you dying or something?" She wasn't really joking, either.
He looked a little crestfallen at the question. "Can't a big brother… tell a little sister… you know, that he loves her?"
"Yeah... but you never say it, or I mean, not that often at least."
Dean set his beer down on the railing and leaned his hands both on it heavily. "I just don't wanna lose you. Or Sam."
"You won't," she said, confused by his quick apology, his expression of affection, then this cryptic statement about losing her and Sam. He turned his head and looked at her, then he reached for her, pulling her into a tight hug. Hugs from Dean usually comforted her. But this one just made her feel like something was really wrong.
That Night
In the dim light of the bedside table as the brothers slept, Alex smoothed Dad's journal open to the first section; to the entries she'd always read the most. After seeing Dad earlier today… she needed to revisit these pages. The entries in the beginning were the most personal... the subject turned more and more supernatural and less and less about Dad's thoughts as the journal progressed…. but in the beginning, it was just Dad's reflections and worries, a glimpse into who he'd been before the hunt had overtaken him. Alex used to read and re-read some of these entries, because as strange and it might have been, they made her feel closer to Dad. She'd been able to tell from these entries that he'd really loved her once and that he hadn't always seen her as an obligation.
December 4, 1983
Last night I was sitting in the kid's room in the dark, and I heard these noises… Mike said it was the wind, and okay, maybe it was, but it sounded almost like whispering, like someone was whispering a name, under their breath, again and again… like something is out there in the dark, watching us… I stayed up all night, just watching them, protecting them. From what, I don't know. Am I protecting them? Am I hurting them? I haven't let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side – or from his brother and sister. Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside their crib, one arm wrapped around each twin. Like he's trying to protect them from whatever is out there in the night.
Sammy cries a lot, wanting his Mom. And Alex still doesn't make a sound. Sometimes her face scrunches up like she's crying, but no sounds come out. It scares the hell out of me and I don't know what to do. One twin can't stop crying, the other is just—silent. It breaks my heart to think that soon they won't remember Mary at all. I can't let her memory die.
December 11, 1983
Sammy has finally started sleeping through the night, and now that Dean shares a bed with him and his sister, he's out like a light as well. I'm not sure about Alex… before the fire, she always wanted to be rocked to sleep and I loved that time. She'd lay her little head on my shoulder and I'd rub her back. She would make these sweet little sleepy sounds in my ear. Now, she doesn't sleep unless she's sandwiched between her brothers. I sometimes try rocking her to sleep and she cries silently and can't settle. It breaks my heart. I keep hoping things will return to normal, but they don't.
Alex paused sadly. That line in there about the sweet sleepy sounds. It always grabbed right at her heart. She'd always felt the love and tenderness of a father from him when she read that. That he loved to rock her to sleep as a baby and hear the sounds she'd made was a treasure she had buried deep inside. The idea of him holding her close, her head resting on his shoulder in trust and attachment. Alex had all but memorized this entry when she was younger, because approval and affection were so few and far between from Dad. In fact, by the time she was old enough to read and write, he'd be all but emotionally dead to her. He'd kept her at arm's length pretty much until Sam left for Stanford. And then it had been far, far too late.
December 25, 1983
Didn't sleep again last night. Woke up in a cold sweat and realized it was Christmas. Where's Mary? That was my thought all night, and it stayed in my mind all day. Christmas without my wife seems unreal. Our celebration was clumsy… a crooked two-foot-tall plastic tree, a bunch of junk food stuffed in the stockings, and a pile of sports equipment for the boys… football, basketball, soccer. I didn't really know what to get for Alex, girl stuff was Mary's forte, and I got so depressed in the aisle of girl toys that I couldn't buy a thing.
I think about my reality. Mary will never see Dean hit a home run. She'll never see Alex learn to walk, or hear Sammy say his first words. She won't take Dean to his first day at school or stay up all night with me worrying the first night he takes the car out. It's not right that she's not here, and that's all I could think about today—that and I really don't think I know how to parent alone. I'm so angry I can barely see straight – I just want my wife back.
The police have officially declared our case closed. What a Christmas present, huh?
Alex's eyes hovered over this line: I got so depressed in the aisle of girl toys that I couldn't buy a thing. Alex remembered the first time she read this journal entry and saw that line, she'd felt so guilty for being a girl; for being something that reminded her dad of his dead wife. After reading that, Alex had gotten upset (understatement, really) and brutally ripped all the arms and legs off her Barbie dolls then cut their hair off. Dean had found her and calmed her down, stopping her from cutting off her own hair. Then held her tight while she cried in silence. Alex shook her head now. Dean. The one who had done all the stuff a father should do for her throughout the years. He'd gotten on her case about her abysmal grades, he'd always encouraged or lectured her when she mooned around in teenage despair. He'd protected her and Sammy from dad's drunken rages. Alex thought maybe the reason she and Dean had always been so close was because they knew their Dad's anger better than Sammy did. They had always turned to each other for help making it through. Sam for whatever reason had been untouchable.
Alex turned the page and hesitated. She didn't like to read this entry, but she always did anyway. She didn't even know why Dad had kept it in there. There were a lot of torn out pages, but this one had stayed.
February 8, 1984
Today I don't know what happened. I was trying to piece together some things I'd found from local newspapers. Stuff about bizarre murders. I was thinking maybe they were somehow related to Mary's death, because the reports said the people had died in really strange ways—their insides had completely liquified. Well, I was trying to do all this and Sammy was fussing, Alex was getting into everything (she's toddling all over the place these days) and Dean was trying to get me to help him with this Lego thing he was building. He kept trying to get me to come over, and at one point he grabbed at my arm and asked Daddy please. I don't know what came over me, but all the anger and maybe some of the alcohol too, it just set me off. I snapped at him and shoved him away, harder than I should have, and he fell backwards into little Alex, who had been walking behind him. She hit her face hard on the edge of the coffee table. She made no sound, she never does, but she was crying, her eyebrow was gashed open and bleeding. I scooped her up and yelled at Dean about what he had done to his sister. Sammy started screaming real loud when I did that. And Dean shrank away from me.
I'm left wondering what the hell this is doing to me. If I can do this at all. Sometimes I think I should just let it go and focus on the kids. But this is something I have to do. I have to make sure Mary's death is avenged, if it's the last thing I do. Nothing else matters as much as that.
Alex re-read the last lines, the ones that made her heart clench. Nothing else matters as much as that. She believed those words completely. Her life and her brothers' lives were evidence of how true it was. She shut her eyes and set the journal down onto her knees.
"He was a good man. I know he was, deep down."
Alex had said this to Cas the other day. She considered for a moment her words and the meaning, the heaviness behind them. John Winchester was a good man. Or at least, she believed that he had been, once. But over the years he forfeited his heart in favor of a mission he could never accomplish. John had lost sight of what remained, blinded by the lure of retaliation and vengeance. Nothing—no one—had mattered to him as much as the thought of killing whatever had killed Mary. And everyone around him had paid the price of his obsession. Alex's heart broke anew every time she thought of the man her father had become. She had seen with her own eyes, just today, that he wasn't always that way. Azazel had changed all their lives, forever.
And maybe Dad got what he wanted in the end—Yellow-Eyes dead—but at what cost? Dad was dead and gone. Killing Azazel didn't bring Mom back. It didn't fix any of the problems the Winchester family had been subjected to. Yes, Alex and her brothers had survived, but just barely, and to do what? To be on their own, left to deal with the devastating emotional aftermath. All they had left was each other, and even that was falling apart.
She thought of who John Winchester had been and who he had turned into. A man who had left his children with the inheritance of a cursed existence. He was a good man. I know he was deep down. And he had been. He had been. The darkness, the warfare, it had taken that. Alex opened her eyes again, bowing her head. This was what happened when a good man went to war.
Helplessly her eyes drifted to look at Dean who slept above the covers as always. Her eyes flickered to Sam's hulking outline on the other bed beyond. They were good men. The best. And they were at a war like no other. She would give anything to save them. But somewhere, deep inside, a dark, creeping fear promised that that nothing could save them. Nothing at all.