Song Remains the Same
Chapter 27 / It's Complicated
"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved...
in secret, between the shadow and the soul."
- Neruda
He'd rushed through the door into the restaurant kitchen, hearing a lot of loud noises like there was some kind of fight happening—but the second he'd entered the kitchen he'd realized he'd had it so wrong. In the space of a second, he took it all in: Cas pinning Alex up against the wall—her legs tightly wrapped around him, her dress shoved up—one of Cas's hands was grabbing her ass—the angel's trench coat and jacket were both missing, his white dress shirt was halfway off—they were kissing each other with wild and passionate abandon, and the way they were moving against each other, the sounds they were making… were sounds that had him thinking that mother of god he'd walked in on them having sex. Stopping blindly mid-step, he'd clumsily knocked into the counter, sending a pot clattering to the floor.
"Holy SHIT," Sam exclaimed softly. Alex and Cas stopped making out and froze, looking over at him in surprise as if they were coming out of a daze.
Sam was aghast: Cas had a bloody lip, there was a huge gash on Alex's arm and some smaller scrapes and cuts and crazy red marks like where she'd been grabbed repeatedly. Their hair was disheveled, their clothes were a mess—they looked like they'd been in a fight. As their eyes cleared, they seemed to see Sam, then surprised point blank, looking at each other in a dumbstruck way as they breathed hard. They untangled. Cas pulled away, stumbling back even as Alex shakily sagged into the corner—and there was a flash of semi-relief when Sam realized they hadn't been having sex—Cas's pants weren't even down—but oh Jesus, Cas had clearly been ready to. Sam looked away, traumatized. The angel's face filled with embarrassment, and then guilt and disbelief as he really began to take in Alex's condition.
"What—what's—" Sam stuttered out, at a loss. Was this Famine? Had Famine done this? Because… wait. Sam looked between them in disbelief. "I… I broke Famine's spell like five minutes ago, guys."
At that, Alex looked up at him, temporarily seeming to forget her mortification in favor of severe confusion. "Five minutes ago?" She seemed to think that was impossible. "I was in the Impala five minutes ago," she protested. "You weren't even here five minutes ago."
Sam looked back at his sister, not sure what she was talking about. He'd been at Biggerson's for like ten minutes. He'd saved Dean from Famine and his henchmen demons… broken the spell, then been told by a frantic Dean that Cas and Alex were missing and you check in here, I'll look outside... and literally ten seconds after Dean went outside, Sam heard the sound of pots and pans falling and what he'd thought was the sound of his sister crying out in pain… and then he'd walked in on them.
Cas spoke slowly, looking at the ground. "The spell lingered. And, well. I think that I… accidentally… moved us forward in time by a few minutes, but exactly when I can't be certain." He paused, embarrassed. "I was very…" he swallowed, looking down uncertainly, "uh, distracted."
"Jesus Christ," Sam muttered, even more mortified than before, bringing his hand up to cover the lower half of his face. This was way, way too much for Sam to process—and when he glanced at Alex, she looked absolutely beside herself with burning embarrassment. Sam gathered himself with a deep breath.
His sister straightened up as if to walk forward but faltered, making a sound of surprise and pain. Her arm shot out to catch herself against the wall and she leaned heavily against it, wincing, teeth gritted. Sam and Cas moved toward her at the same time in concern, but Alex took one look at Sam approaching and she shrank away in what was clearly fear. Stopping short, Sam wondered why—then his heart clenched as he realized and remembered. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, and away came the bright red demon blood. Suddenly understanding, Sam's energy faded. "I'm not gonna do anyth—I'm fine," he assured her, feeling his neck burning with self-loathing and shame. Last time he'd been high on this stuff, he'd hurt her.
Alex had allowed Cas near to her and the angel was now holding her up gingerly—she wouldn't look at him though—and Cas regarded Sam in dark suspicion. "You're not fine," the angel said darkly. "You've had demon blood." The way the angel stood with Alex holding her close was fiercely protective; almost possessive and Sam was stilled by the sight of it—then there was a twinge of anger and protectiveness on his end.
"I said I'm fine," Sam repeated, a little hostile when he spoke this time. Angel or not, Sam would kill him where he stood if the guy had in any way harmed his sister—he felt up to the task, too, the demon blood humming through his veins making him sharper than normal, stronger than normal, and buzzing with power.
"Stay back, Sam," Cas said threateningly, his voice carrying great command. Sam did stop but not because of Cas. From behind Cas's shoulder, Alex was looking at Sam with big, apprehensive eyes. Eyes that remembered what he'd done to her the last time he'd been high on this stuff. Sam felt another wave of shame overcome him and then sadness that she didn't want him near her. His bravado faded and he grew pensive. He had tried to resist the desire to drink demon blood. But he hadn't been able to. It had been over before it had begun. Maybe that's what had happened here, between these two, Sam reflected uncertainly. They'd been unable to resist, thanks to Famine.
Alex made another soft sound of pain. "What's wrong?" Sam asked, overcome with worry, his focus automatically shifting.
"It was me," Cas said, sounding disgusted and sickened and terrified. "I did this."
Alex looked away, shutting her eyes tightly, hissing in pain. Sam felt sick but had no choice but to remain removed from the situation. Cas turned back to Alex, horrified concern returning to his face again. He was cautiously holding her by her arms, giving the impression that he had no idea what to do but felt entirely responsible. "I'm… I'm so sorry Alex," he stumbled verbally, sounding frightened and shellshocked—something Sam had never heard in the angel's voice before. Cas withdrew his left hand from where it grasped her arm, looking at her bright red blood that came away on his fingers. The sight of that seemed to make Castiel sink deeper into despair. He looked at Alex again, shaking his head blankly, at a complete loss. His voice almost broke as he sought her gaze and she purposefully avoided meeting it. "I didn't… I didn't mean to do this to you."
In Cas's careful grip, Alex swallowed, overwhelmed by the pain and by Cas's pleading statement. She couldn't really focus. The pain was bad—really bad. She'd felt it distantly when the kiss had ended then it had suddenly hit her full force—pangs and aches in her back, her arms, her legs. Her shoulder hurt the worst maybe, and she breathed out unevenly, realizing it was dislocated. She glanced at Cas, so mortified. The pain had felt like pleasure under the spell, but now it was just pain—crippling and almost unbearable. On the side of her arm she was aware of a searing sensation—she moved her arm out a little to look down at it—there was a huge, bloody gash there—had that happened when they'd crashed through the freezer door? There were a couple other places on her arms that felt scraped or cut, and she could tell that she'd have bruises all over come morning.
She winced, gritting her teeth together, groaning in pain. Alex wished she could disappear. Sam seeing that was humiliating, and Cas—well, in the heat of the moment she hadn't wanted anything more than she wanted him—and now she couldn't look at him at all; too afraid that she would see judgement or condescension or worst of all, disgust. Had Cas really wanted her like that? Or was it just Famine's spell? Cas had suddenly seemed really fond of burgers, too, and he'd never given those a second look before...
The sound of a door slamming somewhere nearby startled them all. "Sammy! Sam!" Dean's muffled voice thundered from another room.
Alex's pulse rocketed in alarm and beside her, even Cas seemed to realize this was bad. Reacting at the same time as them, Sam's expression chilled over then just as quickly became urgent. "Cas. Clothes—now," he said and turned, going quickly out of the doorway and into the main part of the restaurant to intercept Dean. Cas disappeared—literally—from Alex's side and she felt her stomach drop in shock—he just left? How the hell could he just—
She didn't get to finish the thought. Cas reappeared in front of her, looking normal again—everything back to normal, like he'd regenerated or something. His bloody lip was gone, his hair wasn't a wreck, the buttons on his shirt were back, his tie was there (crooked, of course), his jacket and coat were in place. He stood in front of her wordlessly, holding her jacket out to her with a hesitant gaze. She took the jacket blankly. Their eyes met. It was the gaze of two people who had no idea how to face what had just happened between them. He looked so apprehensive and lost. But all Alex wanted to know was… had that been him? Was that him who had wanted her like that? Because she knew during what had happened between them her mind had not been her own, not entirely—but at her deepest level, beyond the madness of Famine's spell… she had wanted him. Still did.
She looked away, unable to maintain eye contact. She was so, so confused. To the point of agony. She reflected in a daze that perhaps whatever had just happened with them—the highly intimate moment and the first time she'd ever been touched in that way—had all been caused by a spell. There was a good chance that this would drive a wedge between them and ruin whatever flimsy friendship they'd had before. The idea of this devastated her, causing her throat to seize up. The physical pain—the utter passion and wild abandon of the moment they had shared—the standstill now and the not knowing how this would affect them—she couldn't help it: her expression broke and crumpled.
Cas felt ruined seeing her like that. He had done this. He had caused this. He had hurt her physically. In fact, if Sam hadn't intervened, Castiel felt certain that he would have killed her under Famine's spell. This chilled him to the core. The other couples had killed each other, but he was an angel, a hundred times more powerful and stronger than Alex and he would have killed her if they had continued—it was in fact a miracle that he hadn't hurt her worse. This knowledge caused him some of the deepest distress he'd ever known.
And even though part of him wanted to hide in shame—there was a stronger need in himself to help her, and he was acting before he'd even thought it through. He touched the side of her shoulder, not sure why, and then briefly reflected that perhaps she would scorn his touch, after… after everything that had just happened. After what he had done to her. But at the touch of his hand Alex looked up at him, startled and gone still. She didn't reject him or pull away, she just looked at him with beautiful and stricken eyes, and Castiel thought of how she was so painfully lovely to him, even like this. Her eyes looked like they might be shining with tears. Tears he'd put there. Castiel felt physical pain ripple in his vessel. And his hand, of its own accord, went from her shoulder to the side of her face, the touch somewhere between tenderness and despair. How had he done this to her? How could he have lost control like that? Briefly… just briefly… the things Anna had shown him in the future flashed before his mind's eye.
Then they heard a loud commotion—the sound of Dean coming in and Sam talking loudly—and Cas pulled back abruptly, rapidly distancing himself by a few feet and leaving Alex agonized. There was an ache of pain in him at the sight of her standing alone, an ache in a place that wasn't physical. This distance from her was too much, but he had no other choice.
Dean stormed in loudly, closely followed by a worried Sam. He just missed seeing Cas touching Alex. "Jesus Christ, where were you two?" he demanded irritably, then looked around at the destroyed kitchen—the pots and pans everywhere, the freezer door ripped off its hinges. He then leveled Cas with a demanding, sharp gaze. "Where the hell did you poof off to? You were outside the restaurant and then you just Batman-ed away without a word."
"I… tried to take her someplace safe," Cas attempted shakily. He wasn't lying, but to Alex, he sounded guilty. Before he could slip up and make Dean suspicious, Alex found her voice, covering clumsily with the best story she could come up with.
"We, we ended up behind the restaurant… got attacked by more demons out there," Alex lied, scared out of her skin for Dean to look at her. Which he finally did.
He took in her messy appearance and the cuts and the big gash on her arm. Holding her breath without realizing, Alex had one thought strike her just then: she shouldn't be this terrified of her own brother. Either one.
But when he saw the way she looked like she'd been beat up, Dean's rage had disappeared instantly and was replaced with shock—he went to her, taking her gently by the shoulders—she winced—he didn't even touch her that hard, but the skin was tender. It would be bruised badly later. Dean looked her over in genuine concern. "God, Al," he said, and Alex looked at him kind of in surprise. Besides the talk they'd had after she got back from 1978, this was the first time he'd sounded genuinely caring toward her in weeks. Dean touched the side of her head, scrutinizing her in worry, then he turned to Cas, expression darkening. "Jesus, Cas, did you just let them beat on her while you stood back?" Cas was silent, guilty, and looked down in response. Holy shit… this was just horrible. Alex was barely able to keep her cool. But she had no choice.
"Relax, Dean, I'll be fine," she said, trying to get Cas out of the line of fire, not sure he could stand up under it. Dean turned his attention back to her, shaking his head in dissatisfaction, but he let it go for the time being and heaved a deep sigh. He set his sights on Sam who was standing off and watching. Sam still had the demon blood on his face. Dean slowly went to the other side of the kitchen, closer to his brother. Distracted and tense, Dean picked up a small cast iron skillet from the counter that Sam stood next to. Hefting it up Dean smiled down at it humorlessly, twirling it a little in his hand. Everyone else looked at the skillet, unsure why Dean was suddenly interested in cookware. Then in a sudden burst of movement, Dean used it like a baseball bat and full force hit Sam in the back of the head with it. Sam's six-foot-four frame went rag doll and he crumpled down onto the floor, unconscious.
"Dean! What the hell?!" Alex demanded in a shock-high voice. Beside her now, Cas was looking at Dean in astonishment and uncertainty.
Dean slammed the pan down on the counter wrathfully. "He's hopped up on demon blood." He pursed his lips and his expression was dark. "After last time... I don't feel like taking chances." Dean stooped with a grunt, yanking Sam's unconscious form up then supported him by slipping an arm around his waist as he yanked his brother's arm over his shoulder. Sam's head lolled forward limply.
"Cas, take us to Bobby's, now," Dean commanded intensely. "I need to get him on lockdown stat."
There was hesitation on Cas's part, a slight, fumbling glance in Alex's direction… and then they were gone from that place.
"Alright, ready?" Dean braced Alex's shoulder with his hands as she waited with grudging dread on her face. She squeezed her eyes closed, nodded yes, bracing herself for the oncoming pain. "One... two... three." On three he forcibly slammed her shoulder back into place with a loud crunch. A very hard to hear yell of pain and stifle of agony followed as Alex bravely endured with as much grit as possible.
Cas stood a few steps back, watching her in distress, uselessly holding the box of medical supplies Dean had shoved at him a minute ago.
Brutal. Across the centuries, Castiel had come to associate this word with wars and violence... the Khmer Rouge killing fields, the first World War, the Massacre of the Innocents in the first century. The unrestrained violence, the mercilessness, the disregard for the preciousness of human life—the dark tangle of violence, anger, and betrayal that resulted in death and destruction—that was brutal. He'd understood the word at a certain level, associating it with physical acts and periods in history.
But Castiel reflected that this also felt brutal to him: To helplessly stand by and see Dean fixing up Alex's wounds. Wounds that he had inflicted. In a frenzy of passion—a passion he hadn't known himself capable of. He'd lost control, he'd been moments away from ending her life without being able to stop himself. It hurt him inside and gave him so many dark, tormented thoughts. He had done this. It was unforgivable. She was avoiding his gaze, and had been, since... since the spell had been broken.
Once Sam had been handcuffed and put into the panic room, Dean had immediately set to work looking over Alex's injuries more thoroughly. He'd decided she needed stitches on her arm.
"Hand me that, Cas," Dean commanded, giving the angel a side eye.
Cas complied, handing over the supplies but with no great certainty. Alex sat on an old chair and Dean had pulled up a big storage box to sit on. He rummaged through a crate of supplies and got out an alcohol pad then took Alex's arm in his hand and swiped the disinfectant across the gash. She breathed in sharply, letting out a sound of repressed pain. Dean got out a needle and a spool of shiny black surgical thread. Cas watched with increasing discomfort. Many angels cared little about humans in physical pain as the everlasting soul was what counted—bodily harm was transitory. But for Castiel, the thought of Alex in pain, especially pain dealt by his hand... it was abhorrent to him.
"Shouldn't you take her to a medical professional?" he asked, trying to stifle the anxiety in his voice.
He received a sharp glance from Dean in return. "Cas, after thirty years of patching these kids up, I think I got a simple stitch up."
Alex glanced up at Cas and their eyes met for a brief, torturous second.
He tried not to remember her against him, so close and physically arousing. He felt a mixture of shame and confusion wash over him as he looked away from her. Shame because in his deepest thoughts he had liked what they were doing—he had wanted it—not with anyone else, only with her. And he didn't completely understand what that meant or why. In fact, he almost never understood the why behind his actions and it was becoming more and more frustrating. In the past he didn't need to understand his actions as he hadn't been responsible for them. He just did what was commanded. There had been a comfort there in not having to decide wrong from right. Yes, he had felt the increasing pull of doubt, the increasing craving to do what he thought in his own mind to be right… but now he was on the opposite end of the spectrum, wildly piloting himself through life and situations with nothing to steer him but his thoughts, convictions, and feelings... all of which were constantly at war with each other.
"Ready?" Dean asked his sister.
Cas's attention refocused into the scene before him... like it or not.
Alex grabbed the whiskey bottle Dean had brought her and took a very huge gulp of the dark liquid then set it back with a hiss, regarding Dean with what looked like dread and tenacity alike. "Do your worst." A humorous comment said without any humor. Cas watched, unable to look away.
Dean took in a deep breath and muttered something like, "Here goes nothing." Holding her with one hand by the elbow, he carefully stuck the needle in at the bottom of the wound and made the first stitch. Alex's whole body tensed and she let out a pained, stifled sound. Each stitch seemed to pain Alex worse. She sat very still, eyes screwed closed, lips pressed together hard and going inwards. She breathed hard through her nose as her face became more tight—she squeezed her hands and clenched her free one onto the chair, then hit her fist against her own leg a couple times in some kind of effort to redirect her brain. Cas had to look away finally, turning and shutting his eyes. But he could still hear the strained way she breathed and fidgeted. Languishing in self-loathing, he again cursed himself for doing this to her.
A minute later, it ended. "Done," Dean said, tying off the thread and cutting off the excess, handing his sister a clean rag. Alex let out a deeply relieved breath and took the rag to hold it against the wound to stop any bleeding.
"Thanks," she said soft and low. Her voice was still tight with discomfort. Dean gave her a wan little smile and patted her on her other arm where there were no injuries and he started to put away the supplies he'd been using.
They both startled when they heard a sudden banging from inside the panic room. "Guys? Guys!"
Everyone went still and quiet and looked toward where the sound had come from.
"Hey! I'm in here, help me! Help me!" Sam sounded alarmed. Dean set down the box of medical stuff and stood up, going to the door of the panic room. He slid open the slat to peer in. Sam saw it. His cuffs rattled loudly. "Dean! Dean! You gotta get me out of here!"
Dean looked like he was thinking about saying something, then heaved a heavy breath and shut the viewport, his expression grave.
Watching silently, Cas and Alex remained where they were as Dean came back, grabbed the whiskey bottle, and then leaned against the wall across from Alex. He was stone-faced as he took a swig.
"Lemme outta here, please! Help!" Sam's shouts intensified.
Dean closed his eyes even as Alex put an elbow on her knee and her face in a hand. To Castiel, the brother and sister were suddenly and irrevocably the picture of defeat. Sam continued to shout and as Cas watched Alex and Dean become more morose… and Castiel felt the same way himself, touched with empathy. But he knew that Sam wasn't himself right now and that this was temporary, not permanent. He wondered if he should try to remind them of that, take a chance and try to help again. So, he did. "That's not him in there," he said quietly. "Not really."
There was a pause where Alex peeked up at him solemnly. "Yeah," Dean agreed heavily. Sam was groaning now—crying perhaps. The sound was muffled by the walls. Alex's face stayed tight with a pain that wasn't physical as she listened to the sounds. Her gaze dropped to the floor. Dean was making a similar face to hers.
"Sam just has to get it out of his system," Castiel continued, attempting to comfort them somehow. "Then he'll be—" fine? Cas glanced at Alex, who was doubtful and worried. And Cas realized he didn't know if Sam would be fine. With the angels looming over their heads, the threat of Lucifer… the future he'd seen… Cas trailed off into vexed silence.
And Dean, suddenly tenser than before, straightened himself, expression unreadable. "Listen, I just, uh… I just need to get some air."
Alex watched Dean go, her eyes flickering toward Castiel and then away. Sam's shouts echoed again, muffled and frenzied.
Cas looked at Alex slowly, barely able to bring himself to. The reality of what he'd done to her kept sinking in as he looked upon her. Disgusted with himself, Castiel let his eyes fall. He had only been in a human vessel for two years but the troubles it came with, the burden of emotions and thoughts that seemed interwoven with feelings… it all confounded him. He couldn't fathom how Alex could contain the noise in her mind if it were anything like his or how she survived year after year, giving the impression that she was handling it, coping. He felt somehow weaker than her in that respect. Yes, he had seen centuries come and go, kingdoms rise and fall. But this human in front of him had felt, had been betrayed, abused, forgotten, misused, overlooked, hurt, dragged through the metaphorical fire… her entire life thus far.
In moments like this, Castiel felt that perhaps he might fall apart. His darkest fear was that the future he'd seen in 2014 would come true. That this was another step in that direction. Toward her dying at his hand. Nothing seemed more unthinkable. Still, the fleeting image of them together, content, living a normal life… it stayed with him and it warmed him even as it frightened him past the point of no return.
Silent and still, Alex looked up at him finally, her eyes veiled and afraid and hurt, a little guarded. In the background, Sam's screams continued.
"Are you... alright?" Cas finally asked her, filled with dread. The question made her look down and away, he noticed her breathing quickened and her mouth moved oddly. She stood up unevenly, trying to hide the way she was struggling.
"It's whatever," she replied in a dismissive mumble. He heard anger and sadness alike in that strange, foreign statement. It's whatever? Her words hurt him somehow.
She hugged herself, a hand on each opposite arm, facing halfway away from him where he could only see her profile. His eyes swept over to where her stitched up wound would be. She still held the now-bloody rag there. He coveted for his ability to heal. But somehow, he felt that even if he could take away the physical pain, she would still be hurt, she would still be avoiding his gaze like that. He didn't know what to do. How could they have been so close a few moments ago and now… this? He could see that she was watching him out of the corner of her eye. They were only a few feet away from each other, but it could have been miles—that's how alone Cas felt.
For a few snatched and hazy moments, he had felt the opposite of alone. There in her arms he'd learned a new definition for the word 'close'—and it hadn't been just physical, this closeness. It had transcended that. It had set his heart beating faster, his convictions rooting deeper, his feelings soaring higher. It had felt right, even though he knew, logically, it had been wrong.
...Hadn't it?
"Alex! Dean! Someone help me!" Sam screamed.
Alex tensed, pain on her face.
Cas glanced in the direction where she looked, then back at her. "He'll probably be like this for a few days," he told her gently and cautiously. He was unsure how she would react to him now.
Alex finally looked at him and didn't look away. But she was apprehensive and guarded. "Cas… what… what was happening?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "What were we doing?"
His stomach jerked at her blunt question and his gaze faltered away. He knew that she wasn't asking what they were doing, but what it had meant, because… he wanted to know too, so intensely. He needed to know if she had wanted it too, if below the current of the spell, that she had wanted that from him. Alex's question hung in the air. He didn't have the answer, or maybe he did he just didn't know how to articulate it.
"We were…" he began, not possessing any clear idea of how to answer. And then the fear deeper than any ocean on earth overtook him when he again thought of the future Anna had shown him—if he admitted to her his deepest desires and affections, he risked everything—he risked her. And his mind screamed at him in quick succession, you have to tell her! And then: she can't know! In agony, Castiel realized he was trapped. He had no other choice but to hide more of himself and his true convictions from her to save her from the future; he no other choice but to continue the lie he had started. The lie he had invented by taking away her memory of him kissing her in the panic room.
He steeled himself for what he was about to tell her. "It was... Famine's effect on us." He wouldn't look at her as he lied. It was too appalling—he didn't know if he could see her when he said what he said next. "It was—the vessel."
Alex sounded like she'd had the wind knocked out of her. "...W-what?"
"It was the vessel," Castiel repeated, jaw clenching tightly.
There was a long silence. "I… I don't believe you," Alex finally replied, but she sounded very uncertain.
Castiel forced himself to look at her, and her expression made him want to die, but he couldn't let it sway him. He continued in the abominable lie, believing this was what was best, what would save her. "Jimmy… he um—he liked brunettes."
Alex's expression became almost angry at that remark, and she came closer to him. "Amelia—his wife?—was blonde."
Cas fumbled, feeling caught. He'd forgotten that. Alex's anger had transitioned into desperate hurt. "You can't tell me—" she insisted, "that all of that was just—that all of that wasn't you." She was begging him for the truth, letting herself be vulnerable. "None of it?"
Cas met her gaze. His conscience screamed at him that this was wrong. But he didn't know any other way to protect her. "I'm sorry," he replied stiffly, loathing himself. "It wasn't."
Alex stared at him, blinked, took a couple deep, fast breaths… then exploded. "That is such bullshit, Castiel!" she pretty much shouted, then her expression crumpled and she turned away, walking to the opposite wall to lean there heavily, a palm against the wall. Her body seemed to have trouble breathing, her shoulders were trembling.
She bowed her head and let her palm become an angry fist against the wall. Castiel watched her in a mixture of sadness, shock, and hurt. He should leave. He should walk away. He should let her be angry at him and become bitter because that would distance them. That would save her. But the sight of her alone and hurting was too much for him to bear and he regretted what he'd said. His misery increased tenfold—nothing he did and no choice he made seemed right. He went closer to her and stood just behind her, uncertain. And then put a hand gently, so gently, onto her back, onto her right shoulder blade.
Alex's head came up, but she stared straight ahead and she didn't make to look at him or turn around. She seemed to have gone cold. Her voice was calm, low, quiet. "Don't touch me." He didn't understand but he did as she said and took his hand away, feeling stung inwardly. She turned her head slightly toward him, but wouldn't look at him, not even sidelong. "Just leave me alone, Castiel," she said evenly, voice low and measured, blank. His stomach lurched. She'd called him by his full name. She usually called him Cas.
Confused, Castiel didn't move yet. Usually her anger made her volatile—but she was quiet and placid, a still shining lake instead of a stormy ocean. This disturbed him more than anything else. Castiel felt overcome with despair and frustration and regret. He couldn't heal her, he couldn't comfort her—he couldn't fix this even though he so desperately needed to do all three. He tried again, his hand hovering just above her back. He wanted to touch her so badly, reassure her in some small way, tell her that at least that he didn't despise her. "Alex…"
"I said leave!" she snapped.
Castiel took his hand away, his entire vessel feeling so disappointed and wounded. He stepped back and disappeared, giving her what she wanted as he faded away into the melancholy of shame.
Sam's shouts had dissolved into pitiful moans and Alex shut her eyes tight, digging deep for composure. There was no way she could stay in here and listen to his cries for help and not do anything. She let the rag drop away from her arm wound, then turned around in a robotic fashion and made her way out of the basement, trying to escape everything: her feelings, her brother's distress, reality in general. She walked up the stairs unseeingly. Each step she took was heavier than the last. Her heart was a twisted mess of pain. It overshadowed any physical pain she felt.
"Hey kiddo, you okay?" Bobby asked. He was near the top of the stairs in his wheelchair. Alex had forgotten he would even be there but… she couldn't find anything in herself to respond to him at all, just shook her head and walked right past him. She felt like the second she opened her mouth she'd lose it. No one and nothing was more important than just getting the hell out of here right now. In a haze of painful limps, Alex went out into the darkness of night, struggling her way to the end of Bobby's road, trying to hold herself together, trying to shove the pain away. For now, the stabbing sensations in her thighs were distracting from those feelings. Until she thought of why her legs hurt so bad where Cas had grabbed her with his super-human strength hands. God. Overhead, thunder rumbled.
She reached the end of Bobby's driveway. This was where the old, rusted Singer Auto Salvage sign arced over the dirt road. On either side of it junked cars piled high. Alex leaned heavily against one of the old vehicles, palms on the hood above the wheel well. She couldn't stop the thoughts from coming.
His words and what they meant to her echoed: 'I'm sorry. It wasn't,' he'd said. She'd heard: it wasn't me who wanted you that way. It wasn't me who practically ravished you in furious passion. It wasn't me who looked at you with eyes full of desire and need. It wasn't me who touched you like you've never been touched before. It wasn't me who almost pushed you over the brink. It wasn't me. It wasn't me, it was all this body I inhabit. How could you even think that it was me?
She shouldn't be surprised—that's what she kept telling herself. He was a friggin' angel, a creature from a totally different realm… he'd existed for thousands of years... and who the hell was she? Some little blip on the radar. One single grain of sand on the beach. She felt cursed—only Alex would have the bad luck of getting loopy under the spell of an apocalyptic horseman and make out with her guardian angel and then, and then make the mistake of thinking he wanted it too!
But dammit! How couldn't he have?!
She remembered the conviction and passion he'd kissed her with… it left her with instincts screaming that it was not fantasy, she wasn't crazy and there had to be something to this—because Castiel had told her that Jimmy was dead, and anything left over about his preferences was dwarfed by his magnificent celestial bullshit or whatever. So how the hell could that be true that the vessel wanted her, not him?
If it had been a person other than herself, would Cas still have acted? Still done all of that? Even though it had been a spell designed for death, underneath everything, Alex still felt that it had been real. That it had been them. Why would Castiel lie to her about this?
Alex could have cried or laughed at this point: She was in love with an angel who couldn't, wouldn't, or didn't love her back. Maybe some combination of all three. But she so badly wanted him to. So badly.
Angry at herself for her feelings, she flew into a fit of rage, whirling around unevenly, fists clenched at her sides as she looked at the sky wrathfully, eyes glistening. "Castiel, you fucking coward!" she screamed. Her voice broke. "Liar!"
She plunked down onto the hood of the old car miserably. What kind of hopeless lovesick child was she, anyway? It was the worst kind of pain to want someone who didn't want you back. She had bigger things to worry about, the fucking planet was falling apart—but at this point, Alex didn't know how to fall out of love with the angel. How to stop longing endlessly for his company, his gaze, his presence. His touch.
The sound of feet shifting on gravel nearby snapped her out of her thoughts. She jumped up and was shocked to see Cas standing in front of her, his expression miserable and a little reluctant, his eyes heavy.
Alex's misery increased when she realized how badly she wanted to rush into his arms, to be held there in safety. This thought only further infuriated her with him—how could he be the one to devastate her and at the same time be the one she wanted comfort from? Attempting to protect herself from further pain, she became outwardly hostile. "I thought I told you to screw off," she said angrily, crossing her arms and looking away sullenly.
He ignored that, stepped a little closer. "I've upset you." He sounded soft, gentle, and concerned which should have only increased her rage, but instead, it broke her down.
Dammit she had been determined not to let him do this to her again, but she just couldn't hold it all inside… the anger, the sorrow, the rejected desperation. Her shoulders sagged; her crossed arms loosened. "No shit." Even though she wanted to shout at him, she could barely manage to speak. "You—you kissed me like that, touched me like that and then said it wasn't you." She blinked against watery stinging eyes. Disgusted with herself, she raised a hand to angrily dash away a tear off her face.
His expression wavered. "Alex, I—"
She shook her head, trying so hard to hold it together. "God, Cas! How do you think that makes me feel?" she accused. Did he really not know? His expression was mournful. How could this man have been so tangled up with her in pure passion… then say it wasn't even him? "It makes me feel stupid and worthless and cheap."
Castiel became devastated when she said that. He went even closer, his trench coat brushing up against her knee. "You are none of those things," he said intently and held her gaze, looking at the young woman in front of him who was suffering at his hand yet again. He was so torn and so unhappy with himself. Perhaps this was his curse, that anyone who he cared for so deeply would only be hurt by him. And even though he knew the future was grim for them, for her, he couldn't keep on with the charade. He just couldn't. It wasn't right, and he needed to tell her the truth. He grasped her gently at the elbow and prepared to make his confession, even though the heart of his vessel hammered, his stomach turned, and he felt an unhinged sense of fear that telling her this would offset events he couldn't control, would make her hate him. But he knew he had to do this. So he did.
Hesitating, Cas began. "I lied to you, Alex. It wasn't Jimmy who…" he stopped here, looked down, trying to summon the courage. There was no turning back. His voice softened. "It wasn't Jimmy who... desired you that way." Alex went completely still. Castiel's eyes slid up to hers and his veins coursed with anxious tension. "It was me." Her jaw slowly slackened, and she looked like she couldn't believe what he'd said. He knew from her expression that she wanted to hear more. "I… wanted…" he cast around for a way to say it, then helplessly settled on, "you."
She continued to stare at him and began to shake her head in stuttering confusion, her voice dazed and not fully convinced. "Why did you lie?"
Cas withdrew from her slightly, ashamed and unsure how she could not be livid with him yet. "I thought—I'm not entirely sure what I thought." It was an honest answer, because Cas was questioning his motivations and logic very closely now—they seemed unsound and ineffective. "Perhaps that I was keeping you safe," he said, then swallowed. This truly was the point of no return. He looked down. "From myself."
"Safe from you?" she asked, sounding like that was a foreign concept.
Castiel felt another pang of regret. He had explained this to her, the forbidden nature of romantic angel and human relationships, the danger therein. Only, she didn't remember it. He had taken that from her. "It's… hard to explain."
Her expression grew a little less soft. "Try."
It was halfway between a plea and a command and Castiel found himself suddenly faced with another choice: lie more to cover it up, leave and avoid the truth… or be honest and end the deception now. He didn't allow himself enough time to choose the coward's way out. "Anna showed me the future," he admitted. "Before we went back to nineteen seventy-eight. I saw the Croatoan virus, Lucifer using Sam, Dean… burnt and broken." Alex didn't look very disconcerted. Dean had told Cas about that and she was aware of those things… so those things weren't news to her. But what he said next, she hadn't known. "And… I saw… I saw us," Cas said, barely able to look at her. "What you and I became." There was a short silence of bated breath—Alex's eyebrows raised up. "And then I saw you die," he told her, and the pain at the memory of the image seeped into his voice and face. "In great detail. And it happened because of me."
Alex frowned. "But… but Dean… he changed it, didn't he? When he brought Sam back in and found the Colt. He says he changed that future."
Cas let out a heavy, troubled breath. "No. I don't think he has, Alex," he paused. "I have to change it. I can't let Lucifer take Sam or…" he trailed off, then looked at her sorrowfully, "any of it."
She had a hurt and confused face. "I don't understand…" Just like the last time he'd told her that they couldn't do this. Wrecked inside, Castiel realized what he had to do. He didn't want to. He was afraid of what she would think of him, but he had made up his mind and he looked at her sadly, reaching for her.
"What are you doing?" she asked apprehensively, looking at his two fingers coming to the side of her forehead. She didn't move away or attempt to dodge his touch though.
Cas paused, looked at her directly in the eye. "I took something from you," he said gravely. "I'm giving it back."
"Wha—" Alex started, but his fingers touched her skin, and suddenly, she remembered it like she'd never forgotten at all.
The night before Carthage. Reaching out, touching Cas's hand. Him looking at her openly, longingly. Sam interrupting them. Alex freaking out and fleeing to the panic room.
Cas coming after her, asking why she'd done that, why she'd touched his hand. She'd lied and said she didn't know—afraid of being rejected. But he'd pressed. He hadn't let it go. He'd refused to leave her until she answered him. And it had ended with a heart-stopping, earth-shattering kiss of unimaginable tenderness, passion, and mutual desire.
She remembered that when he pulled away he had been panicked and shocked, telling her he shouldn't have done that, that it had been a mistake. And she'd been crushed. Crushed. And then when he'd realized he hurt her—his expression had changed, for a long moment he'd just looked at her and then he seemed to decide something. He'd reached for her, she'd asked what he was doing. "Making this right," was the answer, and she'd known suddenly. That he was going to take this memory from her. She begged him not to. But he did anyway.
The memory rushed into her mind and Alex blinked a few times, stunned, then looked at Cas, overcome at the revelation. He looked grim and resigned, ready to receive her wrath. But all she could do was revel in the truth of it all: He'd kissed her and the way he had done so had revealed more than words could ever say—that he felt things for her that he felt for no one else. Profound and deep things. She knew now. She knew, and her heart swelled because this changed everything. No wonder he'd taken the memory away.
At her speechlessness, Cas was puzzled and apprehensive. "Aren't you... angry with me?" he asked, seeming somewhere between disbelief and almost disappointment.
"Well yeah but…" she replied automatically, then trailed off. Alex looked at him and saw a man—an angel—who felt like everything rested on him, and more than that, her entire life and well-being. She wasn't so much angry as she was just torn.
She got it, she did—that he took the memory for a variety of reasons, that he believed he was doing the right thing. He thought them being together was the reason why she died in the future. He'd told her they couldn't be together and it had wounded her and he hadn't wanted her to have to deal with more pain. It was obvious that he was afraid of it, of the thought of them being together. So was she, honestly.
So, no, she wasn't angry even though from anyone else doing the same thing she would have been livid. She was… relieved. Because she had been right about him and she wasn't crazy and now the dreams about the panic room made sense and hell yeah Castiel needed the ass-kicking of his life for pulling that shit but right now…? Right now she was just reeling from learning the truth: that this angel cared for her more than he was willing to admit. He had also clearly said they couldn't be together though. Herein laid the difficult feelings and the great sadness. She gently grasped his upper arms, seeking his gaze as he waited for her to reply.
"Cas I—yes I was hurt." She paused. "But… I mean, we could have made that decision together." She shook her head mournfully, unable to believe what she was saying. "To walk away from whatever this is between us." Her eyes wavered. "If that's what has to happen."
His eyes flicked up to hers and they were anguished. "What's between us is cursed." His statement was like a ton of bricks. "All I ever do... is hurt you. I damage you. I kill you in the end."
At that comment about him literally killing her, Alex looked at him oddly. "Aren't you being a little overly dramatic?"
"No. I saw it, Alex." Cas was deadly serious, and withdrew from her, troubled. "You were infected with the virus with me right there beside you. I didn't save you from being bitten and... and I… you begged me to, to… end your life. With a gun… before you could turn…" he looked to his left, expression sickened. "And I did it." He paused heavily. "And there was… a… we had..." he trailed off, shook his head, deciding against saying whatever he'd been about to say. He looked back at her intensely. "I won't allow this to happen. It's my task to protect you. Preserve your life, not destroy it."
Even though he looked terrified—even though he was telling her about her brutal end in the future where he was forced to shoot her to death—it seemed so far away, so unthinkable that Alex couldn't quite identify with Castiel's horrified concern. "You told Dean once that all roads led to the same destination," she pointed out hesitantly. "And every time we've tried to change the future before… it's never worked." It was dismal, but realistic. Dean hadn't been able to stop Azazel from killing Mom. They hadn't been able to stop Lucifer from rising. What else had fate sealed in as unavoidable?
Cas looked even more convicted. "I have to try. I won't risk your life."
What life? She didn't expect to live long anyway, she never had—and honestly if she had to live the rest of her life without Cas, she would rather die young and take the time they had to be together. Alex struggled to find words, her mind a tornado, the walls of her emotions weakening, threatening to break down. Everything they'd shared so far… everything between them… it was too important and too valuable to just drop and walk away from. This angel had practically been her first real friend outside of her brothers. He was the one who had given her a voice and life and a part of himself. He'd been her first kiss, the first and only person who had ever touched her intimately, the first person who had ever truly made her believe she was beautiful. The only person to inspire such heartfelt longings beyond the physical. The one who had died for her once and would die for her again. Who else in the entire world could ever compare, even a little bit?
She had no idea what kind of relationship they would have or how it would work, none of that but… the thought that they'd never even give it a try was unfair, everything opposite of what she wanted. "So you're saying…" she trailed off then gathered herself, wishing that she would say this and he would reprove her, tell she'd misunderstood. "That we can't."
Their eyes met.
"Yes." he said. "That's what I'm saying." His reply sounded quietly devastated.
No—everything inside of her begged no. She didn't want to just give up. She couldn't. She felt her entire body buzzing with nerves. "But Cas—" she moved toward him. He wasn't far. Her voice was a choked and desperate whisper. "I don't wanna walk away from this." Her emotions were in overdrive. She had to know, once and for all, even if the answer would hurt. "Do… do you?"
Her question seemed to stir something inside of him, something he visibly fought. Something that made his jaw tighten and his mouth move briefly and his forehead tense up. For a minute, Alex thought he was going to turn from her and walk away. Please, please don't, she thought to herself.
"What I want isn't important," he answered, but he didn't even believe that anymore. It was audible.
"Yes it is," Alex insisted gently, a whisper, her eyes searching his deeply as they drifted closer and closer, helpless against the magnetic draw.
Helplessly compelled, Cas touched her gently underneath her jaw, his thumb resting over the middle of her chin—his eyes dark and holding so many unspoken things, but most of all, a tenderness and affection. "No," he answered her in a broken whisper. The truth she'd known all along. "I don't want to walk away from this. From you." Her heart jumped inside her chest, racing with a glittering explosion of feelings and confirmation and intensity.
His hand swept back, tracing her jaw, resting against the side of her neck and their dark eyes held for a very long moment, saying everything. And then Cas closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers softly, fervently, surprising and thrilling Alex, who readily melted into him and reciprocated. Cas's hand gently cradled the side of her head as he burningly deepened the kiss, sending shivers racing downward. Her hand cupped his face, palm against the scruff of his jaw, fingers curling into the hair at the side of his head. Warmth spread throughout her entire body, pain temporarily forgotten as the angel and the hunter found a deeper, slower, and more searching kiss than they had ever shared before—tongues, breath, lips telling each other what words couldn't. Even without a spell, they couldn't find it within themselves to resist each other.
It was a kiss that said I don't know what's going to happen next. But I need you all the same. The kiss was deepening, becoming increasingly sensual and heavy. It didn't need to make sense. Alex wanted him—needed him—desperately, and that was fact. His arms were careful with her, his touch so considerate and gentle, aware of her bruises and hurts. Alex whimpered softly, so tantalized and high on the effect he had on her—wishing she knew how to be brave enough to deepen this moment even more. She wanted all of him…
"My my," came a low, velvet voice. "Am I interrupting something?"
Alex and Cas pulled apart fast, startled at the sudden intrusion—they hadn't heard anyone walk up. In front of them, smiling slyly—"Crowley," Castiel said lowly, eyes narrowing. He immediately stepped in front of Alex, putting himself between the demon and herself.
Crowley chuckled, giving the impression of casual pleasantry. "Castiel, I presume… we haven't yet had the pleasure." Crowley glanced at Alex, then back at Cas, seeming pleased. "And dear me, if the rumors about the two of you aren't true."
Rumors? What rumors? Castiel maintained a hostile expression and didn't ask. "What are you doing here?"
Crowley shrugged and took a couple steps to his left, shooting Cas a coy glance. "Just popped in for a quick visit with littlest Winchester."
Bristling, Cas didn't take his eyes off Crowley for a minute. "What could you possibly want with her?"
Crowley stopped and stood with his hands in his pockets, an overly concerned look on his face as he peered at Alex where she stood behind Cas. "Dear me, Alexandra love, you're not looking too well—guardian angel fall down on the job today?" His expression changed and he looked pleased with himself again, holding a finger out in thought. "Oh, that's right... he's the one who did that to you." He made a tsk sound and wagged his finger once. "Domestic violence, such a shame."
Cas's expression fell completely in shock.
"Get lost," Alex muttered scornfully.
Crowley just smiled at her. "But you and I have things to discuss, remember?"
Cas looked back at Alex questioningly, then at Crowley. His expression was dark again, murderous. "What things, Crowley?"
Crowley's maddening smile remained and he wiggled his eyebrows once, clearly enjoying the power play. "That's for me to know, mate."
Castiel strode across the remaining three feet between them and grabbed the demon roughly, threateningly, by the front of his suit jacket. "You won't touch her."
"What, only you get to do that?" Crowley asked, eyes glinting, completely apathetic to Castiel's show of aggression. His voice lowered a little bit. "Tell me, Castiel… did you like it? Batting her around like that? If I didn't know any better I'd say the girl picked a boyfriend a little too much like Daddy dearest." That comment touched a raw nerve Cas hadn't even known existed and in a sudden fit of rage and anger, Cas moved to slam Crowley to the ground—but the demon vanished out of his grasp, reappearing beside Castiel a few feet off and out of reach. "Ah-ah-ah!" Crowley chided, nonplussed. He straightened his jacket. "Just had this dry cleaned." Castiel now held his angel blade in his hand and looked at Crowley dangerously. Crowley's eyes slid to the blade, his eyebrows raised—then his eyes slid to Alex. "Funny, that." Crowley looked at Cas with a fascinated, superior little smile on his face. "Haven't you heard gambling's a sin, choir boy? I'm surprised you're willing to bet her life."
"What do you mean?" Cas asked darkly.
"Just look at yourself, angel wings—I'm not the one here who's a danger to her." Crowley's smile twitched just a little. "That would be you. Falling right into step to dance the same old song…" he trailed off meaningfully, seeming to suppose they would know what he meant.
At their confused looks, Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes. "You know the one—goes a little something like Lucifer coming over to Sam Winchester's for a stay, never leaving? Dean gone off the deep end? Cas here a real boy? Alex the tragic victim of gun violence?" More shocked silence and Crowley grew impatiently snarky. "Yes yes, I've seen the future, too, the whole bloody thing—" he paused, pretending to be introspective. "I laughed, I cried, I learned about myself." He smiled, eyes crinkling pleasantly, only it wasn't pleasant.
At the lack of reaction he got from Alex and Cas, he seemed to tire of the act momentarily. "Look—I'm loathe to see this future come to pass just like you both. Admittedly for different reasons. My kind needs to survive. Couldn't give a rip if you two live or die, but… still. Irony's not lost on me." He gave them sly looks again. "After all, I saw the show you two were putting on just a couple tics back. Dodgy, innit." He chuckled.
Cas didn't respond to anything Crowley had just said, just darkened again. "Leave. Now." His jaw tightened. "Or I lay you to waste."
Crowley smiled almost seductively at Castiel at that point. "Mm. Love it when you get all bossy." He looked at Alex, then back at Cas. His expression was challenging, self-assured, amused. And then the demon disappeared.
Cas looked around intently for any sign of Crowley as he went back to Alex, who was still leaning onto the car, unsettled. "What did he mean, he had things to discuss with you?" Cas asked, deeply concerned.
Alex looked at him in the eye and without even thinking, lied. "I don't know." Now she was the one keeping secrets.
He didn't catch her in the lie, he was still looking around them, appraising the immediate area, his blade still in hand. "I don't like this. How did he know where you were?"
Bobby's address wasn't exactly a secret, and the outside wasn't warded... but Cas was right. It was disconcerting. He looked at her finally, and it was hard to really face everything they had been through together today. He seemed to have similar thoughts, because his expression changed slightly, becoming more doubtful and introspective. His jaw was tense. "As much as I don't want to admit it… Crowley is right. I—I'm gambling with your life." He paused heavily. "Every time I… give in to my feelings… it's just endangering you."
"But—" she began to protest, thinking she could reason with him, change his mind.
"No, Alex," he said with dark, resigned finality, a voice lacking the emotional depth it had held a minute ago. It was unsettling how quickly he'd changed from emotive to emotionless. "We can't. We won't."
He touched her on the shoulder and they were suddenly inside Bobby's house where it was dark and quiet except for the sound of Sam's muffled shouts downstairs. Startled by the sudden change, Alex blinked rapidly.
"Stay inside, where the demon warding is," Cas told her brusquely. And he disappeared without another word.
Startled, Alex waited a couple seconds—he hadn't just left like that... had he? "Cas? Cas!" Alex stood there a second, waiting for him to reappear. "Come back!"
He didn't.
Two Days Later
Outside, drunk as hell and pissed at the world, Alex laid on the hood of the Impala, staring up at the night sky. Everything was spinning and she felt sick. She sat up, wishing Dean would come out here and get onto her, cuss her out, fight with her. Anything to distract her from the hopeless bullshit she was dealing with internally. Cas wasn't answering any of her calls—after Crowley had shown up, it had just been over apparently because she hadn't heard from him since. This frustrating circumstance was the inspiration for her current drunken state. The pain of longing for him, of having had these moments with him—and then nothing. Nothing. No explanation and no resolution. Just more uncertainty and heartbreak. And tears.
Sam was in the middle of crazy demon blood withdrawals... Dean was mostly avoiding her, being standoffish and depressed... life sucked overall at the moment.
Alex slid off the Impala hood, picking up the discarded whiskey bottle from where she'd dropped it on the gravel in the salvage yard. She tried to get a couple last drops out—but it was empty. Annoyed, she threw it as far as she could... which wasn't far because she was wobbly and uncoordinated. Miserable, she began making angry mumbling noises like a child might—she couldn't even throw things right!
"Little old for temper tantrums though, aren't we?"
Alex whirled, stumbled, and then made a face. "Ohh, just great. Just who I wanted to see!"
"Miss me, darling?" Crowley asked, swaggering over casually. She hated this dude so much right now, well, always, but right now especially. He was getting cocky too, showing up in the salvage yard now?
"No," she said, and jerkily stumbled to him, trying to be threatening. "I didn't miss you… now get your skanky demon ass outta my face before I—"
He winced a little. "Before you what, dear? Regurgitate your stomach matter onto me?" He lightly touched her on the fronts of her shoulders with the tips of his fingers and pushed away delicately. "I'll pass."
She tried to think of a comeback, but her mind felt so garbled. "You suck," she settled on. Crowley let it go, even though he made an unimpressed 'really?' face.
"Anyhoo," the demon commented dryly. "Thought anymore about what I told you, love?"
Alex looked at him with a blank expression. About her having something to do with killing Lucifer? Yes, she hadn't stopped thinking about it since he'd told her—and in fact, Cupid had mentioned casually that she needed to be born as well as Sam and Dean. Did that mean something? Well, if it did, she wasn't about to tell this jackass any of that. She gave a much too enthusiastic: "No."
The corner of his mouth tugged upwards just slightly, knowingly. "It's permeated your every waking thought, hasn't it." His voice was dark velvet. "Well, I've found some interesting factoids since our first little chat." He fixed her with a coy gaze. "Ever heard the one about a pure soul being able to destroy evil from the inside?"
Alex tried not to look surprised that he'd found that, the same thing she'd found recurring through so many religions and myths. "Uh, no."
"Right. Well. Lucy's evil, yeah? And guess who's the pure soul who can apparently destroy him?"
Alex stared at him hard, waiting for him to say, then when he kept just looking at her, she felt her mouth hang open stupidly. He meant her? Alex squinted, not even incredulous. She was at the point of laughter. "Buddy. I am not a pure soul." She laughed bitterly, shook her head, sighed in over-amusement.
Crowley seemed to have expected as much. "Humans. You have higher standards than the rest of us. See, a pure soul doesn't mean what you think. It has nothing to do with hail Mary's or piety, not really." He grinned now, started counting on his fingers. "A pure soul is three things. One, it's human." He pointed at her. "Check. Two, it must be whole, not diced up to bits or somesuch. Check. Three... and this one's my favorite... the soul must belong to a virgin." Alex's face fell. "Check." Crowley's smile was positively devilish. "Although you came kind of close a couple days ago to being kicked out of that club, aye?"
Alex glared at him vengefully, wishing she had the demon knife with her. "How the fuck do you hell monkeys always know all this shit about my life?"
Crowley just smiled slyly. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Yes you asshole, that's why I asked."
"Heavens you're a saucy drunk," Crowley commented mildly, then waved a hand in dismissal. "You're missing the point. You've got a pure soul. You're a Winchester. It's painfully obvious that there's something to this."
Alex tried to poke him in the chest with her index finger, but missed and got the top of his shoulder instead. "You know, I have a damn good mind to tell my brothers you've been stalking me, Crowley." She chuckled, a slurred sound. "You won't like them when they're pissed, and trust me, I tell them you've been coming around and oh-ho there's hell to pay for you my friend."
Crowley raised his eyebrows challengingly. "What? Moosey Sam gonna get me? He's not even on two legs. And Dean. Ah, Dean." Crowley clasped his hands behind his back and took a few steps to his right. "Now Alexandra, I know you won't tell them a thing. We both know that." He looked at her conspiratorially. "You tell them there's a possibility that you're involved in this whole end-of-the-world shindig... and they never let you out of the house again." He chuckled. "Ironic, isn't it? They tell you that you're their equal, that you're a great hunter… but end of the day, actions speak louder than words." He shot her an appraising glance. "Haven't you ever wondered why they're so protective of you? Why angel boy is so protective of you? It's 'cause they perceive you as incapable and weak, love. They don't think you should make your own decisions. Well. I do." He feigned an epiphany. "Well well—a demon being the only feminist in the group! How's that for irony?"
Alex looked at him mistrustfully, fighting the desire to actually listen to him. "You just want me to kill Satan for you so you can keep the demon party going," she said, then made a 'pfft' sound and rolled her eyes. "Well joke's on you, jackass. I'm not part of it. Your rumors are wrong, so go find someone else to piss off."
Crowley, however, just gave her a deeply unnerving look, stepped closer. "Now, now. I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you."
"Whatever, Crowley, fuck off." She glanced him up and down, finally coming up with a good insult. "And get a stylist. Suit's tacky as hell."
"This is Armani!" Crowley said, affronted. Alex smirked at his reaction, and he seemed to realize and was suddenly all pleasant, cool smiles again, passively aggressively tearing her down. "No worries, pet. I understand. Upset about the boyfriend, aren't you? He never calls, never visits, never tells you how he feels anymore..." he sighed with mock sadness, then he smiled again. "Sad day when the only chump on your side's a demon in a tacky suit, aye?"
She opened her mouth to cuss him out again, but he disappeared, leaving a shaken and abysmally wasted Alex behind. She would drunkenly mull these things over for the next few minutes then try to stumble into the house but pass out on the stairs. She would then be found by Dean who would sadly pick her up, haul her inside, and reflect, yet again, on the unending times he'd failed his brother and sister alike, and how close to just being done with everything he was.
Because nothing was changing, nothing was getting better. Everything was going to hell, and every day was just another damn failure on his part.