Song Remains the Same

by R. W. Winters

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

29. Dark Side of the Moon

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 29 / Dark Side of the Moon

"The stars, the moon... they have all been blown out."
- Florence and the Machine

---

"Mama, put my guns in the ground... I can't shoot them anymore…"

The sound of thunder rumbling woke Dean up and he was immediately confused. It was night outside and he was sitting in the Impala—alone. Good ole Bob Dylan played on the radio.

"That long black cloud is comin' down... I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door..."

He glanced around and saw no sign of anyone—where was he? Dean switched off the radio in a daze—he couldn't remember why he was there or where there even was or where he'd been before he came to. He got out of the car and realized what the hell? He'd parked in the middle of the damn road! Okay, this was officially starting to weird him out...

The trunk of the Impala closed suddenly and Dean jumped at the sound as his heart rate jumped up a few notches. The frown on his face faded into a surprised expression when he saw Sam standing there holding a huge crate of fireworks. Only, it wasn't not Sam now, it was Sam at twelve or thirteen. He had the shaggy brown hair—the small face that hadn't filed out yet—and the lanky awkwardness that comes with the early teenage years.

"...Sammy?" Dean asked in slow confusion. And yet, there was a strange familiarity about this that Dean couldn't figure out or place.

"Come on, let's go!" Sam called, oblivious to Dean's puzzled confusion. His little brother was excited, grinning widely and already taking off into the field that was beside the road. Dean stared after him for a fraction of a second before he felt something grab him. His heart yet again leapt, because he was looking down into the young, freckly face of Alex. She was the same age as Sam—hair in two messy ponytails on either side of her head. She wore that old green bomber jacket of Sam's—wow, he'd almost forgotten about that thing. It was oversized on her. She used to wear it all the time.

She held his arm with both her hands while grinning up at him—the kind of grin she saved for when the three of them were up to mischief and no-good adventure. Her teeth were still too big for her face, and her freckles really stood out on her nose and cheeks. She pulled on him excitedly, tugging him after Sam—apparently, she couldn't wait to get to where they were headed. "Weird dream," Dean commented to himself, but he went along with it, letting Alex drag him to Sam. Dean smiled a little to himself as he let himself relax into this memory and/or dream. His brother and sister seemed happy. And that was nice.

Sam plopped the crate on the ground in the middle of an empty field. He pulled out a couple of fireworks—Alex was grabbing two herself. "Got your lighter?" Sam asked, and Dean hesitated—he had that odd sense of déjà vu again. What the hell else was there to do though? He decided to go along with Sam's question and he checked his jacket. In the deep front pocket, a familiar shape he'd all but forgotten. He pulled out his old Zippo lighter. "Whoa, I haven't seen this in years—" he murmured in surprise, turning it over fondly in the palm of his hand. It was even more beautiful than he remembered. An iconic piece of his history he hadn't thought of in forever.

Alex swooped in and snatched it, leaving Dean to chuckle. "Whoa, little pyromaniac," he said even as Sam was grinning and holding out a fistful of fireworks toward his twin, telling her "fire 'em up!"

The twins looked so excited as they lit the fireworks—they were the type that you held while sparks shot out the top. Dean smiled fondly, his heart welling to watch his siblings grin in unison, their eyes going wide in sheer zealous delight when the fuses caught fire. Sam and Alex ran over to Dean with the lit fireworks and Sam gave him one—they held them up high at arm's length watching the fuses burn up, anticipating the moment when the fireworks would shoot off and the magic would begin.

All their fireworks went off in almost-perfect unison, firing brilliant red streaks of light up into the sky, showering the dark expanse in flecks of sparks—the trees nearby glowed faint pink against the light, an ordinary landscape made surreal. Exhilarated right along with them, Dean watched how Sam and Alex's eyes reflected the light. Their smiles were wide and carefree and Dean felt himself smiling, too, suddenly realizing why the scene felt so familiar. "Hey… I remember this!" he said, smile getting broader as he looked up into the fountain of fireworks again. "Fourth of July, nineteen ninety-six!"

The fireworks died out, leaving the night dark once more and Dean looked down at Sam, who was grinning up at Dean so happily. "Dad would never let us do anything like this," he said. "Thanks, Dean. This is great." He hugged Dean tightly around the waist—and Dean was kind of startled at the sudden burst of affection, but he hugged Sam back after a second. His heart was full, and he hoped Sam wouldn't look at him and wouldn't see how sappy he was feeling. Alex didn't notice either of her brothers. She was busy lighting all the rest of fireworks a few feet off. Sam noticed, let out an excited whoop and pulled away from Dean—"fire in the hole!" he exclaimed in terrified delight, running to his twin and screaming in glee. He pulled her over to a safe distance with Dean.

The fireworks begin to explode all at once and the night was no longer dark. There was a beautiful chorus of wild sparks and rainbow colors and zinging explosions against the dark velvet sky above their heads and Dean and Sam were suddenly laughing out loud and Alex—well—her head was throw back, mouth open in a huge silent laugh as her eyes crinkled up. Sam ran out and whirled around under the sparks while whooping, overjoyed at something as simple and carefree as this moment.

Alex hugged Dean around the waist, grinning toothily up at him, then she looked back up at the sky, her small head resting there against his chest trustingly. The fireworks continued to snap and pop, ribbons of light raining down over the three of them. Dean slowly put his arm around his sister, his hand squeezing her kid-sized shoulder—she was there and was safe with him, and he was comforted by knowing that. Sam caught Dean's eye from where sparks fell around him like confetti and he was smiling so big—Dean's heart swelled too big for his chest. This boy and this girl—they were his absolute world. In his mind, only one thought prevailed: This is everything. This is it. Seeing those smiles stretched across their faces, seeing unrestrained joy dance in their eyes, seeing them just have fun for once… it was everything he ever wanted for them, and he felt his eyes filling up. He remembered what he thought in this exact moment, Fourth of July, 1996, fourteen years ago: This is what happiness is.

There was an especially loud explosion, then another—and it was suddenly not a pleasant sound anymore, it had a different quality to it. Was that gunfire? And Dean was suddenly ripped from the good feelings and was brutally assaulted by a stark series of flashing memories: the motel room, Roy and Walt and their shotguns, Sam shot in the chest laying lifeless on the bed, Alex rushing into the room and Roy turning to shoot her, Dean frantically lunging for Roy, a huge punch of pain exploding in his own chest, then... nothing. Dean was startled at the barrage of recollections. Just as quick as it happened, he was back in the field but it was pitch black now—Sam, Alex, and the fireworks were gone. It was silent and still. It was also raining now lightly and felt colder than it did before—there was something distinctly ominous about it. The rain didn't get him wet—he couldn't feel it at all. Where there had been absolute joy and happiness a handful of seconds ago, there was horror, anxiety, and dread.

Dean was breathing a little harder, freaked out. "Sam?" He paused, hearing no reply. "Sammy? Al?"

Nothing. Dean saw that the Impala was still there and he went back to it. He looked inside, then all around, trying to lay eyes on his siblings. This was a really weird, really vivid dream. It was a dream, right? Just then inside the car, the radio came on, very scratchy and filled with static.

"Dean!" said a low, familiar voice. Dean frowned, leaning into the driver's side window.

"...Cas?" he asked incredulously. The radio crackled again, and that time there was no mistaking whose voice that was, even though it sounded weird, like the voice was being filtered through a tin can.

"Yes, it's me," Cas replied, and he sounded distinctly urgent.

Dean got back into the car. Suddenly this all seemed to make sense. "You gotta stop poking around in my dreams," he told the angel, then almost laughed, a little relieved that this was a dream after all. "I need some me time, man."

"Listen to me very closely," Cas's voice said intensely. "This isn't a dream that you're in."

Dean's smile faded and he got worried. "Then... what is it?" Then he thought of those memories of the motel room, Sam covered in blood, Alex about to be shot... and his heart hitched slightly. He looked around the dark, nondescript landscape surrounding the Impala and it was with a sudden, huge amount of dread that he asked his next question. "Where… where exactly am I?"

"Heaven," Cas replied immediately, like he wanted to discuss something else.

Dean however was blinking in surprise. "You're joking!" he said, but then he quickly followed it up with, "you are joking, right?"

"No Dean, I'm not joking," Cas's perturbed voice crackled.

"Heaven?" Dean asked, looking around at his surroundings again, definitely not getting pearly gates from what he was seeing. Plus, what the hell would he be doing in Heaven? This had to be a mistake. He was stumped. "Okay, well if that's true… how did I get here? And wait, wait—" he was frowning intensely, realizing something. "Does this mean I'm dead?"

"Yes you are and please, just listen." The angel's voice was hard and urgent. The radio static buzzed and then cracked. "This spell, this connection, it's difficult to maintain."

Dean thought about Sam, dead and full of buckshot and laying on the bed next to him in the motel room. His stomach seized up in fear because that could only mean one thing... "Where's Sam, Cas?"

"He's there in Heaven too, ahead of you on the—"

Another terrible thought occurred to Dean, and he was suddenly leaning forward, cutting the angel off completely. "Cas—Alex! Is she—? Did she—" He couldn't bring himself to ask the question, he only remembered his sister whipping around the corner out of the bathroom, being stupid and heroic and thoughtless and Roy whirling, his shotgun raised high… but there was a chance that maybe she shot him first, right? There was a chance that she got the jump on both those assholes and survived. She was a good shot, hung over or not, right?

There was a very long pause and for a second, Dean worried that the call or whatever had been cut off and he banged on the dash a couple times with his fist, thinking the radio was broken. "Cas, you there?"

"Yes, I'm here," Cas said, and he sounded less focused than he did before. The radio crackled, almost making Cas's next words sound shaky or wavering. "She's—she's dead too, Dean."

Dean sat back in his seat, aghast, not able to speak for a few seconds, too stunned at the idea to even comprehend it. "I-isn't she supposed to have some angel protection deal?" There was long pause, no reply at all and Dean was getting mad now because he realized Cas was purposefully not answering. "Cas!"

"I'm here, Dean."

Dean pursed his lips in irritation, letting out an irritated breath through his nose. "Okay, right, Alex is dead too, good job Cas—so where the hell is she? I see a whole lotta nothing and no one out here."

The radio crackled loudly. "I... I can't locate her," Cas said, and the way the angel sounded worried set Dean at even greater unease. "She's drifting, Dean, I've—I've never seen anything like it."

"What the hell do you mean, she's drifting?" Dean asked, his stomach tightening in alarm.

"The souls and your bodies... they leave a connection here on earth to where they are in Heaven, and with this spell I can see where you are, where Sam is but—I can't pin her down and it's—I'm not—she's in Heaven, I think but..." he sounded unsure now, almost like he was talking to himself. "She shouldn't be drifting, no one does that—"

"Well what the hell does it mean, Cas?!" Dean was getting more and more anxious and worked up by the second.

"I'm not sure, just..." Cas paused, then sounded really urgent again. "I'm running out of time, Dean. What do you see?"

"What do you mean 'what do I see'?!" Thunder rumbled again, distantly.

"Some people see a tunnel or a river," Cas stated, then asked again: "What do you see?"

"N-nothing!" Dean said, freaked out, not seeing a tunnel, or a river—nothing besides his damn car and the road outside. "My dash," he told Cas. "I'm in my car. I'm on... I dunno, some road."

There was a second of silence, and Cas's voice was weaker, sounding farther away than before and distorted oddly. "Follow the road, Dean—you'll find Sam and—" the radio died out completely and Dean waited a second.

"I'll find Sam and what? Cas?" He fiddled with the radio controls but all that did was turn music back on. "Dammit." Dean muttered—it wasn't Cas he heard coming through the speakers anymore, it was Guns N' Roses.

"Take me down to the paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty… oh won't you please take me home?"

The song felt foreboding somehow. Dean looked around again and didn't see much else to do but what Cas said. "Okay," he said to himself reluctantly, thinking about Sam and Alex and oh yeah the fact that they were both dead. He let out a shaky breath and nodded a little, wishing he had more to go on than what Cas told him, wishing he knew how the hell he was gonna get himself and his siblings out of this mess. "Follow the road…" he muttered, then shrugged to himself, shook his head. First step: find Sam and Alex. After that he'd figure the rest out. Dean cranked the Impala and started down the dark highway. The moon was huge, glowing strangely, and the sky was purple-toned. The stars seemed unsteady, spinning in slow, concentric circles overhead. Maybe it was supposed to be beautiful, but to Dean, it felt threatening.

There was no way for him to know what was happening back on earth right now, but as he sped down Heaven's highway, Castiel was back on earth picking up Alex's body, laying her down so gently on the third bed in the room—moving her hair away from her face, looking down at her in turmoil, his hand lingering there at the side of her face. "Where are you?" he asked her softly, so puzzled and anxious. At first, he'd been forlorn and hopeless, before remembering himself and realizing that this might not truly be over yet. If it was truly over, he'd turn his knife on himself and join her on this bed, because the thought of existing here on earth without her… did not make any sense. He looked at her a moment longer and sadness like never before pressed down over him like absolute gravity. "Where did you go?"

---

"...Dad?"

Alex looked at him in stunned-to-stillness disbelief because she hadn't seen his face in four years. It was absolutely John Winchester, and he was exactly how she remembered: tall and solidly built with a beard touched with the beginnings of gray. Same messy dark head of hair. Same tired eyes.

He smiled kind of hesitantly at her with his mouth, but his eyes… they were emotional, really full, not holding back like his lips were. She'd never seen him look at her like that before and she felt a deep suspicious fear immediately. "Hi baby," he said softly, like speaking was difficult for him, like he was fighting back tears. Hi baby? What the hell was this? Some kind of sick joke?

Alex looked at the phone in her hand—realizing she was wearing that old green jacket of Sam's that used to be too big for her. What the hell, she lost this thing years ago! She looked around into the gaping, swallowing darkness everywhere, then back at Dad, dazed and confused. She noticed now that he looked sort of wrong in his coloring, kind of pale or desaturated slightly. He was emanating an unnatural soft light, too—underneath his feet she could see pavement in a faint circle where light hit it. "What is this?" she asked, absolutely confounded.

He didn't seem to hear her question, he was just looking at her with this slightly awed, taken aback expression. "Your... your voice," he said, sounding stunned. Alex felt slapped by the words and recoiled physically, wanting to slam the phone on the hook and flee the area—who was this impostor standing in front of her? "I heard you got your voice back, but—" he began, and she moved to leave because this couldn't be right and she couldn't do this—but he stepped forward then stopped short like he was held back by something invisible, like he couldn't come any closer. He held up a 'stop' hand, panicking. "Don't—don't hang up the phone! I can't call back."

"...Can't call back?" she repeated, getting more and more freaked by the second. She kept her distance and leveled him with pained eyes. "You're dead!"

He was solemn. "Yes. I am dead. And so are you."

Alex made a face at that suggestion. "Uh... what?" She could have almost laughed. She was obviously having a very odd dream.

He knew what she was thinking, and it wiped the scoff right off her face: "You're not dreaming." He looked incredibly drawn. "You know how I know? I made a deal to be able to talk to you whenever you... whenever you died."

What? In front of her, Dad flickered like a dying light, and Alex went slack jawed. Wait. Wait.

She suddenly saw the motel room and she was remembering the sound of Sam being shot, getting shot herself, then praying to Cas. He'd instantly appeared and decimated her murderer then he'd come to her, dropping to his knees to hold her and oh god, Cas, the look on his face, his hand against the shotgun wound, the helplessness and terror written onto the features of his face. Knowing she was dying, she'd tried with her last breaths to tell him that someone had loved him, and that someone was her. But she had died before she could tell him.

Alex looked at Dad, eyes wide—he was waiting for her to reply and she clenched her jaw, shaking her head 'no,' upset and reeling, trembling suddenly, close to tears and feeling physically ill. "All right, look, I don't know who you are or what you want—but I'm outta here."

"Alex—please—don't—" Dad begged, and the way he said it froze her on the spot. "It's me."

For some crazy reason, she decided not to walk away... not yet. But every muscle was prepared to bolt if he came any closer. She fixed him with a terse expression and she steeled herself. "Prove it." Dad looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable, almost like the John Winchester she'd met in 1978—a little unsure, a little nervous. It was so strange and disconcerting. Then Alex had an idea. "What date did Mom die?"

Dad answered immediately, not even having to think about it. "November second, nineteen eighty-three." That wasn't the real question, that wasn't the real test—this next question was. Alex raised her chin just a fraction, challengingly. "What date was Dean born?"

Dad's certainty flickered. "Uh… January. Fourth. Nineteen seventy... uh—"

Alex smiled cynically, let out a soft, disbelieving huff of air as she looked down. "January twenty-fourth. Nineteen seventy-nine." She looked back up at him with a lot of mixed emotion. If it were an impostor, they would have rattled off the date without a second thought. But Dad… he never remembered their birthdays.

"Never was good with dates," he said lamely, stricken. Cynical settled in as he smiled wanly, realizing her game. "It really is me." He sounded like he was disappointed in himself but he shook it off, turning his attention back to her.

Alex was trying to process all of this. She was dead, talking to Dad? She still didn't believe it. Dad was looking at her thoroughly, concerned. Not angry, not disappointed, not annoyed, not bitter. And it was all she had ever hoped for but it felt wrong and unfamiliar and she didn't like it. "Where—where are you, Dad?" she asked, trying to regain control over the moment, trying to put together the pieces of this puzzle. "Where are you… calling... me from?"

He flickered again. "I'm okay," he said in that firm, don't-ask-me-more way he had. His smile was back and tinged with sadness. "That's all you need to know."

Alex wanted a straight answer but let it go—that was Dad after all and she knew when to back off—so she glanced into the pitch black expanse around them. She felt small, lost, and scared. She tried not to sound that way. "Okay so... where am I?"

John looked around, his dark eyes darting back and forth. "I'm not sure. All I see is a run-down parking lot."

"What?" Alex looked around again—but she couldn't see anything except the phone booth and her dad—she could barely even see her own feet, they were almost lost in the darkness. Confused, Alex looked at her dad and she was getting more and more alarmed at the situation. If she was dead… this couldn't be Heaven, could it? Cas told her that souls generated their own heavens, and this was definitely not heavenly. Which only left one other option, didn't it? Funny, she always thought Hell would be a lot hotter and oranger. Like the inside of a volcano times a thousand. But this darkness actually did seem worse than any fiery inferno could ever be—it seeped into her soul itself. She was quiet now, looking at Dad with dread. "Am I… am I in Hell?"

"No." Dad shook his head and looked at her with his eyebrows knit together—Alex was even more suspicious now... because he had only looked at her like that—worried to his core—a couple times in her life, one of which when she got shot on a job. Even though she was pretty sure that was Dad in front of her, seeing him like that was so unfamiliar and upsetting. She wished for Dean so badly. He would know what to do and how to navigate this. He always did.

Dad took in a long, slow breath, hesitating and she waited, entire body tense—she wasn't sure why, but she dreaded what he was going to say because of that indescribable look on his face. So, when he finally said, "Alex... I'm so sorry," and the words were so heavy with heartbroken earnestness. In response, she felt even more afraid.

Cautious, she looked at him while filled with hope and dread all at the same time. "...For?"

He answered immediately. "Everything." Alex couldn't believe her ears. His jaw was tight, working oddly—he was the picture of uncomfortable. "I... I should've asked you how school was going and helped you with homework and spent time with you that wasn't... I don't know, gun drills. I should've been involved in your life. In all you kid's lives."

It hit her like an insult, like too small of an apology for too big a wound. "Well congrats on finally seeing the errors of your ways," she said bitterly.

Dad's expression wavered. He didn't like the dig, but his dark eyes held a faint hope, a deep pain. He didn't correct her or snap back. "I hope... someday... you can forgive me."

"Forgive you?" she repeated and shook her head, struggling to control all this sudden anger. How dare he. Every time he overlooked her, shoved her, made her feel small and stupid rang through her memories and she let the phone go and it swung down, clanging against the post of the phone booth loudly as her pointer finger jabbed at him with accusation—everything she'd never been able to say before flooded out like a monsoon. "You would walk into the room and, and most little kids see their dad and get excited and happy, but you would come in and there I was on red alert every time, making sure I didn't mess up and make you mad, trying to figure out if Dad was trashed or not, if I needed to avoid you that day!" Alex glared and felt none of the mind-numbing fear that she used to as a kid. Instead, she only felt disgust and anger and sadness. "What kind of kid has to live in fear of their dad?!" He looked ashamed but Alex wasn't done, in fact, she was beginning to feel adrenaline surge as she stood up to her father for what was really the first time in her life. "You think you should have helped me with homework? How about making sure I could survive in the real world? How about making sure your kids had options other than the hellhole life you picked for yourself? Do you even know what Dean has been through since you've been gone?! What Sam's had to deal with?"

"I wish I could take it back," he said.

She scoffed at his hypocrisy. "'Wishing never got anyone anything,'" she said, knowing he'd recognize that phrase. Dad looked up at her sadly. She was quoting him back to himself. He still didn't get angry though. He just looked devastated and Alex softened a little. Just a little. "You spent my whole life chasing after ghosts. After someone who was gone. But we were there. And we needed you."

"I know," he said faintly. "I know."

"No you don't know!" Alex shouted, blinking rapidly through tear-filled eyes. She felt herself shaking—these were things she had imagined saying to her dad for years. "If you knew, you would have changed it! You wouldn't have done what you did! You were a terrible father!" Her voice was breaking with tears. "What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?!"

John had the audacity to look tearful, then shut his eyes regretfully, his head bowing down.

Alex both seethed and grieved. Those words she'd just said should have felt good, should have made her feel retribution and victory, but instead she felt even worse than before. So, she tried to cover it up. "Guess this isn't what you had in mind when you arranged for that last phone call to good old Alex, huh?" she asked, a bitter smile on her lips. Her smile faltered, she looked at him sadly. "What'd it cost you, anyway?" And who had pulled the strings to allow this to happen?

"It's not important," John replied. He sounded resigned. He sniffed gruffly and cleared his throat. "Your brothers taking good care of you? Keeping you safe?"

"I'm dead," Alex said somewhat spitefully, avoiding looking at him so she doesn't have to feel guilty about how sad he looked. "So… you figure that one out."

He didn't give up. He sounded gentle. "Tell me about yourself. Please." She gave him a dark look and said nothing. So he clutched at straws, asking maybe the first thought that popped into her mind. "What's life on the road like these days?" No response. "You figure out how your voice came back?" No reply, but her pulse did jump. "You, you got a boyfriend back home?" The second he asked that, she was picturing Cas, wondering if she would see him again, if he was all right. Dad saw her expression. "He better be one hell of a guy," he said softly.

Alex opened her mouth to deny it, to tell him she had no boyfriend, husband, partner, lover, whatever—but then she said nothing. Instead, she thought of the angel who watched humanity from afar for thousands of years, who restored her voice, who showed up and awakened something in her that she hadn't even known existed. It was complicated. So complicated. And over, unless she found a way to escape the whole being dead thing...

Dad had other things on his mind: "How'd you die, Alex?"

This was embarrassing. "Shot," she said wanly. "By Walt fucking Fletcher. Friggin' idiot." Her mouth twisted. That useless excuse for a hunter was a clown and yet he'd gotten one over on her. "Stupid way to die," she muttered. It was ironic—she'd watched Dad die, Sam die, Dean die. All their deaths had obliterated her heart. But Dad… he'd left on purpose and without saying goodbye to her. That, and he'd stayed dead unlike her brothers.

When she had found out months after his passing that he'd known he was going to die, she'd been devastated at his final abandonment of her. She still was. She wanted to lash out, to insult him or cut him verbally, but when she opened her mouth, her voice cracked, caught, and she was suddenly crying. "Dad I wish you'd said goodbye to me," she confessed. "Before you died."

He was clearly heartbroken. "We get to say goodbye now, baby." Even he knew that wasn't enough, it was clear from his voice.

"But why didn't you then?"

There were tears in his eyes now too and his mouth was pressed into a line. He shook his head blankly, looking like he wasn't too sure of the answer. "I felt like there was nothing I could have said… that anything I could have told you would have just made it worse." Alex's eyes blurred with tears. She was mourning the relationship she never had with her father because she could see now, briefly, what it might look like. What he might have been like, what she might have been like, if things were different. But things weren't different—and all that remained between them was wreckage. He looked at her regretfully. "I didn't know it would mean that much to you." It was Alex's turn to shut her eyes in morose pain. Dad continued. "I thought it would be better for you if I just walked out… didn't try and fix something I couldn't fix." Alex's heart sank in absolute grief.

There was a pause, and when Dad spoke again, it was reminiscent, tempered with a deep fondness. "You know I… I remember the day you and Sammy were born…" he said softly. Alex opened her eyes, barely able to. He'd never talked about this before. "I held you for the first time, you were so tiny… and you looked right up at me. I know babies can't see at that age but—I swear—you looked right at me and... I felt like I never loved anyone as much as I loved you right then." His voice cracked, his smile was struggling through guilt and misery. "I just wish I could have held onto that, instead of letting your mom's death consume me like it did." He went silent, looking off into long distance. "Things would have been very different. For all of us." He was miserable but resolute, his shining eyes capturing her gaze. "I know I've always had a hell of a way of showing it but… Alex, you're my daughter. Of course I love you."

Alex's face crumpled, her heart and head were overwhelmed. "Dad," she sobbed out, tears running down her cheeks. She wished he really were there with her. That he wasn't just a flickering representation of himself.

He seemed to hear something beside him and suddenly seemed rushed, sidetracked. "I don't have much time left… Sam—is he... how is he?"

Alex was mystified but heard the urgency in his voice. "W-well, he's dead," she said, wiping her cheeks, swallowing her tears, trying to get herself together. "But—but before that, he was fine I guess."

Her dad looked at her significantly. "You and I both know that's not the truth."

Alex frowned just slightly. "You mean the demon blood?"

Dad shook his head. "There's more wrong with Sam than that, Alex."

She paused, her stomach twisting. "What, Sam being Lucifer's vessel? We already know about that."

He shook his head, growing more and more hurried. "No—that's part of it, but—" he looked up suddenly and fear flashed across his face. "They found me—"

"Who?" she asked apprehensively, looking up where he was looking but not seeing anything. "Who found you?"

He looked back at her and some invisible, violent wind was rustling his hair and clothes. His voice grew urgent, he was shouting now, and Alex was afraid. "Tell Dean it's not over, Lucifer plans to use you and Sam t—"

Suddenly his image flickered out, leaving a huge black nothing in front of Alex. She didn't even have a chance to register that—the phone booth faded out too, and she was suddenly in total, complete darkness, left with the sound of her own panicking heartbeat and heavy breathing. She stumbled backward, falling onto her back—the phone booth had been there, but now there was nothing at all.

And then there was a blinding flash of light from somewhere up above and Alex's eyes were unable to take it—she threw an arm over her eyes then the harsh light faded somewhat. She winced and squinted, propping herself up onto an elbow. Her eyes were utterly overwhelmed. It was all too bright and blurry and out of focus like there was a film over her eyes—she could now make out an overcast and unnaturally green sky above an abandoned shopping center parking lot. There were a few dinged up old shopping carts scattering the cracked old pavement—she saw the Impala parked over at the edge of the concrete ocean, heard Fortunate Son playing faintly on the car speakers—there was a striking familiarity to all of this and wait, was this…? That time she Dean and Sam had ditched school and raced shopping carts around for hours when they were supposed to be on some dumbass field trip? But where were Dean and Sam? She felt like they should be there. And they weren't.

At that moment the parking lot kind of spun and wobbled, then she realized it looked fake on closer examination, like an unfinished painting. In fact, parts of the scene were drifting off into the air—parts of the parking lot peeled up like old paint curling up in summer heat. One of the shopping carts drifted apart entirely and turned to dust, the Impala was melting into a strange black puddle, and the music slowed down, skipping, becoming low and unrecognizable, messed up and sinister—the pavement wasn't pavement anymore, it was some unrecognizable flat gray material—and it was still all blurry and hazy and hard to see and if she wasn't freaking out before, Alex definitely was now.

She heard clicking footfalls approaching and looked up, disoriented and confused, somewhat expecting to see her dad, but it wasn't John Winchester. Unlike everything else, she could see the newcomer perfectly as if in high definition, and her eyes went wide. "Well, hello young lady!" Zachariah smiled down at her with creepy cheerfulness. "Fancy meeting you here!"

Panic rushed and she shot to her feet in record time, turning to run the opposite direction, only to bump right into him—he moved through space, anticipating her move—he held her hard by both arms, his grip vice-like. He was still smiling pleasantly. "Now, where the hell are those pain-in-the-ass brothers of yours?"

---

Castiel sat there in the utter silence. Her blood was on his trench coat. He'd faced himself away, sitting on the edge of the bed near her. Now he stared at the wall across from himself. He knew that if he looked away from the wall, he'd see her out of the corner of his eye, and at the sight of her the helpless panic and horror would return, the fear would take him over. So, he stared and waited, every muscle tensed to the point of painfulness. He'd done what he could—he'd taken the bodies of the murderers away and left them somewhere in the middle of the smoky mountain wilderness. They would never be found, not by people anyway.

It had been an hour since it all happened. He still couldn't understand that she was really gone. It felt too horrible to be the truth. He sat in the silence, wrestling with not knowing what had happened to her soul or where she was. Castiel had laid her down onto the third, empty bed after he'd realized God wasn't going to answer him. He'd looked around the room, seen his dead friends covered in their own blood, and subsequently felt destroyed. He could have prevented all of it. He felt like all the gravity in the universe was all in one place there above him, crushing him down as he stood back and stared at Alex's slight frame alone there, crumpled against the blood-spattered wall—he couldn't leave her there. It hadn't been right. So he'd picked her body up and the moment he'd done so, he'd seen himself in 2014 doing the same—but the difference was, what Anna had shown him had been all visual. When he'd picked her up today, he'd felt the lifelessness of her dead weight there in his arms and it had devastated him all over again. Now, he could barely look at her, because with each passing moment, he felt the absence more and more deeply. With each second that ticked by, Alex felt further and further away, more and more impossible to reach.

The spell he'd worked, he'd done it five times already, trying it again and again because he didn't understand—he could feel Dean and Sam's souls because of the ritual, he could tell where they were and could communicate with them through the veil passably; their souls were steady and slow bright lights in the darkness, but hers—hers was like a distant dying light that his eye could never catch, and it alarmed him—he had never seen any soul do that. He couldn't pinpoint her, he couldn't reach her. Why was she drifting? Why was she lost? And most importantly, could she be brought back?

Castiel knew that Sam and Dean were important to Heaven, that when angels found them, they would be sent back to their bodies without hesitation or question—but Alex—his chest twisted up in pain.

He never told her this, perhaps because of pride. But when Heaven cast him out, he had been cut off from things other than his angelic abilities. He was no longer Alex's Heaven-elect guardian. However—no other new guardian had appeared. Castiel would have known if another angel watched over her... and there had been none. Perhaps that was his fault as well, because he'd put the angel wards on her ribs—perhaps she received no guardian because Heaven couldn't find her. For some time he'd had the audacity to believe that his father was still entrusting him to protect Alex even though the order of angels had turned him away. Now he faced the reality of the fact: either Heaven was purposefully ignoring the order to protect her... or the order had been abolished completely. He didn't know which it was, only that he had been here, walking the same earth as her—and he had failed to keep her alive. And now she didn't matter to Heaven and if Castiel couldn't reach her and bring her back, who could? Beside him, within arm's reach, she grew stiff and cold. He knew that with every passing minute, the chance that Sam and Dean would be found by the angels increased. He shut his eyes now, listening to himself breathing. How alone he felt—how completely and utterly alone.

He wanted desperately to return to Heaven, to find her himself, and to bring her back—but he was locked out with no way in. He could hear the celestial whispers, he could see into Heaven with various rituals and spells, but he couldn't actually go there and it was maddening. How lonely to be a creature who walked between the realms, not quite human enough to be a man, not quite Heavenly enough to be an angel. He belonged to nothing and to no one except this family of broken people. To nothing and no one except her. He looked at her now and his stomach clenched, his body trembled. How could she be so close and at the same time so impossible to reach? He smoothed her hair again, searching her face while sickened inside, lost. He'd cried earlier. And he thought he might cry again.

The television made a strange, garbled sound, startling him in the piercing silence. "Cas!" came a familiar voice.

Castiel rose and rushed over, sudden hope surging. "I can hear you," he said, peering hard into the television. He could faintly see Dean and then Sam too in a distorted, static-filled picture and he looked harder, hoping to see Alex too, but he saw no one else, only an empty living room and the two Winchester boys.

Dean seemed agitated, his face filling the screen as he leaned close. "Cas! I found Sam but, but I can't find Alex—you gotta tell me where she is, man!"

Castiel felt himself tense in anxiety and the sick feeling increased, the hopefulness dissipating when he realized that they hadn't found her. The panic and frustration increased. "I can't tell you where she is, Dean—I can't see her like I can see you—"

"Well find her!" Dean cut him off urgently, and in the background, Sam looked troubled.

"I'm trying!" Cas told them, attempting to hold back on his anger and frustration. He didn't want them to know how worried he was, because if they panicked, they might not be able to find her in time.

Sam came a little closer, leaning down so that his face filled the screen. Several bars of static ran down across the image. "Hey Cas, there was this weird beam of light just now and—"

"Stay away from it," Cas told him immediately, urgently, leaning closer to the screen, speaking fast, because he wasn't sure how long this connection would remain. "That was Zachariah. He's searching for you—you can't say yes to Michael and Lucifer if you're dead, so Zachariah needs to return you to your bodies."

Sam frowned, glanced at Dean, puzzled. "What's so bad about that?"

Castiel's jaw clenched tightly at Sam's thoughtless question, and he couldn't remain as calm as he'd meant to. He spoke louder than he meant to, harsher too. "What's so bad if Zachariah finds you before you locate your sister—" he looked away from the screen, mouth in a hard line as he paused, "is that she stays dead."

Shock filtered across the brothers' faces. "Explain." Dean commanded with a deadly glare.

Speaking it out loud was difficult for him. It meant he had to confront it. "There's... there's no reason for Zachariah to send Alex back. None."

"What? Why?" Dean was stunned, his anger washing away momentarily. In its place, fear.

Castiel couldn't look at the screen when he explained. "She's not important to Heaven, Dean—she's not a vessel or a—"

"But you said she had a guardian angel thing!" Sam protested, and Cas looked up at the screen again to see Alex's twin looking so disillusioned and let down that Castiel had to look away again, stricken with a guilt he could not even begin to fathom.

He explained in a dazed kind of tone. "Yes, I thought so—but Heaven assigned no new protector, I would have known... I don't know why, but either Heaven is ignoring the guardianship order or… or it no longer stands at all." Sam and Dean's faces were slack with shock. Castiel's gaze faltered once again. "And as we all know... I… I failed to keep her safe."

"Yeah no shit, Cas!" Dean yanked himself back from the screen, scrubbing his face with the palm of his hand as if he were trying to gather himself. He walked out of frame and then there was a loud crashing sound, like Dean had thrown something. Sam glanced at his brother in awkward embarrassment.

Cas struggled to remain calm himself and addressed Sam, who so far was keeping his wits. "In fact, Sam—if Zachariah finds you and finds Alex, he may use her as leverage. To motivate Dean into saying yes to Michael."

Offscreen, he heard Dean curse loudly. Sam shut his eyes for a brief second, a muscle jerking in his cheek aa he pinched the bridge of his nose. He made a visible effort to remain calm, looking back at the screen tersely. "Okay Cas, just—how do we get her back to the land of the living?" His question was a good one, but Cas was silent. He didn't know.

Wait. Castiel grew urgent, realizing he had an idea, and this was probably the very best chance they had. "You need to find an angel. His name is Joshua."

"Who the hell is Joshua?" Dean asked, his angry face once again taking up half the screen.

"He can help us, I think," Castiel told him urgently. The screen jerked and fizzled. "The rumor is he talks to God."

"And what does that have to do with anything?"

Castiel grew even more frustrated—this was their only option, their only chance, and Dean wanted to question him about it, as usual, wanted to do things his way, wanted to waste precious time arguing when they needed to be trying to get Alex out of Heaven while they could! Cas glared at the man's image on the screen and spoke brusquely, not bothering to conceal his anger. "You think maybe—just maybe—we should find out what the hell God has been saying? That maybe someone who talks to God might know more than we do? Maybe an angel that close to God could help us?"

Dean became disgruntled. "Geez. Touchy."

Taking a deep breath, Cas searched for resolve and patience, but found very little. "Please," he said tensely. "I just need you to follow the road, to find your sister, and then take her and yourselves to Joshua. Quickly."

"But how do we find her, Cas?" Sam asked intently. "Can't you come help us?"

"I would already be there if I could be," Castiel told him, feeling crushed. "I'm unable to return… they've cast me out." Castiel glanced to his side to Alex's body, and with growing urgency he looked back at Sam. "Just keep looking, and hurry. She's there, somewhere in Heaven." He again felt her soul flickering, half there. Castiel truthfully couldn't be certain she was there in Heaven at all. And he told them as such ruefully. "I think."

"...You think?" Dean repeated, his voice rising rapidly. "Heaven seems kinda big, Cas! How the fuck are we supposed to find her with Zach on our asses and all of Heaven looking for us?!"

"Dean." Sam reprimanded, and his brother let out a heavy, deeply frustrated breath through his nose, glancing at Sam, then back at the screen, waiting for Cas to reply.

Castiel could see how alarmed Dean was and identified with him. "Follow the road. I think she's near it, somewhere."

"What road?" Sam asked, leaning in closer. Another burst of static distorted the picture for a couple seconds.

"The Axis Mundi," Cas said, speaking swiftly. "It's a path that runs through Heaven—different people see it as different things. For you, it's two-lane asphalt. The road will lead you to the Garden, which is where you'll find Joshua. And Joshua—he can take us to God or tell us where to find him, he can send Alex back." The television began to fade out. The connection was breaking. Becoming urgent with alarm, Cas gripped it tightly on either side. "Hurry, Dean!"

The television set died out.

Cas drew back just slightly to look at the silent TV, the sudden absence of any sound fearsome to his senses. Would Sam and Dean be able to find her? Would Joshua be able to help? Were the rumors that he spoke to God even true? What if Zachariah found the brothers before they found Alex? Castiel stood up, his heart hammering, his limbs feeling light and unsteady. He felt such a strong need to be there in Heaven, tearing it apart to find her then bring her back to where she belonged. But he was cursed to stay here doing nothing.

He looked at Alex and his feelings of helplessness bubbled up into sheer, unadulterated anger, into panicked and blind rage. He could have prevented this. He shouldn't have left her, even for a second. He'd been so selfish to avoid her because of his feelings, his inability to manage them. And now look what had happened—he'd been so intent on changing the future he'd seen in 2014 that he had left her unguarded and she'd died anyway, and sooner.

This was his fault!

Momentarily out of control, he turned and angrily grabbed the wooden chair sitting right there and sent it flying into the partition beside Sam's bed. A gigantic crash was his reward. The chair and partition were both destroyed, and Cas stared at the damage done, breathing heavily for no reason, remembering when he'd seen himself wreck the cabin in 2014. The cabin he and Alex had shared. He'd seen that version of himself do that and hadn't recognized himself, but now—now he was stilled, knowing why that version of Castiel had done that. What was this? Some curse that hounded Castiel and Alex? He looked down at himself and saw her bloodstains on his trench coat. His throat seized up.

And at that very moment, he thought he could hear her and feel her, like she was calling to him. He looked around, alarmed—but then there was nothing. Had he imagined it? He waited, stock still, listening hard and frozen. But there was still nothing. His mind was overcome with despair. Castiel sank again down to sit beside Alex. There he buried his face in his hands, feeling too much for anyone to bear.

---

Cas? Are you there? Where are you? I need you...

Alex was in the darkness again. Complete, utter darkness—right where Zachariah had left her hours ago. Or at least it felt like hours. She was on the ground, not sure if she was dead or alive. She could feel what felt like dew-wet grass underneath her hands and brushing up against her clothes. It was soaking her knees. But that was about the only sensation she could cling onto. The darkness swallowed her. There was so much nothing in this place, and she felt like she couldn't breathe, like if she wasn't careful, her mind would slip out, float away, leave her blank and empty and hollow. Was her body still even in existence? Only her wet knees and shaky breath rattling inside of her convinced her that she was. She wondered why Cas hadn't come for her. Maybe he couldn't. Hopelessness, loneliness, and despair overcame her again, wave after wave crashing over, each one beating her down more and more.

After Zachariah caught her, he'd demanded to know where Sam and Dean were—she'd insisted she didn't know (and then told him to kiss her ass, she wouldn't tell him where they were even if she did know). Zachariah had looked at her in thorough annoyance then told her it didn't matter if she wouldn't tell him, he was going to find them, it was just a matter of time. He dragged her along with him through a couple of heavens—the first one was Sam's: she watched Sam get his acceptance letter to Stanford and punch the air in excitement, grin at the letter, re-read it a bunch of times, do a dorky little dance. Then Zachariah had pulled her out of there into another heaven, one of Dean's: where a twelve-year-old Dean had attempted to bake the twins a birthday cake at Bobby's and it had been half burnt and lopsided—a somewhat pitiful little cake with melting icing and a barely legible 'Happy Birthday Twins' on it—Dean had run out of room to write with the icing and the word Birthday was split into two lines, the word twins started off huge, but the 's' on the end was small, going off the edge of the cake. Zachariah had taken her out of there before she could see Dean present his little creation to herself and Sam. She remembered loving that clumsy, heartfelt cake.

He'd spirited her to another heaven, still holding onto her with his iron grip—he'd taken her to a memory she had from her twenty-first birthday—and Alex had realized this must be one of her heavens, because she remembered it well and it was one of her favorite memories. Dean had insisted on taking her to a bar because she was finally the age to drink legally, but she hadn't wanted to go—it's not like they had ever honored that law about drinking, anyway. She'd been drinking since she was thirteen or fourteen—that and with Sam away at Stanford and not even having called them that day… birthdays were painful, a reminder of what was missing, what was broken. And Dad, of course, was nowhere to be found, off on some job. So, Dean had gone and bought a bunch of liquor then driven the two of them to a park in the middle of the night and cranked up the music loud.

This was the heaven Zachariah took her to, and it was strange because she couldn't actually see herself in the memory, only Dean—coaxing an invisible her out of the Impala, insisting she get drunk with him, telling her 'just because your big sister Samantha is all kinds of douche doesn't mean you should pout around,' and he then dragged the invisible her out onto the grass when 38 Special came on… "I'm so caught up in you! Little girl!" Dean lip-synced along ridiculously, whirling an invisible dancing partner around as he made dramatic faces and danced embarrassingly bad on purpose, pivoting his hips around and pursing his lips in goofy concentration. "And I never did suspect a thing! So caught up in you, little girl, that I never wanna get myself free!" Dean stood back and did air-guitar solos, clearly aware of how stupid and funny he was being, pleased with himself, grinning at the space in front of him genuinely where she'd been shaking her head and laughing at him. Off to the side and watching the scene play out, Alex remembered how happy she had felt at that moment, because she'd very aware of how lucky she was to have someone like Dean who loved her like that. Who went out of his way to pull her out of the dumps. Who had stayed with her when everyone else left. Dean then hugged the air in front of him and Alex looked at Zachariah accusingly. That was a private moment and him seeing it hadn't felt right.

Zachariah had stood back, looking at the scene with condescension, like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice," he'd told her sassily. She looked at the angel who had given her throat cancer, taken Sam's lungs, and given Dean stomach cancer. She would have given anything to have access to a murder weapon at that second.

"You're not funny, asshole," she'd told him flatly, and he had looked at her squarely, narrowing his eyes in distaste, looking like someone who was ready to give a lecture.

"You know, that mentally incapacitated idiot in the trench coat should never have given you your voice back if that's how you were gonna choose to use it." Alex was a bit taken back by the comment. Zach shrugged, facetious and wincing sympathetically. "You're very unappealing to begin with, add in the bad attitude and all the thuggish comments… not doing it for me, Alex." He chuckled. She opened her mouth to speak... and nothing came out. Zachariah grinned at her. "Lucky for me, I'm like a remote control... and you always have a mute button, Pipsqueak." He laughed and sighed gustily, enjoying the panic in her eyes. "What does he see in you? The things he gave up to do that for you. Heaven knows why. Well. Heaven doesn't know why, but, it's just a saying, you see." He suddenly looked to his left like he could hear something. "Ah ha. Gotcha." And without another word, he'd disappeared, and then so had everything in front of her.

It was like if an angel weren't with her, she couldn't see or hear Heaven at all. The second Zachariah disappeared she was plunged into sudden total silence and immense darkness that pressed in like dirt to a grave. She stayed face-first on the ground, breathing hard, trying not to panic, clinging onto the sensation of wet grass, worried about Sam and Dean, not sure how much time has passed or if she could stay sane much longer. She tried to stay calm, focusing on trying not to make a sound, because if she was reminded that she couldn't, she might lose her shit. She belly-crawled forward a little more, feeling with her hands for something besides grass. The darkness was so pervasive. Fear made her veins cold. Pretend you're asleep. Your eyes are closed. That's all. She thought of Cas, remembering when he hugged her in Gabriel's hell world. She tried to remember how that felt, to focus on remembering how it felt to be held so safely and securely. She tried to call up fond memories of Sam, Dean. Sunlight, breeze, '80s rock on the radio. She crawled forward more.

And suddenly without warning, she was yanked from that place nauseatingly, abruptly standing beside Zachariah and blinking against the brightness while almost falling over from the unexpected change. Sam and Dean were in front of her, being held back by two guys in suits. Their faces registered shock at her appearance, and she was sure hers looked the same. Alex saw a third angel, a woman, who hung further back. They were in a house that was lit by an unpleasant, unnatural green light. There were brick walls where windows should have been. What the...?—Alex was disoriented and confused, everything was too bright and close and Zachariah clapped her on the back roughly, startling her further. "Ah look! The youngest, least attractive Winchester!" Alex looked at him in a daze, feeling stuck in place. "We were just visiting with Mommy," Zachariah told her in a highly patronizing tone.

"Alex!" Sam said.

Dean was struggling against the guy holding him. "You all right? What'd this asshole do to you?"

"Oh, she's fine…" Zachariah answered for her. "A little mute at the moment but… hey, we all have our off days, right?"

Dean looked shocked, then entirely enraged. "You son of a bitch!" he roared, and Zachariah chuckled mildly. "You fix her right now!"

"Or what, Dean?" Zachariah asked, amused. Dean breathlessly, angrily stared him down as Sam gazed in shocked horror at his silent, stone-faced twin.

Zachariah feigned intensely thoughtful concern. "Ya know boys, funny story. Alex here? Seems she has no Heaven." He paused, clearly enjoying the brothers' increasing dismay and confusion. "I mean, I saw one of them and it was melting, coming apart… and the other ones, they just disappear completely if she's alone... now what do you suppose that means? Huh!" He smiled, like he knew exactly what it meant, and Alex looked at him in terror. Why wouldn't she have a Heaven? Is that why Heaven went dark when an angel wasn't around?

"What the hell you mean, she's got no Heaven?" Dean demanded all while looking as terrified as Alex felt.

"Just what I said, numbnuts. Little sister here is defective, Dean." He grabbed Alex roughly, who had a surge of fire burst up. She kicked him in the leg… then made a face of pain. She'd forgotten for a minute. Friggin' angels! It was like kicking a solid metal structure. "Am I supposed to say 'ouch'?" Zachariah chuckled mockingly, pulling Alex to him and stroking a hand down her bare arm, his touch distinctly sensual. She struggled, turning her face away, revolted and also jarred—when had her jacket disappeared? How had Zachariah done that?

"Didn't like it when I did this to Mom, did you?" Zach asked Dean, smiling a wicked little smile. "How about to little sister?"

Alex gritted her teeth together, realizing what he was trying to do—Zachariah was such a stupid douchebag, but he was smart and it was working by making her brothers angry—Sam looked away with clenched fists unable to watch while Dean struggled madly, looking like a caged bull ready to murder Zachariah. Alex imagined the various ways she would stab Zachariah if she had an angel blade.

"Leave her alone," Dean threatened in a deadly tone.

"Make me!" Zachariah grinned idiotically and waved over the female angel. Her brown hair was clipped up neatly behind her head. She was pretty and looked early forties, wearing a business suit like all the other angels. She took a hold of Alex—she was strong as hell—Alex gave her a death glare, unable to break away, but trying anyway.

"You're going to do what I say, boys." Zachariah said and went over to Dean casually… and then slammed his fist in Dean's stomach. Dean folded over with a pained groan. In unison, Sam and Alex fought desperately against the angels holding them, trying uselessly to help their brother. "I've cleared my schedule, Dean. I have all eternity, and, oh yeah, I have the power to say if Alex here lives or stays dead." Zachariah looked at the angel holding Dean. "Get him up."

The angel lifted Dean up again and Zachariah punched Dean again. Sam struggled with renewed efforts against the angel holding him, and Zachariah's front of indifferent amusement began to fade into something bordering on anger. He held up an accusing finger up at Dean, whose face was twisted in pain. "Let me tell you something. I was on the fast track once. Employee of the month, every month, forever. I would walk these halls and people would avert their eyes!" The house rumbled and shook thanks to his rage. "I HAD RESPECT!" Zachariah raged, then paused, smiling facetiously. "And then they assigned me you. Now look at me." He chuckled, his air of amusement back again. "I can't close the deal on a couple of flannel-wearing maggots and their useless sister? Everybody's laughing at me… and they're right to do it. So! Say yes, don't say yes; I'm still going to take it out of your asses. It's personal now, boys, and the last person in the history of creation you want as your enemy is me. And I'll tell you why. Lucifer may be strong, but I'm—well, I'm petty. I'm gonna be the angel on your shoulder for the rest of eternity. I'm gonna make you howl." Zachariah was suddenly pleasant again, turning to the angel holding Alex. "Naomi, if you please."

The woman angel grabbed Alex's wrist and twisted it, bending her arm back at an odd angle, and Alex winced in pain as the pressure mounted—she'd be groaning, no, wait, ah, screaming now if she were able, but no sound came out. Zachariah held up a hand, as if to say 'wait' and Naomi stopped, holding Alex there in absurd pain as Dean and Sam watched helplessly. Zachariah walked over to Dean, looking down his nose at him. "Dean, we may be in Heaven, but I can put that kid sister of yours through Hell, got it? I say the word, her arm is broken. It'll hurt, bad. But it'll be nothing, it'll be a blessed relief compared to all the other things I'll break in her."

Dean's expression was murderous, and he opened his mouth to reply but didn't get to. Zachariah socked him in the gut again, harder than before, and Dean made a horrible sound and doubled over.

"Excuse me. Sir?"

Everyone turned at the sound of a new voice—a slight, older Black man stood there, clasping his hands in front of himself plaintively. Zachariah seemed surprised, then annoyed. "Joshua?" His belief quickly schooled itself into irritation. "I'm in a meeting."

"I'm sorry," the newcomer said politely. He had a pleasant, rasping voice. "I need to speak to those two boys."

"Excuse me?" Zachariah asked in total shock, taking a couple steps closer.

Joshua remained where he was, unruffled. "It's a bad time, I know, but I'm afraid I have to insist."

Zachariah hesitated then chuckled darkly. "You don't get to insist jack-squat."

A gentle smile from the newcomer. "No, you're right. But... the boss does." Joshua stared at Zachariah unnervingly. "His orders."

The Winchesters all looked at each other now—was he talking about God?

"You're lying..." Zachariah said, but he sounded uncertain.

A humble shrug. "I wouldn't lie about this. Look, fire me if you want. Sooner or later, he's going to come back home, and you know how he is with that whole... wrath thing."

Zachariah was silent, then reluctant, a little embarrassed sounding. "Fine, but you don't need this one, do you?" He gestured to Alex. "I mean, come on—she's not a piece in the game."

Joshua's expression was sly. Like he knew something Zachariah didn't. "Mm. So you say. But in whatever case, directly from the maker—you aren't to touch a hair on her head." Joshua seemed to grow a little taller, his expression grew less pleasant. "Now… restore what you've taken from her. And leave."

Zachariah looked at Dean and Sam, then Alex—his expression extremely foul. He finally looked back at Joshua, who stood his ground, his expression almost threatening now. And then with the fluttering sound of wings, Zachariah and his three goons disappeared. There was a second of surprise when this happened, and then Dean was moving across the distance between himself and Alex, grabbing her up into a huge, almost painful hug. She shut her eyes, holding on tightly, and for the first time since being there in Heaven, she felt okay. And suddenly she was gasping little relieved sounds—her voice wasn't gone anymore—and the relieved sounds started to sound more tearful. "Hey, hey!" Dean said, his arms tightening, a hand on the back of her head protectively. "I gotcha, you're okay." He let out a long, relieved sounding breath, and he suddenly sounded emotional, softer. His voice broke a little. "You're okay." Alex's eyes were shut tightly and she had her face buried in the front of his jacket shoulder.

Sam was there too now, he had a hand on Alex's back—and she abruptly withdrew from Dean and crashed into her twin for a hug—the last time she'd seen him, he'd been dead. He returned the hug gently. "You all right?" he asked her quietly, drawing back and searching for her gaze.

She nodded and wiped off her cheeks, focusing on calming down. "Y-yeah," she faltered. "Yeah, I am now."

The three of them all looked at each other, then they remembered the other person in the room. Joshua watched with a soft smile patiently, and when they finally looked at him, he turned his eyes to Alex. He approached her slowly, his clasped hands separating, one of them coming toward her. "It's time for you to go back, dear."

She looked at her brothers questioningly. "But…" she protested. However, she never got to finish the sentence. Suddenly she felt herself rushing through time and space, torpedoing back toward the surface—back to life.

---

Castiel sat on the bed contemplating Alex's body with grieving eyes. He had lost track of how long it had been now. Hours at the least. He hadn't heard from Dean or Sam. He was losing hope.

As he gazed at her face, he thought that she was so beautiful to him, even in death. So much so that it hurt to lay eyes on her somehow. So he looked down to where her hand rested beside herself so close to his. That hand had punched him, had pushed him away from her, had taken his mistrustfully right before he had defied Heaven for her—that hand had taught him pinky promises, that hand had touched his face and pulled him close. Mournfully, Cas covered that hand in his own. The skin was cold. He shut his eyes in anguish, his fingers curling around her hand, the tips of his fingers reaching the inside of her wrist. And then he stopped, frowning, and opened his eyes. Was that… was that a faint pulse?

Daring to hope, he looked at her face in alarmed hope—and then her eyes suddenly snapped open, she gasped loudly, she rocketed upwards. Even though he was taken by total surprise, Castiel still managed to anchor her, catching her in his arms. She was briefly frantic and shaken, her eyes darting wildly and her breath racing before she realized where she was and who had her. As she looked into his face and registered it was him, her expression broke and her arms flew to hold him close. "Cas!"

She fell into him, burying her face in his neck, her arms clinging to him as she shivered and shook. Castiel was shaking too, his arms already around her without a thought. He closed his eyes and held her tight as blessed and wretched relief swept over him. He was finding it hard to breathe, so overcome—he bowed his head down, burying his nose and mouth in her hair. He held a hand against the back of her head, and without knowing exactly why, he achingly pressed a kiss against her hair, and then another. He felt jarred and anchored all at the same time, emotionally fragile and restored all at once. His Alex was alive. He heard her taking trembling, calming breaths, he felt her shifting to look up at him and he drew back just slightly—finding her warm hazel eyes once again—and part of him that had been ripped away was restored.

And then her eyes slid away from his, over his shoulder—and her expression went blank when she saw where Sam and Dead lay dead. She shivered as her senses returned—or maybe that was because of fear and dread to see her deceased family so close by. With semi-horror, she looked down at herself where blood and holes riddled her tank top, then at her shaking hands in slowly dawning horror, both of which were covered in dried rust-red blood. Her traumatized eyes rose back to her bloody brothers.

"Why d-did Joshua send me back and not them?"

"I'm—I'm not sure," he replied, having a hard time finding his voice.

A couple more dazed beats of silence hung. Then a small, heartbreaking question: "How many times do I have to see them die, Cas?" Alex appeared to be going into shock. She abruptly hugged her arms around herself. "I'm cold," she whispered, then stood up on weakened legs and Castiel stood with her immediately. She backed up toward the back of the room with eyes locked on her brothers. Her movements were stiff, and she shivered. She began to try and wipe the blood off her hands. A useless task. Then without announcement, she turned and blundered into the bathroom. Cas followed at an uncertain drift.

Alex careened into the shower fully dressed, fumbling with the shower dials in a state of extreme duress. She held her hands under the steaming stream of water, unable to wait for the blood to wash off. The blood gave way to bright pink skin underneath as the water pelted. Castiel hovered outside of the shower door uncertainly as clothes and all, Alex turned away from him, leaning against the shower wall with her palms pressed flat against it—she quickly became completely soaked and her hands came to either side of her head. "This can't be happening." She sounded so distressed that it distressed Cas too.

He wanted to go to her, but he remained outside the shower. "Alex—they'll be sent back. They're vessels."

She shook her head, finally looking back at him. "I don't know if I believe that," she admitted with a soft sob, then she stumbled sidelong weakly, her muscles still adjusting to new life. Cas darted forward, catching her before she could fall. Her hands grabbed his forearms tightly. The warm water streamed over him now, too, soaking his trench coat, his head, his hair.

Filled with unmeasurable concern, he looked into her eyes pleadingly. "What happened up there?"

At her wit's end, she was the picture of pain and anger and sadness. "Why can't I just hold it together anymore? I used to be stronger than this, goddammit!" Her expression crumpled into misery. "I can't do this crazy shit anymore!"

"Do what?" he asked, his anxiety paining him at this point. Water pooled at their feet in the bottom of the shower, faint red from the blood washing off.

"Anything, everything," she sputtered. "I've tried," she choked out, "I've tried, but I can't."

He took her face in both his hands, demanding her gaze and she stopped, meeting his gaze however distraught. "You can," he said, and held her in his arms in a hug that lingered as she calmed down. Steam curled around them, and Alex's tense body began to relax.

After a moment, Cas pulled away just far enough to look at her face. Embarrassment, exhaustion, and agony stared back at him, then she exhaled a defeated breath and rested her forehead against his chin and mouth. It stirred his innermost being and without even thinking, he pressed a long kiss to her forehead, an action that came from the deepest and most sacred part of himself. After, she drew back just a little, her eyes questioning his. Cas didn't know what to say. Or what to do. He was so sorry, and of their own accord, his hands came to cradle her face, thumbs brushing across her cheeks whisper soft. Her eyelashes dripped—were those tears, or was it water? And she trembled, her hands coming to gentle grasp his wrists, thumbs touching the bare skin of his hands, stroking downwards once, a touch that seemed tender and intimate to Castiel. And his breath was caught in his throat, he was thinking of how he could never ever see her like that again—dead and gone and lost forever. He now understood without a shadow of a doubt that he would do anything, anything to keep her alive. And not because of a decree of Heaven, not because of an order. This need to keep her safe was no longer anything except his own conviction. A conviction that ran deeper than any ocean on earth, reached higher than the sky itself.

He looked at her then, slowly, hesitating. Realizing. How ever since he saw her first, everything had been building toward this moment. The moment when he came to truly understand how much she meant to him and how much that terrified him. He realized she had wedged herself deep in his—heart? No. He had no soul or heart. All he knew was that she had imprinted herself upon his mind and spirit, she had ruined him for anyone or anything else, she had changed his mind about everything. There was truly no going back. She had become what was most important to him—this beautiful human mystery of half-smiles and dark, haunting eyes—she was what was most important. Maybe he'd believed it was wrong once, but now? Today? This connection between them was real and lasting, undeniable. It couldn't be wrong.

He hesitated, inching closer, and then pushed the small, ever-weakening inner protests aside, pressing his lips to hers lingeringly. Relief and warmth flooded him; he felt her hands come to mirror his—one on each side of his face as she returned the kiss. She relaxed against him and he against her, a million worries and fears banished at the touch of their lips to each other's. Achingly, they parted just slightly, just for a second to catch each other's eyes, then came together again in unison more burningly. The warm water showered over them, steam rose.

They drew back just slightly and for a moment everything felt right, for a moment, they just were… and then Alex's expression changed and the fear returned. Her hands fell away. "I don't understand." She swallowed hard, her voice barely audible, her eyes full of hurt. It was clear that saying this next part aloud was difficult for her: "All I know is you leave every time something like this happens."

He felt he could literally break. Every time they had been close like this… he'd left her right afterwards. He knew that. It was verifiable fact. And he was beginning to understand how hurtful it was. "I won't," he told her with no shortage of grief at himself. He held the side of her face now, his thumb against her cheek again. "I won't," he repeated. Compelled and saddened alike, he pressed another kiss to her forehead. Their eyes closed at the same time, Alex's expression becoming deeply touched as if she might cry—Cas's brows knit close together in earnestness as he held the kiss there to the wet skin of her forehead. Her arms were now lightly resting on either side of his waist, her hands clinging to his soaked trench coat. Castiel held her tightly, breathing her in, the reality of having lost her causing his chest to spasm in pain. "I won't leave you again," he promised her, his mouth still there, close to her forehead. "Not without saying goodbye."

He looked down at her then, and she was looking up at him in torn hope and slight disbelief—not to mention confusion. He understood. His actions confused him, so they must be confusing her too. And as he drank her in, he felt keen awareness that whatever their connection, their bond had been before… it had just become even deeper with the promise he'd made. Should that have panicked him? Perhaps he had lost his mind, but right now, it didn't matter to him. He just was so thankful that she was alive that other thoughts and worries paled in comparison to his relief. And then the euphoria faded—she faltered in his arms. "I don't feel so good…" she said, and her legs went out from under her. Cas caught her, worry again blossoming.

"Are you all right?"

She clung to him in a daze. "Feel so weak," she murmured vacantly.

He pushed his fears away, focusing instead on doing what he could. He picked her up easily and saw that she was a little embarrassed—this was the same girl who always insisted on doing things on her own, who was insulted when her brothers treated her like she was weaker. Cas said nothing and just carried her back into the main room—her eyes remained downcast except to flicker up to his face a couple times.

Carefully, he set her down on the vacant bed—she was dripping wet—they both were—and Cas stood back, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Towels," he said, then turned around and went back into the bathroom to find some—but before he picked them up, he manipulated the atoms surrounding himself, banishing the water molecules that had settled into the fabric of his clothing, darkened the strands of his hair, and beaded on the surface of his skin. He was dry instantly. He considered doing the same for Alex, but instinctively felt it could be upsetting—any reminders of Heaven or angels. He wondered again what had happened to her there. He needed to know. He was worried, and deeply. Heaven wasn't the same place it had always been. It was changing. He felt it.

Cas returned to her with towels and she looked at him with distracted, tense eyes. She'd been staring over at Sam and Dean's bodies, her expression tense, afraid, and sickened. Castiel set the towels in a stack beside her and took one from the top. She reached for the towel but Cas wrapped it around her shoulders for her. She blinked rapidly, taken aback, like she hadn't expected that. Castiel brought the far ends of the towel together in front of her, circling it around her like a cloak. Inside this circle, she took hold of the towel, her hands just opposite of his. Their eyes met briefly. Her hair was dark and dripping, he could see the soaked strap of her tank top where the towel hadn't quite covered.

He thought hard through the sequence of events he associated with human cleansing rituals, recalling what came next. "You need dry clothes," Cas said.

"My bag is—" she started, but he had already seen it, recognized it, and took it up from where it sat on the floor a couple feet. She looked at him in more surprise.

He set it beside her on the bed and unzipped it slowly, looking for a suitable article of clothing, then stopped as he realized he wasn't sure about something. "Is this... inappropriate?"

She hid a soft smile at him and looked at him with unguarded eyes. "So inappropriate," she said quietly, but the amusement twinkling in her eyes told him she was joking. He felt himself smiling back at her softly, relieved. She was beginning to look like herself again.

He found a tank top—she wore those all the time. He found a pair of jeans. He pulled both items out slowly, examining each article thoughtfully before laying it out. Alex studied him with interest, watching his eyes and subtle eyebrow movements, then looking at the way his hands held her clothing. Then she grimaced slightly and shifted in discomfort. "Cas… it feels like my muscles don't work anymore." She sounded tired. "Is this… normal?"

Pausing, troubled, Cas looked at her. "I'm not sure," he told her honestly, thinking about it. "I don't know many people who've returned from death." He found a pale blue button up shirt with long sleeves and laid it on top of the jeans and the tank top he had selected.

"Yeah, guess dying and coming back isn't normal to begin with, is it. But... Sam and Dean have both done it before." She drew in a deep breath then let it out, sounding strained and apprehensive. "Maybe it was just my turn."

She looked toward her brothers again, then Cas stepped sideways into her line of sight, gently demanding her gaze. "You're going to be fine, Alex. I promise you."

She looked like she wasn't sure about that. Her eyes went to the clothes he'd laid out beside her, then down at herself. She looked exhausted, like the idea of changing her clothes seemed impossible. But she let the towel go and grabbed the bottom of her tank top, pulling at it weakly for a couple seconds before giving up, her expression twisting into a grimace. She looked upset. "My arms are Jello."

Cas narrowed his eyes, scanning the reserves of his mind and memories. But he found no knowledge of this 'Jello' she mentioned. He narrowed his eyes even more. "What's... Jello?"

Her troubled expression softened. "Wiggly stuff that you eat." Cas tilted his head to the side slightly. That sounded unappealing. Alex was busy flexing her fingers faintly. "I can barely even make a fist." Her frown deepened. "How long was I… uh, dead?"

"Hours." Although somehow it had felt like eons to him.

Alex seemed surprised. "It felt so much longer… like a day. Maybe two." Once again, Castiel felt concern ripple through him.

She sighed heavily, not noticing his distress. She was looking at the clean, dry clothes beside herself longingly, and Cas hesitated, then offered. "I can help you." Her eyes flicked up to him and he suddenly felt shy. "Get changed," he added for clarification. She looked down at the soaked buckshot riddled, bloodstained tank top she was wearing, and she was quiet for a long minute, her eyes sliding over toward where Sam and Dean's bodies laid.

She looked back at Cas finally and he could tell she was apprehensive. "Okay."

His tongue darted out to wet his lips—a physical reaction he had never had before. He was a little surprised at himself, then he refocused. He grasped the bottom edge of her tank top with both hands then looked at her in the eye, waiting for her to change her mind—but she just waited and returned his gaze. Castiel swallowed, then began to take her shirt off. His fingers grazed the bare skin of her waist, then her side where her ribcage was as he carefully peeled the shirt off. He kept his gaze respectfully averted when she raised her arms weakly and he pulled the shirt over her head, leaving her bare from the waist up. He noticed how she breathed a little harder than necessary. He was very methodical and careful, dropping the destroyed tank top onto the floor, then taking the clean, dry one and holding it out in front of himself, his gaze downward to avoid the inappropriate.

Alex watched Cas, not sure how this was happening or what was wrong with her, just sort of going with it—she weakly put her hands through the arm holes, feeling totally exposed and vulnerable. But Cas wasn't looking at her, he was staring at the floor somewhere near her left foot. The shirt was on now, Cas was tugging it down over her still-damp torso, and then she was modest again. There was a lump in Alex's throat. Her heart beat one thought in that moment: she loved him so much.

He was looking down at her wet jeans, frowning slightly. She followed his gaze and realized what he was thinking. How was this going to work? She imagined it for a moment, Cas helping her out of the jeans, his fingers brushing against her bare thighs as he tugged them off, maybe his eyes flickering up to hers intensely... Jesus Christ Alex! She looked away, awkward and embarrassed at herself. "Can you just… angel magic me?" she asked, and he glanced up at her. His bright blue eyes froze her. For a second, they were both silent, maybe having forgotten everything completely. His eyebrows were raised, his forehead wrinkled up, his expression somewhere between concern, care, and studiousness.

"Yes, of course," he replied, his voice softer than before. He hesitated, then knelt before her and touched her lightly on the top of her thigh and Alex almost melted—he probably didn't know what kind of things a touch right there would do to her—it wasn't even scandalous, it was just knowing that was him, touching her… but then the sensation of her jeans suddenly being completely dry distracted her and surprised, she looked down at them.

"Wow." She smiled softly. "You're… kinda handy to have around." Understatement. But he was smiling back, albeit a little sadly. Again, she was given to pause when she looked into his eyes. And then he picked up the button up shirt and helped her into that, guiding her arms through. She noticed he was putting it on her inside out but said nothing, just glanced at his backwards tie while smiling faintly to herself with a heart that felt full and safe.

He finished and drew back, nodding slightly. Even though Alex was physically weak and exhausted, she still felt overcome by her emotions and feelings for this angel of hers—what if he hadn't been here when she'd come back? Her voice cracked a little. "Thanks, Cas." He stood again. Without even meaning to, she turned her head again, looked at where Sam and Dean were silent as tombs. The fear that they would never return struck her again like lightning. Where were they?

"We can go somewhere else—" Cas suggested, looking at her uneasily.

Alex shook her head and raised her chin. "No," she said, resolving herself. "I need to be here when… when they come back."

Which they will, she reminded herself, choosing to believe that Castiel was right. But she couldn't just keep looking over and seeing that—her big brothers dead, Dean staring up into nothing, Sam riddled in bullets. Both soaked in their own blood. It was one of the most horrible sights she'd ever seen, and every time she looked over and saw it again, she wanted to be physically ill.

With what little strength her muscles possessed, she slid down into a sitting position onto the floor beside the bed, where she couldn't see the bodies of her brothers. Castiel sat down beside her without any hesitation at all, and she glanced at him sidelong, mildly surprised again. He sat with his feet flat on the floor, knees bent up—just like she'd taught him in what seemed a lifetime ago. God, he's changed so much since then. Or maybe I have. Or maybe both of us have. The space between their shoulders was too much, but Alex remained still, thinking hard. She wanted so badly to tell him everything about what happened in Heaven, to ask why it had been like that, then to just be held by him forever. The shower… the kisses… maybe those should have confused her. But she understood now, and it was startling but also so entirely obvious and unavoidable: He loved her, she loved him. The end. All these things stood in the way, all these dark things hung over their heads, all these unknowns hung in the balance, but none of it could change what they felt. So, where did they go from here? Question of the century.

She glanced at him again, remembering how much she had missed him these past couple weeks, how angry and confused and hurt she'd been when he hadn't come when she called. It seemed so out of character of him to just ignore her calls and she felt like there had to be more to it. "I… I called you a bunch of times, the past couple of weeks," she ventured, and he was immediately clearly uncomfortable. Alex pressed her lips together, looking at him for a long minute, not understanding. "Why didn't you come?"

Castiel's expression was morose, he seemed to wrestle internally for a couple seconds. "I did. Every time." Her heart jumped in her chest. He looked down and his jaw tightened a little. "I just didn't let you see me."

"...Why?" Alex asked after the initial shock.

Cas's expression flickered in pain. "I thought… I thought I could protect you. I thought I could change things."

He sounded so guilty, so burdened and weary. "Cas…" she said softly, not sure how to reassure him.

The angel in the trench coat shook his head slightly, looking ahead of himself with a hard expression. "I could have saved you from what happened here today if I hadn't been trying so hard to stay away..." He looked at her and his expression almost scared her, it was so intense. "I almost lost you."

She faltered under his gaze and shook her head, remembering Heaven, and there was a deeply unpleasant and frightened feeling in the pit of her stomach. "I was lost," she said softly. "It was all dark and empty up there… falling apart." It was too frightening to think about even if it were apparently over… for now. "Cas, I didn't have a Heaven," she told him in barely a whisper. "The only time I could see anything was if I was with someone else." Cas was visibly blindsided by this information. Alex felt small and scared. "Does that… does that mean I'm supposed to end up in Hell? Or when I die… I'm just alone in the dark forever?"

Cas's frown was stern and hard. "All souls have heavens, even the ones that go below. It has to be a mistake."

Alex shook her head. "Zachariah said I was 'defective.'"

"Zachariah found you?" Cas was deeply alarmed.

Alex shut her eyes for a minute, memories turning her stomach. "Yeah. What did he mean, Cas?"

The angel stared ahead of himself in blank horror, shaking his head. "You're not defective. You… can't be." He sounded lost. Alex realized he had no idea why it would have been like that up there for her, which only left her more frightened. Castiel always knew this kind of stuff. If he didn't know—who would?

Alex thought of her brothers—the one who had been to Hell had a Heaven! And Sam, too—the boy with the demon blood, the one who was the devil's own vessel. So why did that leave her with a Heaven that had been coming apart at the seams… and disappeared entirely if she wasn't in the presence of an angel? Did it have something to do with what Crowley had been telling her? Maybe if she was the one who killed or destroyed Lucifer, it meant her soul just was destroyed and voided completely. Was that really where she would end up, forever? For eternity? Alone in the empty listening to the sound of her own heartbeat all while losing her mind? She felt panic rising inside, she felt herself getting freaked out.

Cas saw it. She felt his hand on her shoulder, the shoulder closer to him. He seemed to be frightened too but was pushing it aside to comfort her, to steady her. Alex needed him so badly. She held back her frightened tears. "Cas, I know that… I know that we can't," she managed, barely able to keep her voice even. "But right now I just need... need you… to help me."

He looked positively brokenhearted. "How?" he asked urgently, but Alex shook her head, not able to put it into words. She weakly curled herself into his side, sagging into his arms. After a brief second of surprise from the angel, he moved fractionally closer and put an arm around her. He was ginger and uncertain of how to do it right. Alex's cheek pressed up against the front of his shoulder and she held onto the lapel of his coat. She felt his face turn toward her, his chin just brushing her forehead. Her eyes closed and she just breathed. He was warm and comforting. She could feel him breathing, too.

"I saw my dad. In Heaven."

He went completely still at the sudden confession. "What?" His deep voice reverberated through her.

Alex shook her head just slightly and the fabric of the trench coat rubbed her cheek. "I don't know how, Cas, but somehow... it was him."

There was a long pause. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

"I see." A short, troubled silence. "What did your father want?"

Alex could hear the concern in his voice. He didn't, after all, have the best impression of Dad. "To say goodbye," Alex said softly, growing reflective, deep things welling up in her heart. She breathed in deeply and shut her eyes for a minute. She felt Cas's arm around her tighten a little and she opened her eyes to look into his. In that gaze, she felt trust. Love. He looked back at her with soft eyes and Alex was utterly wrecked by his closeness. By the urge to convey her deepest feelings for him. Even though she felt so weak she reached up, her fingertips brushing against the collar of the trench coat, then the side of his neck. Her thumb rested against the scruffy edge of his jaw. His eyes searched hers, and he gently reached up, fingers curling around her hand in a way that could only be described as tender. His thumb swept across her knuckles, his other arm tightened around her, holding her there securely.

So much went unsaid. But for now, there was peace in the quiet.

After a moment, Castiel prompted her softly. "Will you tell me what happened?"

Alex nodded. She was ready now. She took a deep breath, started at the beginning.

"First—I died." She paused. How often did people get to say that? "And when I came to… on the other side, I was in complete darkness, couldn't remember anything about where I'd been before that. Then I saw this faint light in the distance."

---

Author's note: Classic rock songs were peppered throughout this chapter. If you'd like to have a listen, they are listed below in order of appearance!

Knockin' On Heaven's Door by Bob Dylan

Paradise City by Guns N' Roses

Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival

Caught Up In You by 38 Special