Song Remains the Same

Chapter 30 / The Righteous Man

"The children of Cain are gathered, to plunder and burn and slay.
God was with man in Eden, but where is God today?"
- Charles Hamilton Musgrove

Heaven

One second Alex was there, the next she was gone. Dean looked at Joshua in uneasiness... then the house in which they'd been standing was suddenly gone too. Replacing it was a verdant garden—a conservatory of some kind. Overhead a tall glass dome filtered in sunlight that softly lit exotic plants, trees, and flowers crowding a small stone pathway. The air was warm and humid, smelling of earth and ozone. Joshua stood at the bottom of some stone steps in front of the brothers and the Winchesters glanced at each other cautiously. Dean felt especially rattled because a few seconds ago he was holding the sister he feared he'd lost… and now she was gone again.

"This... is Heaven's garden?" Sam sounded a little underwhelmed as he went down the stairs slowly. Dean followed warily.

Joshua had some pruning shears and was offhandedly clipping the gardenia bush he stood next to. "You see what you want to here," the angel explained mildly, interested in his work. "For some it's God's throne room; for others it's Eden. You two, I believe it's the Cleveland botanical gardens. You came here on a field trip."

Sam's expression lifted. "Yeah… I remember," he said, tone becoming fonder and more reminiscent.

Dean however was of a one-track mind. "Yeah, good times," he interjected sarcastically while looking at Joshua mistrustfully. "Where'd you send our sister?"

"Back to her body, of course," Joshua said in his soft, rasping voice. He fixed Dean with a knowing gaze, pausing his task for a moment to smile faintly. "Don't worry Dean. She's alive and well."

"And probably freaked out as hell," Dean muttered. Alex had never died before unlike himself and Sam—she would be sitting all alone in the motel room with his and Sam's bodies at this moment, right? Jesus Christ, he hoped she was okay… it was bad enough with everything else that had happened to her that day but Zach taking her voice—that was over the line, that was too much, and Dean was really worried. He could just picture her not knowing why she'd been sent back alone, maybe not knowing where he and Sam were at all or if they'd ever be back. God, what if she has no memory of Heaven? What if—

"I wouldn't worry," Joshua said, interrupting Dean's concerned thoughts. He returned to pruning the bush in a slow, steady manner. "She's not alone."

Dean frowned, his thoughts halting. He didn't understand, but Sam looked like he thought he knew what Joshua meant. "Cas?"

Joshua smiled as he trimmed a couple dead leaves away from the gardenia. "He is her guardian angel."

Dean made a face, disgusted. Suddenly all these flowers and trees and sounds of birds were making him angry. "Yeah he's real great at keeping her safe, isn't he?"

"You sound unhappy about something." Joshua's glib commentary was just about enough for Dean's temper. He chuckled dryly.

"Pal, unhappy is putting it lightly. And y'know, while we're talking about things that piss me off… you got any idea why the hell Alex doesn't have a Heaven?"

Joshua's eyebrows rose just slightly, he looked faintly sympathetic. "Yes, actually. I know exactly why. But unfortunately... it's not information I'm privy to share."

There was a rush of righteous, indignant anger at that comment and Dean's blood pressure hit the roof, his protective hackles raised. "You friggin' kidding me? You better tell me right now or I am gonna take your little garden scissors and stick them right up—"

"Dean." Sam gave his brother a look that asked 'are you nuts?' Unwillingly, Dean clamped his mouth shut. Sam was right. Probably shouldn't piss off the angel who could send them back to earth.

Joshua calmly turned, giving the boys his full attention and setting his pruning shears down. He clasped his hands in front of him thoughtfully. "Have faith, Dean. God makes all things work together for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purposes."

"Well that ain't me!" Dean retorted with too much aggression.

Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder hard, looking at his brother sharply. "Can you just shut up for two seconds?" Exasperated and barely hiding the fact, Sam attempted civility while Dean stewed. "Joshua—you talk to God, right?"

"Well mostly he talks to me," Joshua corrected pleasantly.

The Winchesters shared a significant look. "Well, we need to speak to him," Sam said. "It's important."

"Where is he?" Dean asked.

Joshua answered in an oddly elusive tone. "On earth."

That was quite the bombshell. "Doing what?" Dean didn't think that sounded so good.

Joshua's indifferent answer further frustrated and confused Dean: "I don't know."

Dean shook his head. This was rich, this was great. Ever the patient one, Sam was staying cool and prompting Joshua again. "Okay, well, do you know where on earth?"

"No, sorry. We don't exactly speak face-to-face."

Dean looked at his brother, wondering if this seemed as fishy to Sam as it did to him. Not even the angels knew where this God dude was. This couldn't be right. Something wasn't adding up. "I… I don't get it," Dean said, thinking out loud. "God's not talking to nobody so…"

"So why is he talking to me." Joshua finished his sentence for him. Dean waited expectantly. This better be good. "Well. I sometimes think it's because I can sympathize—gardener to gardener—and, between us, I think he gets lonely."

Lonely? The hell kind of answer was that? "Well, my heart's just breaking for him," Dean said sarcastically, his barely contained anger boiling beneath the surface again.

"Well, uh, can you just get him a message for us?" Sam glanced at Dean reproachfully.

"Actually, he has a message for you." The brothers were mutually shocked by what Joshua said next. "Back off."

Dean tried to figure out where he'd misheard. "What?"

"He knows already," Joshua said simply. "Everything you want to tell him."

"But—"

"He knows what the angels are doing," Joshua said, cutting Dean off. "He knows that the apocalypse has begun. He just... doesn't think it's his problem."

Words that left both boys ears ringing. "...Not his problem?" Dean repeated. This had to be a joke.

But Joshua was continuing, and his tone was growing more intense and assertive than he had been so far. "God saved you already. He put you on that plane. He brought back Castiel. He saved your sister from the future that was supposed to befall her." Dean went still, not sure what Joshua was talking about with that one, but the angel didn't pause. "He granted you salvation in Heaven…" he turned to face Sam directly, "and after everything you've done, too. It's more than he's intervened in a long time. He's finished. Magic amulet or not... you won't be able to find him."

"But he can stop it!" Dean protested, not getting this. "He can stop all of it!" What was wrong with these people?! He was at a loss, shaking his head. "So he sends Cas to rescue me from Hell because 'God has work for me' and now it's… what, too bad, catchya later, good luck with the apocalypse?"

Joshua sort of shrugged in offhand affirmation.

Every swear world in the book went through Dean's mind. "No. No fucking way," he protested vehemently, feeling tricked, feeling betrayed, because this was his last option, this was supposed to be the answer to all the problems he'd been facing. "You can't be serious…!"

"I am." A blunt and blasé reply.

Dean's teeth ground together with incredulous anger as his fists clenched up. "Unbelievable. So he's just gonna let whatever happen and do jack squat about it? The hell kind of God is he, anyway?"

Joshua was thoughtful, almost dreamy. "Why does he allow evil in the first place? You could drive yourself nuts asking questions like that."

This was an absurd waste of time. "Fucking coward," Dean muttered, shaking his head in repugnance while staring at the ground, his nostrils flaring and jaw clamped tight. "Can't even tell me in person that all the crap he's put me through was for nothing, that I'm on my own, that it was all some huge lie? Some game for him?"

"I know how important this was to you, Dean," Joshua said, and he looked truly empathetic, shaking his head shallowly. "I'm sorry."

"What, saving the world? Stopping the apocalypse? You're damn right it was important to me! Why isn't it important to him?!" Dean raged, but Joshua said nothing. Sam hung back silently and Dean scoffed. "You're sorry. Yeah, thanks, that helps so much," he snapped cynically, then his mouth bore down into a thin, hard line. Suddenly he felt hopeless and emotional, beaten down and weary—all the things he'd been trying to avoid feeling. "Forget it." In an attempt to save face, he turned cold. "Just another deadbeat dad with a bunch of excuses, right? I'm used to that. I'll muddle through."

Perceptive eyes lingered on him. "Except… you don't know if you can, this time." Joshua said. Dean faltered, his defenses rising up. "You can't kill the devil... you're losing faith in yourself, your brother... you feel your sister slipping out of your grasp… and now this?" Sam looked at Dean, surprised, maybe realizing just how desperate and depressed Dean really was—everything Dean had been trying to keep a secret. Dean avoided looking at his brother. "God was your last hope," Joshua stated, and paused, growing sympathetic. "I wish I could tell you something different."

"Yeah I bet you do," Dean muttered, but he was too worn out to put any fire into the words. "Just stay the hell outta my head, man. It's all the same damn story with all you winged freaks. Lemme tell you what, wishing never got anyone anything. So unless you got something helpful to share with the class… we're done here."

Sam glanced at Dean but didn't reprimand him this time, he instead refocused on Joshua apprehensively. "H-how do we know you're telling the truth about all this?"

Joshua was mildly surprised. "You think that I would lie?"

"It's just that… you're not exactly the first angel we've met," Sam said, cringing apologetically. "And… sorry, I just always thought God would care about the world he created, the people he made. It... it doesn't add up."

"I'm sorry you feel that way… but I'm not lying. In fact, I'm rooting for you boys. I wish I could do more to help you, I do. But…" Joshua indicated the garden surrounding them. "I just trim the hedges."

Sam was growing exasperated and his eyebrows knit together, he wet his lips. "Come on man, if not for us, then for our sister—help us," he implored earnestly, grasping at straws now. "She's not even part of this."

Joshua looked at Sam directly, a certain knowing quality in his eyes. "I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you." The Winchesters were both stunned into silence at the vague comment and Joshua shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm quite incapable of helping you any further. And it's time for you to go home again. I'm afraid this time, won't be like the last. This time, God wants you…" He lifted a hand up, "to remember."

There was a whooshing sound and a bright light blinded them. Dean felt himself throttling forward, and then he was shooting upwards, gasping for air, alive again.

Earth

Alex was where she'd been for the past fifteen minutes or so minutes—curled into Castiel's side as they sat on the floor at the end of the bed. Her head rested in the space between his shoulder and neck and the side of his head tilted down toward hers—he didn't remember doing it consciously. Alex had told him everything—the phone booth, seeing her father, the darkness of Heaven when she was left alone, Zachariah's appearance and what he'd said and done—the heavens he'd taken her to—being left in the dark for what felt to her like a day—Zachariah's confrontation with Dean and Sam—his attempt to use Alex against her brothers. And then Joshua's appearance. Cas was struggling to process all of it—but one part especially.

"And then," Alex continued, as Castiel stared at the area in front of himself with a deep frown, "Joshua sent me back. You know the rest from there."

She became quiet and Cas mulled it all over. He knew she was wondering what he was, and that she was much more afraid than she'd sounded. "I don't understand..." Cas said slowly. "Why you wouldn't have a Heaven." It was one of the more disturbing things he had ever been told and he was baffled—however, the way her soul had been drifting and impossible to track down… now it made sense, but it was the kind of sense that only sent more terror racing through his mind.

Beside Cas, he felt Alex breathing in and out. He shut his eyes, just focusing on that blessed reality. In the darkness caused by his closed eyes, memories came to mind; he remembered seeing her as she lay dying in the future. Cas… do you... do you think there's still a Heaven up there? She'd looked at him with teary eyes that could break a heart into pieces. He'd seen himself tell her that yes, of course there was. And then later he'd grabbed Chuck in a rage, shouting at him that there was no Heaven anymore and that Alex was gone forever. Distress coursed through Castiel's veins. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to do? His eyes opened.

The only hope remaining was that Dean and Sam would return after speaking with Joshua and have some word from God. Perhaps the reason God hadn't answered Castiel personally was because he'd done the wrong thing to defy Heaven. Perhaps God would speak to Dean, who was, after all, the righteous man. Cas clung to this final thread of hope and had to forcefully quiet his mind.

Alex shifted slightly against him and Castiel looked down towards her, feeling a fierce determination overtake him. "I'm going to find out why," he told her grimly. And he was. If it was the last thing he did, he would find out why she had no heaven awaiting her when she died.

"How can you find that out?" Alex was scared about her eternal fate, and he heard it.

Cas felt his protective instincts surge forth. He didn't want her to be afraid. "I'm not sure. But I will." The arm that he had around her tightened, his other arm came across their bodies so that he held her securely in the circle of his arms.

He'd learned some time ago that it made her feel better when he put his arms around her… and reflected briefly that it made him feel better, too. After a couple seconds she relaxed into him, burrowing into his side a little more—and knowing she wanted to be close to him sent indescribable feelings rushing. Her hand and arm had been resting across his stomach, but now slid around him, pulling him closer. He felt her hand against his side underneath where his arm rested, and he breathed out slowly, memorizing the way all of this felt. This moment was stolen and fleeting… and the future it would lead to was dark. But perhaps, he reflected, it was too late altogether. He couldn't seem to tear himself away. He needed to be close to her as much as he needed to be far away—but he was losing the fight. It wasn't a battle he wanted to win, after all. Being here with her felt righter than anything else.

Neither said anything for a long moment. He could feel how very small and fragile she was in the grand scheme of the planet, the universe, the galaxy. And he began to think of the stark reality, the truth of the matter: Dean would die someday. Sam would die someday. Alex would die someday. But Castiel? Castiel would stretch into eternity endlessly. Alone as he always had been. That thought made him feel very terrible indeed. He couldn't imagine going back to that existence again. Not after all of this.

But he would have to, wouldn't he? The fact remained: this was the way things were. She was human. He was not. She would end, like all humans did. He realized with a great sinking feeling that even if he succeeded in seeing her through this lifetime, she would still always die. Of cancer—of a heart attack—of old age. Such deep sadness overcame him at these thoughts. And if she wasn't in Heaven, if she was drifting in the dark and if he could never find or see her again... his chest tightened. It was unthinkable and perverse. He didn't want that. Ever. Cas imagined the universe missing one bright spot of light. This human. He had seen billions of humans but none of them had ever mattered like she did. The thought of her no longer existing left him feeling empty, panicked, and afraid. He wanted to live in a way where he would never be parted from her. And this realization stilled him.

His strained, stressed mind turned to another unsolved mystery. What had John Winchester been trying to tell Alex about Azazel? The danger isn't past. What did it mean? Castiel had no idea what John could have meant—he could only conclude that John was either mistaken or that Azazel had concealed part of his plan much better than Heaven and Hell had ever guessed. Castiel's thoughts troubled him deeply.

All he could think, over and over, was what am I supposed to do?

No answer came. No revelation. He was confounded. Turning his head toward Alex, Cas did the only thing he really could in the moment, which was to assess her wellbeing. She was much more relaxed than she had been when she first came back. This was one small mercy in the face of a monsoon, but it soothed him. She had barely been able to move her arms minutes ago, but now she held onto him tightly—she was successfully regaining her strength. But he asked, anyway, just to be sure. "Do you feel any better than before?"

"Well, I couldn't run a marathon, but yeah," she said. "I think standing up might be in the cards again." Her humorous tone became softer. "But… I don't want to. Not yet."

He felt another rush of something strong in his veins when she told him that. He understood the sentiment. Her hand moved to his chest, palm flat—he remembered when she'd done something similar: they'd been in the freezer… but this time she wasn't being sensual, she was pressing herself up, pulling back enough to look him in the eye. But he couldn't help but recall, through that touch, what had happened between them before… he swallowed, suddenly disconcerted, wondering how she kept doing that to him… affecting him so completely, mind and body alike. As she drew back enough for him to see her face again, he was struck again by how beautiful she was. She was looking at him intently. "What did Zachariah mean, Cas? When he said you gave up things to… to give me my voice?"

Cas looked at her hesitatingly. He'd assumed she would ask this when she told him what Zachariah had said. He thought about his answer. He wasn't sure that telling her would be beneficial… in fact, he wasn't sure if she could take the truth of what he'd surrendered to restore her voice. She would be horrified. She wouldn't understand. Her features showed concern when he said nothing. "Why don't you want to tell me, Cas? What did you do?"

Cas looked down. Her hand that had been wrapped around him was now resting loosely on his knee and he was oddly compelled to cover that hand with his own. The skin was warm, he could feel her pulse underneath his fingertips. His eyes flicked to hers, and he held her gaze for a couple long beats. "Nothing I wouldn't do again," he answered. Her face changed and the worry was replaced with a caught off guard expression.

And then there was a loud gasp on the other side of the room. Sam shot up in bed and then Dean too. Alex jumped, looking at them in shock, and Cas froze, unsure what to do. Sam was panting loudly, regaining his breath, and Dean too—the difference was, Sam didn't seem to be seeing anything at all—he was flailing, off balance and reeling—but Dean was staring right at Alex and Cas, his expression rigid. His eyes met Cas's and his expression darkened… but he said nothing, tearing his glare away to focus on Sam. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Dean grabbed Sam by both arms and steadied him, much better off than his brother was.

Even as Dean steadied Sam, Cas and Alex separated—Cas stood, helping Alex up gently. Dean glanced their way, saw it, and his grip tightened on Sam. Guiltily, Cas looked down.

"Whoa," Sam commented breathlessly, oblivious, staring unseeingly into Dean's chest. "That was… intense. Geez I'm cold." He shivered hard and hugged himself while looking up at his brother. "You alright?"

Dean's jaw tightened and he let go of Sam, glancing their sister's way. "Define alright." He stood up, then seemed to realize he wasn't at full capacity—swaying just slightly he stopped and frowned—then took a halting step toward Alex and Cas. Dean stared at Alex hard, glanced at Cas, then looked at his sister again. "You okay?" he asked her gruffly.

She seemed a little reluctant to speak with her brother, who was now looking at her thoroughly, taking in her damp hair and the way she was holding onto Castiel's arm for support. Alex met her brother's gaze falteringly. She sounded different than a minute ago when it had just been herself and Cas. "I'm fine, Dean."

Her brother's eyes narrowed. He didn't seem to accept her answer. "She seems to have had a rougher time than the two of you," Castiel observed.

Dean gave him a hard look. "Yeah, maybe that's because she didn't have a reservation upstairs—you wanna explain that Cas?"

Sam was silently watching this all unfold with an earnest, concerned expression as he rubbed his hands against his own arms for warmth. Frowning, Cas looked over at Sam, and then Dean. "Joshua didn't tell you why?" His stomach was sinking in sick confirmation of what he'd already suspected… but hadn't wanted to believe.

"Oh he knew," Dean retorted angrily, "but he just wasn't saying." Dean finally looked at Alex again, whose scared expression seemed to settle him slightly and he relented, looking back at Cas less angrily now. A little more despairing instead. "So you don't know, either?"

Alex sat down on the edge of the bed, disillusioned. Cas looked at her in concern, then saw that Dean was watching him watch her. Dean's eyes were intent and sharp. Accusing almost. Cas felt caught and attempted to wipe his face of any expression. He approached Dean, attempting to appear calm and neutral. "No, Dean, I don't know. If I knew, I would have told you a long time ago." For just a moment, Dean's expression turned open and pleading. Like he had no other possible idea of what to do or say. Castiel shook his head, feeling the same way. The men looked at each other silently then Cas turned away, moving toward the smashed wall partition, trying to think, trying to reason.

Dean and Sam both noticed the smashed partition at the same time and looked at each other frowning, then in unison looked at their sister for an explanation. She was staring at her lap unseeingly. Didn't notice her brothers at all. "Everyone… has a heaven," Castiel said softly, still facing away. He sounded disturbed to his core.

At this point Sam stood up and crossed the room to go to his sister, putting a comforting arm around her as he sat down beside her. He shivered still, putting an arm around her. She looped an arm back, rubbing quickly to help warm him up.

"Everyone has a Heaven," Dean repeated. "So why the hell wouldn't Alex have one?" He was clearly trying to remain calm but just barely managing. "I mean, you gotta have some idea, right Cas?"

Castiel was harrowed. He looked at the twins for a couple of long seconds, his expression tense. Then he met Dean's expectant stare sadly. "Dean—I don't."

The two men stared at each other again for another long moment, Cas's eyes sad and empty because he was out of answers. Dean looked the same but was angry about it. After realizing Cas wasn't going to say anything else, Dean made a sarcastic face. "Great. This is just the best day ever," he snapped. Cas's expression screwed up in confusion. How could he say that, even in jest or cynicism? Dean was now pacing in agitation, rubbing his hand across the lower portion of his face, appearing to be sorting his thoughts. Sam and Alex watched their brother with guarded expressions, and to Castiel, in that moment, the twins looked very alike. "Well, all of that great news aside—" Dean finally said, looking at Cas accusingly again. "Your friend God? He doesn't give a rat's ass."

"...What?" Cas asked, his face squinting oddly because he was unsure what Dean was saying to him. And what did a rodent's posterior have to do with it?

Dean threw his arms out angrily, at his wit's end. "You heard me, Cas! God doesn't care, doesn't wanna help, doesn't think this whole mess is his problem. So where do we go from here, huh?!" His anger wavered into hopelessness at the very last few words he spoke.

Alex watched her brother shrewdly, just as upset at the news as he was, then she looked at Cas—their eyes met for a brief moment and Cas shook his head, his frown deepening. He looked back at Dean, who was now watching him hawkishly. "Joshua told you this?" Cas asked, trying to make sense of what he'd just been told. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.

"Yeah, Cas," Sam interjected softly. He seemed sympathetic. Maybe defeated. "He said God won't help us." He looked at Cas sadly who turned to gaze at Dean blankly. Dean's grim stare silently confirmed Sam's statement, and Cas felt as if he'd been physically struck, as if the breath had been knocked out of his lungs.

Silently choking it down, Cas felt himself shaking his head—this certainly wasn't right. With his arms hanging limply at his sides, he stared down at Dean's shoes unseeingly. "That can't be true..." he managed to say, even as he was thinking of how God hadn't answered his begging pleas earlier that same day. How God had been impossible to find all this time. It could be true. In fact, somewhere deep down maybe he'd already known or believed this. But he didn't want it to be the truth. He put his back to them. "Maybe… maybe Joshua was lying," Castiel said, and he wished one of them would agree with him. Give him a small shred of hope to cling to.

But he heard Sam breathe out heavily. "I don't think he was, Cas. I'm sorry."

Cas turned slightly to see Sam, who looked deeply compassionate.

"But that makes no sense," Alex protested.

Sam shook his head faintly, regarding his sister sadly. "I know. But that's what Joshua told us."

Alex met Cas's waiting gaze and he had to turn around, unable to bear the way she looked at him—not when paired with everything else on his shoulders right now. He had failed the Winchesters, for one, because he'd told them this was the answer, that this would save them all. And the father he had always believed in, served, existed for—didn't care. Wouldn't help them. Castiel felt defeated and crushed. His forlorn eyes dragged upwards as one final despairing thought left in him. "You son of a bitch." He waited to be struck down. Nothing. His pained betrayal worsened. "I believed in…" he trailed off, not even sure why he was doing this. There was no sign, no reply, nothing at all. God had left a long time ago, hadn't he? You fool. And Castiel realized he was truly alone in this. Truly on his own.

After trying to steel himself, Cas turned around again, ashamed to face all of them. Alex had stood up and was watching him with deep concern that he didn't deserve, and he looked away, digging into his pocket, drawing out the amulet he'd borrowed from Dean. "I don't need this anymore," he said heavily, overwhelmed with sorrow and even anger. "It's worthless." He tossed the amulet and Dean caught it. Cas stared at the necklace in Dean's hand. "I'm finished. It's over."

Dean looked at Cas with genuine empathy, suddenly feeling a surprisingly kindred connection with the angel. Absent father who you believed in with everything you had… only to be let down and disappointed time after time? Believing in something that turned out to be a lie? Yeah. He got that. Cas had put all his faith and effort into what turned out to be a dead end—and the broken sorrow Dean heard in the angel's voice echoed what Dean lived with every day of his damn life. Dean almost thought of saying something to Cas, of trying to lift his spirits somehow—but then Cas looked at Alex again and the suspicious hackles raised once more. The angel was weary and sorrowful as he looked at Alex—he seeming to be waiting for her to do something. Dean watched in mounting confusion as he watched what looked like a silent conversation take place between the two. Then Alex truly shocked Dean when she nodded just slightly, her eyes full of emotion and empathy. "It's okay, Cas." Wait. Was she giving him permission to leave? And just like that Cas turned, walking a few steps away. Dean's mouth was now hanging open slightly. What the actual hell?

"Cas. Wait," Sam implored, standing up too.

Cas turned slightly, speaking to no one in specific in a depressed monotone. "I'm going to find out why Alex has no Heaven."

And then without any further anything—Cas was gone.

Sam seemed frustrated: he threw his hands up slightly then ran a hand through his hair while huffing. Alex was the opposite. She stared at the space Cas had occupied, her expression strange. Dean stared down at the amulet in his hand, the reality of his life sinking in. God wasn't gonna help. So where the hell was there left to turn? Everything was going wrong for him right now, everything! Dean thought of when he'd first come back and seen Cas holding his sister like that—arms wrapped around her, not enough space between them, Alex's head nestled into his shoulder—and that jealous, protective, possessive, scared shitless feeling came over Dean again. What the hell was Alex thinking? Didn't she know she was playing with fire and would be consumed by it? Destroyed? And didn't she know that he couldn't let that happen? That he wouldn't stand by and let her sign her life away because she had some weird crush on her guardian angel? Dean's grip tightened on the amulet in his hand, so tight that the little barbs on it dug into his skin.

This amulet had been given to him by Sam when they were kids. Dean had always worn it. It had been one of his most prized possessions. But now he felt like that was a trick, too. Why had all of Sam's heavens… his happy memories… been times spent away from family? Dean felt disillusioned, like maybe he was the only one who really loved his family—that Sam and Alex were just humoring him. He thought of what fake-Mom had said in Heaven to him… it wasn't really her, he told himself. It was some trick Zachariah conjured up. He knew it then, and he knew it now. Still, her words cruelly replayed in his mind:

"Everybody leaves you, Dean. You noticed? Mommy. Daddy. Even Sam. Next is Alex. Mark my words, sweetie. Everyone you ever thought you could count on… is going to go away. You ever ask yourself why? Maybe it's not them. Maybe it's you."

Maybe it was him. Next is Alex. And Dean knew exactly what—who—she'd leave him for. The angel in the trench coat. The barbs on the amulet dug in even more to his skin and Dean wanted to throw it at a wall.

"We'll find another way," Sam said, approaching him and sounding determined but harrowed. "We can still stop all this, Dean."

Dean bit back a thousand sarcastic retorts and just focused on the amulet. "Yeah? How."

Sam stalled, then tried valiantly to instill hope. "I don't know, but we'll find it. You and me and Alex—we'll find it. We always do."

"Yeah, sure," Dean muttered and then threw his amulet into the trash can before looking at Sam pointedly. Sam was staring at the trash can, hurt by what his brother had just done. Dean ignored it. "Did you ever stop to think, Sam, that maybe, just maybe, we won't always be able to figure this shit out? That someday we're gonna meet our match?" Dean was hopeless. "Come on. This is pointless. We are in way over our heads. Today proved that."

"It's not pointless," Sam protested.

Dean just felt more and more anger churn in his stomach. He turned from his brother bitterly. "And yeah, while we're on the subject of being in way over our heads…" he fixed Alex with a pointed look. "You wanna tell me what the hell is going on with you two?" It was a gruff and impatient question. Dean raised his eyebrows and gave her a look that said 'I'm waiting' while Alex looked at her brother in disbelief. Everyone in the room knew what Dean was asking about.

"Dean—" Sam protested, not giving Alex a chance to answer.

Dean rounded on his brother angrily. "No Sam! This has gone on long enough—and I need a damn explanation!"

Sam did that thing he did where he attempted to smile even though he was clearly mad as hell. "Come on man, she just died and came back to life—you think you can give her a damn minute?" Sam was no longer smiling. Instead, he looked disgusted.

"Do I look like I got a friggin' minute, Sammy?" Dean demanded wrathfully, getting in his brother's face. "Do I look like I got all the time in the world? Don't you see how jacked up this is? Some thousands-of-years-old guy is taking advantage of your sister and you got no problem with it? I mean talk about pedophile!" Sam's eyebrows shot up high. Alex looked disgusted. Dean leveled her with a brutish glare. "Have you lost your mind?!"

She didn't reply. Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulder, forcefully turning him, kind of putting himself between his two siblings. "Dean, just lay off a little! You're being absolutely—"

Dean yanked himself out of Sam's grasp. "Absolutely what, Sam? Responsible? Sane?" Dean was on a tirade at this point. "Why don't either of you see all the levels of wrong here? He's walking around in a borrowed meatsuit that's married by the way—and if he ditches out of it again, what then, huh?" Dean was shouting. "He's not even human!" Dean gestured wildly in his sister's direction. "Alex has a crush on this angel because he's the only guy who's ever shown her the time of day—but it's dangerous and gets her killed and I'm not letting it happen!"

Alex moved forward, grabbing Dean hard by the front of his jacket, startling both brothers. "Shut up," she told him in a trembling, anger-filled voice. She shoved him away brutally and he looked surprised as she stared at him with anger and hurt. Right behind her, Sam stayed put, looking at Dean with deep disappointment. "You don't even know half of what happened to me today," Alex continued accusingly, "and then you come in here acting like you own me and my life and you're the only one who gets to be there for me?" She shook her head, seeming to realize something. "This is ridiculous. I don't owe you any fucking explanation." And Dean was shocked. Who was this girl? They had never had secrets the two of them. She'd always confided in him, and he in her. What was happening? But instead of appealing to her, he just reverted to his normal M.O.—which unfortunately was douche supreme.

"Like hell you don't," he retorted. "I keep you safe. Me. That's my job, that's the one thing I haven't screwed up yet." He yielded, realizing the error of his statement. "And I guess I fell down on that today, huh." He wasn't trying to throw a pity party, but he realized it sounded that way once he said it.

Annoyed with him, Alex seemed done with the exchange. "Forget it," she muttered woodenly. "We're all fine."

"Fine?" Dean asked peevishly, flying off the handle again, unable to deal with everything inside his mind. "Your two brothers are Heaven and Hell's most wanted and God won't help and that's fine?"

He triggered her majorly with that one and she exploded. "Do you have to bring that up?!"

"Well excuse me for living in reality—" he started.

She held up a hard, jerking hand, calling for silence. Her voice wavered with tears. "No, stop. I can't talk about this."

"Well too bad Princess, because looks like it's the main event and you got front row seats," Dean retorted angrily, and immediately got one of the most righteous bitchfaces from Sam, ever.

"Dean!" Sam's voice was shaking now too. "She's scared! And shit, so am I! Come on!"

Dean blinked and stopped, realizing Sam was one hundred percent right. He felt regret and self-loathing wash over him. He realized his mistake. As usual, his temper had gotten the better of him and he let out a deeply ashamed breath, suddenly unable to look at his sister. "…I'm sorry," he managed, clenching his jaw tight, managing to look her in the eye just for a second. "I'm sorry."

Alex wasn't very receptive. "Sure you are."

Dean got mad again. "I am!" he insisted, frustrated to maximum capacity at himself, the world, his family—everything. "Geez. Guess I can't do anything right," he said sarcastically, "unlike Castiel." The way Alex rolled her eyes only inspired another outburst. Dean's expression soured. "Oh come on, Al. I'm not an idiot! I see the way you look at him," he accused. "The way he looks at you!"

"Just stop it, Dean!" She glared at him angrily, so upset that her shoulders were heaving. "I am so tired of you treating me like this," Alex muttered, and in a show of aggression reminiscent of her younger years, she abruptly pushed him away with both hands—Dean felt almost murderous at this point.

"Treating you like what, like I care about whether you live or die?!" he shouted, bouncing back from where she'd shoved him to bear down on her wrathfully—only to be stopped by Sam, who grabbed his shoulder. Dean again yanked himself out of his brother's grasp, then looked at both of his siblings in total disbelief, feeling completely alone and misunderstood and ganged up on. "All I've ever done is look out for this family…" he insisted. "And this is the thanks I get?" He scoffed and let out a disgusted breath. "Yeah cool. I'll catch you two later then." He grabbed a clean shirt and stalked out, slamming the motel room door behind him, fuming.

And then he heard footsteps behind him. "Dean!" He whirled, keeping his face hard. It was Alex. "Where are you going?!" For a second, Dean thought about letting it go. The rage, the jealousy, all of it. Because he couldn't stand to fight with her.

But bitter, angry, hurt, he just kept his face hard and pushed her away with finality by turning around, continuing on his way. "To get a damn drink," he threw over his shoulder. "If you need a shoulder to cry on, why don't you call your little angel boyfriend instead?"

There was a long silence—Dean didn't look back. But he heard the tears in her voice. "You're such an asshole!" she shouted at his back. He set his mouth in a hard line and kept walking, didn't look back. If he did, she might see how much he hated himself, too.

Back in the hotel room, Sam was changing shirts quickly, tossing away the bloody bullet-riddled one and pulling on a black one, about to follow Alex and Dean—and then she came back in and Sam froze, he looked at her in surprise, his features etched in earnestness and concern. She was really upset but trying not to show it—looking down and away, hardening her face. "Hey, are you—"

"Don't Sam," she interrupted tersely, shaking her head as she plopped down onto her bed, the only bed in the room that wasn't covered in blood. She faced away from him, her shoulders slouched in exhaustion. She sounded like she was barely keeping it together. "I can't. Please just… just leave me alone." She curled up on the bed on her side, and after some consideration, Sam decided not to do what she'd said. He went around to the other side of the bed where he could see her face and crouched there beside the bed. His face was now level with hers, but she was staring at the sleeve of her shirt kind of blankly, not returning his gaze.

"Look," Sam appealed gently. "I know you need some space but… if you need me… I'll be here."

His twin's eyes—eyes that were the exact same color as his—flicked up to him. She looked like she was despairing. "Why haven't you told Dean?" she asked him in a whisper. "About… about what you saw?"

Sam's eyebrows went up a little. "Do you really have to ask me that?" They were talking about Dean, weren't they? The same guy who had just flipped his shit over seeing Cas hugging Alex. How would he have reacted if he'd seen them, Jesus, dry humping each other's brains out? Sam looked at his conflicted sister, more serious than before. "I think we both know he can't hear about that," Sam said, aggravated at his brother's domineering nature. "Maybe ever."

Alex's features crumpled. "Why is he like that? Why does he have to… to be that way?"

She sounded about as lost and let down as Sam felt. Dean just wasn't himself lately, he was really losing it in some ways. Sam tried not to give in to despair. "That's... just Dean," he said helplessly and looked at his little sister sadly. She looked really torn up, and he instinctively felt it was because she didn't know what was going on anymore. For the past few weeks she'd been withdrawn and tense. Maybe it was because of Cas. Sam wondered, and his eyes rested on hers again. He was worried about a lot of things right now, one of the biggest things being her wellbeing. "Look—I don't really know what's going with you two—" he began, "but it's obvious to me that Cas cares about you. A lot." He paused tensely. "Just… be careful, okay?" She met his gaze hesitantly and he swore she looked like she wanted to tell him something, but she remained silent then looked away again. Sam frowned lightly, then made himself smile. "Your shirt's inside out, you know."

One corner of her mouth lifted in a little smile. "Yeah," she said softly, her eyes flickering over the sleeve of her shirt where the inseam showed. "I know." Sam looked at the sleeve, trying to see what she was seeing. But it was just a shirt.

Alex's little smile faded, and she became troubled again, drawing in a deep breath as her eyes went somewhere far away. Sam wished she wouldn't carry her burdens alone. He put one of his hands on the side of her head comfortingly. Her hair was damp. Sam wanted to ask her about Cas, and exactly how close he was to her, what their relationship was—but he didn't think this was the right time. And it really wasn't his business. He didn't feel very sure of himself at all anymore, but for her sake he tried to sound like he was confident. "We're gonna get through this," Sam told her. "All of it. We'll figure it out."

She looked at him once again, but this time, she looked like she was filled with the same dread he was feeling, the same hopelessness he couldn't shake off. "We might not this time, Sammy," she said quietly, and she seemed close to terrified tears. "We might not."

Sam couldn't find a reply. He knew she was right.

A couple blocks away at the same moment, Dean was sitting in silence in a mostly-empty bar… realizing he didn't even want anything. Comfortably Numb played on the cheap sound system. How fucking fitting. The sound of pool table balls cracking sounded reminiscent of thunder. Reminding Dean of Heaven all over again.

There was literally nowhere left to turn and Dean felt like he was drowning, losing his hold over life without a way to break to the surface. What the hell was he supposed to do? Dean propped his elbow up onto the bar counter and put his face in his hand wearily... listened to Pink Floyd singing exactly what he was feeling.

"I can't explain, you would not understand. This is not how I am... I have become comfortably numb."

Fergus Roderick McLeod—that had been his original name before paying up on his soul deal and going to Hell, before becoming a demon, before taking the name Crowley. It had been a pitiful little existence he'd led in his previous human life—but he supposed all legends had to begin somewhere. Crowley smiled to himself. He was just getting started—he had grand plans for himself, grand plans for Heaven, Hell, Earth. There was the small matter of getting the devil off the gameboard, but he'd find a way. If those Winchester idiots couldn't make it happen, Crowley would find someone who could. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, strolling to the other end of the room of his house where he set the glass down for a moment, perusing the book titles there with mild interest.

And suddenly he felt an unwelcome pull—he was being summoned, yanked out of his home and into a new location. The warm home he'd been in was gone, replaced by… he blinked, trying to make out his dim surroundings. He stood in the middle of a single-rail subway tunnel. He heard water dripping, the sound echoing in the large, damp space. He looked up slowly and saw a huge devil's trap spray painted across the arching ceiling—and a damn good one, too. He turned to see what pathetic sap had summoned him here, all air and attitude—then faltered slightly. Not who he had expected to see.

The angel in the trench coat stood in front of him, his expression deadly. "Ah, blimey," Crowley said, not letting his surprise show. "If I'd known we were going to be meeting, I'd have worn something special." No sooner had the words left his mouth than he was suddenly seized, turned, and smashed up against the far concrete wall—still inside the large radius of the devil's trap, and now in a good deal of physical pain. "Oy! What did I do to you!?" Crowley protested, and he felt the angel's grip tighten.

His face was close, eyes dark, glittering with aggression. "Why does Alex Winchester have no Heaven?"

Crowley forced himself not to move—he didn't let it show that he had no idea. Instead, he smiled smoothly. "If you really want to know—" he drawled casually, "let me go."

The angel stared at him wrathfully for a couple more seconds—then shoved hard, letting go. Crowley made a great show about brushing off his lapels. "Thank you very much," he said sarcastically. He eyed the angry angel with interest. No Heaven? He'd never heard of that, but thinking quickly, Crowley decided this would be useful to him and that he could use this to his advantage. This angel was clearly quite invested in the human girl. Well, Crowley had already known that, but exactly how invested he was remained to be seen. Guardian angels did tend to become attached to their humans. But this one, this Castiel—he seemed more attached to his charge than what was normal. Crowley remembered the little show he'd seen them putting on, all mouths and breathy panting and gyrating—he smiled softly, chuckled lowly. Yes, very interesting, this.

"So, you want to know if she's on the special guest list downstairs," Crowley said smoothly, and pretended to be thinking, then changing his mind. He grimaced slightly. "I'd hate to spoil the ending, though."

He should have known what that comment would get him. Castiel grabbed him again and smashed him back into the wall again, harder. "Tell me, now!" the angel demanded with increasing aggression.

"Jesus Mary and Joseph, they weren't kidding about you and her!" Crowley protested, red in the face and wondering if his suit would be ruined or not. It was Dolce and Gabbana for God's sakes!

"Is she supposed to end up in Hell?" the angel practically snarled.

Crowley decided, for the sake of his suit, to come clean. "Come on mate, how's a two-bit demon like me gonna know that?"

Castiel narrowed his gaze at Crowley, seeming surprised… then resolved. "You'll find out."

"Oh, shall I?" Crowley countered.

"Yes," the angel replied in a dark, low, gravelly tone. And then his eyes went to his right. Crowley followed his gaze. "Or… you'll have to find a new vessel."

From somewhere far down the track, there was the sound of a train horn. And the faintest, growing light. Crowley looked at the angel in surprise, scrambling suddenly. "Oh, really, come on. All of this for some little mortal human? Some little speck on the page?" He realized that was the wrong thing to say—Castiel slammed him against the wall again with renewed vigor, sending a crack zigzagging up into the concrete wall.

Crowley grimaced, looking up and squinting as rubble dusted over him—and then he had a thought. Actually—if the angel kept pounding him into the wall, he might be able to escape this ploy. He glanced up again—another good slam might crack the wall far up enough to break the trap. The train sounded closer now, and headlights were beginning to make the tunnel glow.

"Find out if her name is written in the book of Hell or I lay you to waste," the angel threatened again, and Crowley's mouth crooked into a little smile.

"She's important to you, is she? Your beloved little Alex… won't it be sad when she comes downstairs with me…" Castiel's expression was cold and furious. Crowley sealed the deal with a meaningful smile and the raise of a solitary eyebrow. "Oh the things I'll do to that sweet little soul of hers…"

Cas slammed him into the wall again with devastating force—and Crowley's theory proved true. He felt the devil's trap break, among other things—his back (well, if he was still human anyway). It did sting a bit, either way. However, he was no longer bound, and the angel, too wrapped up in righteous anger, didn't notice. The train horn sounded and the lights were bright. The train whizzed closer and closer. Crowley wiggled his eyebrows at the angel just once. "Should learn to control your temper, mate. Lands you in all kinds of sorrow. See ya later."

Crowley disappeared, returning home. He looked down at his suit. Absolutely ruined. He made a displeased face, then sighed heavily. No matter. A ruined suit was a small price to pay for what had just happened. He felt pleased, actually. This could be useful.

Very useful indeed.

Austin, Minnesota

Dean had stalked back in from his visit to the bar, packed his stuff, then barked at his siblings that they were leaving and to get a move on. Cue the five-hour, silent car ride. Tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Dean was taking them back to Bobby's—they needed to regroup and figure this mess out. He'd planned on driving all night, but then Sam had insisted that he and Alex needed rest in a real bed and so they'd gotten a motel room. None of them had said a thing to each other, just turned in without a word. Dean had been watching his siblings all day from the corner of his eye—he'd seen Alex avoiding looking at him and Sam giving him all these passive-aggressive stares, trying to guilt trip him. He felt like he had no one left who got him anymore. No one who realized why he was so jacked up, why he was so angry about everything. And that really hurt.

So now Dean laid there in the dark on a stiff motel bed, unable to sleep. His mind was racing and tortured with so many thoughts and fears. Sam, however, had knocked out as soon as they'd arrived and was snoring noisily in the bed to Dean's left. Dean looked to his right—he could see Alex's familiar outline in the dim light. She always slept on her side, and was turned like that right now, away from him. The second they'd gotten to the motel, she'd laid down on the bed in her jacket and shoes, then hadn't moved at all again. Dean could see her shoulder rising and falling. She wasn't asleep either. Her sleep-breathing was much slower than that.

As he watched her, he felt an incredible sadness wash over. He only wanted to protect her and Sam too, dammit. He only wanted to keep them safe. Maybe he had a hell of a way of showing it, huh? Alex was mad at him for caring, and had every right to be, he guessed. He'd kind of lost it on her. But he was under so much pressure—he was backed into a corner, and every time he looked up, there was always one more thing going wrong.

All Dean knew was that he couldn't say no to the angels forever—it was clear that Zachariah wasn't going to give up. Why did both of his siblings have to be in mortal peril? Why did he have to be a failure at protecting them? Why did God have to decide to pull him, a supposedly righteous man, out of Hell... send an angel to task him with a heavenly mission… then leave him high and dry? With no way out? It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. It was complete bullshit.

Dean stared at Alex's shoulder unseeingly. It didn't matter why or that it wasn't fair. It was his reality. And sooner or later, Michael, Zachariah… whoever, would catch up to Dean, and subsequently, to Dean's family. Sooner or later, Sam was going to face the devil. Sooner or later, Alex was going to be caught in the crossfire. And they might not get a lucky break like today again.

His heart ached as he thought of his silent sister and long car rides in years past. Alex in the back, nose in a book because she was unable to contribute to the conversation. Dean would look in the rear view mirror and wonder what she was thinking, if she'd ever be okay—if he'd be taking care of her until the day he died. And then he'd wonder if and when he died, would Sammy take over and shoulder the responsibility? Or run off like he did with so many other things? And Dean would ask himself if she'd ever be able to survive on her own if it came to that. Not so much physically, but mentally and emotionally. But now he had to worry about what waited for her when she left this world for good. Now he had to worry about her eternal fate, he had to figure out why and how to change it.

He didn't want to be in Heaven for all eternity without her there, knowing she was drifting somewhere in darkness. To him, that wouldn't be Heaven, it would be Hell.

It had always been her and him, always. Sometimes Sam had been gone, most of the time Dad had been gone. But Dean and Alex—that had been a guaranteed. That had been a given. Maybe it was selfish of him to think she'd always be there with him. And maybe he needed her more than he was willing to admit.

Dean had never even considered that maybe she would go off and start a life of her own… meet a guy, even. He'd always just assumed she'd be there with him, living this life on the road, fighting at his side, letting him take care of her. Dean felt a strange feeling in his stomach when he thought about how he just didn't trust anyone else other than himself to protect her like he knew he would. He would die for her, without question. He would do anything for her or for Sam. He didn't think it was possible for anyone else to care about his siblings as much as he did.

So seeing Alex gravitating toward the angel in the backwards tie… it inspired nothing but negative feelings and fear. The thought of his baby sister—who'd never had a boyfriend, had spent most of her life disabled, who had no Heaven—messing around with a two-thousand-year-old angel who was walking around in a body that wasn't even his—Dean couldn't handle it. It set all his warning bells off, especially knowing that in some weird, twisted version of the future, Cas got Alex killed. He had to keep them apart. Had to. He almost felt like he could have a panic attack as he remembered seeing Alex curled into Cas's side when he'd first come back from the dead. When the hell had she gotten that comfortable with Cas, anyway? Dean was lost. Confused. Worried sick.

Yeah, Cas cared about her, wanted to protect her—Dean got that. But were there strings attached? Did the angel have some dark interest in her? Was he taking advantage of Alex's little, naive, romance-novel-loving self? Castiel was a freaking angel—not a human—he barely knew how to do anything, how could he be emotionally capable of a relationship? And even if he were—it was still wrong, as wrong as Sam and Ruby had been. Any way Dean tried to look at it, he saw but Alex making a huge mistake.

And that's when Dean heard the softest little struggling breath, the quietest little restrained sob. And he froze, his heart clenching, his thoughts all flying out the window. Alex's shoulder moved oddly, like she was fighting herself. He recognized the way her body had stiffened and was shaking slightly. Dean hadn't said a word to her all day, had shouted at her and said horrible things, but on instinct he got up and went to her, not even thinking, because she was crying and he couldn't let her cry alone—he'd never been able to. He sat beside her, pulled her up, and turned her around all in the span of a second or two. She was crying hard but with a clamped-shut mouth.

For a second, Dean wondered if she would push him away or reject him, but their eyes met, her expression was broken and anguished, and they embraced each other at the same time—she shook with sobs she struggled to keep silent, and Dean's arms tightened around his sister, his eyes filling with stinging tears. He squeezed his eyes shut and held her even tighter, afraid to let go, just wishing things could be like they used to be. But every part of him felt terrible, lost, defeated. He thought about fourth of July, 1996. When the three of them had been these wild, carefree, stupid kids who had burned a field down and that had been their biggest problem. And now? He had started the apocalypse. His brother was Lucifer's vessel. His sister was caught in the middle of a battle between Heaven and Hell.

Dean was losing it now, and fast, breaking down. "What am I supposed to do?" he choked out softly. In his arms, Alex just cried harder, holding onto him tighter.

Liquor – Spirits – Beer & Wine

Castiel stared up at the glowing neon sign morosely. He remembered a time when Alex had told him she drank to feel better. He had never felt worse. Crowley had escaped thanks to Castiel's foolishness—and must have put together a protective hex—because Cas wasn't able to summon him again. It was like he had hit a wall and there was nowhere left to go.

To his right, a church sign glowed in the dark night. In large black letters it proclaimed: LOOKING FOR GOD? HE'S LOOKING FOR YOU, TOO.

Castiel wanted to destroy the sign. It was a lie. A total, complete lie. Cas looked back at the liquor store in front of him. Whiskey. He was going to drink some. Perhaps several gallons. It wouldn't have any effect, anyway.

He considered, for a moment, going to Alex instead. She could make him feel better—but then he thought of Dean and grudgingly, Castiel realized he couldn't go see her. Dean wouldn't allow it. Perhaps it was for the best. He didn't think so. But he felt so empty, so depressed, that for a moment, he just accepted it.

Sam watched his brother and sister hugging each other. Dean had his arms wrapped around Alex protectively, comfortingly, and she'd calmed down. Dean had calmed down, too. Sam felt a pang of jealousy. He'd always been on the outside like this and he didn't understand why. He could hear Dean whispering to Alex, things like it'll be okay somehow, and I'm not going anywhere, and Sam just didn't get how their sister could let the guy who had torn into her earlier that day be the one who comforted her, too. Dean even had the nerve to kiss Alex on the forehead at one point, like he was some caring, tenderhearted brother—not the guy who had ripped her a new one earlier. Dean had been way out of line, hadn't apologized to her at all, and she was just… okay with it? The display made Sam a little mad, honestly. It bordered on abusive in his opinion.

But he just laid there, pretending to be asleep while stewing and figuring that's what he got for leaving the family when he did. Just then, his phone buzzed loudly on the bedside table. Sam pretended to wake up groggily. Dean and Alex looked at Sam curiously, who turned on the lamp between the beds as he picked the phone up. "It's Bobby," he said, and answered.

"Kid," Bobby's urgent voice blared over the speaker, "get your asses over to Blue Earth now—demonic activity off the charts."