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.

31. Closer to God

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 31 / Closer to God

"You can have my absence of faith...
you can have my everything."
- Nine Inch Nails

---

Just Outside of Blue Earth, Minnesota
5:53am

Sam sat up straighter. "Hey, hey—what's that?"

Dean was already slowing the Impala down.

Ahead in the middle of the road, two flaming cars blazed. Three figures had been thrown clear of the incinerated wreck out onto asphalt. The fire cast intense orange glow over the horrific scene.

"Holy shit." Dean jerked the Impala to a halt. Both brothers were already halfway out of the car with Alex close behind, all three sprinting—they didn't even bother to close the car doors behind them.

The heat was intense and suffocating. Each sibling reached a different victim at the same time, and all three of them realized it was a trap at the same time too. Because the second Dean crouched over a middle-aged woman, the moment Sam knelt to pick up a teenage boy, the instant Alex grabbed onto the feet of a thirty-something man to drag him away from the flaming vehicle he was sprawled next to—the three accident victims opened their eyes. Eyes that were black as night.

"Demons!" Dean bellowed even as Alex let go of the demon's ankles—but not in time. He grabbed her wrists with lightning speed, yanking her down and flipping her over, slamming her back-first onto the hard concrete then… trying to bite her neck—?! Holding the demon back with every ounce of strength she had, Alex took a stupid chance and shoved it back as far as she could, let go with one hand, then punched the demon across the face—and was immediately hit in return—her head whipped sideways and she yelped, pushing at the demon's shoulders valiantly. It was growling, snarling, and trying to bite her again—what the fuck?!

"Hey!" Sam's voice roared somewhere nearby, and her attacker was torn off her and slammed up against the flaming truck. Steam hissed and the demon screamed in agony as Sam, face twisted up in pain from being so close to the fire, held the demon down, searing clothing to skin against the hot metal shell—Sam punched the demon brutally across the face, holding it by the front of the shirt—not noticing the teenage demon running up behind him—and Alex was scrambling to her feet, screaming "Sam!" in warning, but it wasn't in time. The teenage demon jumped onto Sam from behind, biting him on the shoulder savagely—and Sam screamed in pain, letting go of the demon that was on fire. He stumbled back, struggling—and Alex lunged across the space separating herself and her twin, grabbing the teenager and managing to clumsily tear him off Sam. They fell to the ground where they rolled across the rough pavement in a fight for dominance.

The teen had to be only fourteen or fifteen, so he was smaller and less strong than the others—but still strong as hell—and he managed to end up on top of her, choking her, grinning ruthlessly as she struggled mightily—and Sam was suddenly there again, grabbing the kid up, tossing him aside like he weighed nothing—but then Sam was tackled by the demon who was on fire—and the two of them went down fast and hard. Alex was stuttering up to her feet, whipping out her hunting knife, not even sure what she was gonna do with it—and then she was suddenly pulled backwards by the teenager—she twisted and struggled hard with a yell, but then maybe two seconds after she was grabbed, she felt the demon go tense. He screamed and his grip went slack on her—Dean, with Ruby's knife in hand, yanked the blade out from where he'd plunged it into her attacker's back. And before Alex could even fully register what had happened, he moved her aside roughly, holding the blade high, bringing it down on the demon Sam was trying to fight off.

With a horrible shriek, the demon's skeleton flickered as it died and fell off of Sam. A stunned, breathless silence fell over the scene. Dean pulled his brother up to his feet. They all stared at each other, shocked and realizing they were lucky to be alive. They had been totally unprepared for that very unexpected turn of events. Alex realized her mouth was full of blood and she spat and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, faced wrinkled up in revulsion. Sam was grimacing, making a pain-filled sound as he held a hand over a bloody gash on his shoulder, and Dean and Alex both reacted at the same time, noticing the wound, examining it with the same concerned expression.

And then Sam startled fearfully. "G-guys!" he managed, and they looked where he was staring. About fifteen demons in a horizontal line were approaching from up ahead purposefully.

Dean grabbed Sam tightly. "Car, car, car!" he shouted, and they all ran. The demons broke into a run, too. Alex got to the car first and without a second thought, skidded into the driver's seat as Dean shoved Sam into the backseat and tumbled in after, shouting at her to drive, to punch it, to get us outta here! The Impala swung around with a huge jerk and shook as it dipped off the road, turning around to head to opposite direction. They side-swiped one demon as the car barreled forward, and the body hit the hood, falling away with a sickening thud.

"Faster!" Dean roared in the back seat.

"It doesn't go any faster!" Alex snapped, cutting the wheel sharply at the turn in the road, her eyes jumping to the rear view mirror in alarm.

Sam made a pain filled sound and Dean was temporarily distracted from his backseat driving. "You okay?"

Sam seemed to suddenly think something was funny. "Yeah, I'm amazing."

"I've never seen that many!" Dean exclaimed, whipping his head around and craning his head, trying to see if they were being pursued. And then as they swerved around another corner, Alex slammed on the brakes, swearing loudly. There was an overturned semi-truck trailer across the road ahead. It was in flames, blocking the way through. On either side of the road, steep embankment meant off-roading it wasn't gonna work.

"What the hell!" Dean exclaimed, suddenly irrational in his alarm. "See this is why I never let you drive!"

Alex threw him a brief, crazy look over her shoulder. "What, because there might be flaming debris?!"

"Just drive!" Sam shouted even as she slammed the car into reverse.

"I am!" she sputtered, and the tires squealed as she whipped the car around—then a man with black eyes flung himself into the side of the car on Dean's side and the window shattered beside Sam, startling them all—but especially Sam, who was abruptly being pulled out of the window by a demon—and without a second thought Alex yanked up the e-brake, jumped out of the car, went to draw her pistol—and was grabbed and tackled to the ground from the side by a female demon.

And then suddenly a floodlight bathed the entire road in blinding light, water rained over them from the nozzle of a high-powered hose somewhere overhead, and the demon who had tackled Alex to the ground was convulsing and screaming, giving off steam, and letting go. Water jetted at the demon holding Sam—was that holy water? Over a loudspeaker of some kind, a booming male voice recited an incantation—not one Alex recognized, it wasn't even Latin, she didn't recognize any words at all—and confused, shoving the flailing demon off, she pushed herself up onto all fours then onto two feet, watching frozen in a tense position—she wasn't sure whether to run or what. She stood right beside the driver's side headlight of the Impala. On the ground close to her about five demons all convulsed as black smoke shot out of their mouths. Sam and Dean watched in total shock.

A man with sandy blond hair stood across from the Impala, holding a bullhorn. Standing on the bed of an old red pickup near him, another guy was aiming the floodlight at the road and there was a tank of holy water rigged into the truck bed behind him—to the left of the truck stood a teenager holding a shotgun. Alex looked at the fallen demons, then the guy with the megaphone with extreme suspicion. Her hand hovered near her gun. "What the hell is all this?" Were these people hunters? Something about them didn't fit the bill. "Who are you people?"

The kid with the shotgun seemed jumpy and nervous—when she took a step toward them, he began raising his shotgun—not about to be shot to death again by some idiot with a gun, Alex whipped her pistol out and had it aimed at him in less than a second. "Don't!" He froze, wide-eyed.

"Hey, hey—" the blond man appeased, raising his hands up in an act of nonaggression, looking surprised to see her firearm. "Put the gun down—we're not the enemy." He nodded his head toward the dead bodies on the ground. "They are. Or were, I guess."

Alex didn't take her eyes off the kid. He looked like he had an itchy trigger finger and no idea what he was doing. "Him first," she said. She heard Sam and Dean closing in behind her.

"Put it away, Dylan." The kid looked from the man seemingly in charge to Alex uncertainly… and then grudgingly obeyed. Watching him carefully, feeling her brothers coming to stand on either side of her, Alex took a couple seconds, then reluctantly did as she'd said and put her pistol away… but stayed on high alert, ready to draw again if she had to.

The blond man looked at Sam's wound, frowning a little. "You kids all right?" He sounded suspicious, eyes flickering to Alex again.

"Yeah we're fine," Dean said, sounding plenty suspicious himself. "Who the hell are you guys?"

"Rob, I don't think—" the man on top of the firetruck started, addressing the sandy-haired man—but Rob held up a hand.

"It's fine, Paul." Rob turned to address the Winchesters again. "We're the Sacrament Lutheran Militia."

Dean squinted. "I'm sorry—the what?"

Rob seemed like he was humoring them at this point. "I hate to tell you this, but those were demons and this is the apocalypse. So… buckle up." The teenager and the man named Paul were coming to stand beside Rob now.

"How do you know about the apocalypse?" Alex asked incredulously.

Rob looked at Alex in surprise, then at Sam, then at Dean, then back at her, clearly not expecting to hear what he just had. "...How do you?"

Dean smirked, wet his lips, then chuckled dryly. "It's kinda our line of work."

The three men—this supposed militia—exchanged confused looks. "What do you mean?" Rob asked even as Dean ambled over to his car and opened the trunk, waving the guys over. "Have a look-see." The three men approached hesitantly then looked over the trunk contents in surprise as Sam joined them with Alex trailing behind.

"Looks like we're in the same line of business, huh?" Sam asked as the men looked at the trunk full of weapons and supernatural paraphernalia.

"And among colleagues," Dean said. "That's a police-issued shotgun. That truck is, uh… inspired. Where'd you guys pick up all this crap?"

All three men remained guarded and suspicious. "You know how it is. You pick things up along the way," said the dark haired guy, Paul, neatly sidestepping Dean's question.

Alex was dubious. "So… this is all of you?" she asked. "Three guys is a militia these days?"

Rob looked at her with an unreadable expression. "We've lost a few good folks here lately. And, there's more of us back in town." He glanced at Dean now. "But that's really not any of your concern."

"Guys, come on," Dean said. "This whole corner of the state is nuts with demon omens. We just wanna help. That's all."

Rob and Paul look at each other warily, even as Alex fixed Rob with a piercing, questioning gaze, testing her theory. "Was that an Enochian exorcism you used?" The two men looked at her in surprise and she shrugged. "Well it sure as hell wasn't Latin."

Rob considered Paul again, and then looked back at the Winchesters, seeming to have decided something. "Follow us." He turned back to their truck, then paused significantly. "And stay close. It's dangerous out here."

No shit. "Yeah, we got that," Dean muttered, letting out a heavy breath as he skirted the Impala and headed for the driver's seat. He started the car back up as Alex piled in. Quiet and shrewd, Alex shot a suspicious look after the militia as she rummaged for the first aid kit underneath the passenger side seat. Sam slid in beside her in the back, brushing the broken glass off the seat gingerly and shutting the door behind him.

"Enochian?" Dean asked Alex as he turned the car around. Sam was taking off his shirt, hissing as the fabric peeled away from his wound.

"Yeah," Alex answered, distracted by the first aid kit. "I dunno, you got any other ideas? Definitely wasn't Latin."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, no, I know it wasn't." Alex didn't see the skeptical frown on Dean's face at the offhand mention of angels—she was too busy pulling out an alcohol wipe. Dean let it slide grudgingly. "Okay, so how the hell would these middle of nowhere yahoos know an Enochian exorcism that we don't?" He was casting watchful glances around them as they followed Rob's truck down the dark road.

"That's exactly what I'm wondering," Alex muttered, ripping open a packet and grabbing Sam's arm without any ceremony, rubbing the deep gash firmly with the disinfectant.

Sam whined and Alex gave him a look. "It stings," he mumbled.

Alex grabbed some gauze, pressing it against the bite mark to stop the bleeding, muttering for Sam to hold it there, which he did while she took out the medical tape, ripping off a couple pieces. "Does anyone else think it's weird that these demons were… bitey?" she asked, looking at Sam and then glancing up at the rear view mirror where Dean's eyes met hers for a second.

"Demons getting their kicks in before the last call, I dunno," Dean mused with distraction.

The last call. Alex looked at the rear view mirror a couple seconds more, waiting for her brother to look back at her, but he didn't. She remembered how he'd been crying on her shoulder just a few hours ago, how he'd said he didn't know what to do. She'd known he was depressed for a while now, but after yesterday—finding out God wasn't going to help them sidestep the apocalypse—clearly, he'd taken it hard. When he'd flown off the handle, it had been difficult not to take personally. Usually, Alex was able to roll her eyes and remove herself from the situation and realize that when Dean got verbally belligerent that he was letting off steam and processing whatever he felt. But yesterday… the things he'd said about the end being near, about having no options… she'd listened. She'd believed. And she, too, had despaired. Did he really think there weren't any options left? Dean always knew what to do, and even if he didn't, he was tenacious. He never gave up, he never talked about giving up—not seriously anyway. She almost felt like his apathy and hopelessness were contagious. It frightened her profoundly.

Swallowing and refocusing, she taped the gauze down onto Sam's arm. "Antibiotics later," she muttered. There really wasn't a need to say that… after an entire lifetime of patching each other up they knew the drill by now.

"You need any help?" Sam asked, and Alex frowned, then realized she didn't even know her state. "Your arm, lip… face." Sam gestured to the pavement-burn on the side of her arm, then the scrape across her upper cheek bone, the blood that was drying in the corner of her lips. She'd bitten part of the inside of her mouth when the demon had punched her.

She dodged his concerned eyes. "I'm fine."

"Uh, okay." He kinda sounded like he didn't believe her. But he let it go, grabbing his duffel bag from where it was half-shoved up underneath the passenger side seat. Alex stared out the window. It was becoming light out and the landscape was covered in a thick blanket of fog. It felt eerie.

In the front seat, Dean glanced back at his brother and sister, deeply troubled and distracted by thoughts of the end of days. He just wanted to know what the right thing to do was, but he literally didn't know anymore. Sam and Alex were his responsibilities, his life. Dean was starting to wonder if any of them were going to make it out of this apocalypse thing alive. Odds weren't good, and that thought should have called him to action. But he just stared at the road ahead unseeingly. Hope was dwindling, fast.

The car ride remained mostly silent and they came to the town after maybe fifteen minutes. They'd been to Blue Earth before, but not for a few years. It was almost unrecognizable now. The entire town was enclosed with chain link fences with barbed wire spiraling across the top—some guy in a baseball cap with a rifle slung over his back manned the makeshift gate and let them in. As they rolled in and the gate shut behind them, Dean looked uneasy. "Is it just me or did we just enter the twilight zone?"

His siblings were too busy gawking to answer. People with guns walked the streets, their faces drawn tight. The Impala passed devil's traps spray painted onto the sidewalks in front of houses; there were demon wards chalked onto windows of businesses.

"These people aren't playing around," Sam commented in quiet worry. On the road ahead of them, Rob's truck pulled up in front of what was a quaint old church once. But surrounded by the haze of fog and people with guns and concrete barriers, it looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic horror movie. Honestly, it reminded Alex of the camp in 2014. She caught Dean's eye in the rear view, and from the look on his face, she immediately knew he was thinking the exact same thing. Her chest clenched.

Dean parked the car. Rob, Paul, and Dylan walked toward the church, leaving the Winchesters to follow. Two guys with long-barrel shotguns stood on either side of the sidewalk that led to the church steps. A huge red devil's trap was sprayed across the sidewalk between the two men. Alex knew Sam and Dean were thinking what she was: none of them had ever seen anything quite like this before. They cautiously followed the supposed militia up and into the building.

When they got into the dim church they were met with a very unexpected scenario. Three couples stood up at the front of the church facing the pulpit. "Who would have thought the apocalypse could be so romantic?" asked a man, clearly the pastor. He smiled at each couple in turn. "Marriage, family—it's a blessing. Especially in times like this. So hold on to that."

In the very back of the tiny old church, the Winchesters stared while wearing very astonished expressions. "A wedding?" Sam asked in almost a whisper, understanding… and then scoffing in uncertainty. "Seriously?"

"And at six-thirty in the morning?" Dean added quietly, sounding just as skeptical and unconvinced as Sam did.

"Yeah," Paul confirmed furtively, startling all three of them—Rob and Dylan had sat down in a pew next to a red-haired woman, but Paul had apparently remained standing there with them against the back wall. "We've had eight so far this week."

"What's getting married gonna change about the end coming on?" Alex asked in a hushed tone to no one particular.

"Well, it's not," Paul said, shrugging mildly. In the front of the church, the ceremony progressed, but Alex wasn't listening, she was studying Paul now. "That's not the point," he said, and he looked reminiscent. "I mean, if you can spend the last time you have on earth with someone you love, someone you felt strong enough about to be with for the rest of your life… why not?"

Alex blinked a couple times in mild surprise. There was something in his voice that made her look at him, really look. "So if you feel that way… why aren't you up there?" She got the distinct feeling he was talking about someone he felt that way about. Dean and Sam were looking at Paul now too.

Paul's expression was hard to read, and he shook his head as his mouth turned downward briefly. "Even if…" he looked up, deciding to reword himself. "They wouldn't let us, even if we had wanted to. He's... he's dead now anyway."

"Oh," Alex said, stomach sinking. She was quiet for a minute, understanding. They wouldn't let us. It wasn't much, but it was all she could say: "I'm really sorry."

Paul nodded, watching the wedding in front of them again. The pastor was droning on. "…In sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?"

Alex watched the wedding with a growing sense of panic, not joy or any other positive emotion. Maybe she should have thought this was romantic, but it was just another reminder that the end was near. And not only did she know it, but the rest of the world was beginning to get the message, too. She glanced at Dean, who was watching the wedding with an unreadable expression. Did he really think the end was near, too? Was it?

Alex contemplated the couples holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes with smiles. And all she could think about was that she had died yesterday. She and her brothers had died yesterday. And everything was wrong with the world, everything was falling apart and God didn't care about any of it, but still these people were getting married, their eyes were still shining bright with hope. Alex wished she could have some of that hope—it was getting harder and harder to find.

She thought of Castiel and wondered where he was and if he was okay. She'd dwelled on him all night long after he'd disappeared. He'd been so wounded to learn that God wasn't going to help. Was he all right? Did he feel as faithless and hopeless as she did? As Dean did? As Sam did? Because even though they hadn't really talked about it, Alex knew that all of them—herself, her brothers, Cas—they were all clinging to mere shreds of optimism at this point. Shreds that were blowing away in the wind leaving them with empty hands.

"You may now kiss the brides!" the pastor proclaimed with a broad smile, holding his arms wide. Everyone cheered as the three couples kissed.

Alex and her brothers watched. None of the three of them were able to muster a smile.

---

It was mid-morning. Maybe. Castiel stumbled out of the liquor store, the world spinning around him mightily. What a strange sensation. He pitched sideways. The wall had seemed further away, and he was a little surprised when his shoulder slammed into brick. He almost fell, but he leaned away from the wall, shuffling sideways, finding a brief moment of balance. He paused and held absolutely still, squinting deeply. He waited five seconds, concentrating with all his might.

He took a step forward—and promptly fell the other way—he tried to catch himself again, and then collapsed backwards, falling onto his back and elbows. He heard himself groan pathetically. An angel of the Lord, fallen down drunk on a sidewalk.

Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has strife? Those who dwell long over wine.

The verse of scripture came to mind and Castiel felt a strange sensation—his throat rumbling, his vocal cords vibrating: A low, cynical chuckle broke out of his mouth. A slurred, sloppy sound. He'd had those things—woe, sorrow, strife—long before he had ever even thought about consuming the alcohol. In fact, he still had those things. The smile on his face wavered and dissipated. Why hadn't the alcohol worked? Alex said it made her feel better. Why hadn't it made him feel better? If anything, he felt worse.

His mind drifted to her. Castiel felt himself stagnate in despair. He didn't want to think about her. He didn't want to think about anything.

All night long Castiel had downed shelf after shelf of alcohol, waiting to feel its effects, waiting to feel nothing and think nothing. He remembered begging God for help, for a sign, for anything. His pleas had fallen onto deaf, uncaring ears. The love he'd had for the father he thought loved him too and the faith he had maintained for centuries was shattered. Why didn't God want to help them? Why didn't God want to save them? These fragile and precious humans.

Castiel felt weighty and clumsy and drowsy. He thought absently that the owner of the business would be surprised when they came to open the store and found the entire inventory gone. Cas had left the store a complete mess, bottles littering the floor, some smashed, some still half full and spilling onto the cheap linoleum floor. Oddly, Cas didn't feel any guilt about stealing the liquor. He felt regret because he was so drunk that he couldn't focus enough to walk, let alone travel through the fabric of space. Which meant he couldn't get to the Winchesters even if he wanted to. And now he realized maybe he shouldn't have become inebriated this way. What if they needed him? What if she did? He was an utter hopeless fool, and he cursed himself.

Someone walked by and threw coins at him. Cas blearily turned his head, his eyes crossing when he tried to focus on the ground beside his head where a few silver circles were rolling to a halt. What was he supposed to do with those? Everything was spinning again, even though he wasn't moving at all. He suddenly smiled, deeply amused. Everything was spinning, even though he wasn't moving at all! How funny. He chuckled again deeply, and then a little harder, realizing how amusing a sound that was that his vocal cords were making.

"Get a job you lazy bum!" a shrill, female voice said somewhere nearby, and all Cas could think was that the voice was like screeching tires. He heard footsteps fade away and nothing was funny anymore. Cas decided he needed to stand up so he tried to roll over—and couldn't. He made a sound of frustration.

In the pocket of the trench coat, his phone suddenly made a little sound, the sound it made when the device received texts. The only person who ever texted him was her. He fumbled for it, he dropped it, he managed to get it again. He realized he had the phone upside down and righted it then squinted at the screen, his vision doubling. He blinked a few times, clearing his eyes.

It was from Alex, just like he'd assumed. She'd written three words.

Are you okay?

---

Alex and Dean sat in the rundown town sports bar. Dean drank a beer and people-watching halfheartedly as Alex attempted to text incognito. Sam lingered at the bar, talking to Paul—who turned out to be the local bartend. It was a little bit after lunch time and they had now been in town for a few hours—gotten a motel room, learned a little more about what was going on in town. Now they were here.

After the wedding ceremony, Pastor Gideon had shown the Winchesters around. He was the guy who ran the show here in Blue Earth. The basement of the church was full of kids packing salt rounds—the church was stocked with a weaponry. Apparently this town was some kind of magnet for demons and had been overrun with them for the past couple months, but the attacks were getting worse and worse. It was possible that Blue Earth attracted demons because there was apparently a prophet here. The pastor's daughter, Leah Gideon, allegedly heard from the angels and got visions of where demons would be, allowing the townspeople to defend themselves. Dean of course had flirted with her. Right in front of her dad. The pastor. A bit embarrassing if you asked Alex. Leah had an otherworldly calm quality to her—and she had known who Dean, Sam, and Alex were without needing introductions. It was chilling actually. Chuck had never been creepy like that.

Anyway, now that they knew a prophet was involved, Dean had told Sam to call Cas just a few minutes ago. Alex wasn't sure why Dean wasn't going to do it himself. She was too busy trying to contact Cas herself.

Alex stared down at her phone, dying for it to light up. She'd texted Cas about thirty seconds ago to ask if he was okay. She was worried about a lot of things, but he was near the top of the list. He'd disappeared yesterday, depressed and sullen, telling them all that he was going to find out why she had no Heaven.

Her phone vibrated just then and she quickly looked down at it… and was suddenly very confused.

rvlkjg.:';

What the hell? Alex glanced Dean's way furtively—he was staring off at nothing, beer in hand—Alex began to type in a reply text.

Cas? Is everything ok?

A few agonizing seconds passed. And then his reply came in.

yes iM GOOD7

...Was something wrong with his phone? Alex didn't even have a chance to compose a new text because another one came in.

HOW Are yoiu '?

Alex hesitated, frowning, then quickly wrote a reply.

Why are you typing like that?

idrank some{ whisjhtkey adnd alclcohol8

Holy shit! Was Cas drunk?

How much?

5sheleves

Her eyes went wide. She wasn't sure what to say back. She settled on:

Five shelves?

His reply to her question made her eyes go even wider.

nO MY MISTAEK I MEAnt 50 shelrives

Clutching her phone tightly, Alex got up from the table, her chair scraping across the floor loudly. Dean gave her a cursory glance. "I'll be back in a minute."

Alex hurried to the bathroom, locked the door, then called his number, pacing a small little circle on the floor. He picked up and she heard swishing, like he was rubbing the phone speaker across cloth. She stopped pacing, craning her neck to press her ear hard into the phone, listening. "...Cas?" More swishing. And then she finally heard him.

His voice was deep and gravelly, sort of sharper than normal. "I dropped the phone," he slurred. "It's too small."

Hearing his voice so different rendered Alex into quiet shock for a second. "Cas? You all right?"

"Uh… yes." A pause. "No. I don't know."

Stressed out, Alex absently ran a hand through her hair. "What's—you drank fifty shelves of alcohol?"

There was a long pause. "Mrore or less."

She couldn't bring herself to find the humor just yet. "… Why?" She was guessing it was because of everything that happened yesterday, but she was supposed to be the one who ran to alcohol when she was upset, not him! That was too much like the Castiel she'd met in 2014.

"Why?" he repeated, and he sounded dumbfounded. He took a long time to reply, maybe thinking about it. "It... seemed like a good idea at the time."

Alex took a deep breath. "Where are you, Cas?"

He was breathing noisily into the phone, like he had the phone right up against his mouth. "Uh. I don't know."

Alex pulled her ear away a little and it began. The amusement. Even though she didn't think she should be amused about this. "Okay… well, what do you see where you are?"

"Um. The sky."

"The sky." She blinked a couple times, arriving at the only logical conclusion she could think of. "Are you laying down?"

"Yes." He sounded so, so drunk. Alex closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead, absently scrubbing her palm against it.

"Okay, well… do you know what town you're in?" She had this crazy idea in the back of her mind that maybe he'd know where he was, if it wasn't too far, maybe she could go find him and pick him up.

But his answer was a very unsure, "Um…"

Getting exasperated, Alex tried again. "Can you come here to where I am?"

"Not right now," he said, said, garbled. "I seem to be incapasassacitated." He stopped. "Incapacitabed," he tried again. "In..capab..si..." he stopped and gave up crankily. "I can't get up."

She'd tried to stay serious and be mature, but she stifled a helpless laugh as she pictured him lying on the ground somewhere, drunk, his little trench coat bunched up around him on the ground, his expression confused and grumpy but completely adorable. Smiling fondly and wishing she could see it for herself, she shook her head ruefully. "Okay, well… when you can stand up…" she said, "we're in Blue Earth, Minnesota. At the Green Valley Motel, room nine." She paused, and wavered. Wishing to be close to him, and now. "Come as soon as you can?" she asked softly.

"Yes, of course," he replied automatically, and those three words set her at ease. He would always come. She knew that, but hearing him say it gave her an immense and unexpected amount of comfort. He surprised her completely with what he said next. "I like your eyes. When I'm looking at them, I mean. Well. Just in general."

A little caught off guard, it was her turn to fumble verbally. "Uh…" she managed. "Thanks, Cas."

There was a long pause followed by a very unexpected statement. "I just really never want you to die."

It surprised her to hear that spoken out loud. She already knew that he didn't want her to die—but it touched her to hear him say it in that way. She suddenly felt way more emotional than she wanted to be. She cleared her throat. "Just, uh, come as soon as you can, huh?"

"Yes, I will." He paused. She could just see his expression of tortured guilt. "I'm sorry I can't come right now."

Helplessly, she smiled a little. "It's okay." She paused, then tried to sound soothing. "Call me if you need me, all right? Be careful please."

There was a long pause and she heard him breathing heavily into the speaker. Then he finally said, "Yes. All right."

Reluctant, she guessed it was time for goodbyes. "Bye, Cas," she said, not really wanting to end the call.

He sounded like he was testing the words on his tongue. "Bye, Alex."

For three long seconds, she didn't move and didn't say anything. Neither did he. And then, knowing it had to end sometime, she pulled the phone away from her ear, feeling an emptiness settle into her chest. Her thumb hovered over the end call button. Why couldn't he be there now? Alex tightened her jaw then hit the end call button hard and stared at the words Cas: Call Ended. She then looked up at the bathroom mirror where she saw a girl who wanted an angel more than anything else in the world. A girl who would die and exist in darkness with no Heaven. A girl who was barely keeping herself together mentally and emotionally. But as always had to. Had to.

She pocketed her phone and wandered back into the main part of the bar, distracted. Dean still sat by himself at their table. When she took a seat, Dean didn't even acknowledge her. His beer was only half empty. Weird. Usually he would be on his second or third by now. Sam came over just a couple seconds later, three fresh beers in hand.

Alex poked at the bowl of peanuts on the table. "You get a hold of Cas?" Dean asked Sam, who was setting the beer bottles down on the table.

"Went straight to voicemail, but I left him a message," Sam said, then paused, a funny look on his face. "I think. So uh, what's your theory? Why all of the demon hits here?"

Dean looked tired, like he didn't want to have to think about answering right now. But he still did. "I dunno. Trying to gank the girl? The prophet, maybe?"

Alex wasn't so sure. "Chuck never attracted demons like that." Dean made a face like he was considering that she had a point.

Sam was deep in scrutiny regarding the situation. "I mean, why are these angels sending these people to do their dirty work? Making these people hunt all these rabid demons when the angels could do it for them?"

"I dunno," Dean said. Taking a swig of his beer, he didn't look too bothered either way.

Alex and Sam looked at their brother with similarly perplexed expressions. Something just wasn't right with their brother. Sam leaned forward, looking at Dean intently. "Aren't you concerned at all that these people could get ripped to shreds?"

Shockingly, Dean looked almost amused as he gave an uncaring reply. "We're all gonna die, Sam. In like a month—maybe two." He looked at Alex, whose slightly offended expression prompted him to say, "I mean it." His words and that dead-in-the-eyes smile stretching across his face—Alex was chilled. "This is the end of the world, but these people aren't freaking out. They're running to the exit in an orderly fashion." Dean shrugged. "I dunno if that's such a bad thing."

Alex stared at Dean with a slack jaw. She couldn't believe her ears. She thought this was what they lived for: Saving people. Saving each other.

Sam seemed to be on the same page as his sister: hurt and disillusioned. "Who says they're all gonna die?" Dean didn't respond, making it worse. "...What happened to us saving them?" Again, no reply. Sam's eyes flickered in the direction of their sister, then back to Dean. His brows furrowed earnestly, eyes full of pain. "What happened to us saving everyone?"

Dean was silent—and then the church bell began to toll loudly. As if on cue, all the bar patrons began getting up and filing out. "Something I said?" Dean wisecracked, watching with vague interest.

"Paul—" Sam said, nodding to the bar tend, who was shrugging his jacket on. "What's going on?"

"Means Leah's had another vision," Paul said, pausing at their table. "There'll be a hunt. You guys in?"

---

An Hour Later
Five Miles Off Hartford Road, Blue Earth

The eight of them crept up the hill toward the abandoned house—they'd parked half a mile away and cut through some wooded property, trying to keep this assault a surprise to whatever demons waited. There wasn't any movement anywhere in the house or around it. This is where the prophet Leah had said the demons would be—and apparently, she was never wrong. The little group of eight was armed with shotguns, holy water, and the demon blade—it was fair to say this was going to get interesting. There might be two demons in the house, there might be twenty-five. Either way, Alex was ready. Her adrenaline was beginning to pump, but especially now as the group knelt and Pastor Gideon began to signal them out.

He motioned for Sam, Alex, and Paul to go left, Dean and Dylan to go right, and Rob and Jane (Rob's wife and Dylan's mom) to accompany him. Jane apparently was the only woman other than Alex who had ever gone on any of these demon hunts.

Their little assault team moved out, approaching the house quickly and discreetly. As Dean and Dylan broke right, Alex caught Dean's eye for a second—usually before they did stuff like this, he'd lecture her and remind her about a million things she knew already. But today he hadn't said a thing. She gripped her gun tighter, feeling uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

Sam led Paul and Alex to the back door of the house—they kept to the side of the house as they skirted it—and they quietly ascended the back porch stairs. Sam gingerly tested the back door. He turned to Alex. Locked, he mouthed, and she nodded once. Sam knelt and began to pick the lock, face crunched in concentration as Alex covered him, watched his back diligently with her shotgun pulled tight into her shoulder. Paul backed up against the window beside the door, his weapon ready. And then they heard a shot somewhere on the other side of the house at the same time that a demon shattered the glass of the window where Paul stood, grabbing the man with astounding quickness, tearing him into the house. Even as Sam shot to his feet in surprise, Alex kicked the rotting door down, busting into what looked like the kitchen. Paul was grappling with the demon. Alex aimed, every muscle in her body screaming with adrenaline.

"Down!" she shouted. Paul ducked—the second he did, Alex took a head shot. Blood splattered everywhere, including half of her face. Paul looked at the headless demon's corpse on the floor in wide eyed shock.

Sam stood frozen, looking down at his now bloody outfit. "I hate it when you do that," he complained. Alex racked the shotgun and shrugged.

Paul shouted—two demons had appeared in the doorway—Sam was already halfway there, demon blade high and plunging into one of the demon's chests—and the second demon took buckshot in the abdomen, courtesy of Alex. Astounded at the quickness of the Winchesters' teamwork, Paul recited the demon exorcism then quickly shadowed the two of them. The three advanced through the house, mowing down demon after demon—the house was a raucous melody of gunshots and screams.

"Over there, over there!" Alex shouted, firing at the demon that was in front of her while trying to get Sam to notice the demon that was to her right—Sam did, and slashed into the demon violently with Ruby's knife, sending sparks flying as the demon's skeleton flickered. He charged forward at another demon in the main room, but Alex whirled, hearing footsteps behind her—and blasted down another demon in the nick of time just before it was about to get to her. She heard Paul shouting the exorcism again and looked sidelong—"Paul, look out!" she shouted, about to shoot the demon that had appeared out of nowhere and was advancing on him—but she was suddenly feeling something slamming into her. Her shotgun went skittering across the floor even as she stopped herself from hitting the floor face-first with her palms—she felt herself being dragged backwards by her ankles and she kicked and screamed, trying to break the hold—and then there was a loud shot and she was let go. Panting hard Alex looking up and over her shoulder.

The kid, Dylan, stood over her, looking scared shitless with the smoking shotgun—the demon had fallen half-off of Alex, stunned temporarily by the shot. Just a few feet away, the demon that had Paul was choking the guy, and Dylan was frozen, following Alex's eye line. "Don't just stare, shoot it!" Alex shouted from the ground—and she kicked the demon that had attacked her in the face, because she felt its hands clawing at her again. Dylan seemed to remember himself, he aimed and fired. Alex jetted up to her feet, trying to remember the Enochian exorcism—Paul was unconscious, and Dylan was staring again and the two shot demons were recovering. "Rah bah zu na ooh zow tay…?" Black smoke poured out of the demon's mouths and Alex stood back, breathless and relieved. She shrugged and exhaled hard, eyebrows raised high. "Good enough I guess."

She realized the sound of gunfire was gone. "Clear!" she heard Dean bellow in a room close by. "Clear!" came another voice, further away. Pastor Gideon, Alex thought. She added her own, "Clear!" to theirs after a quick scan, then she bent to pick up her shotgun.

When she straightened, she saw Dylan staring at her. "Y-you've got blood all over you," he said, sounding freaked out. She thought absently how nice it would be to be his age and freaked by this stuff. Seventeen? Eighteen? By the time she'd turned eighteen, pretty much nothing had fazed her anymore.

She looked at the demon's blood that was spattered on her jacket arm. "It's not mine," she told him. Alex put a steady hand on his shoulder. "We're fine. Not too bad, kid."

The panic in his eyes disappeared in favor of an indignant scoff. "Kid? I'm seventeen."

She squeezed his shoulder then let go. "Like I said." Some people made it too easy to ruffle their feathers, and she was a natural troll after all.

He rolled his eyes, re-hefted his grip on his shotgun, and tried to look grown up. On the ground Paul groaned loudly. Alex and Dylan helped him up then regrouped with everyone else in the main room. The entire group left that place feeling like a million bucks.

---

Life can change in a matter of seconds, Alex thought. Like how one second that little militia of theirs had been the victors, puffed up and feeling great about how they'd just kicked those demon's asses. And then just a minute later, Dylan was on the ground dead, his bright young life taken by a demon they'd overlooked. It could have been avoided. It didn't have to have happened that way.

It was now about four hours after he died and his makeshift funeral was being held at the church. Ironic was the word that heavily came to mind. Wedding in the morning, funeral in the late afternoon. When it was the end of days, people just couldn't wait around to do the things that mattered, Alex guessed.

She was outside of the church, unable to go inside. She just couldn't. Couldn't. She remembered standing around about a quarter of a mile off from that psychic Pamela's funeral, too. Some people thought it was disrespect. It wasn't. It was deep incapability to deal with the finality of death. Maybe she should have been better at it than other people by now. But she wasn't.

Leaned up against the wall beside the door with her hands in her jacket pockets and her gray hood raised up over her head, Alex was still with a terse expression. The town was quiet—a crow called in the distance here and there but other than that it was eerily silent. Pretty much everyone was inside the church. She vaguely wished for a cigarette. Or a punching bag. Or maybe a bed to lay down in and never get out of.

…Or Cas.

Just then the church door opened beside her and a single person walked out then shut the door behind himself. Paul gave her a thin, wan smile, his hands in his jacket pockets. No one else followed him. The two exchanged a brief look but made no greeting.

He took out his flask, drank a generous sip, then leaned on the opposite side of the door. He was quiet a minute, and it seemed like they weren't going to interact. Then the sound of his voice startled her. "So who'd you lose?" When she furrowed her eyebrows at him questioningly, he shrugged one shoulder up. He looked as drawn and heavy as she felt. "I recognize the look."

Her eyes drifted down to the old concrete sidewalk as she thought. A little huff of cynical air passed between her lips. "Who haven't I lost." There was another long silence, and then Alex looked at Paul sadly. She almost didn't ask. But felt compelled to. "When did he die?"

Paul's flask stopped halfway to his mouth. Then lowered. "Couple months ago." His voice was heavy with remembrance. Tight with emotion. He seemed to be thinking about something intently. His eyes went up, passing over the skyline in front of him. "You know, I'm not the marrying type, it just seems so meaningless in the world today... but… with him?" There was another long pause. "I thought about it. I thought about it a lot." His flask raised to his lips again and he took a swig then grimaced. "I like weddings better than funerals, I'll tell you that much."

Alex could hear and feel how regretful Paul was. She thought about Dylan. She was literally right next to him when he'd gotten pulled underneath the car. It had taken seconds, and his life had been snuffed out. She wondered if she could have saved him if she'd been paying more attention or had reacted faster. She bowed her head down.

Paul let out a heavy breath, his mind clearly on Dylan too. "Kid went down swingin'. That might be as good as it gets these days." He paused, then held his flask out toward her. "Want some?" Alex shook her head no, the pit of her stomach heavy and sick. "Suit yourself." Paul took another swig. "You should come see me at the bar later. Drown your sorrows a little."

Alex pressed her mouth up into a thin line meant to be a smile. She preferred to drown her sorrows alone. And to that note... she just needed to be alone right now. "Thanks. Maybe I will. I'm gonna head back to the motel—tell my brothers if you see them?"

"Yeah, sure," Paul said, but seemed mildly concerned. "You sure you wanna walk? It's a mile or so."

Alex shrugged. She'd be fine. "I could use the air." He nodded, watching as she walked down the church steps, hands still in her jacket pockets.

---

About An Hour Later

Dean walked along the sidewalk, eyes on the ground. Sam had ditched him after the funeral, Alex was who-knows-where. He'd just been to talk to Leah, the prophet, and what she'd said to him was bothering him. He'd gone to ask her if she knew the deal. The stuff about the Michael-Lucifer showdown, the stuff about how the world was supposed to tear itself in half and burn. He'd just wanted to know everything the angels were telling her. He'd wanted her to give him a lifeline, to convince him that his life wasn't just a heap of hopeless bullshit.

"There's gonna be a prize-fight," she'd said. "And… it's gonna get bad. But after we win—and we will—the planet gets handed over to the chosen. And… it's finally peaceful. No monsters, no disease, no death. You're just… with the people you love in Paradise. New earth."

Just with the people you love, Dean repeated in his mind. Alex and Sam. Only, Sam was the other half of that prize-fight Leah had mentioned. "After we win—and we will win," Leah had said. We. Heaven. Michael. Did she know that for sure? She was a prophet. Maybe she'd foreseen the outcome. And maybe that was good news. Dean felt his lip curl in distaste. Heaven and Hell could both kiss his ass. This grand finale crap was for the goddamn birds.

Dean hadn't wanted to consider saying yes to Michael. Ever. But if he could save one of his siblings… wouldn't that be the right thing to do? Dean wished he knew. He tried to picture a future world where Alex could live in this supposed new earth. Maybe, if he said yes to Michael, he could strike up a bargain and make sure she got a Heaven. Make sure she was okay in the end. That didn't sound so bad.

But Sam. How could Dean let his little brother burn away in the fire? How could he let Lucifer take and use him? …Wasn't it already too late? The demon blood... the darkness Sam couldn't leave behind...

Dean wondered morosely what Dad would do. These thoughts of the end should have made him want to break down and weep for all the hopelessness he felt. But he could muster no emotion. He felt so empty, like his insides were a large, echoing room.

"Yeah, Paradise," Dean had retorted cynically. "Of course, that's if you can get past the velvet rope." He'd felt jealous of Leah in that moment. "Must be nice—being chosen."

Leah had sounded almost surprised, looking at him with big doe eyes. "Dean… you're chosen."

He could have laughed in her face at that comment, only he hadn't had the energy. Instead, he'd shaken his head and managed a self-loathing smile. "Yeah, more like cursed."

And that was the truth of the matter. He was cursed. He had lived a life of violence and destruction. The remains of his family were crumbling. His brother and sister were slipping out of his grasp—he couldn't protect them like he used to. And he could barely feel anything anymore about anyone or anything. He barely cared whether he woke up the next day or not. What did it matter? What did any of this matter?

---

"Don't wanna touch you too much baby. Cuz makin' love to you might drive me crazy."

Def Leppard rang out of the cheap motel clock radio and Alex sat against the headboard of the twin bed with a bottle of Jack. She was really quite pathetic, she thought, looking down at herself. She had gotten to the motel room a little while ago and been struck by the sudden urge to change her clothes, hating everything about her jeans, her tank top, her jacket—which was now ruined with blood, anyway. She'd dug through her duffel bag, then stilled when she saw the dress—the one she bought under the influence of Famine. She hadn't gotten rid of it—she kind of liked it, actually. Maybe because of what had happened in that dress. So she'd put it on again then looked herself in the bathroom mirror then wondered if she should be the kind of girl who wore dresses sometimes. World was about to end, maybe she should mix it up a little bit.

"Love bites, love bleeds—it's bringin' me to my knees. Love lives, love dies, it's no surprise. Love begs, love pleads. It's what I need."

Annoyed, Alex switched the radio off. Love. Ha. She took another swig of the whiskey and thought about those couples who had gotten married that morning. She was too busy dying a virgin to be worried about dying single. Oh well. But she wasn't going to die without having fallen in love.

We can't, Castiel had told her a few weeks ago. But still, they were. In a way they didn't talk about and didn't acknowledge. And if that's the way it had to be, fine. She'd take whatever she could get, however she could get it. Desperate times, desperate measures.

Alex tried to remember the time when she'd hated him—well, hate wasn't the right word. Mistrusted was better. But she couldn't remember what that had felt like, because now, and she wasn't even sure how it had happened, she trusted that angel almost more than anyone else. She thought about how yesterday she'd been leaning against him and in his arms, telling him all about what happened in Heaven, she'd felt like he was her shelter from the storm. She'd known he wasn't going to let go of her or let her get hurt. She wished so badly for him to appear now. The thought that she needed him kept crossing her mind, and the thought startled her each time. What startled her more was that she didn't want to fight that desire anymore. She didn't quite understand what she felt, she just felt it.

She looked at her phone, which hadn't gone off. She'd thought about texting Cas a thousand times but hadn't. God, the sweetheart. Angel-equivalent of passed out drunk somewhere after fifty shelves of alcohol. She shook her head softly. Fifty shelves of alcohol didn't sound bad right now. She thought about texting him I miss you. What would he think of that? On second thought, maybe she shouldn't.

She wished abruptly that when you died, you could just be dead. Why did you have to go on existing and being conscious after this life closed out? She thought of an eternity in the darkness of Heaven all alone and she stared down at her feet, becoming deeply distraught. She really needed to get a new pair of boots. This pair was barely holding together anymore. She paused. What was the point in new boots if the world was ending in a couple weeks like Dean had said? Maybe, she thought absently, maybe everyone was wrong. Maybe the end wasn't near. Maybe, last minute, something would change. Maybe they would still find a way. Maybe, maybe, maybe. She took another drink of Jack, enjoying the tipsy feeling.

As if he knew she was thinking about him, the motel room door opened and in walked Dean with a hard look on his face. His presence was like an immediate dark cloud over the whole room. She could already tell before he said a damn thing that he was about to be a complete jackass.

"Seriously?" he asked, tossing his keys down. "You been sitting here with Jack Daniels instead of going to that kid's funeral?"

Alex looked at him sullenly. "You're gonna lecture me about drinking?"

Dean rolled his eyes and threw his jacket across a chair. "Smartass."

"Where've you been, anyway? Where's Sam?"

"I got no idea where he is," Dean said apathetically, not looking at her as he answered. He went to the TV and got the remote. "I went to talk to the prophet."

"Talk, huh?" Alex asked sarcastically.

Dean shot her a look as he sat down on the end of one of the other beds. "Yes, talk."

"And…?" Alex prompted, setting the booze down on the bedside table and sitting up where she could see him a little better, not just his back turned to her. "What'd you find out?"

His expression was stony. "A whole lotta jack squat." He switched on the TV and ignored her.

Alex scowled intently. Dean was just off. Wrong. All kinds of wrong. She tried to soften her voice, a new tactic. "You okay?"

He barely acknowledged her with a brief side glance. "Yeah, fine, why?"

Well. That hadn't worked. She couldn't take this anymore. Alex stood up, grabbed the remote, and switched the TV off then stood in front of him deliberately. "You're not fine," she said, a little louder than she'd meant to. "Come on. I've known you my whole life. Don't pretend."

Dean frowned, taking in her outfit. "Why you wearing a dress?" he asked, trying to sidestep her question. "I mean, who are you?" He was pretending to joke but Alex could see he was just trying to get her to go away.

"Come on, Dean," she said, ignoring his question. "What's with you?"

He got agitated and stood up then walked a couple steps off and turned around. "What's with me?" He threw his arms wide. "How about the end of the world, Al? The friggin' apocalypse or the angels on our asses or the fact that Satan wants to ride Sam like the rodeo?" He shut his mouth, pressing his lips together for a second as he looked away briefly. And when he looked back up at her, he looked cold and cynical. "You know what I'm thinking? You really wanna know? I'm thinking maybe I should."

"Should what?" Alex asked, confused, but the second she asked it, she realized: "…Say yes?" she asked, voice rising in alarmed disbelief.

Dean shrugged. "Michael defeats Lucifer, everything's okay again."

Alex blinked, unable to believe what she was hearing. "Everything's okay again? What version of reality have you been tuning in to? If Michael loses—the world is screwed!" Alex stared at her brother, confounded. Was he listening to what he was saying? "If Michael wins, millions still die," she appealed, then stopped in horror. "And... could you really kill Sam?"

Dean looked at her without blinking, his expression blank, resigned. "It wouldn't be Sam. It'd be Lucifer."

Those words were like a punch to the gut. "It would be Sam too." Alex's voice was barely above a whisper, her face was filled with fear. "Dean… you're scaring me."

Finally, a little emotion showed on Dean's face. He looked away, softening a little into doubt. "What other choice do I have?"

"Wh—I—I dunno, keep fighting it!" Alex's heart hammered in dismay. "Say no. Don't let the angels do this!"

"I keep saying no, they keep screwing with the people I love!" he nearly shouted. He let out a short huff, clenching his jaw. "No thank you." He got quiet then put a hand on his face tiredly, the picture of defeat. "There's literally no other goddamn choice left, Al," he told her. "Try to understand that." He looked wrecked inside and wouldn't look at her. "If I can keep one of you alive… that's better than nothing, right?"

Alex's blood went cold when she realized what he meant. "Don't choose me over Sam, Dean—" she said softly, becoming suddenly breathless in horror, "don't tell me you're gonna do that!"

Dean's eyes met hers and Alex saw that was exactly what he was thinking about doing. She grabbed him by both arms and dug her fingers in and shook him almost, suddenly so angry and scared shitless. "We all go down fighting together or we beat this somehow, but we are not letting Sam die so we can live!"

Dean didn't tell her to get off him, didn't yank away, didn't rant. He just stood there. "I mean, I don't care if I live," he said with heartbreaking and defeated honesty. "I just want one of you two to survive this."

Filled with so much indignant anger, Alex shook him. "Well I care if you live, Dean!" she shouted. "I do!"

He finally pulled away from her and put his walls up, no longer reachable at all. "Thanks," he said sarcastically. "Appreciate it."

Alex could have slapped him. Instead she just looked at him in complete disgust. "What is wrong with you?!"

He waved her away as if he were annoyed and he reclined on the bed against a pillow, kicking his feet up in front of himself—then shut his eyes and folded his arms. Alex stared. Was he really gonna say all that crap and then shut her out?

She was boiling mad. "Hello? I was talking to you."

He didn't open his eyes back up. "Conversation's over," he muttered, then turned away from her pointedly.

Asshole. Alex was incredulous and wounded, but she didn't pursue the argument. She knew when to quit.

A couple hours later, this is how Sam found them: Dean on his bed, arms folded shut, eyes closed. Alex on her bed, turned away from him. Stony silence filling the room.

Dean cracked an eye open when Sam came in. "Where you been?"

"Drinkin'," Sam said.

"You rebel," Dean wisecracked, lacking enthusiasm. Alex turned a little, acknowledging Sam with a glance.

Sam paused, looking between both of his siblings and their body language, and his eyes narrowed slightly, eyebrows pressing together. "Something going on here?"

Dean glanced Alex's way. She'd sat up on her bed now, shoes on the bed, her back against the headboard. "Nah," Dean said.

Sam wasn't convinced, but had other things on his mind. "So, get this. I just got kicked out of the bar… because it was curfew." Sam folded his arms and waited expectantly for a reaction. Alex just looked at Sam blankly. Curfew?

"Right," Dean replied, not sounding like he gave a damn either way.

"You hear they shut down the cell towers?" Sam asked, looking between both of his siblings.

"No. That's, uh, news to me," was Dean's reply. So that's why my phone hasn't had a signal for the past hour, Alex thought morosely.

Sam was pacing now in agitated animation. "Yeah. No cable, internet. Total cut off from the 'corruption of the outside world,'" he said, making angry, sarcastic air quotes over those words. Alex was listening but said nothing.

"Huh," Dean commented.

Sam stood there and looked at his sister who was taking a huge swig of Jack, then his brother, who looked like he couldn't even think about giving a fuck. "Are you guys hearing me?" Sam asked, bemused, making a weird face. "They're turning this place into some kind of fundamentalist compound."

"Yeah, I think we got it," Dean muttered, arms still crossed.

"And all you've got's a 'hmm?'" Sam asked judgmentally. "What's wrong with you?"

Alex expected Dean to fly off the handle again, rant about the apocalypse and Michael and Lucifer. But instead Dean just shrugged and swung his legs over the edge of the bed tiredly. "I get it, Sam. I just don't care."

"What?"

"Well what difference does it make?" Dean asked, giving Sam a cynical little smile.

Shocked, Sam's immediate response was "It makes a hell of a—" he stopped then started approaching Dean, getting riled. "At what point does this become too far for you?" Sam sat down across from Dean. "Stoning? Poisoned Kool-Aid? The angels are toying with these people!"

"Angel world, angel rules," was Dean's indifferent reply.

"And since when is that okay with you?!"

"Since the angels got the only lifeboats on the Titanic," Dean said sarcastically. He stood and went over to the coffee maker, leaving Sam to watch in stunned disbelief. "I mean, who exactly is supposed to come along and save these people? It was supposed to be us, but…" he poured himself some coffee. "We can't do it."

"So, what?" Sam questioned, beginning to sound less angry and more afraid. "You wanna, you wanna stop fighting, roll over?"

Dean shrugged and took a sip. "I dunno, maybe," he said, his uncaring attitude clearly getting under Sam's skin. And then suddenly Sam turned, fixing Alex with a pointed, expectant look.

"And what about you, Alex?" her twin questioned. "You done fighting too?"

Alex held the bottle of whiskey close. Her gaze faltered. "No…"

Sam shook his head just barely, giving a soft huff of disbelief. "Why don't I believe you?"

Alex looked at her twin guiltily.

"Maybe because she's seeing reality for what it is," Dean cut in, looking at Sam sharply from over his coffee.

Sam's jaw worked oddly. He tried a smile, but looked like a barely restrained angry bull instead. "Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"'Cause you can't do this to me," Sam said, suddenly intensely emotional. "To us," he added, clearly referring to himself and Alex. Sam stood up from the bed finally, getting zealous. "'Cause if you aren't fighting, how the hell are we supposed to? Dean, you can't give up now, not now!"

"Actually, I can," was Dean's harsh reply.

Sam lost it. "Are you friggin' serious? No, you can't, I won't let you! You can't do this to me—to her!" He jabbed a finger at Alex, who still sat on the bed in silence. "Dean—I got one thing, one thing, keeping me going—my family. Us!" Sam threw his arms out wide in desperation. "You think you're the only one white-knuckling it here? We need you. We can't count on anyone else—what am I supposed to do if you give up?!"

"I dunno Sam!" Dean thundered, setting his coffee mug down with a loud thud, finally showing some emotion. He stared at the counter where coffee now leaked out of the cracked mug. He sounded broken. "I'm done with taking care of everyone else's problems."

Alex regarded Dean in defeated heartbreak. Sam seemed to have had enough and approached Dean, getting in his face. "Okay, you know what? It's bad enough you're pulling this crap on me, but do you see what you're doing? You're dragging us down with you!"

Dean was heartbreaking impassive. "I'm facing reality, Sam, and you should too."

"What reality?" Sam demanded in a near-shout. "You're giving up, you're deciding to pussy out because you're tired of fighting?" Sam was shouting now. "We're all tired of fighting. But that doesn't mean we stop!"

Dean shook his head hollowly, seeming to be entirely over the entire exchange. "You know, I don't need this crap from you." He was already grabbing his jacket from where he'd tossed it before. "I gotta clear my head," he muttered, leaving the room without a backward glance.

"Come on Dean—Dean!" Sam appealed. "It's past curfew!" The door shut. Sam turned around, a hand in his hair. "It's past curfew." He growled in frustration. "What the hell is his problem?" Sam complained to the air in front of him, then he pushed his anger aside, studying his twin. After about ten seconds he went over to her and sat beside her feet near the end of the bed. "You don't look so good."

Her eyes flickered up to his. "I'm not."

Sam looked like he was trying to be reassuring. "He'll pull through. It's just... a bad day or something."

It was nice of him, really, to try to comfort her. But she didn't know if she could get on board. "You really believe that, Sam? That any of us are gonna 'pull through'?"

It wasn't asked rudely, but Sam looked hurt, like her suggestion was personally offensive.

"I used to think we would," Alex mused hollowly. "Now…" she trailed off into nothing.

"Stop that," Sam said, suddenly dark, angry, and standing up. "You sound just like him." There was a tense silence and Alex was shocked, feeling small and stung. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose then refocused, turning back toward her. "All I'm saying is… you can't give up. Not yet. 'Cause I'm not. Please."

Alex didn't want to tell him how hopeless she felt—Sam didn't look like he could take another blow. So she forced herself to nod and give him a wan smile. She couldn't think of anything to say. "I'll try."

He looked at her sadly—like he saw that her heart wasn't in it. But he said nothing else. He mirrored her nod and the wan smile. "Okay. Good." He sighed heavily, then looked around the room, so world-weary. "Look‚ I've got some books I borrowed from Bobby I've been meaning to read. You wanna help me?" He paused. "Might have some useful information in there about… all this." He gestured vaguely.

Research. Sounded like an okay distraction from all this horrible misery. It was better than lying in bed approaching drunk. "Sure. Yeah, but only if I can get some coffee." She paused, looking at the bottle in her hand. It was a lot emptier than it had been when she'd first gotten her hands on it. "I'm a little wasted."

Sam chuckled a little and shrugged, smiling kind of mischievously. "Yeah, I am too."

Alex shook her head in fond bittersweetness at him then went and started working on making a fresh pot of coffee.

---

Forty-Five Minutes Later

Sam walked across the room, digging in his duffel for another book. "I'm pretty sure it was in this one," he said loud enough for Alex to hear him in the bathroom.

"Sam!" she shouted back, exasperated just like he knew she would be. "How many times do I have to tell you—don't talk to me when I'm in here!"

He chuckled, hearing the sink water running. He pictured her rolling her eyes. Sam turned, new volume in hand, heading back to where they'd been sitting while paging through ancient volumes and trying to sober up. They were both still a bit buzzed enough to feel relaxed, but sober enough to concentrate and get things done. Sam suddenly heard a noise behind him and turned to see Castiel in front of the motel refrigerator, holding the door open.

"I got your message," Cas said, staring into the refrigerator aimlessly. He sounded irritated. "It was long, your message. And I find the sound of your voice... grating." He shut the refrigerator door clumsily, then backed away from it unevenly.

Sam watched, wide-eyed. "What's wrong with you?" Cas wobbled a little in the kitchen. Sam had a sudden, crazy theory. No… no way! He looked at Cas a second longer, barely daring to believe it. "Are you… drunk?"

"No!" Cas replied gruffly, walking forward only just catching himself against the wrought-iron partition. Sam's eyebrows shot up high. Cas seemed to change his mind. "…Yes." Said it with a lot of attitude, too. Sam looked at the angel oddly in disbelief.

The bathroom door opened and his sister came out. Cas saw her and his expression changed from angry annoyance to clear happiness. He clung onto the partition as Alex saw him and immediately brightened. "Hi, Cas!" She sounded really surprised but pleasantly so, and she was smiling at the angel, really smiling—actually, Sam hadn't seen her smile like that in months. Where her eyes crinkled up and her little faint dimples showed. Sam looked at Cas in confusion, whose head was leaned against the partition—his eyes were soft and a little smile spread across his face too.

"Hello, Alex," the angel greeted in return.

Sam felt his sister come to his side. "You okay?" she asked Cas, and he had to think about it. Alex scanned Cas up and down, probably noticing the same thing that Sam had: the angel was toasted.

"I can stand up now," he said, but had other things on his mind. "You're... wearing the dress again."

Sam was suddenly mortified, realizing that was what Alex had been wearing the night that he'd seen them making out. Cas apparently remembered that too. Well, he would, wouldn't he? Uncomfortable, Sam switched subjects, trying to get Cas's attention. "What… uh, what the hell happened to you?"

Castiel turned his attention back to Sam, becoming annoyed again. "I found a liquor store."

"And?" Sam prompted, not understanding.

"And I drank it," the angel said, sounding pissy, like Sam should have known that already. Cas looked at Alex again, the attitude disappearing again. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this."

Alex just shrugged. She looked understanding and fond. "You've seen me drunk." She squinted a little, thinking about something. "In fact, I'm still kinda buzzed right now."

Cas finally left the partition, walking unsteadily toward Sam—who held out two hands just in case. "Whoa. There you go. Easy. You okay?"

Blinking slowly, Cas motioned for Sam to come closer, like he had something to tell him. "Don't ask stupid questions," Cas grumbled in Sam's ear, and Sam was scandalized, watching the angel in disbelief. "Now tell me what you called me about." He leaned back against a chair, trying to focus.

"T-there have been these—these demon attacks," Sam said. "Massive, right on the edge of town. And we can't figure out why they're—"

"Any sign of angels?" Cas asked, cutting Sam off. He was looking at Alex, and she at him.

Sam wondered if Cas was even listening to his reply. "Uh, sort of. They've been speaking to this prophet—this girl, Leah Gideon."

"She's not a prophet," Cas said immediately.

"W—well, uh, I'm pretty sure she is," Sam said. "Visions, headaches—the whole package."

Cas finally looked away from Alex, giving Sam almost an eye roll. "The names of all the prophets—they're seared into my brain," he said, being downright sassy. "Leah Gideon is not one of them."

Sam stared at Cas, baffled.

"Well if she's not a prophet, what is she?" Alex asked, interest piquing.

Castiel seemed to be struggling to think clearly. "False… prophet."

"Come again?" Sam asked, not catching what he'd said.

Castiel stood up again, wobbling a little. "I think I know what she is but… I need to get a book."

"A book." Sam repeated. Alex was still hovering at Sam's side.

"Yes, a book," Cas responded. "The thing with pages and a cover and words inside."

Sam blinked, caught off guard and abruptly amused by the angel's use of sarcasm. "I know what a book is, Cas."

Cas was looking sternly thoughtful. "Alcohol is very interesting isn't it," he said, apparently forgetting what he was doing.

Trying to refocus the guy, Sam put a hand on the angel's shoulder. "Where do you get this book from, Cas? Can I find it at the church library or—"

"Don't be stupid," Castiel grumbled. "It's at the Vatican." He straightened a little. "I'll go get it."

Sam held his hands out again. "Okay. Well whoa, whoa, wait… I dunno if you should go stumbling around in Italy by yourself."

Castiel's eyes narrowed just slightly. And then nodded, like he understood Sam's suggestion. "Yes. Good." He almost smiled, his chin raising a little bit. "I'll take Alex."

"No wait I meant—" they were gone. Sam threw his hands in the air. "I meant me!" He swore softly and rolled his eyes then shook his head, swearing under his breath.

---

The Vatican Library
Vatican City, Rome

"Whoa—" Alex stared. She and Cas were suddenly standing in a totally different place—above them, arched ceilings etched with Renaissance depictions of saints and angels—below their feet, immaculate marble checkered floors. Intricate columns lined the hall they stood in. Was this the Vatican Library? She didn't see books anywhere. Maybe this was an entry hall or something. She remembered Cas and looked to her side—he was looking at her as he came closer. He brushed two fingers against her cheekbone where she'd gotten scraped that morning.

The touch and intense gaze startled her. "You… didn't have that yesterday."

Trying not to notice how close he was or how his concern made her feel, Alex's eyes met Cas's and intensely held. "Demons," she supplied faintly. His gaze flickered down to her lips, sending thrill and craving racing. And then his knees buckled. Alex grabbed him to keep him steady.

"It's alright," he said, blinking blearily. "I've… got... this." He made a frustrated groan. "The vessel is having trouble."

"You said it," Alex muttered. She spied a water fountain over beside a doorway labeled il bagno and gently she began to steer him that way. He looked confused. "Drink some water," she said, motioning to the fountain. "It'll help sober you up." She paused. "Maybe."

He looked uncertain about that, but did what she said. And Alex watched her drunk guardian angel lean awkwardly over a water fountain. He'd never have used one before, she realized, and smiled a little, watching him as he processed it, sputtered, then figured it out. He stopped after ten seconds. "More," Alex told him. "Like... a few gallons worth should do the trick." After fifty shelves of alcohol, he probably should drink a whole swimming pool. She felt herself smiling ruefully as she folded her arms and leaned shoulder-first into the wall to study him.

Alex tested her patience as Cas drank and drank and drank—for a minute or two at least. Finally, he raised his head up, squinting his eyes. "Now my mouth feels cold." It wasn't a complaint. More of an observation. He looked a lot more cognizant now, so maybe the water really had worked. In either case: His eyes were very full, gazing at her openly. And Alex felt herself step back just a little—intimidated suddenly. By how much control he didn't even know he had over her... because when he looked at her like that, her entire body flushed over.

"So um, what about this book or whatever?" Alex redirected, anxious to get a move on and escape her own feelings.

He remembered their mission. "Yes. Of course. This way." He began to lead them down the grand hallway, watching her as she took everything in. He had more composure for sure, not wobbling or pitching around like he was previously. The location was quiet, and through windows Alex could see it was nighttime here. No wonder it was so quiet and even a little eerie here. "Do you... like it?" he asked after a few beats.

"What, this place? Yeah it's…" she let herself take it in a little better. "Amazing." Amazing was barely the right word. The gilded columns, the intricate painted ceilings and walls—she imagined how much time and work must have gone into creating this place.

"Only the Pope is allowed to borrow from the archives," Castiel told her absently. "This place has some of the oldest volumes on earth."

"And which one are we after?"

"It's the Vaticanus Graecus. Very old. Very detailed."

"Where are the books, anyway?" Alex assumed they were headed that way, but if this was part of the library, it sure was lacking in the book department. It was just huge, long hall of columns.

"The books are in the library," Cas answered her factually. Well, duh… "There are over a million books here."

Alex made an overly incredulous face. So, this might take all night. She suddenly pitched forward, tripping over her own foot—Cas caught her and for a second, the two of them stared at each other closely. He was looking at her in a way that reminded her of the looks he'd given her when they'd been under Famine's influence. Alex felt her body flush over in unexpected desire. Dammit, Cas. He needed to stop doing this to her. A little frustrated, she pulled herself out of his grasp, leaving him to continue after her. She didn't really know where she was supposed to be going, but this long hallway seemed to have one general direction: straight. Ahead there was a large archway entrance into what looked like a grand room.

Once there, Alex paused and Cas caught up to her. The library was enormous. Above them an all-glass atrium arched—a dark starry sky was visible through the panes. The high and bright silver moon cast a cool, faint blue glow over everything. Centered underneath the dome a white marble statue of a male saint stood silent and watchful—on either side of the saint, stretching out for what looked like well over the length of a football field, two long halls. These halls were lined on either side with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Above the halls were beautiful stained-glass ceilings. It was beautiful, almost magical.

Cas was heading to the left and Alex followed, trying not to gawk. She forgot everything for a second, just amazed at the intricacy of this place. The smell of old paper and musty book bindings hung thickly in the air. How were they going to find one book in this enormous place? Did Cas even know where it was? He seemed kind of aimless. The exact second she thought that, he stopped, turned, and looked at her with his arms hanging at his sides—and she sort of got the impression that he didn't have a clue what he was doing. Feeling overwhelmed again, she looked down the row of books they were next to. There were so many volumes. The shelves were crammed, there wasn't an empty space anywhere, and none of them had call numbers like books in America did—how the hell were these books organized, anyway? She pulled one out, looking at the spine, then the inside cover.

Cas watched Alex as she turned the old volume over in her hands. She looked so beautiful with the moonlight illuminating her. He drank in the sight of her—her slender fingers splayed against the book's cover, her dark tousled hair tumbling over her bare shoulders, her graceful neck, the artful lines of her jaw, her full soft lips… lips he had kissed more times than he should have, and yet not enough at all...

Alex slid the book back onto the shelf. "Is there a reference desk or a—" she started, turning back toward him, but Cas—who knew exactly where the Vaticanus Graecus was, who didn't need help locating it (it was on the shelf across from the one she was standing next to, actually)—all he could focus on was her. All he could think about was how much he starved to kiss her again. He moved forward, not even thinking. Alex's back hit against the bookcase softly when she shrank from him, her eyes dark, full, and wondering... he studied her carefully as he moved into her space so closely that he could feel her warmth radiating into him, feel her quickly beating heart pounding. "W-what are you doing?" she whispered.

Her question paused him. What was he doing? His brain seemed unable to give him an answer. He only knew what he wanted... and that was her. Protective and tender feelings welled up inside as he looked into her eyes. Somewhere in his chest, eternal things burned in her name. He let his hand touch her forearm gently, then slowly drag upward to the skin of her shoulder. He watched his hand on her skin, marveling that he could touch her at all. He thought about her question then looked deeply into her eyes, comprehending that he truly was free to act as he pleased. And it was simple when he thought of it that way. "I'm doing what I want," he answered, then hesitated before he boldly closed the distance between them in a soft, sweet kiss.

Alex exhaled in soft surprise into his mouth, stiff for a second before she relaxed into his touch and let her suppressed feelings of hunger dictate her next move: she grabbed him by the trench coat and pulled him firmer against her. Taking her cue, Castiel crushed his lips against hers, grabbing her by the back of the head, bearing down on her intensely and opening his mouth on hers—he made a low sound in the back of his throat and sent feverish chills throughout her as his tongue nudged hers. He crowded her up against the shelves without really meaning to as he kissed her with fierce sloppiness, his free hand bracing himself against the shelf beside her.

Alex whimpered softly as their bodies molded together. Of their own accord, her hands slipped beneath both his coat and jacket, drifting to the strong planes of his upper chest. He groaned softly into her mouth as they kissed, he pulled her closer when her hands slid up to cup either side of his face—his grip was gentler now. His hand came forward from the back of her head and she was surprised when he touched the side of her neck, tracing fingers down in an exploratory, reverent way. The pads of his fingers left a trail of fire against the sensitive skin and her breath caught in her throat, her hands fell away from his face to grab onto his arms and she hung on tightly, fingers digging into the thick fabric of the trench coat. He had her at level ten arousal and he was barely touching her.

Just as she thought that, things changed. In a brazen swoop, Cas shocked her when his hand moved down from her lower back to grasp her rear and pull her tightly against him—as their bodies pressed against each other's she gasped into his mouth louder than she meant to—because it was suddenly and abundantly clear to her that she wasn't the only one who was extremely turned on. He was hard against her even through all the layers of clothing.

Alex tensed, hands pressing against his chest lightly. He stopped to look at her questioningly. "I thought—I thought we weren't supposed to… to do this," she stumbled out breathlessly, feeling flushed and muddled, worried and overthinking as usual. She expected him to get that dawning look of 'oh' that he always got when they got too close. But this time that look didn't come across his face. Not even for a second.

His smolderingly consuming gaze stayed on hers. "I don't care anymore." If it were possible, his voice was even deeper than it ever had been before, filled with so much dark hunger that it made her chest constrict. He leaned in to kiss her, and she almost dropped the subject—but her conscience won out over her lust and she did the thing she never thought she would do—she held him back firmly.

"Cas, are you drunk though?" She wasn't sure how far this would go if they kept tempting fate in this way.

There was a short silence and understanding showed in Cas's eyes. His chin lowered. "I'm in full possession of my faculties," he replied. "If that's what you're asking." His eyes were dark and unmistakably sultry as he leaned a little closer, tempting her to kiss him. "I don't know how else to say it—" His earnest voice was soft against the silence of the library. "I want you badly."

Those four words and the way he said them did her in. Whatever resolve she'd had, whatever strength, whatever morality… it was all smashed to pieces and she was abruptly kissing him again. Deeply, passionately, messily, hungrily. She wanted him badly too, and with the feeling of the end being near, all she needed was to have as much of him as possible. He moaned, less dominant than before, surprised by her ferocity. Her hands gripped him tight behind his neck and head as she pressed her body against his hard, not holding back anymore. He returned the kiss with growing intensity, pushing her against the bookcase as his hands began to roam up and down her sides with growing boldness, lighting her already heated body on white-hot fire.

He breathed heavily into her mouth as he kissed her; his fingertips tracing across her hip bone, then lower still, ghosting along the incredibly sensitive space between hip and upper thigh. Even through the dress, his light and untrained touch felt electrifying and Alex panted into his mouth dumbly, wishing he would move his hand to where was screaming to be touched. Cas drew back from the kiss for just a moment and watched her face, fingers loosely threaded into the hair at the side of her head. Alex wondered. Had any man ever looked at a woman the way he looked at her?

Castiel kissed her again, slowly this time, burningly, using his tongue to coax soft helpless sounds from her. Everything inside clawed at the walls, delicious frustrated anticipation stacking higher and higher as Cas's hand explored through the dress, stretching his fingers across her as they kissed slow and hot—and she couldn't tell if he was being teasing or if it was an accident, but his hand kept passing so close to the place she desperately wanted to be touched. Each time it came anywhere close she tensed up, her body screaming for him to let his hand stray downward and touch her there please. After a few seconds of the frustration Alex reacted on lascivious instinct.

She grabbed his hand, stopping it mid-movement, then shoved it down boldly to cup her between her legs. She gasped loudly, moaning as their mouths fell open—his because he was surprised at the sudden control grab; hers because it felt so damn good, the luscious pressure of his hand against where she was so warm and aching. Her body shuddered with anticipation and relief all at the same time. Even through two layers of clothing—her underwear, the dress—there were no words or coherent thoughts to describe the angel's touch. Shocked at herself, Alex stared. Cas stared back, entranced.

"I don't know how," he whispered, worry and longing both thick in his hoarse voice. It was easy to hear that he wanted to know.

Feeling like some magical version of herself, Alex's fingers closed over his and Alex shyly showed him how to move his hand. Very quickly, she forgot her shyness. Waves of pleasure ricocheted throughout her body as soft moan after moan escaped. Somewhere far in the background of her mind, the carnality of what was happening rendered her absolutely stunned.

He whispered her name in stunned adoration, and his eyes were bright with fascination, awe, and arousal. That look made her whimper and take his face into her hands. His free arm wrapped around her waist again, pulling her tight against him, his mouth seeking hers again as his other hand slowly rubbed in a torturously exquisite way just like he'd just been shown. He kissed her more deeply than he ever had, tongue sweeping over hers as he continued to bear down, pressing himself into their hands, a beautifully frustrated sound escaping his throat. She could feel the evidence of his readiness, and in response she made a strained little sound. They existed for a moment in this crazy haze of grinding and rubbing and sloppy, messy, loud kissing. Alex almost sobbed as the pressure and intensity built up to peak levels—

And then Cas's hand pulled away and she was confused, disenchanted, let down, and not sure why. Then his warm hand grazed up the skin of her inner thigh and she shuddered against his mouth anxiously. His hand brushed against her and he curiously stroked three fingers across the underwear between her legs. Alex gripped him tightly, a desperate sound like "ahh!" tearing out of her throat as she trembled, going slack against the bookshelf, completely at his mercy, in dreamlike astonishment, not even sure if this were real life.

His hand skimmed up underneath the dress and pressed flat against her bare stomach. Her breathing hitched as his dark eyes held her gaze—then his hand turned, fingers pointing down and tracing their way lower, rendering her into mush. The light touch trailed scorching electricity across her skin and then when his fingers moved past the waistband of her underwear, making contact with the place she ached for his touch the most—"Ah, fuck!" she exclaimed in an astounded, strangled voice, surprising them both. "Cas!"

He froze to look at her with worry. "Should I stop?"

She shook her head, and as he took in her expression, he began to understand why she'd cried out. "N-no."

Beneath his fingers there a stunning wet heat—a pliable softness like no other texture or sensation the angel had ever encountered—and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to it, but the sensation only inspired greater awe of her and this moment, and his heart hammered into his throat, he felt like he was going to burst out of his skin from an exquisite madness. He remembered how she had shown him a minute ago how to move his hand. So he did that again slowly and carefully, watching her face to see if he did it right—and she responded immediately; whimpering frantically while clutching onto him tighter. Her head fell back and the sound escaping out of her mouth almost made it seem like she was suffering—and for Castiel it was new territory that was suddenly intense and frightening.

"Is this—am I doing this right?" He watched her closely and he swore her cheeks flushed with more color.

"Yes," she whispered back, flustered and shy again. Her eyes opened and her pupils were dilated widely, he could barely see any of her iris—she looked at him so filled with need. "I want—I want you to keep g-going," she whispered just above a breath.

Confounded at the wanton quality of her voice, swept away by the way she felt against his hand, he did exactly what she asked. She again responded immediately, shuddering in his arms, her soft shallow breaths and choking moans furthering his need to please her. Pleasure howled along the angel's veins, curling low in his stomach as he learned this side of Alex—and of himself. This was the most intoxicating thing he had ever encountered in his entire existence. He made a soft, strained sound and pushed her underwear down, compelled to touch her more fully. The white cotton panties fell down to her ankles but Cas didn't notice and it only made Alex even more ready for him to please god take her right there against the library bookshelf—she whimpered again, louder this time. Her blood pounded loudly in her ears, her body shook, she had never known it could feel this good, and she had never dreamed Castiel would actually touch her like this. His breathing was ragged beside her ear and she suddenly wasn't content, realizing she had to touch him too. Her inhibitions forgotten, she reached for his belt with both of her hands, fumbling with it—barely able to remember how to work the thing, her mind was so overrun and so focused on Cas's hand between her legs—but it came undone and she pushed at his pants, all while Cas continued to breathe heavily in her ear and touch her.

Alex clumsily fumbled with the soft material of his boxers, not really sure what to do, just driven by pure fanatical desire. She rubbed an exploratory hand down across the bulge in fabric and he made a soft, surprised sound then went still—she reached into his boxers, finding him waiting. She was stunned. He was hard as a rockand yet soft like velvet and it was bigger than she'd thought and deliciously warm in the skin of her hand. Cas stopped everything he'd been doing, looking at her with this utter entranced astonishment on his face. Like he couldn't believe she was touching him there, skin to skin. Like he was waiting to see what she would do next.

With uncertainty she gripped him gently, not sure how much pressure was too much—and experimentally moved her hand down over the length. She was rewarded with an astounded groan from Cas—his eyes squeezed closed, his mouth hung open, his eyebrows slammed together, his free hand grabbed her hard. Holy shit! If Alex hadn't been turned on before, she sure was now. Unable to believe she made him react like that, she waited for him to open his eyes back up. He did, and his stare was amazed. Feeling emboldened, Alex tightened her grip and did it again. Another stunned groan broke free from his mouth and then his face buried in the side of her neck when she stroked him again. Hot breath hit the sensitive skin in a soft little helpless groaning cry—and that sound combined with the feeling of him in her hand—it was almost enough to make Alex come right then and there.

Getting fed up and desperate and bold, she let go and pushed his boxers down, not even sure how far she pushed them, just pushing them away then pressing herself, dress and all, against the warmth and shape of him, her arms circling around his middle tightly. She was trying to get closer, trying to find satisfaction but only feeling more frustrated as a result. He pressed back as he kissed her again, over his temporary spell. He matched her frenzy, pinning her flat against the shelf—and like high schoolers fooling around for the first time they clumsily ground against each other in increasing dissatisfaction. Alex wasn't sure how it happened but as they made out and moved against each other he shifted, pushing her upwards a little, and she was suddenly no longer standing on the floor—automatically, she hugged her legs around his waist, bracing her hands against his shoulders… and when his hand pressed against her hip over the top of the dress, when he moved his hand up her side, that movement pulled the bunched-up skirt of her dress away from in between her legs, leaving no barrier between them at all.

The second she felt the warm length pressed up against her between her legs, a frantic little groan escaped her mouth and he echoed her, his distress doubling at the feeling of her against him. Mouth hanging open, he pulled back to stare at her questioningly. When he did that, their bodies came apart by just a bit. And then, the moment that happened by accident, the moment that they would never be able to take back. They were both completely frozen—staring breathless at each other when they felt him unintentionally nudge up against her entrance. Their shocked eyes clung. And the silence was so great that a single pin dropping would have been too loud.

Holding still as a statue, Cas stared at her through heavy breaths, afraid to move at all, unsure what to do. All he could do was stare at her—he saw deep trust and desire there in the hazel depths that gazed back at him.

Castiel was no expert on human copulation but he knew what it was and that everything inside of him raged for her in that way, begging him to give in to the desire and the moment. He wanted to take her, know her, have her. There seemed no concrete reason left in the universe for him to say no or to stop it. He felt her legs tighten around him, he felt the warm sheath of her press against him and he breathed in sharply, looking at her in the eye, his whole body begging him to do this—his entire being seemed to be screaming at him that he needed her. Alex leaned her face in and pressed the simplest, softest, most yearning kiss to his lips that lingered.

And Castiel realized that he didn't care. Not about God, not about the laws of Heaven. Not about the future, not about the past, not about anything or anyone but her and this urgent, desperate moment between the two of them. Nothing mattered except the woman in his arms. She was the pinnacle of his existence, the center of everything. He desired her so unrelentingly, in every way he could fathom. Their mouths broke apart but stayed so close that they breathed in each other's breaths.

Nothing could hold him back except one thing: Cas found his voice. "Are... are you sure?" The question was breathy, husky, low. He searched her eyes intensely, every atom tensed in waiting for her reply.

Her hands were on either side of his face, she was already nodding and whispering, "Yes, yes—"

Overwhelmed by anticipation and adrenaline, Cas held her tighter, his forehead pushing into hers, his lips hovering against hers as he took their union and relationship to the most intimate level in existence. The angel was unable to hold back a stunned, primal sound at the devastatingly overwhelming feeling of being completely enveloped in secure and tight warmth, being part of her. His entire body seemed to short circuit, the intensity was baffling and jaw-dropping, he had never experienced such utter physical pleasure—his mind could barely even comprehend that such a feeling were possible. He suddenly understood why humans loved sex so much. Exhilarated, he whispered his joy. "Oh, Alex."

A strangled, pleasured sob came out of Alex's mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands tangling into his hair. He heard her whisper his name back. She moved experimentally, grinding him tentatively and shuddering at the incredible feeling of being stretched and sated and starved all at the same time. Cas swore he saw stars as she groaned and grabbed his face, thumbs brushing across his cheeks. He looked into her eyes helplessly, letting her take the lead. Her arms tightened around his shoulders, she buried her face in the side of his neck, overwhelmed with emotions and ecstasy all at once.

She moved again, this time a lot more than she had before and she felt him shudder when she did, he let out a soft, stuttering breath and she pulled her head up to look at him. His eyes were glazed over. She moved again, boldly, a lot, and they both gasped, floored by the feeling, the knowledge of what they were doing together. Absolutely astounding pleasure came over her that time—Alex felt like she could pass out. Him, here, buried deeply inside of her was holy and sacred and everything to her—this angel had saved her, restored her, given everything for her—and now his body was with hers, they were joined in a way she didn't imagine possible. Overwhelmed, she said his name again softly—and it sounded like a prayer, like worship—she was completely dependent on him in this moment, she felt like she belonged entirely to him, she wondered if two people had ever loved each other more than they did.

Castiel held onto Alex tightly as she continued to move on him. Bright stars were exploding in front of him. He heard himself make a deep, urgent sound. His eyes whipped up to hers. She was looking back at him with heavy-lidded pleasure-drenched eyes, her mouth parted open—and he was overcome. She was the most precious and valuable thing on Heaven or Earth or any place in between. He felt her fingers digging into his shoulders and he shuddered out a weak moan. He felt afraid he was that he might break her somehow. But there was a pleading tone to her gasps and pants, he knew she needed something from him, and he tried to give it, moving inside of her unsteadily, trying to do what she wanted, trying to imitate what he'd seen humans do before. He didn't know how to do this—the thought was interrupted when she grasped him by the side of the head by his hair and made him look her in the eyes.

Her gaze held complete adoration and desire—and he didn't understand how she could feel those things toward him. But he was rendered awed by it, how sacred this moment was, how much it must mean to her, how much it meant to him. He made the softest sound then kissed her and stopped thinking—just allowed instinct to take over. He melted into her as his body seemed to remember what to do. Her arms wrapped around him as he praised her mouth with a kiss from his, one of his hands coming to cradle the back of her head. He began to move in her again, but this time, it was different—he knew what to do, he didn't think about it, he just did. He gave everything he had to her, he let his body love hers, he let the many things he felt for her translate into the way that he moved. In response a relieved, amazed sound escaped her open mouth, and Cas breathed her in—she was the most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed and it was enough to bring him to tears or shoot him into ecstasy, he wasn't sure which. The air around them filled with the sound of their ragged breaths—they clung to each other desperately, both stunned, both overwhelmed and amazed, overtaken by the other, as the rhythm they found became more intense and certain. Their eyes met and clung and their hands tightened on each other.

The sounds she was making were becoming higher and more and more strained, she sobbed, she grabbed his face and then his neck in both hands, beginning to sound frantic and desperate for something, and he was too, for the same thing, but he didn't know what exactly it was—his breaths were now coming sharp and shallow, he could barely concentrate and he could hardly hold himself together, so enraptured with the way it felt to be with her like this.

There was an alien pressure and pleasure building in his body—it was the most intense physical sensation he had ever felt. It overpowered him—it felt like there should be a limit but he couldn't find it and he heard himself making pathetic, needful sounds that rose in pitch because he was beginning to feel lost, like he would never find it, but he needed to. He clung to her tighter and tighter as he felt his mind slipping away. He couldn't control his breathing or his vocal cords, all he could do was lose himself in her, despairing for something he couldn't name.

Under his spell, utter snowballing bliss tortured Alex, rendering her into some version of herself she'd never experienced before. Cas was groaning, panting, grunting with increasing intensity and volume, his hands were grasping her tightly like she were the only thing he could hold onto to keep from blowing away—it was surreal and left her in the throes of ecstasy to have this effect on him, to feel him like this. She heard how afraid he was despite his bliss and she thought how he never would have felt anything like this before—and she loved him even more for it. With her eyes squeezed shut, she buried her face in the side of his neck and she held him tighter, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other clenched at the back of his head—trying to hold onto him, steady him, make sure that he knew that she was there with him in this. The crescendo was inevitable. Her entire body was tensing, ramping up for release as their work of their bodies became more and more urgent, hurried, and frantic. All her senses focused in and Alex held on harder as she began to gasp in surprise at the certain approaching ecstasy—holy shit, oh god—"Oh... oh, Cas!"

Cas shuddered, crying out with intense surprise as he pitched forward into her arms. His groans were no longer groans but noisy choking gasps and realizing what was happening to him was the final straw... Alex shattered too, crying out uncontrollably in response to the blinding apex that hit her full force. She could have sworn she heard glass breaking overhead as she convulsed in his arms, wrecked and made whole at the same time. He held onto her tightly, not letting them part for even a minute as they helplessly rode the waves together. Alex realized dimly that broken glass rained down over them from above and she didn't know why, she only knew that she felt Castiel leaning over her as they came, his arms surrounding her, enveloping her body with his, sheltering her protectively as he quaked against and inside of her—and Alex wouldn't have cared if the world itself was ending, all she could do was hold on to him, sobbing from the intensity as they reached infinity together, as they discovered perfection. All she could do was surrender—he was light, he was power, he was ancient days and formless shape, he was creation and destruction, he was like taking in the entire universe in one single breath. And in that sacred, devastatingly astounding moment, every part of her body and soul was alive and free and with him.

Thrown headlong into the brilliant blazing sun for the first time in his existence, Castiel was no longer just cells and atoms and consciousness. Instead he understood eternity, he felt the rushing rivers and the stormy tide and the crash of every typhoon break over him. He was left amazed, confounded, overcome, forever—and breathless, in wonder, he clung to the one he loved, both of them going still as the room became quiet again. At their feet, shattered stained glass sparkled up off the floor.

The angel trembled in Alex's arms, reeling from the storm they had stirred in each other, from the feeling of being taken over the edge then dashed over rocks and then sent crashing into a supernova—he knew that he would never be the same, that all other things would always pale in comparison to this, to her, to what they had found together.

He drew back just enough to look at her at the same time that she lifted her head off his shoulder. Her eyes raised to his. She was flushed, shaking, breathless, beautiful... his. This fragile, breakable, mortal human being. Overcome with tenderness, with so many soft and soulful thoughts, Cas's hand reached up to touch her face. He didn't fully even understand how this had happened, only knew he was reeling in the most unbelievable way. With all the gentleness and affection that he felt for her, the angel leaned closer, his nose brushing hers, his lips tenderly pressing hers in a chaste kiss. He felt her returning the gesture as she cupped his face, her thumb grazing his jawline.

And all he could think was that he loved her. For every and any reason, he loved her.

Beyond measure. Beyond compare. Beyond anything.

And then he thought about that: Beyond anything.

More than he had ever loved God. Or Heaven.

He pulled away from the kiss, the elation fading—she looked at him questioningly, her soft, ragged breaths taking on an anxious quality—because she could see his face changing. Castiel felt overcome by tens of thousands of years of programming and duty by the sinking realization of what had just happened—what they had just done—the sin he had just committed. Alex looked so wrong to him abruptly when he thought of himself: a formless vapor existing in the void for thousands of years, a towering angelic being who knew no limits or death. The centuries he had witnessed passed before his eyes. The reality of who he was crashed over him: an angel as old as time itself.

So when Cas realized with dawning horror that he'd just taken his beloved's virginity—that he'd done it against a wretched bookcase with a body that didn't even belong to him—he was suddenly terrified. His beloved Alex—who he loved but shouldn't, who he was supposed to always guard and protect and never involve himself with improperly. Castiel's spirit cried out as a single thought consumed him whole: he had defiled her. This would desecrate her eternal soul.

What have I done?