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.

35. Runs in the Family

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 35 / Runs in the Family

"And my scars remind me that the past is real."
- Papa Roach

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Bobby Singer wasn't having what you'd call the best day. Hell, he wasn't having what you'd call the best year. He'd lost movement in both of his legs, was stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, and had been forced to kill his wife all over again last month—something a man should never have to do once, let alone twice. And now? Now Sam had called to let him know that Dean was being a damn fool—running off to say yes to Michael. Of all the things Bobby had been expecting to hear Sam say… that hadn't been it.

What the hell was the kid thinking?

Bobby would be pacing if his damn legs worked. He'd resigned himself instead to neurotically shuffling through some notes and newspaper clippings he was compiling. Like father, like son, Bobby thought bitterly. Both John and Dean as tough as nails and twice as sharp, both stubborn as a mule. Both of them running off on the family at the worst time possible.

What bothered Bobby was that he had expected a hell of a lot more from Dean. 'Course, he didn't know the full story of why in the sam hill Dean would think saying yes to Michael was a good idea, unless he'd given up hope on other options, but that was the thing… that just didn't seem like Dean to give up. Ever.

Morning light streamed in through the window and Bobby leaned over his cluttered desk, fighting a massive headache. Time was running short, he felt it in his bones. He'd been feeling it for awhile now, this looming sense that the grand finale was coming closer and closer. But he pushed past the urge to give up every day, refusing to throw in the towel.

At that very moment, three people suddenly appeared out of the naked air. Sam—supporting an unconscious, slumped over Dean—and Castiel, a hand on Sam's shoulder.

Startled, Bobby sat back in his wheelchair. "Dammit, boys!" he exclaimed. "A little heads up woulda been nice," he said, to which Sam mumbled "sorry Bobby" while he set Dean down onto the pullout cot Bobby had set up in the office to sleep in. Bobby paused, frowning. "Wait, where's Alex?"

"On her way," Cas said, disappearing without further explanation. Bobby stared at the empty space the angel had just been standing in. Well that was just plain disconcerting, no matter how many times he saw it.

"Still in Battle Creek, getting the rest of Dean's crap together and into the Impala," Sam explained wearily, standing over his brother and running a hand through his hair.

Bobby wheeled himself from behind his desk, looking Dean over as he stated the blessed obvious: "So you found him."

"Yeah. We did." Sam rubbed his palm down over his mouth, crossed his arms, and sighed grimly. "This isn't good, Bobby." The older hunter could tell Sam was deeply, deeply worried and afraid. "Not good at all." Sam shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair. He seemed beaten and drained.

"Sit down, kid." Bobby gestured to an empty chair, wishing he could take some of the load for Sam. "Tell me what happened."

Sam dragged the chair over and proceeded to give him the quick three-minute summary of how Dean had been acting strange for the past few weeks, how he'd been uncharacteristically hopeless and depressed, then how he'd and run off after spouting craziness about the angels and Michael and changing the future. Sam said that their confrontation with the Whore of Babylon had seemed to send him over the edge. "Well that and Cas and Alex," Sam was saying.

"Cas and Alex?" Bobby repeated. "What about 'em?"

Sam grew pensive. "Their, uh… relationship."

Bobby squinted. "Come again?"

Sam looked unsure of what to say. "It's—" he stopped talking when they heard the front door open. Speak of the devils. Alex stormed around the corner and into the office, looking about as mad as a wet hen. Cas followed after her.

"Hey, did you guys abracadabra the car over?" Sam asked, but his sister stopped dead center of the room and ignored his question completely.

"He left a fucking suicide note," she raged, waving a letter angrily at her side for emphasis. "I found it in that box of stuff he had at the motel."

Sam, held his hand out as he stood. "Hey. Calm down, all right?" he looked at her meaningfully. Alex's expression alone challenged his words. Sam said nothing, but took the letter from her and read it over.

Bobby looked at Alex closely, noticing how when she and Cas exchanged a glance, her anger seemed to lessen, her shoulders seemed to relax, she visibly calmed down. What relationship? He was plain stumped at what Sam had said. That was the thing about the word relationship, it could carry a million and one definitions. Alex maybe felt Bobby's frowning stare and looked at him, seemed to remember her manners, finally. "Hey Bobby," she said, sounding a little abashed at her outburst.

He gave her a wan little smile as hello and then looked at Cas, giving him a single nod. The angel seemed to realize he hadn't made a greeting either. "Hello, Bobby," he intoned deeply, his eyes squinted into little slits. Hmm. Hello yourself, Bobby thought, looking at the angel carefully, then wheeling himself back over to behind his desk. Today was about to get real interesting.

He picked up a newspaper clipping off of his desk, pretended to be reading it while he peered at Alex and Cas from underneath the brim of his ball cap, Cas especially. Bobby hadn't really ever looked at the fellow good and long. The angel was taller and bigger than Bobby remembered him being—and as the angel stood at the edge of the room, watchful and frowning as usual, Bobby realized he really wasn't that much shorter than Sam, maybe a few inches.

Alex wasn't a small girl by any means, she was Bobby's height, just three proud inches under six feet tall—but her petite build made her look pretty unsubstantial at the moment as she stood between Cas and Sam. Bobby looked at his girl sadly. His girl—he thought that without even meaning to. He had a special place for all of the Winchester kids in his heart. Karen had always wanted kids, had told Bobby she could see him with a little girl of his own. Bobby hadn't really agreed with her at the time, had been sure he'd be a failure as a dad, would end up being too much like his old man. But these days, he looked at the Winchester bunch and felt like if he were ever to have kids… these three would be them.

Bobby recalled the months Alex had been with him after Dean died, remembering how beyond sad she'd been and how hard she'd tried to hide it from him. They'd never talked about it, but one night he'd found her with a gun out in the tool shed, and the way she'd been contemplating that thing… he'd taken it from her and told her "don't you dare." And that had been it. He'd never mentioned it or brought it up again. The entire time he'd known the family, he'd worried about her more than Sam and Dean, period, and these days weren't no different. So if Sam meant that this angel guy was interested in her, Bobby was immediately concerned and was going to make it his business to find out more as soon as he could. Cuz no man, angel, demon, whatever gonna even think about touching that girl or being with her unless he had good—no, the best—intentions.

Sam paced slowly, reading over the letter as Alex took her hooded jacket off and tossed it over where Sam's was. Predictably, she wore a flannel shirt underneath, sleeves rolled halfway up her arms. As usual, Cas didn't remove his coat—he just stood there, hovering awkwardly at the edge of the room while Alex waited in the middle of the study with folded arms for Sam to finish reading. Bobby wondered offhandedly why Cas wore that damn trench coat twenty-four-seven. Unlike Sam and Dean, Bobby hadn't met any other angel than Cas—but from what the boys told him, Cas was the only one worth his weight. The only one that they could trust.

"Wow," Sam said, finishing the letter and shrugging his eyebrows up briefly, then coming over and handing the letter over the desk.

Bobby took it and scanned it fast—and as he digested the words written in Dean's bold, strong hand, his heart sank. The kid had really been about to do it. Bobby shook his head, fighting his feelings. Not one to foul up the mood nor to let his inner despair show, he looked up, keeping his voice and face neutral. "So what's the plan, kids?" he asked, setting the letter down when he'd finished it. "What're we gonna do with this idjit when he rises and shines?"

Sam and Alex looked at each other, then they both looked at Cas—his stern glare rested on Dean, who still was laid out on the cot, dead to the world for now. The halo usually looked stern, and such was the case today, but upon closer inspection, Bobby realized he was angry, but at a deeper and quieter level than the rest of them. It was a little unsettling, actually.

"I dunno," Sam finally said, his eyebrows pressing in toward each other as he threw his hands up briefly, seeming to have no real ideas. "Try and talk him out of it, I guess."

"You ever been able to talk him outta anything?" Bobby retorted.

Sam's shoulders squared in frustration. "So we change his mind," he said, spreading his hands out for emphasis. "We find another way for us to kill the devil or stop the angels." Sam paused looked at Bobby hopefully. "Say you got something, Bobby. Anything."

Bobby looked at him grimly. He may have been a considerate man, but he wasn't a liar, and he wasn't about to give Sam false hope. "Son, I hate it but I ain't. I been runnin' ragged over here trying to find something—hell, anything—but I got diddly jack squat."

His words visibly hit both of the Winchesters hard. They hadn't wanted to hear that. "So you're saying Dean's right—that we don't have any options?" Sam asked in crushed disbelief.

Bobby paused, then tried the optimist's approach. "I'm sayin' I ain't found it yet." He gestured at his cluttered desk. "I got a few books in today that we can look through, some print outs from the internet... who's up for a read through of the Apocrypha?"

Sam didn't look thrilled but he came over, dragging the chair he'd sat in over to the side of Bobby's desk and there he took a seat, pulling a book off the top of a pile to study the cover. Just then, a low groan came from the cot and everyone in the room turned to look at Dean, who was coming to. "The hell?" he mumbled, looking around with bleary eyes. He pushed himself up, his face already twisting from groggy confusion into an angry glare.

"Mornin', sunshine," Bobby commented gruffly, testing the waters. Dean shot him an unhappy look and then looked around at the occupants of the room suspiciously. While Castiel and Alex seemed decidedly hostile, Sam just looked at him sidelong, a little guiltily.

"What, we having an intervention?" Dean asked snidely.

"We need to?" Bobby countered, getting an evil side eye.

"Dean, we brought you here because we're gonna find a solution, okay?" Sam said, setting down the book he'd been holding and drawing Dean's sullen attention. The brothers locked gazes. There was a great amount of mutual animosity there.

"A solution." Dean repeated churlishly.

Sam's jaw tensed and lofty sarcasm filled his voice. "Yeah. Something besides losing your friggin' mind, abandoning your family, and becoming the angel's newest show puppet."

Dean's jaw worked overtime in frustrated tension and he looked at his brother balefully. "Time's running out," he said, voice rising. "Don't you get that?"

"Yeah Dean, I do," Sam retorted with surprising intensity and great amounts of barely withheld anger. "Which is why we need to hold it together and figure out another way."

For a second, Bobby wondered if the two brothers would leap across the distance separating them and start rolling around on the ground, trading punches. That's how intense the glares were. But then Dean sat back, rolled his eyes and sighed in sickened annoyance, apparently so disgusted that he couldn't speak any more to Sam. He stood up, made as if to walk out of the room—and then Castiel moved, blocked the way out of the room.

Dean leveled the angel with a challenging, narrow-eyed stare. "What, I can't go get a beer out of the fridge?"

Cas's chin raised a fraction of an inch and his eyes further narrowed into slits. "No."

Bobby again wondered if this was about to get physical as he watched the two guys stare each other down—Sam and Alex seemed to be wondering the same thing, looking tense and ready to spring at a second's notice. And then Dean looked over at Alex, who stood further off in front of the other desk Bobby had against the far wall. "You wanna call your attack dog off?" he asked her darkly.

Bobby frowned at the way Dean said that, the way he looked at his sister so contemptuously—something was off. Alex said nothing—her eyes bored back into Dean's stormily, her mouth was set in a firm line. And when she made no reply, Dean rolled his eyes and turned away, pacing back over across the room.

"Yeah, no, this is good," Dean commented disingenuously. "This is great. Really. Let's just sit here and read books." He gave a humorless chuckle and it was an almost angry sound. "Listen, you guys want to gank el Diablo, right? This is how we do it. Me."

Sam sat back in his chair, looking up at Dean thoroughly. "Aren't you forgetting that I'd need to say yes too for that to happen?" He asked testily. His brother again chuckled.

"Oh no," Dean said, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "I haven't forgotten."

Sam's face twisted into hurt confusion. Dean ignored it. "Dean—this isn't you," Alex said, angry and full of hurt. "Why are you acting like this?"

He looked at her with eyes that seemed dead, cold. "Oh trust me, sweetheart. This is me," he said flippantly. "Get used to it."

Clearly having to control her temper, Alex looked down and shook her head, a plastered, pursed expression like a sickened smile stretched across her lips. She looked at lot like Sam at that moment. Beside her, Castiel was regarding her with a frown—his expression grew stormier when his eyes flickered over to Dean, who was folding his arms and jutting his chin into the air. "I don't care what any of you say. I've made up my mind. It's been eight long-ass months of turned pages and screwed pooches and total bullshit. I'm done, man." He spread his arms and grinned humorlessly. "Bring on the apocalypse."

Bobby was starting to get tired of Dean's attitude. "You wanna take it down a notch there, Tony Robbins?" He flipped a page of the book in front of him unseeingly. "You ain't helpin'."

Dean gave him a disrespectful little smile. "Yeah, well, why don't you let me get out of your hair then?"

Bobby looked at Dean square in the eye. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Reality happened," he said forcefully, coming forward to stare at Bobby across the desk. He was becoming intensely angry. "Nuclear's the only option we have left—I'm trying to tell you—Michael can ice the devil, save a boatload of people!"

"But not all of 'em," Bobby replied firmly, not rising to Dean's level of confrontational rage. "We gotta think of somethin' else."

Dean retreated back toward the wall he'd been standing against, sending contemptuous glances all around. "You guys sound like a broken record—there is no Plan B, and the longer we stall, the worse it gets!"

"Worse what gets?"

"What they do to my family!" Dean all but shouted. "And besides that, if Lucifer burns this mother down, and I coulda done something about it, guess what?" He gestured angrily at himself. "That's on me!"

Bobby saw the anger, but more than that, he saw fear. Lots of it. He regarded Dean more gently. "You can't give up, son."

Dean's head rolled forward as he looked down, a cynical smile on his face and a soft little laugh escaping his lips. Bobby felt himself frowning a little. What was so funny? And then Dean looked back up, his expression cold with anger and something almost like loathing. "You're not my father," he told Bobby, and the entire room seemed to grow unnaturally quiet. Dean stared bitterly. "And you ain't in my shoes."

Bobby felt like he'd been slapped in the face—Dean's words to him burning a very raw nerve, just like Dean had intended them to. Alex looked disgusted. "Can you just shut the fuck up?"

In response, her brother's anger seemed to triple. "You know what? Shove it, princess," he retorted, staring down his nose at her with an accusing glare. "I've had it with all your little moral superiority bullshit lately—last time I checked, screwing around with an angel doesn't make you a saint."

Her mouth had dropped open at what he'd said—Sam was wide-eyed and looking at his brother in disbelief, Castiel's brows were knit together in deep confusion, Dean looked almost sick with anger, Bobby felt confused as all get out at the implication.

"What the hell is your problem?" Alex asked her brother, voice trembling with quiet rage.

"My problem?" Dean asked in severe surprise, then he gestured at Cas, threw an arm in his direction. "He isn't a man, Alex!"

Her eyebrows shot up in momentary shock, and then she became chillingly calm. "He's more of one than you've ever been," she said, shocking everyone with the cold and hateful way she said it.

Dean's expression was filled with quiet, rising fury. "You shut your mouth," he said lowly, voice trembling as if he were holding back.

"No, you shut your mouth!" she all but roared. Sam was standing up, appearing to be thinking about intervening—and Cas, who stood about five feet back from Alex looked uncertain about what to do, his concerned expression becoming more and more tension-filled—but Dean and Alex were oblivious to everything but each other.

"You act like you can just do whatever the hell you want to, like you can tear this family apart and screw over everyone you supposedly love?!" Alex looked like she absolutely despised him. "You're fucking heartless!"

Maybe it was a gut reaction, maybe it was an accident fueled by blind rage, maybe he didn't mean to do it exactly how he did. All Bobby knew is that the second she accused him of being heartless, Dean seemed to snap—his face became almost animalistic with violent fury, and in the space of a second, he grabbed his sister by the front of her shirt and with an enraged shout of "That's not true!" he blindly shoved her—she let out a cry of surprise and went hurtling back into the low bookshelf against the wall, back-first—there was a loud, heavy thud as she hit it, books went tumbling to the floor, and Alex would have fallen forward onto the ground from the shock of the impact, but Cas had moved startlingly fast and caught her fall. Startled and breathless, she looked at the angel with wide-eyes, and then at the same time, the two of them looked at Dean, whose face had fallen.

"Dean, what the hell?!" Sam demanded, already to his brother and shoving him back toward the cot. Dean didn't react, he just kept staring at his sister in abject horror and shock.

Bobby was so angry he could barely form a coherent thought. "Have you lost your damn mind, boy?!" If his legs weren't currently on layaway, Bobby would have slapped that damn kid so hard, his clothes would be out of style when he quit rolling.

"Al, I'm sorry, I—" Dean started—and then suddenly Sam was knocked aside and Dean was lifted off his feet—Cas had him by the front of his shirt in one hand and he whirled him, slammed him painfully into the wall of the office. There was a loud sound from the impact—then cracking and crumbling.

Dean was groaning loudly, disoriented from the brutal attack—his shoulders had broken through the drywall completely from the force Castiel used. His feet dangled off the ground as Cas's fists tightened into his shirt. The angel's face was twisted, almost a snarl. "How dare you lay a hand on her—" Castiel demanded in a low, furious growl.

"Cas, whoa, whoa!" Sam said, attempting to get Cas to calm down, holding his hands out appeasingly, maybe about to try and break the two apart—but Cas looked at Sam and Sam froze, a shocked look on his face as he suddenly slid back several inches across the floor without moving his feet at all, as if he'd been invisibly pushed. Bobby watched with increasing dismay.

"Ungh, Christ," Dean groaned in pain. Cas's expression just darkened and he pulled Dean out of the wall and then slammed him back in.

"Cas stop!" Alex shouted and the angel froze, seeming to come out of some sort of trance. She had appeared and tried to lodge herself between the two. Dean looked at her with shame. Her face became less fearful and more contemptuous, sad even. "He's not worth it," she said bitterly. Dean's face fell further. Cas didn't move a muscle. "Please."

The angel held her gaze, a muscle jerked in his jaw, he looked back at Dean… and then let go, allowing Dean to drop to the ground at his feet. Dean caught himself on his hands, looking up from all fours at Cas, out of breath, expression distorted by pain. "The next time you touch her like that... I won't stop," Castiel told him in no uncertain terms, a bold, open threat. His voice lowered. "Do you understand me?" Dean must have taken too long to reply, because he was suddenly dragged to his feet. "Answer me."

"Yeah I understand you," Dean spat after staring at Cas hard for a couple beats. Cas looked back and forth between his eyes and then roughly let go. The two of them stared at each other full of animosity, and Bobby felt like he was starting to get what Sam meant about relationship. He sat there, looking at the hole in his wall and the way that everyone in the damn room was at each other's throats and he got mad, mad as hell.

"Okay, look, someone wanna tell me what the sam hill—" Bobby started, and then was cut short when Cas suddenly hunched over, grabbing his head as if in pain, a horrible, sharp groan breaking through his gritted teeth.

"What's wrong?" Alex asked him, her face full of immediate fear—she'd grabbed one of his arms with both of her hands when he bent over, maybe trying to help him stand. He was grimacing painfully, and looked at her speechlessly, a hand still on his head.

"Cas, you okay?" Sam asked cautiously.

The angel looked at him with a rigid expression, his hand falling away from his face. "No." He gave no further explanation.

"What is it?" Alex asked him intensely.

He frowned deeply, staring at the space ahead of himself gravely. "Something's happening."

"Well what? What's happening?" she pressed in rising panic. He looked at her finally.

"I'll find out." He looked at Dean darkly, then at her, then at Sam, who gave a subtle little nod at Cas. "Stay with Sam," Castiel told her and then with a blast of wind, he disappeared completely. Papers fluttered wildly.

Dean, now sitting on the cot, leaned heavily over his knees. He looked at the twins in disbelief, getting what Cas had meant when he said that to Sam. That Sam needed to protect Alex from Dean. "The hell does he think he is?" he muttered angrily, to which Sam gave his brother one of those are-you-fucking-kidding-me glares.

"The hell do you think you are?" Sam challenged, and then turned to his sister, looking her over. "You okay?" he asked her meaningfully and she didn't say anything to him, just regarded him with unreadable eyes.

Alex eyed Dean sidelong, appearing to be betrayed and not so much angry as heartbroken. Dean's face was filled with regret and shame at that point. He dropped the tough guy act. "I'm sorry, I just—I got mad…" he said pathetically, and he repeated himself, softer. "I got mad." His voice broke and he looked up at his sister pleadingly, like he wanted her to forgive him. Comfort him even. But she shook her head, looking at him with eyes full of unshed tears.

"Like father like son, right?" she asked him softly.

Dean's face fell completely. "Don't say that," he said, voice trembling, but this time with horrified denial. He stood up, and he looked close to tears almost. "Don't you say that," he begged.

When he stood up, she shrank back just a little—he stopped short, stricken. Sam looked unsure as to what his siblings were talking about—but from the way they were looking at each other, it was clear that there were volumes of meaning behind what Alex had just said to Dean, that he understood her meaning perfectly, and it devastated him.

"It wasn't—I didn't mean to—" Dean tried, fumblingly, and Alex looked almost insulted.

"Isn't that what he would always say?"

Dean appeared sickened. His gaze went to the floor.

"What are you two talking about?" Sam asked, looking between the two of them in confusion.

Bobby had a pretty good idea of what they were talking about—he knew how John got when he was drunk. He knew how John was period: angry, bitter, obsessed to the point of moral blindness. But it made him sick to hear his long-standing theory confirmed. He shook his head as helpless, righteous anger surged forth inside and he thought about how Sam had violently assaulted his sister a few months ago, how Dean had just shoved her brutally, how John apparently had done something similar. "You Winchester men are somethin' else, you know that?" Bobby muttered.

Sam stood there staring at his twin as his mind raced, trying to figure out what the hell she and Dean were going on about, what Bobby was saying. Because it almost sounded like they were saying Dad had… been abusive. Sam felt like his blood went cold. What else could they mean...? He looked at his twin in dawning horror. He would have known about this though, right? "You don't mean…" he started.

Alex was abruptly stony. "Just leave me alone, all of you," she said, and went into the kitchen, leaving Sam to stare after her wordlessly then look at Dean for an explanation.

There was a long, tense silence, and Dean looked older than he was, heavy with thoughts of the past. "Why do you think I never left her alone, ever, huh Sammy?" Dean asked, and his voice was layered with sadness, guilt, anger. "Why do you think that one road trip in ninety-nine I took by myself was the only one? The last one?" He sat down on the cot and looked down, leaned his arms onto his knees and put his head in his hands. Sam stared open mouthed, remembering. Realizing.

"Man, I'm telling you, she was all bendy like Gumby, this chick," Dean was saying to sixteen-year-old Sam, who laughed a little awkwardly at how Dean was describing this Lisa girl. "She was seriously an eleven, dude," Dean said, throwing his bag down on the motel bed. He'd just gotten back from a weeklong solo road trip and was clearly on cloud nine. Dad was still out on an ammo run.

Behind them, they heard the door open, and Dean turned around, knowing it'd be his sister walking in. "Hey tiger, did ya miss m—" his grin froze and then fell when he saw that she had a huge bruise on the side of her face. He looked shocked and he went to her immediately, dropping what he'd been doing to take her face in his hands and examine the bruise. "What the hell?" he asked, sounding quiet and scared. "You okay?" he asked gently. She seemed embarrassed by his question, just rolling her eyes and pushing his hands away, silently saying 'yes Dean, I'm fine…' but Dean was getting riled and looked back at Sam in disbelief and anger. "I told you not to leave her alone, Sam! You promised!"

It had been all of a minute and Dean was already mad at him, as usual. Sam became defensive. "Dude, I went to the movies with some friends I met at school—she didn't wanna go and I didn't see a reason to stay and be bored when I could be out having fun…" Dean looked positively pissed. Sam got angry at how unreasonable his brother was being. "Come on Dean. Dad was with her when she fell down the stairs… I couldn't have stopped it from happening if I were here if he couldn't have."

"Yeah sure," Dean said darkly, implying that Sam could have and didn't and was the scum of the earth. Sam shrugged his hands up and stared at his brother, frustrated and wondering why he could never please anyone in this family. Dean turned away from him and gave his attention to his sister, who, as always, remained silent. She looked like she was feeling guilty about something and Dean pulled her into a hug—Sam watched them with the beginning pangs of jealousy. Dean always did that, treated her like a princess and then treated him like he was a stupid screw up. "I'm not gonna leave you alone again, okay?" Dean told her.

Sam rolled his eyes, completely fed up with his older brother's overbearingly overprotective nature. "She's not made of glass, Dean, come on, it's just a little bruise!" He rolled his eyes at this point, over it. "She'll be fine." Dean had just given him a furious glare.

And now… now Sam was beginning to understand.

Bobby was staring at Dean, who hadn't moved, whose head was in his hands as he stared down at the floor. "What, so you really done, kid? You just gonna walk out on us? On them?" He gestured at Sam, and then in the direction of the kitchen, where Alex had gone to.

Dean looked up at Bobby grimly. "It's not walking out, it's owning up. To what I gotta do."

"No," Bobby said, shaking his head in slow anger. "Giving up, that's what you're doin'."

"Call it whatever you want," Dean said indifferently. Bobby was quiet a minute, then pulled a pistol out of his desk and set it on the table. Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as Bobby took out the shining bullet he kept in his pocket, looking at it thoughtfully. "...What's that?" Dean asked cautiously.

Bobby didn't look at him, just kept his eyes on the bullet. "This is the round that I mean to put through my skull." He set the bullet down on the desk in front of him. He had the boys rapt attention. "Every morning, I look at it. I think... 'maybe today's the day I flip the lights out.' But I don't do it. I never do it. You know why?" He looked at Dean and all the anger he felt was suddenly hurtling to the surface and he was shouting at full volume, letting loose in his rage. "Because I promised you I wouldn't give up!" Dean was silent, attempting to look like he wasn't surprised at the outburst, but he very clearly was. "So stow your selfish, hateful attitude and get with the program, junior!" Bobby continued, leaning over the desk and jabbing a finger at Dean. "Cuz there's a helluva lot more at stake here than how you feel! Look at that boy and girl in there—you really gonna give up now? You gonna leave them again after what happened last time you up and died?!"

Dean stood, shaking his head in disgust, unable to listen to the things Bobby was saying to him. He exited the study, Sam hot on his heels. In the kitchen, Alex was standing by the window, biting her thumbnail and staring out of the glass panes. She glanced Dean's way then turned to put her back to him more. Sam followed Dean closely, who went to the refrigerator, tried to open it, and then found Sam in front of him, shutting the refrigerator with the weight of his body. "Why wouldn't you tell me that about Dad?" Sam demanded. "I mean, shit, Dean! Don't you think I should have known?"

Dean just looked at Sam, unruffled. "It was none of your concern."

Sam grew angrier. "Like hell it wasn't!"

Dean was impatient and annoyed. "Listen, Dad got drunk sometimes, liked to smack me and Al around, whatever. It's in the past," he said pointedly, apparently wanting to leave it there. "You happy?" He asked churlishly, and pointed to the refrigerator, raised his eyebrows in a foul, frustrated expression. "I'm gonna get a beer, do you mind?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what you need," Sam said harshly, moving to further block the refrigerator. "How could you never tell me about this?"

"Cuz I wanted to keep you safe!" Dean exploded. "Cuz I wanted you to be able to look up to Dad how I wanted to be able to look up to him. He was… he was a lot of things, Dad. And you didn't know who he really was, Sam."

"What, abusive?"

Dean looked sick, like he couldn't believe Sam would use that term, and then he grew defensive. "Come on man, we weren't his punching bags, we were his kids." He stopped for a minute, seeming to realize he needed to make a concession. "He just… just sometimes lost his temper. I tried to always make sure if he needed someone to shove around, I was first in line. But sometimes… sometimes, I just couldn't be." He glanced Alex's way—she hadn't moved from the window. Dean's expression saddened, his voice grew quieter. "It was my job to protect you and Alex." He seemed to get really upset and looked away from Sam at that point. "That's always been my job." And the way he said it, the look on his face—it was clear that Dean felt like he'd utterly failed in every way.

He clenched his jaw, looked at the fridge, sad but trying to joke now, which was strange given the conversation. "Quit screwing around, Sam, lemme have a beer."

Sam just looked at his brother disapprovingly, troubled and sympathetic despite his anger. "Dean…"

Alex listened to the entire exchange without saying a thing, only feeling sicker and sicker. What had happened with Dean was bothering her, and deeply. What he had done wasn't the absolute end of the world—yeah her back did hurt a little and there would probably be a bruise from where she'd hit up against the bookshelves, but she'd had bruises before and would get over the physical pain. But maybe not the emotional pain.

Maybe she shouldn't have shouted at him like she had or basically insinuated that he wasn't a man, but after all the crazy crap he'd said to her, did he really expect her not to lash back out?

She thought of the absolute rage that had been on his face when he'd shoved her so hard with the intention of hurting her, and it broke her heart, because that was the exact kind of thing Dean refused to let happen to her when she'd been younger. She didn't understand why he would do the very thing that had always made him sick in the past. The very thing he'd protected her from all those years. For a second, she wondered if she deserved what Dean had done—she'd grown up to believe she was a screw-up and a disgrace, even though her brothers had always told her the opposite—her father's rough ways and absence and lack of involvement with her when he was around (unless it was an angry outburst, usually) had silently drilled into her brain, year after year, that she was nothing special and that she didn't deserve the kind of love she wanted.

Now, Dean had done the same thing to her that he'd seen Dad to to her. She felt her chest constrict painfully. How the hell could you do that, Dean? Him pushing her like that was all the convincing she needed that somehow, her oldest brother didn't love her anymore. That explained why he'd been able to leave so easily—he didn't care anymore. And that frigging suicide letter, talking about how much he loved her and was proud of her? Lies. Complete crap. If he really loved her or Sam, he wouldn't leave. He wasn't proud of her, that much was obvious from how much he hated her involvement with Cas. And she wanted to scream, because she shouldn't have to choose between Dean and Castiel, and she resented her brother so deeply for trying to make her do exactly that.

Whatever. Just, whatever. She couldn't afford to think about that or him right now. Honestly now that they had found him and brought him here, she wanted to just shut him away and not speak to him ever again. She decided to stop thinking about him completely, not to waste her time on the guy who was clearly far gone, past hope at this point.

Her thoughts turned to Cas and quickly became wracked with worry. He'd just suddenly doubled over and groaned in a horrible sound of pain then disappeared. Where had he gone? What was wrong? Who or what had made him hurt like that? The sound he'd made had freaked her out more than anything had in awhile. Her mind spun with unanswered questions. Would he be back at all? Was it some sort of trap he'd been lured into? Heaven was after him, apparently—and the thought that maybe they had caught up to him and taken him away for good or something... it stressed her to no end. She forced herself to breathe in and out deeply. She didn't used to care when he disappeared and she couldn't remember what it felt like to not care. Every time he left it got harder and harder. Because she never knew when he'd be back. And every time he was there, she just wanted to cling onto him tighter. It scared her, honestly.

She thought back to last night, underneath the stars. How he'd told her nothing had meant anything to him until her. How he'd said she was beautiful. She was still reeling from everything he'd told her. She didn't think she deserved everything he felt for her and said to her.

There was an audible gust of wind in the study and Bobby suddenly called out "hey, shake tail!"

Just a little bit behind her brothers, Alex hurried back into the study, pulse hammering wildly in anxious anticipation when she caught a flash of beige. Relieved wasn't a big enough word for when she saw that Castiel was back.

He was laying a dirty, unconscious person down onto the cot as Bobby wheeled himself around to get a better look. "Who is it?" he asked, looking at the siblings in confusion. Alex looked at Cas, simultaneously trying to see if he were all right and wondering what explanation he would offer. He only looked at her breathlessly as he stood back, allowing Sam, Dean, and Bobby to crowd around the cot. Curiosity winning out, Alex craned her neck around Sam, trying to get a better view of the guy laying on the cot. The face and hair were caked in dark dirt, his clothes were filthy. He did look sort of familiar. And then it hit her. Wait, was that…?

"That's... our brother," Sam breathed, and Dean moved forward, checking the kid's pulse—muttering "alive," even as Bobby was looking at Sam like he was nuts.

"Wait a minute," Bobby said. "Your brother...? Adam?"

"Cas, what the hell?" Dean demanded.

Alex, similarly caught off guard, was breathing "how?"

Adam was dead. Or at least, he had been...

Castiel shook his head and set down two gleaming angel blades onto Bobby's desk. "Angels," he said simply. Everyone's eyes went to the blades. Had he just faced down two angels? His eyes glanced up into Alex's and she felt like her stomach dropped out from underneath her when she realized he must have just killed two angels. Even though he was obviously fine, she felt sick at the thought that he'd been in danger.

"Angels?" Sam repeated. "Why?"

Castiel seemed unsure and grim, shaking his head just slightly. He obviously didn't like this newest development. "I know one thing for sure," he said, striding over from the desk to where Adam laid. "We need to hide him now."

He put his hand over Adam's chest and light shone underneath his palm as he branded him with Enochian warding symbols—Adam's body convulsed and writhed underneath Cas's hand and Adam's eyes shot open, he gasped, floundering backwards, struggling to sit up, looking at them all without any trace recognition in his eyes, only panic and confusion.

"Where am I?!" he demanded, and Sam went forward a little even as Cas fell back, his arm brushing against Alex's as he stood near her. They looked at each other briefly, each wondering what had happened in the absence of the other, concerned and not bothering to hide it.

"It's okay. Just relax, you're safe," Sam told Adam, who looked at him blankly.

"Who the hell are you?" the kid asked rudely, probably a little freaked at what was happening.

Dean took the cue. "You're going to find this a little…" he changed his mind, "okay, a lot crazy, but we're actually your family," Dean said. "Your siblings."

"It's the truth," Sam said, trying to speak softly to calm the kid down. "John Winchester was our father, too. See, I'm Sam—"

"Yeah, and I'm sure that's Dean," Adam said, eyes flicking to Dean, then Alex, "and that must be Alex." How did he know who they were? The real Adam Milligan had died before meeting them at all. But his eyes switched between the three of them and he said, "I know who you are."

Sam's uncertain frown deepened. "How?"

"They warned me about you," was Adam's curt reply.

"Who did?" Dean asked doubtfully.

"The angels," Adam answered impatiently, and there was a shocked silence at the information. Adam didn't seem to care about their confusion, just looking at them demandingly. "Now where the hell is Zachariah?"

His name sent a stunned wave over the group. "What business do you have with Zachariah?" Cas asked suspiciously.

Adam looked up at him blankly. "And just who the hell are you, huh?"

Cas narrowed his eyes. "Castiel." He paused heavily, seeming ashamed almost when he continued, his eyes flickering downward. "I'm... an angel of the Lord."

"Great, you can take me to them," Adam said, and made to stand up—but Cas put a hand on his shoulder, keeping the kid seated against his will.

"I'll do no such thing." Cas replied. "Zachariah—what would he want with you?"

Adam shoved Cas's hand away defiantly, appearing to realize he wasn't going to be able to just leave. "If you're not taking me," he said, "then it's none of your damn business."

"We just wanna help, kid," Bobby told him. Adam finally looked at Bobby solidly, appearing less than impressed.

"And who're you, grandpa?"

"That's Bobby," Dean said. "And he ain't no grandpa. He's one of the best damn hunters out there."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Adam said, looking down at himself and seeing just how dirty he was. "Can someone get me a towel or something?" he asked, then looked at Alex pointedly. She stared right back, disliking his attitude and wondering why he'd look at the only female present and make that demand.

She looked him up and down and gave him one of her more unpleasant facial expressions, deciding he was a jackass right then and there. "You don't need a towel, you need a hose."

He stared back at her seeming to feel exactly the same about her as she did about him. Sam, ever the peacemaker, cleared his throat. "Yeah, good idea," he said, and motioned for Adam to get up. "Look, uh, you can probably fit Dean's size. I'll uh, show you where you can take a shower and get cleaned up."

Adam stood up. "I need to get to the angels," he insisted, but Dean clapped a hand onto his shoulders, squeezing tight.

"First things first," Dean said. "Get cleaned up. Then we talk."

Sullen, Adam looked at Dean a minute longer, then went with Sam. The sound of their footsteps going up the stairs thudded overhead and Dean turned, making a face like he wasn't sure what to think. "Well, this is an interesting plot twist," he commented, trying to be funny maybe, but Alex, who had put some distance between herself and him when Sam left, just looked at him untrustingly. His attempt at a smile faded away. "Look, Al—" he tried.

She shook her head and exited the room, throwing a crabby "no," over her shoulder.

Dean went to follow her, but Cas stood in his way with a grim expression.

There was a pause, and Dean didn't react like he normally would have. He didn't get angry or explode. He just looked defeated. Taking a couple steps backwards and visibly fighting great amounts of sorrow and frustration and loathing, Dean nodded, looking down at the ground. "Yeah. All right. I see how it is." He turned away then made a get lost motion with his hand as if he didn't care. He muttered something ugly under his breath that sounded like "screw you very much." But Cas didn't react. He left Bobby and Dean to themselves and followed Alex, who had gone out onto the front porch.

She had paced down the porch halfway and she seemed to be waiting for him, holding herself anxiously, drumming her fingers against her arm absently. When she saw him walk through the screen door, she came to him quickly, grabbing him by both arms. "Are you okay?" she asked intensely. "I saw the angel blades—they tried to kill you, didn't they?"

Reluctant to admit just how close it had come, Cas nodded a single time. "Yes."

Alex reacted immediately. "God, Cas." She put a hand to her face, fingertips on her forehead, highly distressed at a level that left Cas feeling something intense in his chest. She seemed to be having a difficult time figuring out how to word herself. "I just… I was so worried."

Her concern hurt him. "Well, I'm fine." Cas stepped closer to her, searching her face carefully, touching one of her arms gingerly, not caring about discussing his wellbeing any further, because that wasn't what was most important to him. "Are you all right?" he asked, thinking of how horrible it was to see Dean shove her like he had, how slow Castiel felt he reacted, how horrified he still was that Dean could even think of doing that to his sister. How he'd been almost unable to leave her side at all when he'd heard the angels voices clamoring in his head.

"I'm not hurt," Alex finally answered.

Castiel recognized that she didn't give him a clear-cut answer. He studied her carefully. It was strange how his concern physically riled him, making him feel anxious both in mind and body. "Alex—has Dean ever done something like that to you before?"

She shook her head and he believed her. "No, never." She smiled then, but it was pretend. She acted light, but it wasn't real. "Still. What a dick, right?"

Cas felt his head tilting to the side in puzzlement. He didn't understand why she would be false with him, unless she maybe didn't want him to worry. He looked at her steadily. "Don't pretend you're not upset," he told her gently. Her eyes snapped up to his in surprise. Her state of upset was in the details—he recognized the signs well now: the tense way her features would sit on her face, the slight movement in her cheek when she bit and chewed on the inside of her mouth. The way she squeezed her hands tightly into little balls, the way she blinked more than usual. Even the tone of her voice was different.

She seemed startled at what he'd said. Startled and unable to deny that he was right. "I... I am upset," she conceded quietly, then took a moment before she explained further. "It's not that it like hurt a lot or something, it's… it's that he was never supposed to do something like that to me."

It was a heavy, sad reality. Castiel wasn't sure if he could allow himself to let her stay with Dean after this. She was looking at him from under her lashes, hesitant now. "Cas, honestly, you… kinda scared me in there," she said, swallowing and looking at him nervously. "What were you gonna do to him?"

Castiel met her gaze slowly. "Hurt him very badly." He realized that perhaps again, he had gone too far. He felt frustrated, unable to put himself into words. "I only want to protect you."

She looked at him fully and she seemed open to him right then, not hiding anything. "I know," she said softly, then touched his hand that hung at his side. Grasped it gently. Her thumb slid up underneath the cuff of his shirt, brushing the bare skin of his wrist. And the simple touch felt electric to Castiel. Her eyes met his. He could find no words to say—they all seemed to disappear out of his mind. It was a spell she had over him, a trance she put him in. He was once again consumed with what he felt for her. His eyes bored into hers, and her lips parted softly as she stared back. He wondered why he suddenly felt so frustrated by how far apart he felt from her, how wide the distance seemed, how much he wanted to—

The screen door squeaked noisily and Sam poked his head out of the door. "Hey, you guys wanna come in? Adam's done."

Alex looked at her twin in veiled irritation. "Already?"

Sam shrugged. "Took the fastest shower in the history of the world. Seems pretty eager to get going."

With a brief and reluctant glance at each other, the youngest Winchester and the angel went back inside, finding a restless Adam in the study. He looked different—his hair had been wet and obviously hurriedly scrubbed with a towel. His face was clean now and he wore some of Dean's old clothes that had been stashed at Bobby's. He was pacing like a caged animal.

"Sit down, would you? You're making me nervous," Dean grumbled. He sat backwards in the chair Sam had claimed earlier.

Adam did so grudgingly, and his fingers tapped nervously on his knee as Bobby poured a glass of whiskey and handed it over silently. Adam didn't look thrilled but sampled it, looking at Cas and Alex as they came in. Alex stood in front of the desk at the far wall, opposite of Adam, and Cas stood beside her. Sam sat on Bobby's desk, folding his arms and studying Adam.

"So why don't you just tell us everything?" Dean prompted. "Start from the beginning."

Adam looked like he'd rather eat moldy cheese, but as he looked around the room he seemed to mentally note that he was outnumbered. Unhappy about it, he started off in a bored tone. "Well, I was dead and in Heaven." He paused, and he almost smiled. "'Cept it—it uh, kinda looked like my prom and I was making out with this girl, her name was Kristin McGee—" he had a little bit of a smile on his face now, and Dean, ever the classy one, was nodding.

"Yeah, that sounds like Heaven. You get to third base?"

Sam cleared his throat noisily to cut that line of conversation off. "Shut up, Dean," he said, then forced an encouraging smile. "Just uh, just keep going, Adam."

Moody, Dean rolled his eyes. Sam pointedly didn't look at him. Adam didn't miss the fact that the brothers were at odds, he looked between them suspiciously for a second, then continued. "Well, these… these angels, they popped out of nowhere, and they tell me that I'm chosen."

"...For?" Alex asked when he said nothing else.

He looked at her almost piously. "To save the world."

Caught off guard, Dean narrowed his eyes. "And how you gonna do that?"

"Me and some archangel are gonna kill the devil," Adam said, growing smug now.

"What archangel?" Dean asked, more and more confused.

"Michael," Adam said, shocking his listeners. "I'm his uh, sword or vessel or something, I dunno." Adam sounded bored again, even though everyone else in the room had gone still.

"Well, that's insane," Dean concluded with a scoff.

Beside Alex, Cas was in deep thought. "Not necessarily," he said, drawing everyone's surprised stares.

Dean turned around in his chair, evaluating Cas carefully. "How do you mean?"

"Maybe they're moving on from you, Dean," Cas said, which struck Alex as extremely odd—they could do that? Why hadn't they known that before?

Dean appeared to be having trouble with the idea too. "Well that doesn't make sense," he said neutrally.

"He is John Winchester's bloodline, Sam's brother," Cas said. "It's not perfect, but it is possible."

"...Well you gotta be kidding me," Dean muttered, then was struck by an epiphany. "Wait, hold on. If it's bloodline…" he stared at Cas accusingly, looking at Alex for the first time since she'd re-entered the room and swept a hand toward her. "Could she be a vessel?" He sounded genuinely concerned. His question sent a ripple of shock through Alex.

She looked at Cas, who was frowning deeply. "I... don't think so."

"Well find out!" Dean thundered.

Castiel's arms, which had been folded, fell to his sides, his gaze darkened, his tone became almost brazen. "If your sister were a vessel, don't you think we would know that by now?"

"Hell if I know, Cas," Dean retorted, looking at the angel as if he were a moron.

Cas's jaw squared. "Michael seeks a male vessel," Cas told him. "Alex is a female."

"Oh, really. I hadn't noticed," Dean snarked, then turned back around, rolling his eyes.

Cas tried one more time. "I doubt Michael would be after Adam if Alex were a vessel."

Dean ignored the angel.

"Why would the angels decide to do this?" Sam asked, upset by and stuck on the fact that Dean was being passed over in favor of Adam, how little sense it made.

"Maybe they're desperate," Cas answered, then stared at the back of Dean's head, his arms folding again. "Maybe they wrongly assumed Dean would be brave enough to withstand them." Was that superiority in Cas's voice? Alex looked at him sidelong, feeling sort of proud of him for giving Dean some attitude right back.

Dean turned around again, gave the angel a death glare. "Alright, you know what? Blow me, Cas."

Castiel frowned, looking uncertain as to Dean's meaning. Alex just contemplated Dean, seeing how Cas's comment really had gotten under his skin.

Adam glanced around at the occupants of the room with a seriously doubtful expression on his face, picking up on the tension and discord.

"Look, no way," Sam was saying. "After everything that's happened? All that crap about destiny?" He sounded intense and heated. "Suddenly the angels have a Plan B? Does that smell right to anybody?" He looked around for someone, anyone, to back him up, and Adam seemed to lose patience.

"You know this has been a really moving family reunion, but uh, I got a thing, so—" he stood up, and when he did, so did Sam.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," he Sam said quickly, physically blocking Adam's way. "Sit down. Just listen, okay? Please."

Not unlike an outnumbered animal, Adam glanced around at everyone who stood ready to stop him: Dean, Cas, and Alex. Shaking his head and giving up on the idea of leaving, Adam backed down. "This is unbelievable," he muttered, sitting back down with a sullen flop.

Sam settled back down onto the desk, but he wasn't as relaxed as before. "Adam… the angels are lying to you," he said emphatically, his words salted with bitter first-hand knowledge. He'd apparently given up on the gentle approach, and was using a sharp tone of voice now. "They're full of crap."

Adam smirked and looked down. "Yeah, I don't think so."

"Really. Why not?" Sam pressed.

"Um, 'cause they're angels," Adam retorted.

"And did they tell you that half the planet is gonna get fried in the process?" Alex cut in. He looked at her without any trace of emotion. "Did they tell you they're at civil war up there? Angels aren't all the good guys, buddy."

"Okay, first of all? I ain't your buddy," Adam said brusquely. "Second, I don't need to know all that stuff, not my area. It's the devil, right? It's gonna get bad. They said the fight might get a little into the moral gray area. But you know, as long as I'm putting Satan in cement shoes?" He shrugged carelessly, gave a little cold smile, looking just like Dean for a second. "I'm okay with a little collateral."

Wow. What a hero. Alex stared him down balefully. "You really have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, and you do, princess?" he asked, baiting her, the corner of his mouth lifting up further into an insulting little smirk.

"I'm not the one who was dead in the ground half an hour ago, dickhead," she fired back. His smile fell.

"Guys." Sam looked at Alex angrily. "Stop." He looked back at their half-brother, increasingly frustrated. "Listen, Adam, there's another way here for us to kill the devil, okay?" At that, Dean looked at Sam contentiously, clearly done with his brother's attempts.

"Great," Adam said, obviously not caring in the least, sounding more and more peevish. "What is it?"

"We're working on 'the power of love,'" Dean cut in sarcastically, drawing a scowl from Sam.

"How's that going?" Adam asked cynically.

"Mm," Dean smiled facetiously. "Not good." At this point, he was acting almost entertained by Sam's attempts to convince Adam.

Sam didn't let Dean's shitty attitude or goading little smirks and overly expectant expressions affect him. He focused on Adam, trying the heartfelt gentle approach again. "Look, Adam… you don't know me from a hole in the wall, I know. But I'm begging you. Please, just trust me." He paused, desperate. "Give me some time."

Adam looked at him grudgingly. "Give me one good reason."

Sam took a couple seconds, grasping at straws in his mind. "Because we're blood."

Dean seemed to think that was funny, looking down at his lap and smiling bitterly. Adam reacted as if he'd been insulted. "You got no right to say that to me," he said softly, dangerously.

"You're still John's boy," Bobby pointed out, and Adam looked at him sharply.

"No, John Winchester was some guy who took me to a baseball game once a year. I don't have a dad." He looked at each Winchester in turn now angrily. "So we may be blood, but we are not family. My mom is my family. And if I do my job, I get to see her again. So no offense, but she's the one I give a rat's ass about, not any of you."

A brief silence hung.

"Fair enough," Sam said quietly. "But if you have one good memory of Dad, just one, then you'll give us a little more time. Please."

Adam looked around at how outnumbered he was again. "Yeah, fine," he said grudgingly. "Not like I have a choice."

"He took you to baseball games, huh?" Dean asked.

Adam looked at him fleetingly. "Yeah." He frowned at Dean, giving him a weird look. "What? Why are you all looking at me like that?"

Dean made a face, shrugged casually. "The old man never really did that kind of stuff for us," Dean said as if it weren't a big deal, but Adam's eyebrows raised.

"So what, you're jealous of me?" Adam laughed scornfully. "Wow, that's rich. Yeah you had it real bad seeing him all year long, didn't you? How sad for you."

Alex shook her head with mild disgust. "This guy's an asshole, he fits right in," she muttered to no one in particular, but with a pointed look at Dean.

Adam looked at her spitefully. "Bite me, bitch."

"You first, jackass," she snapped back.

Sam stood up, pointed a finger each in turn at Adam and Alex. "Hey, there's no need for that," he said firmly.

"She started it," Adam muttered. Alex just crossed her arms again, not regretting what she'd said. Cas looked displeased overall, glaring at Adam openly.

"What's your problem, Columbo?" Adam sneered. Cas frowned, clearly not getting the reference.

"Well isn't this just the best family reunion you ever been to," Bobby commented sarcastically.

Dean stood up. "I really need a beer," he said, sounding sullen, but then Sam grasped him by the arm, gently.

Dean looked at Sam's hand, then Sam, frowning. "Yeah, I uh… I'm gonna have to ask you to come downstairs with me." Sam looked at his brother meaningfully.

"Come again?" Dean asked, then wet his lips, preparing a grand speech and pulling himself backwards out of Sam's grip, taking with one of his hands, the bad attitude levels hitting an all-time high. "If you think I'm gonna just go down there and sit on my ass and let this stupid kid over here do my job for me, you—" he fell forward, unconscious mid-sentence thanks to Cas, who stood behind him.

Sam caught him easily, and looked at Cas with a thin attempt at a smile. "Thanks, Cas."

Adam's mouth was open and he appeared to be a little disconcerted by what had just happened. Sam hefted Dean up into his arms, then nodded in Adam's direction. "Can you uh, stay with him until I get back?" he asked Castiel, whose reply was, "of course."

"Need help?" Alex asked her twin, but Sam shook his head, already halfway out of the room.

"Nah, I got him."

Adam looked at Cas appraisingly as the sound of Sam's footsteps faded away. "What, you think I'm gonna run?" he asked irritably.

"If you're anything like your brother Dean, yes," Cas said factually, to which Adam's expression darkened.

"That guy isn't my brother. I don't know him. I don't wanna know him. Or any of you." Adam's jaw tightened, he looked around cagily. "This is bullshit."

Alex resisted the urge to roll her eyes, because if there was one more thing she needed in her life right now, it was Adam, who might as well be Dean Junior. "I gotta get some stuff outta the car," she said, pausing at the door frame on her way out, a hand on it as she looked back at Cas, who nodded. Their eyes lingered on the others. Adam's face wrinkled in confusion, catching the long, meaningful way they looked at each other.

---

Alex had good intentions of getting all of their bags, doing some laundry, straightening up the trunk of the Impala since it was a mess... but when she'd seen the keys on the front seat where she'd tossed them earlier, she stopped, forgetting her plans. She reached in through the car's open window and picked them up, looking at her old silver whistle hanging alongside Dean's keys. She'd been about to toss it awhile ago when cleaning out her things. He'd told her she was nuts, that she should keep it, that she might want it someday. She thought he was being stupid and sentimental, but knowing he wasn't long for the world at the time—this was when he'd had the Hellhounds coming soon—she'd said okay and had given it to him to keep until she wanted it back. At the time, she thought she wouldn't want it again.

She unhooked it from the key chain and left the keys sitting on the seat. She leaned back against the Impala and studied the whistle for a long moment. In the mid-morning sun, it gleamed brightly up at her from the palm of her hand. It reminded her of what Castiel had done for her. Would do for her. She thought about the girl who'd worn this whistle for all those years—sad, lonely, frustrated at how she could never say what was on her mind at the right time, left out of everything... she wasn't that girl anymore. Because of him.

She heard footsteps crunching against the gravel toward her, and she looked up, already knowing who it was. Still, looking up and seeing him there in the flesh set her stomach fluttering all over again. She wondered faintly: shouldn't he seem more and more commonplace to her the more that she saw him? Instead, every new time her eyes beheld him, she was struck by even deeper feelings and emotions.

Cas stood a few paces away, silently looking at what she held in her hand, then up at her. He knew what it was. Her mouth curved into a soft smile and she looked down at her hand, closing her fingers around the whistle before she looked back at Cas. She wished he would come closer, and as if he could read her thoughts, he did. He cupped her closed fist in his hand and she opened her hand back up, watching him as he studied the small silver object.

His eyes met hers silently and she turned her hand down over his, setting the whistle into his palm, closing his fingers over it gently with her other hand. He looked down at his closed fist, then at her, distantly puzzled. She shrugged her shoulders up a bare fraction of an inch, her face soft. His eyes flickered from hers down to her lips, back again a couple of times, then stayed on her lips as he leaned down. Reading his mind with a heart that was doing thrilled loops in her chest, she tilted her head up to meet his lips with hers in a soft, sweet kiss that lingered. When they came apart, it wasn't far, and they didn't stay apart long. She couldn't help herself. That first taste had her needing more, and she kissed him again, a little less gently, a little less slowly as she longed for his endless touches and kisses.

He pocketed the whistle even as she took his lapels in her hands and pulled him deeper into her embrace, unable to stop herself. Castiel readily circled his arms around her, wrapping her up gently but tightly, enveloping her, a hand tangling in her hair, and the way he touched her like that made her more anxious—she pulled harder on his lapels, growing breathless, and after a moment, their mouths came apart again, their foreheads touching as they breathed raggedly, his hand moved from her hair to her face, his eyes half closed.

Cas appeared to be troubled about something, and Alex gazed at him in sudden rising concern. "What is it?" she asked quietly, her eyes flickering over his face.

He seemed to be trying to think of how to say something. His eyes rose up to hers, dark and full of an earnest anxiety, but he said nothing, just shook his head and carefully kissed her again, sending electric warmth over her entire body. An angel is kissing me. Alex was left reveling in how it felt, the soft pressure of his two lips pressing against hers... the feeling of his mouth parting open to move slowly and tenderly in exploration of hers. In growing desire, she pressed into him full force and kissed him more deeply, coming to life in his arms, losing her mind. It was like a language only the two of them spoke when their lips and mouths came together in this way. She never wanted it to end, she wanted to feel him like this forever... she wanted him again, so badly. And exactly when she thought that, he broke the kiss but barely withdrew at all. When he spoke she felt his mouth moving against hers to form the words he said next.

"I want you," he confessed in a soft, tight murmur. "So very badly." She could have died from the way those words made her feel—his pleading tone was like a lightning bolt straight down her center.

"N-now?" she asked breathily, choking on her question almost, wondering if he was going to just push her up against the Impala right in the middle of the salvage yard.

He seemed to be despairing, his breathing quickening markedly. "Yes, now," he said—and she didn't even care what he did to her or where, she just nodded frantically. And then his lips were on hers again, sending currents of warmth racing through her.

She was vaguely startled when a deep groan sounded from the bottom of Castiel's throat and he suddenly lifted her up into his arms. She was further caught off guard when there was an abrupt pull in the vicinity of her stomach, a feeling of wind rushing past her, and she suddenly felt herself falling backwards then hitting something soft and flat. Her eyes had flown open in surprised confusion to look at Cas who was suddenly above her—and above him were exposed wood beams of a roof. They were no longer in the salvage yard at all—he'd taken them into Bobby's attic, onto the spare bed that was kept up there.

Alex stared at him motionlessly, shocked and spurred on at the same time by how assertive of a move that was. Cas's coat was pooled around them, he had his palms pressed down on either side of her, he gazed down at her with an uncertain expression, gauging her reaction to what he'd done—Alex had recovered from the initial surprise and reached up, pulling him down to her by the tie, arching herself up to meet his lips with hers again in a sloppy, impassioned kiss they both let out soft, relieved sounds at.

His hands slid around her back to encircle her again and hold her close to him. Fumbling, Alex reached up with both hands into the tight space between their bodies, loosening his tie and pulling it up and over his head, breaking the kiss as she did so. Cas looked down at her breathlessly in rapt attention and Alex tossed his tie aside without looking to see where it went. She wondered if Cas were nervous like she was, because she almost thought he was from the look on his face. She brushed her fingers against one of his cheeks affectionately, overcome by how this moment was real, how he was real. How the way they felt about each other was undeniably real. How he wanted her in the same way that she wanted him. Alex held his face in both hands now, brushing her thumbs back over his stubble, forgetting everything for a second except how beautiful he was. How beyond her it was that he looked at her the way he did. His eyes, brilliant blue patterned in little zinging lightning bolts throughout, were entire galaxies.

His face came down toward hers, nose brushing against the side of hers as he kissed her tenderly now. Her eyes fell closed by instinct as his lips kissed hers as if she were the most precious and breakable thing. With the backs of her legs, she pulled his torso closer to hers so that there was no space between them. She whimpered against his mouth when she felt him pressing up against her between her legs. He breathed out shudderingly at the sound she made and the sudden increase in the pressure.

She shoved at his jacket and coat awkwardly as they struggled to kiss even while shedding the trench coat and suit jacket. Somehow they managed, Cas holding an arm out while she yanked roughly on one sleeve until his arm was free, and then the same with the other. Carelessly, the coat and jacket were tossed aside. The second he was free of his outer layers his arms hugged around her with renewed vigor as if he couldn't stand to be any further away from her. His mouth surged down onto hers hungrily and one of his hands swept to her lower back, pressing flat-palmed into the contours of her spine and pulling her against him until they both gave a surprised, strangled gasp at the pleasure the friction created.

Alex was unbuttoning his shirt with stumbling fingers, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin, desperate for more of him even as she simultaneously dragged the heels of her shoes across the bed to kick her shoes off haphazardly. She felt Cas pushing himself up onto his elbows, felt him begin to unbutton her outer shirt even as they continued to make out full force—her heart jumped into her throat as she felt the whisper-soft movements and inexperienced pulling of his fingers against her shirt as he undid the buttons in a way that was clumsy, endearing, and completely arousing to her. As a result of what he was doing she whimpered in pleasured torture. She'd never been so turned on in all of her life. His shirt was finally unbuttoned and she pulled back breathing raggedly to look at his toned chest and smooth, tanned skin that she could see in the gap of the open shirt. She suddenly felt intimidated by the sight of him and the fierce, hungry, curious way he was looking at her.

Beneath Castiel with her hair fanning out across the faded bedspread, Alex was breathing heavily and looking up at him with dark, unguarded eyes. Her mouth was open, her chest heaving up and down. Her shirt was unbuttoned and had fallen open, there was a thin gray tank top underneath, and Cas looked at the soft fair skin stretching over her collarbone—he wanted to touch her there, test the feeling beneath his hand, trace the shape of what laid beneath her skin. He did, he touched her there, fingertips light on the end of her collarbone near her shoulder. She watched him like he was the most entrancing thing she'd ever seen and he could feel how she breathed, how her pulse fluttered underneath his fingertips. What kind of magic was this? The sensation of touch. Of touching her. Her skin against his skin was like he imagined a drug must be. He couldn't stop and he also didn't want to, ever. He just wanted to keep feeling her, all of the dips and hollows and textures and shapes that were hers. He wanted to know every part of her, see everything. He wanted to know what she loved, what she wanted, what she felt.

Alex froze when she felt Castiel's hand sweep across the bare skin below her collarbone, his fingers leaving a trail of electricity across her upper chest as they traced downward hesitatingly. His palm brushed over the curve of her still-clothed breast and she shuddered at the feeling of being touched there. Helplessly, she looked up at him, overwhelmed. In the Vatican it had been dark and sudden and unintentional and a little easier thanks to alcohol softening inhibitions, but this was different, this was so much more intimate somehow... and even though they'd already been together, Alex was suddenly aware of how she still felt completely virginal and shy, unsure of herself, scared of this and of not being good enough.

His fingers rested on the skin above where her tank top began, just over where her heart thumped fast and hard. He looked at her like he was amazed all over again, then down at his hand, fascinated and adoring. "I can feel your heart beating," he murmured as he looked back up at her. She forgot her nerves temporarily. Castiel was unguarded, looking at her with eyes that were full of so many deep and substantial things.

She touched the left side of his chest and slid her hand over to where she felt the strong, rhythmical pounding against the palm of her hand. His skin was warm and firm. The pads of her fingers grazed a hard, smooth knot—the place where he'd taken a bullet for her. There was a lump of emotion in her throat. "I can feel yours, too." Their gaze remained locked until he bent his head down, stilling her with a kiss that that he hesitated to pull back from.

His hand slid away from her chest and moved around to brace against her back—he sat up, lifting her with him, sitting back onto his heels. With his free hand he touched the curving space where her neck and shoulder met… and slowly he took hold of the collar of her flannel shirt and began to pull it down and off, looking at her for a cue or any sign he should stop. She helped, shifting and moving each arm in turn, her pulse pounding a million miles an hour, her nerves going crazy every time that the edge of his hand or fingers grazed over her bare skin, her eyes falteringly trying to stay on his but nervously falling away again and again. He was undressing her, she was letting him, and she could barely think straight. When her shirt was off she was left in her in the gray tank top. Alex looked into his eyes fleetingly, swallowing, nervous. She had her legs wrapped around his middle still, he was only holding her there with one arm, but she knew that he was strong enough that even if she had let go of him completely, he'd still be able to hold her in place. He was so much more powerful than he looked. And yet he was so achingly gentle with her. It made her love him more.

She pushed his shirt down slowly off of his shoulders, looking at the spot there where the bullet wound was. It looked like old scar tissue even though it was only from a day ago. A thousand bullets. He didn't wait for her to pull the shirt off completely, he reached behind himself to each opposite arm and pulled it off himself, allowing her arms, which had locked around his neck, to keep her there securely against him as he sat. His arms were strong and defined, his shoulders broader than she remembered, and even though she thought she would love him in whatever body he was in, she loved the one he had claimed. The sight of him becoming more and more naked had her dizzy. He wrapped those strong arms of his around her again and gently lowered her back down to the bed. Once again his hard length pressed up against her, causing her to gasp out softly. She was overwhelmed to think that she could cause that to happen to him.

He heard her gasp softly, a sound that made blood flush his body with further degrees of pleasure and desire, and he didn't understand how he could feel more of those things—every time that he thought he'd felt all he could, there was more with her. Cas marveled at the way Alex responded to whatever he did, and how in turn, whatever she did caused him to want more, always more. He pushed aside the voices telling him this was wrong. It couldn't be wrong, he didn't want it to be wrong. He bent over her gently, his mouth meeting hers over and over again in sweet, fleeting, exploratory kisses. The rush of sensations she bestowed on him was so vast and yet not enough at all.

His hand went to one of his favorite places, the curve of her hip bone. He felt the shape of it through fabric then moved his hand down, sliding it up inside the shirt to feel her warm skin soft underneath his fingers—and hesitating, he began to push her shirt up further, knowing that in traditional human sexual encounters, the clothes all came off—and that's when he felt her go tense. She stopped short as her breathing hitched. Her hand had shot out to cover his. "I... I have scars," she said, and there was quiet fear or shame in her voice. Maybe both.

He'd stopped the second he felt her go tense and he looked at her, not understanding, suddenly worried he'd done something wrong, something that she didn't want. "I know," he told her, confused and concerned. "...I've felt them."

She still didn't look okay. "But you haven't seen them. They're… really horrible."

His face scrunched in a wounded expression as he understood that she was embarrassed of herself. "Nothing about you is horrible," he told her. "We don't have to," he told her earnestly, not wanting to do anything if she wasn't willing—but her hand gripped tighter, keeping his hand exactly where it was.

She was quiet for a couple seconds. "It's okay." She took a second to look deeply into his eyes and then decisively she guided his hand up, which shifted her tank top and revealed a small strip of skin above the waistband of her jeans. "I want to," she told him. He could hear that she was being genuine, but also that she was nervous. He hesitated, trying to decide if he should keep going. She pulled on his hand again, and he looked at her carefully, making sure, then he pushed the soft gray material up slowly to the top of her rib cage. As he looked down her torso, he saw the scars he'd glancingly felt in the Vatican. They were large and jagged claw marks, four of them slashing downward from the top of her rib cage on the right across her stomach at an angle. The skin of the scars was discolored and raised in an uneven pattern, standing out strongly, a strange blotchy pink against the rest of her fair olive skin. He traced his fingers down, matching up his fingers to the lines of each of the arcing scars. How awful it was to think of the day this must have happened to her.

"Werewolf," she explained in a single, soft word as she looked at him and pushed herself up slightly onto her elbows, her eyes dark and unconfident. Cas thought for a moment. He knew that when he kissed her mouth it made her feel good, maybe even beautiful. He wondered if he kissed her there, where she felt ugly, if the same would apply. Wordlessly, he shifted himself downward, moving his face closer to her stomach, and he felt her tense again and he glanced up at her—she was looking down at him uncertainly, holding herself rigidly, confused about what he was doing. His eyes lowered to the ragged line that had been carved into her skin what must have been years ago, and experimentally, he pressed a slow kiss to the end of the scar as his hands held her waist gently on either side. He could feel Alex breathing fast underneath his lips. Again he glanced up at her face, uncertain about what he was doing. He saw how she was waiting and trusting of him, surprised at what he was doing... but expectant of more.

Encouraged, he continued and his lips unintentionally grazed across her skin as he moved up a little further, kissing another claw mark gently, falteringly. He felt little permanent ridges in the scar tissue there against his lips, where thread had been stitched unevenly. He thought of her being hurt and in pain, he thought of what these scars meant, and it only made him want to protect her more, keep her from ever being in danger ever again. And he pressed kisses more fervently now, with burning slowness, his thoughts and love somehow bleeding out into the way in which he touched her.

Alex watched him with rapt attention, breath caught in her throat—in her whole life she could never have imagined this happening. She could feel every press of his lips even through numb scar tissue, each touch was like a spark singeing her skin in the most achingly beautiful way. She felt some of his hair brushing against her each time he bowed his head over her, she felt the tip of his nose pressing into her skin and as she watched his dark head of hair bending over her repeatedly, she took in the expression on his face—he seemed reverent of her, so careful, so loving.

He'd reached the top of her rip cage, startlingly close to her bust line and he glanced up at her. If it hadn't been intense before, it certainly was now, startlingly so. His eyes were filled with so much predatory intention and there was a raw nature she wasn't used to seeing there. He came back to her, kissing her again—it was deep and fire-filled, stoking heat between them, and the feeling was like nothing else for Alex, who became empowered and daring. She locked her arms around his neck, rolling him over—well, he let her—and she was on top of him now, drawing back from him just a little, their stomachs still touching as she looked down at him. He was gazing up at her like she was some kind of goddess.

The ends of her hair trailed across his shoulders and the planes of his upper chest, she looked from his eyes to his jawline, his neck, and she was so overcome by the desire to lean in and kiss him there. So she did, leaning down the small space and planting a gentle, hesitant kiss just below his jawline. She felt his breathing catch. Growing bolder, encouraged by the way he responded to her, she let her lips leave a wet grazing trail to the spot below his ear, feeling the shudder his body gave as she did. Her hands moved down, gripping his upper arms as she kissed him again below his ear and then a little lower on his neck, but this time not with closed lips—she let her mouth stay soft, she sucked slightly, experimenting, and he made a higher pitched sound of surprise, she heard him breathing heavily into her ear, felt one of his hands on her head gripping solidly and he made a low growl of frustration when she bit down gently, nipping at the curve of his neck.

With surprising force and speed he took hold of her and flipped her over, putting himself on top of her once again, kissing her burningly, pulling at her tank top, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it up and over her head as she maneuvered her arms clumsily through the arm holes. She felt him reaching back around her with both hands, grabbing at the clasp of her bra roughly. There was a loud ripping sound and he abruptly pulled back, looking at Alex with a strange expression. "I think... uh, I broke it," he said, pulling a hand out, looking at the ripped patch of white fabric that he held—one end had mangled metal clasps, the other end was torn jaggedly—and Alex found herself suddenly giggling because only Cas would do that—tear her bra in half in his haste—that, and he looked so worried.

"It's not the only one I have," she said, still grinning up at him and then wondering if you were supposed to laugh during sex, or foreplay, or… whatever this was. His expression softened, he smiled ever so softly at her, bent to kiss her again, and she could feel the way his lips were upturned against hers.

She felt his fingers slide up her shoulders, underneath the straps of her bra, and he pulled back. His eyes traveled up to hers, and she realized he was about to take it off, leaving her naked from the waist up. Her amusement from a minute ago was gone. She swallowed deeply, watching him as he pulled the bra down and away from her slowly.

No one else had ever seen her like this, and she was breathless, nervous, flushed, shy. He seemed overcome at the sight of her and then he stretched himself over her, kissing her lingeringly, moaning softly when his bare chest molded to hers. She whimpered at the new feeling of warm skin against her in a place she'd never been touched before by someone else. His eyebrows moved together deeply, his hand ghosted up her side, thumb brushing against the curve of her breast, a touch that made her whimper. She hung onto him tighter, becoming more and more convinced that if she didn't have him soon, she'd die from anticipation.

She moved her hands down between them boldly, drawing a soft sound from him as she fumbled with his belt buckle, the button on his slacks, the zipper. He followed suit, pulling urgently at her jeans. Even the realization of what he was doing made her feel like she could faint. She wriggled, trying to get out of the confines of her pants—Cas practically ripped them off her and flung them away then looked back at her. That's when he glimpsed her demon ward tattoo. It was inked into the skin on her side above her left rib cage and he touched it with two fingers softly then looked at her in the eyes. She was unguarded beneath him and waiting anxiously—and he realized he was still wearing too many clothes, looking down at himself—he shoved the waistband of the black pants down halfway to his knees, realizing he was still wearing shoes, too—he grew frustrated at all the things that were on him and proving difficult to remove.

He kicked his shoes off clumsily for the first time ever. Even as the shoes hit the floor with two clunks, he was wriggling out of his pants. Castiel was then slowed by intense realization of what they were about to do. He'd spent so much time thinking about what it would be like to be with her again and yet here on the cusp of the moment, he felt afraid—or perhaps the word was nervous.

She looked afraid, too—and it made his chest clench in worry. "Why do you look afraid?" he asked her, putting a hand against her face and holding it there. The touch of his hand seemed to drive some fear out.

"I'm-I'm not," she said, and she put her hand over his, her fingertips moving gently against his, sort of stroking his fingers. "I'm ready," she murmured, and he saw how she breathed faster when she said that. Hearing her say that made him breathe faster, too. "Just a little nervous."

Relieved somehow, Cas felt some part of him relax. "I feel nervous too." They shared the briefest little smile then. Alex watched Cas as he looked down, and she followed his gaze—he still wore his white boxers, she still wore modest cotton panties. His fingers curled around the waistband of her underwear and her breath caught in her throat—her entire body was on overdrive of nerves and excitement alike. She pulled her legs up a little bit, slowly, one at a time, letting him thread her underwear off of her... in her chest, her heart was beating a million miles an hour.

And Alex wanted so badly to tell him the truth that welled up inside of her: That she loved him. Instead, she pulled him down by the back of his neck to her and kissed him slowly—slid a hand down his chest, down his abdomen, and his breath caught. She touched him just above where his boxers began, drew back from the kiss, looking at him meaningfully. It was his turn to look apprehensive, she saw the anxiety flash through his eyes as he reached down, one-handed, shifting around, taking off the last remaining article of clothing.

She heard the sound of the boxers softly hitting the floor, felt the sides of his knees against the insides of her calves and her heart jammed in her throat. He hovered over her now as she gripped his upper arms. His shoulders and arms were strong and defined by taut muscles, his chest was broad and hairless and firm, his torso was sturdy and tapered downward to narrow hips and below that... wow. He was perfect and she realized anew that oh my god this is really happening—she looked at his face with her mouth gaping open.

His chest touched hers once more and he settling himself between her thighs—he warmed her everywhere, his bare skin touching hers, and it was the most wonderful and thrillingly terrifying thing she'd ever known. She felt the soft nudge of him between her legs—her grip on him tightened instinctively, every part of her body was on high alert, begging for the moment she'd been afraid of just a minute ago. His eyes came to hers and she felt how tensely he held himself, how nervous he was too. And she thought it was somehow fitting that they would both want it so much and both be so scared when it came down to it. She was overwhelmed with how thankful she was to have this with him.

Just like he'd reassured her a minute ago with gentle touches, she saw that he needed reassurance, too. She searched his eyes, her gaze flickered to the fading bullet wound scar on his chest, then back to his eyes. On instinct, she touched his cheek with the back of her fingers. "I trust you," she whispered honestly, every part of her straining for him now, ready, so ready. His face softened, the fear faded away, and in its place was something else altogether, something that made her stomach flip and breathing pick up. He looped an arm under hers and around her, his hand coming to rest at the back of her neck, holding her tightly.

With aching and gentle slowness he pushed into her, helplessly letting out a soft little groan even as his head fell toward her shoulder. Gasping at the gorgeous feeling and amazing pressure, she buried her face in the side of his neck, holding onto his upper arms tighter. It was tortuous and it was divine the way he felt inside of her and it felt so much more intimate like this, with both of them naked, bared, nothing between them at all.

Her senses were so focused on Castiel inside of her, the feeling of his chest on hers, his hips over hers, his strong warm bare arms, his thighs pressed against hers. She could feel so much more than the first time, she was aware of every sensation, she was so turned on that even though he was holding completely still inside of her not even doing anything yet that she was close to going over the edge. "Ah…" she moaned helplessly, pulling on him, needing him now, already knowing it wouldn't be long for her.

Cas's eyes were locked on hers and he responded to her pleading sounds, holding onto her tightly as if for dear life as he began to move himself in and out of her at a deep, slow rhythm he became more and more sure of. She clung tightly, amazed, almost in shock or awe—her mouth hung open and every thrust made a shocked, pleasured-yet-distressed sound come out of her mouth—she made herself be as quiet as possible. Strained sounds of raptured disbelief escaped from Cas's mouth, he seemed overwhelmed completely just like her. His hips met hers over and over and each time was unbearable to her, each time was too much and not enough, and he sounded like he was dying, or maybe that was her—she felt the tension mounting in her body fast, pooling in the low parts of her belly, and her eyes fell closed, she anxiously hung on as his fingers tightened into his hair. Everything she had was quickly becoming nothing at all—in that moment he had everything that belonged to her—and she gave it freely, losing herself in his arms and the fever of the moment. The sounds he was making were the most erotic thing she had ever heard—these helpless little moaning whimpers and gasping pants. The way he was making love to her was torturing her in the most beautiful way imaginable.

Desperate for the promised peak, she grabbed onto him as tightly as possible, wrapping her legs around his middle and pulling him deeper as her forehead hit against the top of his shoulder. He let out a soft cry when her legs clenched around his waist and she groaningly whispered his name in despair. Castiel heard the way she said his name and it made him need to move faster for her. He began to almost whimper because he couldn't, it was too much—and he wasn't himself anymore, not anyone, just the man who loved this woman. He kept going, fighting himself and the surrender he wanted to give.

Without warning, the dam broke over Alex and a frantic choking gasp came out of her mouth as every atom burst into bliss, as every cell shattered apart—she sobbed out and held onto him for dear life with every limb she had, shuddering uncontrollably as impossible ecstasy ripped through her and wracked her all over. Right behind her Cas gave a desperate, groaning muffled cry, then another and then another, his arms tightening on her almost painfully as he came, pressing her down into the bed as he was rendered uncontrollable by the orgasm. The height of pleasure rolled over them like high tide, drowning them completely, teaching them the meaning of euphoria, shocking them with the intensity of gratification. Cas strained against her a few last times with his hand tangled in her hair to hold her close—he quaked and shivered and then fell into breathless stillness over her, his open lips brushing against her neck. The only sound was of heavy breaths and they hung onto each other for a long minute in silence, mutually stunned.

Underneath him Alex trembled, completely spent and renewed all at once, stunned at how different it had been from last time—she felt tears pricking at her eyes—and she wasn't even sure why. Breathless, she moved her head back and looked up at him. He was looking at her intensely, emotionally, seeming similarly floored by what they'd just done together. His arms tightened gently around her and he cradled her in the most intimate embrace they could share. He looked afraid to let go of her. "I meant what I said," he told her in almost a whisper. His voice was strained and emotional. She recognized that he was deeply upset. "I'm going to find a way to change the future," he said, increasingly emphatic. "I'll rip down the laws of nature if I have to. To keep you safe, to protect you."

The severe and passionate tone in which he said those things, the way he looked at her... it was almost frightening. Reeling from what he'd done to her on that bed, from the feeling of him still buried deep inside of her, she searched his eyes, starting to believe, starting to see what she really must mean to him. She thought of the Castiel she'd met in 2014, the Castiel who had lost his mind and wasted away when she died, she thought of how Cas might have killed Dean earlier that day if she hadn't stopped him.

Nothing ever meant anything to me until you.

"You really would do anything for me, wouldn't you?" she asked him in softly incredulous epiphany, and somehow, she almost felt afraid of the answer.

He brushed back her hair from her forehead and answered her helplessly, honestly, for better or for worse. "Yes." He seemed distressed.

Wordlessly, she pulled him back down to her, hugging him tightly, feeling his arms envelope her in return, feeling him bury his face in the side of her neck. And she was scared, too. Of the future, of what they were hurtling toward. She didn't feel brave anymore.

You really would do anything for me, wouldn't you?

Yes.

It was only a word—one word—but it was the one that would lead him to tear apart Heaven and Earth in the years that followed. The one word that would start things that could never be taken back or changed.