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.

41. The Eleventh Hour

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 41 / The Eleventh Hour

"I don't have a choice. But I still choose you."
- The Civil Wars

---

Several Hours Earlier
Somewhere in East Utah

Backed into the dead end of a filthy alleyway, three men cornered a fourth.

"And you're sure this is where he'll be?" Crowley asked Brady—Pestilence's right-hand man. Well, right-hand demon. Crowley looked at him cooly, daring him to be lying about this.

Brady's face had blood streaks down the sides and splatters of the same on his expensive suit. Bright red was splotched underneath his nose and across his chin and there was some matted in his fair blond hair, too. He looked at Crowley with mild contempt, maybe because Crowley was the one who'd beaten the blood out of him. "Yeah. I'm sure Pestilence will be there," he muttered, then glanced over at the two brothers who stood back a few steps off—Dean, wary; Sam, cold and glaring.

Crowley turned away from the other demon, thoughtfully looking down at the piece of paper that Brady had just handed over. As Crowley swaggered over to Dean, Sam narrowed his eyes at Brady in unadulterated hatred.

"What do you think?" Dean asked Crowley, nodding at the slip of paper.

"It's good." Crowley seeming to be pleased. He handed Dean the paper with Pestilence's location, turning slightly to send Brady a smirk. "After all, you've got no reason to lie, have you? Like I said before, you're in my boat now."

Brady smiled facetiously. "You've screwed me—for eternity." He said, and Sam felt darkness choking him, white-hot anger bubbling in his veins. At his side, he held the demon blade.

"Nah," Crowley replied apathetically, glancing at Sam, who had murder on the mind. "Won't last that long. Trust me."

Earlier that day, Sam's world had been turned upside down. And he'd been waiting for this moment, the moment when he could slit Brady's throat.

Dean dragged in some guy, the demon who Crowley had said would lead them to Pestilence. And when they sat him down in a chair, tied him up, yanked the devil's hex bag off his head… Sam had gone still in shock, recognizing the demon.

"B-Brady?!" Sam stared into the face of a guy he'd called a friend in his college years. And he hadn't understood, not at all.

"Heya, Sammy!" Brady smiled through bloody teeth even as Sam felt his reality crumbling anew. "Sorry but… Brady hasn't been Brady in years. Not since, oh… middle of sophomore year?"

Shock filtered over Sam. Shock and horror when he'd realized that he'd been friends with a demon, good friends and for years. And suddenly it clicked into place, made perfect sense how Brady had suddenly just dropped out of pre-med in their sophomore year, how he'd gotten into drugs, started taking home a different girl every night (usually a stripper or a hooker). And Sam remembered trying so hard to help the guy he thought was his friend get back onto the 'right track.' Why hadn't he realized back then that Brady hadn't just changed—that he'd been a different person? That he'd been possessed? It was so obvious now, like the demon had been taunting him almost, daring him to realize. But Sam hadn't.

Brady chuckled to see Sam's realization and stunned silence. "That's right. You had a devil on your shoulder even back then. All right, now, let it aaaallllll sink in..."

And that's when Sam realized something else and flew into a fit. "You son of a bitch. You son of a bitch!" Dean had to restrain Sam, who was almost blinded with rage. "You introduced me to Jess!"

"Yessir!" Brady grinned proudly. "That was me!" He laughed in unrestrained, cruel delight at Sam's reaction. "Remember when I came back from break all messed up?" He taunted. "Remember how much time you spent trying to get me back on the straight and narrow? You really were a good friend, weren't you Sam. But ol' Yellow Eyes didn't send me back to be your friend. No, we could tell we were starting to lose you. You were becoming a mild-mannered, worthless sack of piss! Now come on. We couldn't have that. You were our favorite, he had plans for you. So I hooked you up with a pure, sweet, innocent piece of tail, watched you fall in love with her... and then I toasted her on the ceiling. That's right—Azazel might've put the hit out on Jessica, but, man, I got to have all the fun!"

Sam almost murdered Brady right then and there even as the most painful memory he possessed had surged through his mind all over again: the girl he loved more than anyone, screaming and burning to death on the ceiling as he'd watched and done nothing. Just run away.

"Did it make you mad Sam? Did it get that blood of yours boiling?" Brady had asked, barely able to contain his spiteful mirth. "Must have, after all, got you back in the life, back where we needed you…"

Dean was still holding onto Sam at that point, who was shaking, furious, and ready to claw Brady's eyes out.

"You know, she thought we were friends, too. She let me right in the day that I lit her up… you know what she was doing? She was baking cookies. Such a sweet little girl..." Brady had begun to laugh gleefully at that point as he continued to talk, taking huge amounts of pleasure in the memory of murdering the woman Sam had wanted to marry, have children with, grow old with. "She was so surprised…" Brady drawled, "so hurt when I started in on her… begged me please no Brady, what are you doing, Brady?"

And Brady had practically cackled, watching Sam writhe as he tried to get away from Dean's restraining grip.

It had taken everything Sam had inside not to kill Brady then—to not rip himself out of Dean's grasp and fucking send that black-eyed asshole into the darkness that did not end. But Sam had gotten a grip on himself (well, with Dean's help) and told himself wait. Be patient. Get what we need out of this motherfucker, and then you can rip his heart out of his chest.

Now, the moment was here. Sam knew it and was feeling some sort of calm, dark anticipation. At his side, he held onto the demon blade. He could almost smile now. Behind him, he knew Dean had the can of salt from the back of the car.

Crowley seemed to get his cue, realizing that it was time to leave. And as he began to retreat toward the open end of the alley, Brady's expression chilled a couple degrees. "Where you going?" He demanded, even as Dean began to pour a thick line of salt across the alleyway. Brady looked at it nervously, then Crowley, seeming to finally see that he was much more screwed than he'd imagined.

"I'm going to do you a favor," Crowley said, stopping next to Sam. "End your misery once and for all. By association, that is." He gave Brady a coy smile and a wink, then looked at Sam knowingly. "I expect we'll be in touch."

Sam stared Brady down, not looking away for a second.

Dean let Crowley pass and and then closed the salt line behind him, effectively sealing Brady into the dead-end alley. Crowley disappeared into thin air, and Brady looked like he wished he could do the same. Too bad Crowley had trapped him in his body with a sigil. Sam's mouth curved upward just slightly.

Dean set the can of salt down. "What is this?" Brady asked, attempting nonchalance, his eyes flickering between the two brothers. He was smiling strangely, nervously, and he had his hands in his pockets.

"Guessing you wanna do the honors?" Dean asked Sam while looking at Brady calmly.

"You know I do," Sam replied, not taking his eyes off of the demon for even a second.

"What is this?" Brady asked again, growing angry. "I gave you what you wanted, what we agreed on—let me go."

Dean chuckled, looked down, and Brady looked at him sharply. "What's so funny?"

The oldest Winchester wet his lips without wavering in the slightest. "All those angels, all those demons, all those sons of bitches—they just don't get it, do they, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes narrowed just slightly. "No, they don't, Dean."

"You see, Brady… we're the ones you should be afraid of." Dean said. "And you don't get to call the shots anymore." He glanced at his brother, silently giving him the go-ahead.

Sam tightened his grip on the knife and began to approach Brady, who scoffed, laughed lightly, then rolled his eyes. That lifeless smile never left his face. "I bet this is a real moment for you, big boy. Gonna make you feel all better?"

"It's a start," Sam said as he took another slow, deliberate step towards Brady, who, in unison, took a step back. His smile faltered a little. Good. Sam wanted to draw this out—see Brady squirm and beg for his life. But Brady suddenly smirked, glanced at Dean and then back at Sam, wiggled his eyebrows up briefly.

"Y'know, the only thing I wish were different about all of this is I wish your sister were here to see this." His smile widened when Sam's expression registered cold, warning fury. "Hell, maybe I just wanna see her again, after all, it's been awhile, and damn if that little bitch isn't hot."

"Don't talk about my sister, Brady," Sam threatened sharply. His voice trembled in undiluted rage but he held himself back, refusing to let Brady rattle him.

"Aw Sam, come on. Lighten up!" Brady grinned. "You think you're the only one Daddy had plans for?" Sam's confidence flickered. "Are you really that stupid?" Brady asked scornfully. "I don't think you are, so tell me: why the hell have you been playing dumb all these years?" Brady took another step back as Sam advanced on him by another step. He gave an overly dramatic shrug, simpering almost. "I like Alex, so sue me. She was supposed to be special, too, did you know that?" His lips curved upward in a knowing, closed-mouth smile. He was in total control of the conversation and they both knew it. "And she still will be special, after this." Sam didn't like his soft, knowing tone. "The two of you… the most special out of all the children Azazel gathered..."

"What are you talking about?" Sam demanded, becoming afraid but trying to remain outwardly threatening. Behind him, Dean had gone still in rapt worry.

Brady ignored the question. "I've heard she's into angels these days, that true?" He was greatly amused by the thought.

Sam knew Brady was trying to get a rise out of him and use a wild, brainless attack to make a break for it. So Sam held himself back, trying to stay aloof and collected. Speaking through clenched teeth, he raised the knife a little, glaring at Brady relentlessly. "Cut the crap, Brady. You tell me what you're talking about right now or I swear to god—"

"What, you'll kill me? Great, so do it! Is that gonna make up for all the times that we yanked your chain? Yellow Eyes, Ruby, me? But it wasn't all our fault you turned out how you did, was it? No, no, no, no. You're the one who trusted us. You're the one who let us into your life, let us whisper in your ear over and over and over again. You're the one who's staring reality down the barrel and trying to act all high and mighty but really, you're just as low as the rest of us. We've got the same stuff in our veins, you and me and, deep down, you know you're just like us: angry, spiteful… full of desire for everything corrupt and abominable. Sam, you're part of something bigger than yourself, something darker than all those secrets you keep…"

Getting close to losing it, Sam's voice raised, and fast. "Shut up," Sam spat, trying to get control back. "What did Azazel plan to do with my sister? Tell me now."

Brady cracked another bloody grin. "Oh, you'll see, Sam, don't you worry about that."

The foreboding, threatening nature of the words, combined with the way Brady seemed so sure made Sam lose his edge for a second. And when he faltered, the demon took the opportunity. The grin disappeared unnervingly fast and Brady suddenly lunged at Sam, swinging a wild fist at him. Sam reacted fast, ducking the blow just barely, swiping the demon blade across Brady's side, grabbing the demon and whirling him then shoving him face-first into the wall. He held Brady there, the blade tight against his neck.

"Tell me now, you son of a bitch!" Sam thundered, pulling the knife tighter. And even though he had the upper hand, he shook not with rage, but with fear. Trying to cover it, he lowered his voice, filled it with as much menacing as he could muster. "You aren't taking anyone else from me ever again, asshole."

Brady laughed, low and soft, slow, and Sam could see the demon's eyes slide in his direction. "No, you're right. I'm not," he said smugly. "See... this right here is what they call 'misdirected anger,' Sammy. The rage and bitterness you feel, the all-consuming need compelling you to bury that knife in me until I bleed and die underneath you… is what you should feel for yourself." His voice lowered to a whisper. "Because you're the one who's to blame for everything that's going to happen." He laughed again, harder, loud, a sudden bark of sound. "It's just too good!"

"Stop laughing," Sam growled, and shoved Brady hard, backed up a couple steps.

Brady turned around, sneering. "Do you think maybe you hate us so much because you hate what you see every time you look in the mirror? Because you know, deep down, how dark you are, how twisted?! You ever think of that, huh?!" He was gloating, gleeful, and Sam could feel himself losing his temper completely. He was done listening to this waste of space, he was so furious, and every second that passed and Brady continued to breathe air was vile. "Did you ever wonder if maybe the only difference between you and a demon… is your hell is right here on earth, and no matter whether you're dead or alive you'll never escape from your worst enemy... yourself."

"Maybe that's true," Sam breathed, and his mouth curved upwards now in a smile. Brady's eyes narrowed, his smile faded—even as Sam lunged forward and stabbed the blade hard into the flesh of Brady's stomach, relishing the scream of pain and fear that ripped out of Brady's mouth. He grabbed Brady behind the neck with his free hand, forced him to meet his gaze as he died. "But you and all of your friends will never escape me, either." Sam ripped the blade out and Brady collapsed, his glazed eyes wide with shock, mouth slack as he fell down dead.

Breathing heavily, Sam stared down at the corpse, expecting to feel more triumph and more relief. What he felt was more like dread and emptiness. He turned around. Dean was looking at him oddly. And Sam looked down at the blade in his hand. It was covered in demon's blood and Dean was looking at the knife, too. Warily. Then at Sam.

"You want me to—?" Dean started.

"I got it," Sam muttered and wiped the knife, both sides, onto the leg of his jeans, defying Dean to continue the sentence. And chastised, Dean nodded grimly, eyeing Brady's body. Sam brushed past him, stalking down the alley toward the Impala. When he got to the car, he didn't get in, instead suddenly leaning down onto the roof feeling so much utter heaviness. He thought of Jess—sweet, innocent Jess who had never hurt anyone, who had looked at him like he was a hero and a good man. She'd always told him how proud she was of him. How much she loved him. Sam would have given anything to have been there in her place, to have died instead of her. Nothing could ever bring her back: a thought that had echoed hollowly in his heart from the day she died until now.

Sam would never tell Dean or Alex—not now and not then—but for years in the back of his mind, he'd sometimes blamed them and Dad for her death. Because if they hadn't come to get him, if they hadn't pulled him back into the hunting life... she would have lived. That's what he'd always thought, anyway. But after today, he wasn't so sure.

What Brady had said… maybe it was his fault, and not because of something he did or didn't do, but because of who he was. That single thought was unbearable. He held a hand to his forehead, his mind whirling at a dizzying rate. The dreams of his sister were starting to pound through his head again without warning, and he was scared, cornered, wondering why Brady said she was supposed to have been special, and still would be...

"You okay?" Dean asked. Sam realized Dean was across from him at the driver's side door of the Impala.

Sam let out a heavy breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get himself together. He shook his head, disillusioned about what had just happened and wary of the future. "I thought... it'd feel better, you know?" His voice and face darkened. "And I didn't like that stuff he said about Alex."

Dean seemed to share his sentiment—glancing to the side darkly, his jaw tightening perceptibly. He opened his door. "Me either. Let's get back to Bobby's, regroup, get her. Go from there."

"Yeah," Sam said. He glanced back at the dead body in the alley way and opened the door to his side of the car, pausing. Revenge never brought back the ones you lost. He knew that. So why did it feel like he'd lost Jess all over again? And why was he so certain, deep down, that his sister was next? The things he didn't want to remember crossed his mind without his permission. He heard the screams again, felt the heat of flames…

"Hey!" Dean's voice came from inside the car and Sam realized he was just standing there. "Earth to planet Sam. Come on, it's like a solid twelve hour drive. We gotta vamoose." Dean put his hands up, impatient, clearly wondering what Sam's deal was.

Sam looked over his shoulder for one last moment. "Yeah, no, sorry."

Dean looked at Sam oddly as he sat down and swung his legs into the car, pulled the door shut after him. "You sure you're okay?" he asked his little brother, concern tightening his features.

Sam clenched his jaw. "No." He glanced his brother's way but not at him directly. "I'm not okay."

---

Chalmette, Louisiana
3:08am

Nurse Katie Cooper remained frozen and silent as the just-reunited couple in front of her looked at each other wordlessly. Alex, who'd knocked Castiel over when she'd run to him full force, was sitting with her legs on either side of him. Her arms had slackened around his neck as they stared at each other in what looked like astonishment.

Castiel blinked a couple times as he stared at the tears that had come away on his fingers, then he looked at his wife in surprise, who seemed similarly stunned, a breathless, half-confused smile on her face. Slowly, she brushed the backs of her fingers across one of his cheeks and then gently cupped her hand to the other side of his face comfortingly, using her thumb to brush away the wet streak below his eye.

God, it was a sweet moment. The nurse almost felt like she could get teary eyed, too. But instead she cleared her throat apologetically, feeling like she was part of an extremely intimate moment—pretty sure that the wife hadn't even noticed her yet, which made it feel even more like an intrusion.

The wife—Alex, Castiel had said her name was—turned her head, noticed Katie for the first time, seeming mildly surprised to see the nurse standing there. "Oh. Hi." Alex cleared her throat and wiped her cheeks rapidly with the side of her hand. "Didn't see you there." Castiel hadn't looked Katie's direction even once—he only had eyes for Alex, who maybe felt his intensely soulful gaze and turned her attention back to him. She seemed unable to stop herself and touched his face again, her face relaxing into the smallest little smile, like she couldn't believe he was really there. Like he was the most precious thing to her.

"Sorry," the nurse apologized, feeling more and more like she was intruding with every passing second. "I don't mean to interrupt…" she cleared her throat and excused herself fumblingly. "I'll uh, give you two a minute. I'll be right outside if you need anything." She stepped out of the room, feeling embarrassed of herself and a bit flustered. Neither Castiel or Alex seemed to hear her or care, they were too busy being wrapped up in each other—quite literally.

Katie remained close, watching in quick flickering glances from the side of her eye as she held her clipboard, pretending to read it. She couldn't help it—she was curious as crap about the mysterious couple who were currently saying nothing, just embracing each other—his arms circling around her waist, one of her hands on his shoulder, the other curled into the hair at the back of his head, and it looked like their eyes were shut—he'd rested his head onto her shoulder, his face was buried in the side of her neck, she had her face bowed down toward his. Her nose was in his hair, her eyes were shut. Katie wasn't sure if she'd ever seen two people who appeared to be more in love. And there was a pang of disillusionment or maybe jealousy in the pit of her stomach. Billy had never held her like that, not ever.

Katie studied the wife carefully. Alex looked to be in her late twenties—she wore some old jeans, hunting type boots, a neutral-toned plaid button up, a cargo jacket. She had a military style messenger bag slung across her body. Actually, no… Katie realized on closer inspection that it was a real military grade ammo bag. Katie's brother was in the Marines and he used the same kind. Huh. This Alex girl had the look of someone who was smart and sharp, observant and wary—she was wiry and petite but looked relatively strong… though she currently looked a little underweight and not very well-rested, like she'd been running and looking back over her shoulder nights on end. It all added in to the theory that Katie was beginning to build that these two were involved in some bad business. She briefly pictured them as Bonnie and Clyde types, or maybe sexy international spies like in that Brad Pitt movie she'd seen a few summers back.

"Are you in a lot of pain, Cas?" Alex asked her husband in a soft, worried murmur, pulling back and looking at his cut up face then ghosting her fingers over the bruises that discolored his temple, his jaw. Cas—that must be his nickname.

"I have no real point of reference to access, but… yes, I believe so. It's not as bad as it was when I first woke up." He told her. He grimaced a little, and his wife grimaced too, clearly not happy about his pain, empathizing with him. He brushed aside his own discomfort. "The angels… did they hurt you?" he asked, his face etched over in apprehension.

Angels? Katie's unconscious frown deepened slightly. Castiel had said some stuff about angels earlier, too, when she'd been trying to get basic information from him—he'd sounded a little crazy. But Alex didn't look at him like he was nuts when he asked her if angels had hurt her.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Alex told her husband, who caught her right hand in his, looking at the large scab across her knuckles.

"This?" he asked, looking up at her, his expression tense with concern.

Katie suddenly wondered if maybe 'the angels' was a gang or a code word for whoever had hurt Castiel. "No, that was me," Alex told Castiel, looking down at her messed up hand. She sounded mildly ashamed. "I did that."

Her husband's expression grew confused in the midst of his vast worry. "You?" he asked.

"Long story," she said, dismissing it, refocusing on her husband, brushing his messy hair back from his face. He wasn't easily derailed, still gazed up at her with great amounts of unease. But she was smiling at him despite that, and her closed-mouth smile was so heartfelt and full of tenderness. "I'm so glad you're okay." She told him softly. It was easy to hear from the wavering tone in her voice how convinced she'd been that Castiel wasn't coming back.

Katie glanced at her watch. She really needed to do her rounds soon. Feeling really rude but knowing how she was always pissing off the head nurse and some of the doctors with her penchant for running behind schedule, forgetting paperwork, and getting too chatty with patients, Katie cleared her throat, turned around and went back into the room, an apologetic expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Nellcor?"

Alex's brow furrowed and she looked at the nurse as if to ask 'me'? She glanced at her husband and then got a funny almost amused look on her face as she looked back at Katie. "Y...es," she replied slowly, glancing at Cas again as she got up and stood beside Castiel, not going far from him at all. "That's me. Mrs… Nellcor."

Castiel was now looking at Katie grumpily, clearly unhappy that they'd been interrupted.

"I'm so sorry..." the nurse paused and tried a disarming, silly smile. "I don't mean to get all up in ya biz-nizz," Katie apologized with joking drama, falling back on her goofy side to try and get a laugh or smile. She wilted a little when they both looked at her oddly. Dammit. No one ever thought that was funny, why did she always try it again? Professional. Be professional. "But uh, I need some information. Some paperwork. I'll, I'll leave the two of you once I get some basic information," she said, being totally serious again. "There's just not a lot of us nurses on the night shift and I need to make my rounds soon, so…"

"Of course," Alex said—she was more understanding than her sullen husband—and also appeared anxious for answers. She stayed at his side, kept a hand on his shoulder. "How is he doing? He said he was in a coma?"

"Yes, he was in a coma," Katie confirmed. "But he's doing well—remarkably well. We were all pretty surprised that he woke up at all, actually. The doctor on-call should be in to see you both soon, by the way, and he can tell you more, but… for now, I can tell you that your husband was pretty much brain dead. Then he just… woke up a few hours ago out of nowhere." Alex and Castiel exchanged a brief glance at that. "He was a little disoriented, but very coherent overall." She was getting a little animated now. "It was kind of a miracle, really." Crap, there you go again, inserting personal opinion into medical diagnosis. Katie made herself get back to just facts. "We've got him on a morphine drip for the pain right now, we'll increase the dose if he continues to experience discomfort… his vitals are good, he seems to be recovering a lot better than some might, actually." Katie looked at Castiel, mildly impressed, giving him a little smile. "I can't believe he stood up a minute ago when you came in. Pretty dang cool."

Alex was nodding, listening closely. At the last part, she smiled and glanced down at her husband, giving him a knowing smile. "Yeah well, he's... a pretty dang cool guy," she said, grinning now, and it made her even prettier than she already was. There were clear notes of pride, love, and admiration in her voice. Castiel looked almost bashful at the playful compliment, the smallest smile tugging on his lips he looked at his wife, who suddenly seemed to think of something and looked back at the nurse. "Wait… what's the pain medication for, exactly? What are his injuries?"

Katie didn't have to look at his chart, she knew Castiel's condition by heart. "He had severe internal bruising and trauma to the brain and head, as well as the… freaky symbol that was cut into him. The cuts were deep and still haven't finished healing all the way." She studied their reactions at the mention of the symbol. The wife seemed to know, her expression fell, she grew pensive and looked at Castiel, whose wide, open eyes stared back up as if he were silently telling her not to be upset. Still, Alex was clearly troubled.

Katie's curiosity was killing her, but she guessed asking about the symbol and the circumstances was the police's job, not hers. "He's going to need physical therapy most likely," she told Alex. "Not much probably, but we'll want to verify that his motor skills are up to par. He'll need a lot of rest, shouldn't stay on his feet too long. We'll probably want to keep him a couple more days for observation before he goes home with you."

Alex faltered. "A couple more days?"

Katie faltered too, uncertain why they'd be eager to leave when Castiel wasn't fully recovered… then a thought dawned. What if they were on the run from the guys who'd cut Castiel up? She tried not to show how interested she was. "Is that going to be a problem?" she asked, fishing for answers and trying not to sound suspicious.

Alex's mouth turned downward briefly and she shrugged, shook her head, and acted suddenly unfazed, like Katie had misread her. She gave a bright smile like everything were fine, shook her head. "No, no. Not at all."

Katie wasn't sure—she didn't know if that were the truth or not, seemed sort of over the top... but she went along with it, moved ahead—she really did need to start her rounds as soon as possible. "Good. Well, here's the part everyone loves: paperwork." She laughed awkwardly at her own joke. "I'll need you to fill out some forms, we're going to need some ID for him, insurance… he's been on life support for over a month now, I'm afraid the bill might be a little shocking…" Katie glanced down at her clipboard, realizing she had just gone and said something inappropriate again. She tried to recover. "No worries, I'm sure it'll be fine. We can talk to the billing department… someone will be in in about… four hours, around seven."

Alex nodded, looking down, frowning in thought. God, they were a young couple—well, no they weren't, he looked almost forty—but somehow they seemed young, and Katie felt bad, wondered if the cost of the medical care would set them back too bad, put a strain on their marriage. She hoped they had good insurance. She then remembered there was one more thing she needed to discuss with Alex. Katie cleared her throat, tried to be discreet. "Mrs. Nellcor, if I can just talk with you privately? For a minute?"

Alex's attention seemed to be piqued and she nodded consent, followed Katie into the hallway where they stood out of earshot from Castiel but could still see him. "Mrs. Nellcor—" Katie started.

"Call me Alex," she said, grinning again at the use of her last name, like she found it funny or awkward or both.

Katie shut her mouth, opened it again. "Alex." It shouldn't have felt so weird, addressing a patient's spouse by their first name, especially since Katie thought Alex looked just a little younger than herself. "Your husband is… displaying signs of… moderate delusion, possibly some kind of trauma induced selective amnesia."

Alex grew concerned. "How do you mean?"

Katie lowered her voice a little. "Well, he's just said some strange things. Like, that he had no last name… that he was as old as the planet, but that his body was thirty-seven… some stuff about angels. I think he thinks he is one, or was one."

Alex made a thoughtful face, almost amused. "That does sound a little crazy."

Katie was confused. A lot of people, when getting even slightly bad news, got worried and paranoid, and it was like you could see them starting to prepare for the worst as they wondered 'will I have to live the rest of my life with this?' but this Alex woman was unaffected. She was looking back into the room, smiling at Castiel with soft eyes, eyes full of fondness and love. Like she wouldn't care what was wrong with him. Like she loved him no matter what. Katie realized she had never looked at Billy like that. And maybe she was nuts but seeing this weird, quirky, totally in love couple was suddenly making her question her own two-year relationship. Just… the way Castiel was looking at Alex even now, like he didn't want her to disappear from his eyesight, like he absolutely adored her. If a guy looked at her like that, she wouldn't mind if he were a little crazy, either.

Katie's curiosity got the better of her. "If you don't mind me asking... how did the two of you meet?" she asked Alex, who refocused on the nurse, looking mildly knocked off balance by the question.

"Um, we met…" there was a distinctly suspicious slide of Alex's eyes to the side, like she was trying to think of something. "At work. We met at work. He uh, was around for a whole year before I really noticed him. You would have thought I didn't even know he was there." Alex chuckled as if it were funny. "Then one day he walked through the door and... it was like sparks flew." She was laughing softly, to herself, like it was an inside joke. She shrugged, looked back at Castiel again. Her amusement softened into that same fond gentle gaze she seemed to constantly look at her husband with. "Now… here we are."

Katie was intrigued and becoming totally convinced that the two of them were spies or secret agents. Maybe they weren't even really married, actually, maybe that was some kind of cover story, but in love? Definitely. They were definitely in love. And you know what, she was going to choose to believe they were married, because even if they weren't, they should be. And Katie was worried for them, because she didn't even know who they were, but she could feel, instinctively, that they were up against something.

And it was the exact kind of thing she constantly got in trouble for, but Katie asked it anyway: "I'm sorry, it's none of my business but… the way he was found—with the… weirdo symbol carved into his chest. Is he… are the two of you in some kind of trouble?"

Alex was mildly amused again, her expression seemed to say you might say that—and Katie felt a thrill race through her. Oh my god I knew it, secret agents! "Nothing we can't handle," Alex said, and there was a confidence there that Katie thought was so damn cool.

Slightly starstruck, she couldn't help but grin stupidly as she pulled out the basic information form and handed it over. "Okay, well, uh, if you could just fill out this patient information form. For our records, if you can. I'll have someone from the billing department come up in the morning. And I'll be back to check in after my rounds."

Alex took the form and looked at Katie in mild concern at her behavior. "We'll... be here."

"Okay, great." And Katie hurried off.

Alex watched the nurse go, looked down at the paperwork in her hand, and crumpled it up as she went back to Castiel. They would not be there when the nurse got back. She tossed the crumpled form into the trash bin and shut the door behind her for privacy... then stopped when her eyes locked with Cas.

"Hi." She said softly, briefly forgetting her hurry. Just took him in—hospital gown and bracelet, messy hair, bright blue eyes, boyish features. She still couldn't believe he was really here, and couldn't ever remember feeling this happy or relieved—ever.

"Hello," he replied, and there was that little ghost of a smile on his lips again. He was irresistible and she went to him again, hugged her arms around his neck, and let out a shuddering breath... just so, so, so relieved to feel him breathing, his heartbeat pounding against her, his arms around her again. In fact, it struck her all over again that he really was back and tears filled her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut, held him tighter for a second, and felt his forehead brush against her neck as he turned his face toward her.

Alex had to force herself to think about what she was doing—getting them out of there before anyone else showed up and realized that Castiel had no ID, no insurance, no way of paying whatever medical bill he'd accumulated… it would be simplest just to cut and run while they could. Reluctantly, she drew back and looked at her angel. "Can you walk?" She wasn't above stealing a wheelchair if she had to.

"Yes, I believe so."

"Good, cuz we gotta go," she told him. "Get outta here while there's not a lot of staff around."

And looking down into his face, she didn't want to have to be away from him for even a second, but she forced herself, again, to get her head in the game. She spotted the bedside table where the familiar trench coat was folded up on one of the lower shelves—she could see little peeks of his pants, shirt, and jacket sticking out underneath it, too. His shoes were on the floor, she saw that the socks were in shoved into each shoe. Okay, good.

Alex crouched and picked the stuff all up except for the shoes then set his clothing down onto the bed beside him.

He understood. Stiffly, he pushed himself up to his feet and pulled off the hospital gown awkwardly. He was wearing black boxer briefs that the hospital must have put on him—she didn't recognize them. But what she noticed more than his underwear was the scabbed angel sigil on his chest. And momentarily stilled in faint horror, she stared. "Oh Cas." She touched her fingers to the scabbed sigil, and she saw him flinch just slightly underneath the touch of her fingers.

He'd done this to himself, for her. She sought his gaze, feeling horrible all over again. "That's not what hurts," he told her. "Mostly it's my head and… well… everywhere."

Alex handed him his white dress shirt then watched him shrug it on. He didn't button it up yet. "Where are Sam and Dean and Adam?" he asked, taking the pants that she held out to him. Bending with a grimace, he put each of his legs through a foot hole. The wrong ones.

"Backwards, Cas," she told him, having to press a bittersweet smile away. "Backwards."

He paused, looked, and frowned briefly. "Oh." He fixed the problem and pulled his pants all the way up, buttoned and zipped them.

"Sam and Dean are somewhere up northeast of here, trying to find Pestilence—Gabriel said the horsemen's rings make some kind of key to Lucifer's cage, so… that's what we're doing."

He frowned. "Interesting." He picked his suit jacket up and she buttoned his dress shirt for him without a second thought. He watched her work, quiet for a moment. "And Adam? Where is he?"

Alex paused, two buttons away from being done. Her eyes flickered up to his, her expression growing harder. "Gone," she buttoned the remaining buttons. "He said yes to Michael, we're pretty sure."

Castiel appeared very disturbed and surprised indeed. "I don't understand..."

"I don't either," Alex told him, then motioned at his suit jacket, which he'd been holding forgetfully. "Jacket." She glanced back at the closed hospital room door, nervous about someone coming in and finding her about to whisk away the coma patient who hadn't paid and wasn't on file and had no records.

Cas shrugged on the black suit jacket and sat down onto the bed, grunting slightly when he reached down for his socks and shoes. "I find getting dressed to be very tiresome," he complained, pulling on one sock, then pausing. "Is this on the right foot?"

"I... don't think it matters with socks," she told him, a crooked little smile pulling on her mouth. She watched him for a minute as he put on his socks, then pulled on his shoes, tying those clumsy uneven knots. He did it all slowly, obviously sore and struggling to move well. She wondered how long he'd be like this for. "When do you think your batteries'll recharge?"

"Meaning my state of celestial grace?" He shook his head and looked down, his eyebrows knit together tightly. "I don't know. Maybe my… 'batteries'… may never be recharged. I feel incredibly…" he looked up, and his expression seemed lost, afraid, confused, his voice faltered, and it had never done anything quite like that before. "Human." It was like being punched in the stomach, hearing that quiet confession. Neither of them said anything, but both of them were thinking of 2014. Castiel, in particular, looked worried. "How am I supposed to keep you safe now?" he asked softly, and he seemed so much smaller and more fragile than he ever had. Alex didn't like to see him scared.

She tried to look hopeful and confident, then squeezed his shoulder. "We'll keep each other safe," she told him. But she was scared, too.

He stood up, still frowning slightly, and he took the trench coat up, shrugging it on. Seeing him in it suddenly made her feel a lot better.

"You look…" she couldn't think of a word, just let out some sort of appreciative soft huff of air. "Just missing one thing," she said, and reached into the pocket of her jacket… drawing out his tie.

When he saw that she'd carried it with her, a soft, touched smile lighted onto his lips.

"I kept it for you," Alex told him, stating the obvious—what she didn't say was that she'd kept a part of him with her at all times, day and night. But when his eyes flickered to the pocket she'd pulled it out of, then back up to hers, she thought maybe he understood it all the same.

She looped the tie around his neck and began to knot it for him. God, the last time she'd done this was after they'd slept together in Bobby's attic. Self-conscious, she looked up into his intent eyes… and from the way he was looking at her with them, she thought maybe he was thinking the same thing she was. Wordlessly Alex craned her neck up and kissed him, soft and sweet and slow. His hands touched either of her arms, his mouth returned her kiss, and she could have sobbed for happiness. He was here, alive, and they had another chance.

Despite the physical arousal that so predictably came at the softest kiss of his lips, Alex broke the kiss and let go of the tie regretfully—they had to get out of there, now. She turned, going to the box of personal effects that she'd spied sitting on the bedside table. She saw her silver whistle, a couple wrinkled pictures, his old cell phone (clearly ruined) some spare change… and a box cutter. That was what he must have carved that sigil into himself with. She picked it up almost broodingly. Behind her, she heard Cas take a shuffling step closer.

"What happened after I disappeared? Did Dean and Sam succeed in killing Zachariah?"

"No, I—" Alex started.

She heard the familiar sound of angel's wings and turned, confused. She quickly became terrified.

"Did someone say my name?"

It was Zachariah, practically beaming, hands on his hips. He stood between them and grinned idiotically at each of them in turn, relishing the shocked, semi-horrified looks on their faces. "Hiya, lovebirds!" He chuckled. "Don't look so surprised!" He held up a finger like he was reciting from memory. "Say an angel's name loud enough, if they're listening, they can find you." He indicated Cas with a sweep of his hand, pulling a face as he did. "'Cas' here should know this."

Cas, weakened as he was and weaponless, recovered from his shock and drew himself up to his full height, approaching Zachariah. "You'll not take her again, Zachariah," he growled, to which the other angel gave a short, derisive laugh, and turned to face down Cas.

"Even if I was here for her, which I'm not, how were you planning on stopping me?"

Castiel's expression fell into puzzlement as he processed what Zachariah had said. "If you're not here for her…" Cas trailed off and Zachariah nodded, pleased.

"By the way, thanks for screwing up my plans, Alex—sweetie. Real good job. I'd kill you right now if Michael hadn't told me not to." Zachariah's annoyed expression sprung back to that false cheer he always exuded. "Hey, maybe later!"

He turned back to Castiel and grabbed him abruptly by the front of his shirt, shoving him into the wall. Cas gave a great cry of pain the likes that Alex had never heard from him before—and it made her see red. "Raphael is tired of your constant meddling, Castiel… you messed him up one too many times," Zachariah lectured as he held Cas against the wall, his feet dangling above the floor. Cringing and groaning lowly, Cas panted in pain as his opponent continued. "And now… well, he's decided you have to die." Zachariah gave a wicked smile. "So! Any last words?"

"I've got a couple," Alex growled in his ear, right before she stabbed him with brutal force through the side of the throat with Castiel's blade, which she'd concealed inside of her jacket. "Fuck you."

Zachariah screamed as his Grace burned blue beams out of his mouth and eyes. When Alex yanked the blade out, he collapsed down to the ground, there was a sound like thunder… and below his dead body, spidery black wings stretched across the hospital floor.

Alex stood over him breathlessly, confirming he was dead before her eyes flew to Cas. He was standing slackly against the wall, looking at her in a mixture of surprise, awe, worry—but he was unharmed and alive. His eyes flickered to his blade questioningly.

She shrugged, a little out of breath, her adrenaline still going, making her shake a little now. "I kept it," she said and bent over Zachariah, pulled his jacket open a little—where she found his blade tucked inside. She grabbed it up, straightened, then looked at Cas kind of cheekily as she crossed back to the bedside table. "And I'm keeping this one, too." Someone would have heard that scream, they needed to move, now. Alex grabbed the box of Cas's personal effects and dumped all of it unceremoniously into the ammo bag she had slung across her body. They could hear a muffled voice over the hospital intercom system and they both looked up at the same time, then at each other. "We really need to go now."

Without any further delay, Alex took Castiel by the hand and they fled the hospital together.

Nurse Katie Cooper would come back to a very different scene than she'd left—all the nurses on shift and a couple doctors gasping and panicking over the strange, dead body of a guy in his fifties who no one had ever seen before… with strange, inky black wings etched beneath him.

Katie would take in the sights of the dead man, the crumbled wall, the signs of a struggle, the absence of Castiel and Alex and all of his things and think to herself, again, I knew it! The two of them were some kind of spies on the run… and had evaded this guy who was in a gang called The Angels, apparently. How did they have the time to paint the wings onto the floor, though? Some things would always be a mystery, she guessed.

When she got off of work a few hours later, she would call her boyfriend Billy of two years and tell him it was over. Because really, when she thought about it, she deserved a guy who would look at her like Castiel had looked at Alex. And she wasn't gonna settle any more.

---

Jackson, Mississippi
Around 6am

Cas and Alex were no longer in Louisiana. After slipping out of the hospital, Alex had stolen a car—some kind of sedan—and they'd started driving North. Cas had been uncomfortable about stealing the car, Alex had told him sorry but at three in the morning before the bus stations were running full swing, it was their only option. After he had resigned himself to a life of thievery, Cas had listened as Alex told him in detail about what happened with Adam—how he'd disappeared in a flash of light in the middle of the night, mumbling about "Michael." She told him how they'd spent the month visiting spiritists and shamans and psychics and how no one had any answers or ideas on how to kill Satan. She told him about last week when they'd been drawn into a trap by several demigods and gods who had been eager to stop the apocalypse. Cas was especially horrified when Alex told him how Lucifer had suddenly appeared and taken interest in her again. She explained more in depth how Gabriel had left a recording, saying he was dead and how the horsemen's rings created a key to the devil's cage.

Cas was deeply troubled when Alex told him how Sam was contemplating saying "yes" to Lucifer to jump into the cage. Troubled and intrigued, almost.

Alex didn't tell him about her visit from Crowley.

About two and a half hours into the drive, Cas had noticed his stomach felt empty… and when it had made some strange noises, Alex had seemed to hear, looked at him oddly, then asked if he were hungry. He hadn't known one way or the other if he were hungry, but she'd decided he was and they were now some place called "Waffle House." It was neither a house nor was it made of waffles.

It was busy in the restaurant, even at the early hour—the kitchen was out in the open and short order cooks in strange paper hats were calling out things as food sizzled on the large, flat grill surface. It had a hustle and bustle to it that Cas was interested in. There were many different kinds of people here—old, young, Black, white… Castiel looked at the occupants with fondness, remembering how endeared he was to people, the things they did, the odd traditions and sayings they came up with. But none of them were as endeared to him as the one who sat across from him. As if she knew he were thinking of her, Alex looked up from the plastic laminated menu she'd been scanning.

"Know what you want?" she asked.

He felt himself narrow his eyes just slightly in confusion. "Yes," he replied. Of course he did—he wanted her. He wondered why she had asked him that so abruptly. He didn't have a chance to ask her.

She set her menu flat onto the table and leaned over it, looking at him intently while resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. "Cas, did you know what carving the sigil onto yourself would do?"

"I assumed it would kill me, actually," he answered honestly. She straightened up, frowning, her hand coming away from her face. At her upset expression, he attempted to explain himself a bit better. "I'm your guardian angel. I would give my life for you, Alex. You know I would." She only looked more upset and Cas's head canted to the side slightly. "What is it?" He spoke more gently that time.

Her mouth moved oddly. Shadows of her pain and sadness showed. "...For the past month I thought you had."

Brief, weighty silence hung between them. Sorrowful compassion twisted Cas's face. And then a short, older woman with choppy salt-and-pepper hair and several missing teeth came to their table. "All right folks! You decided?" She held a pen and a little pad of paper to write their order on.

Her timing was inconvenient, but Cas plunged ahead. He tried to remember the right way to order food, the way he'd seen people do it in the past. "A, um, waffle, please."

The server peered over the little notepad. "That it?"

She seemed to be implying something, like he should order more, that a waffle wasn't enough, and Castiel squinted slightly. "...Should I order something else?" he asked, then looked at Alex, wondering if he were doing this wrong.

"I mean, that's up to you, chief," the server said. Her name tag said Flo.

Immediately, he frowned in puzzled confusion. "Why do you think I'm a chief, Flo?" He asked sincerely. Nothing about his outfit said Native American, did it?

Flo looked at him oddly then seemed to give up and instead turned to Alex, who was smiling at Cas—and it was one of those little twitchy smiles she smiled when she was trying to hide it. She had her chin in her hand again, her mouth was partially hidden behind her pinky and ring finger. But he could still see the smile. He liked it.

"And for you, miss?" Distracted out of her smile, Alex looked up at Flo. "Three scrambled eggs and bacon—extra bacon, please. And two coffees, two waters." She set her menu back where she'd gotten it, on the rack with all the condiments.

"Sure thing, back in a jiff," Flo said, glancing at Castiel oddly one last time, who was taking a bottle labeled ketchup out of the little wire basket to study it curiously.

Alex leaned toward him, her hands in her lap now. "You know they have stuff other than waffles here," she told him covertly.

"But it's called Waffle House," Castiel said, absently scratching the itchy mosquito bite that was on the inside of his wrist.

"A little confusing, I know," Alex said in amusement, her eyes soft. She looked at him for a long moment as he put the ketchup bottle back and pulled out the bright yellow one labelled mustard. He opened it, sniffed it, and cringed. It smelled absolutely pungent. He closed it and put it back, uncertain why anyone would eat this mustard substance. He looked at Alex again, and when he did, he was left feeling strangely content. Just sitting here in the noisy din, surrounded by people, with her. And then he was mildly startled when Alex's hand touched his, where it rested on the table. Meeting her gaze, he understood she wanted to hold his hand and he melted somehow, readily turning his palm up to accept. He studied the way their hands and fingers met each others, the differences in skin texture and tone, size. Contentment set in over both of them as they waited for their meals.

Presently, Cas found himself studying this restaurant and all the things happening in it. The cash register dinged as a customer paid, a cook slapped raw bacon slices down onto the griddle with an impressively loud sizzle. "One hash brown scattered smothered diced!" A server yelled over the sound of metal spatulas banging against cooking surfaces. A couple conversed a few tables over, a younger server swept the old checkered floor and the bristles made a steady, dry sounding rhythm that Cas enjoyed. In the back corner of the restaurant, there was an old man reading a paper with a steaming cup of coffee beside him.

Cas felt himself smiling softly. "I find this atmosphere enjoyable," he said, looking back at his companion. He saw that she was watching him like he was watching the others. With soft, appreciative, fond, loving eyes.

"Two waters," Flo said, setting down two plastic cups of sloshing water in front of them. "Back with your coffee in two shakes."

Alex gave her a nod and brief smile. "Thanks."

"Thanks," Cas echoed, mimicking her. Flo was sauntering off to another table to take another order.

Across from Cas, Alex seemed contemplative. "So, you're hungry, you're sore, no angel poofing powers… do you really think this will be permanent?" She paused, then began to theorize out loud. "Maybe you just need to rest and heal, like when we went back to seventy-nine."

Cas gripped his glass of water, looked at it frowning. "No... it's not like that time. This is different." He let out a short, heavy breath. "I'm not sure why but it's just… gone." He glanced up at her again, both horrified and somewhat drawn to the idea of becoming what she was… mortal. But when he thought deeper on it, he felt any enthusiasm fade. He'd been a poor excuse for an angel, what kind of man could he possibly be? He became troubled. "Perhaps this is when I… become human," he said, looking down now, trying not to think of the flawed, violent, unhinged man he'd seen himself become in 2014.

"You don't sound too happy about it," Alex observed, and it was hard to tell what she was thinking.

Castiel was conflicted. "What I was before… was better. I could protect you. Now I'm…" he looked down at his hands, laid them on the table palm facing up, his frown deepening. "Mere flesh and bone."

Their hands still held, and she gripped with a sudden gentle squeeze. "Like me," Alex said. Their eyes met and she smiled faintly. "It's not the worst thing, is it? You're alive and we're… here. Together."

Here, together. On earth. He looked at her hand in his and Cas felt some of his anxiety fade in favor of the familiar rush of feelings at her touch: warmth, safety, comfort. His eyes came back to meet hers, his mouth curved up a little. "Yes. There is that."

After a moment, Alex pulled her hand away, took in a breath, and checked her phone, her mind visibly switching tracks. After she put her phone back she heaved a charged breath. "So. You think the plan to put the devil back into the cage will work?"

He'd been too shocked by all of the information she'd relayed earlier to respond properly. Cas still found himself uncertain of what to think. "It will be difficult to trick him inside. In fact, I can't think of how. But Sam's idea seems risky, too."

Alex seemed to share the sentiment, pulling a face. "Yeah but.. we're running out of options… every time we turn around something else goes wrong…" she trailed off and her expression darkened. "Oh. I forgot to tell you about the dreams I've been having."

Interested immediately, especially because of the dream he had somehow reached her in earlier that night, Castiel felt himself lean a little closer to her. "Dreams?"

"Visions, maybe," she mumbled uncomfortably. "I don't know. I keep seeing Sam and Dean. Dead. And Lu—" she stopped short of saying his name after the whole Zachariah debacle. "Satan is always there. And he's always Sam. And then the whole world burns."

Cas thought for a minute, considering and calculating. "You've never had psychic dreams before, have you?"

She shook her head. "No." She paused, frowning now. "But there was the dream tonight where you and I talked to each other. How did that happen? What was that?"

Castiel paused uncertainly. "I'm not entirely sure how it happened, to be honest with you. The only explanation I can think of is…" he trailed off, deep in thought, then looked up into her eyes. "We share a profound bond, you and I."

Her face relaxed into a helpless little smile, she looked down and chuckled lightly. "I guess we do, don't we." She looked at him again and he wondered what she was thinking of. Her eyes seemed so bright. No one else looked at him like she did, and he couldn't look away. Her smile faded in a moment as she fell into deep thought. "What I don't understand is why aren't you in the dreams? You never are and… I dunno, Sam and Dean are two of the most important people in the world to me so… why aren't you in the dreams, too?"

He was one of the most important people in the world to her? Cas felt a deep flicker inside of him somewhere past physical. How mere words could do that to him was a mystery he couldn't fathom. Not for the first time, he privately marveled at how he responded to her so automatically. "I don't know," he answered her slowly. She seemed genuinely worried and he wished he knew how to alleviate her fears. All he could do was make a logical guess at why she was dreaming these things. "The dreams of the end are probably the result of your subconscious fears."

"Hope so," Alex said. She didn't seem to feel any better and Castiel sat back slightly. He rubbed the bug bite on his wrist again, irked with it.

Flo reappeared with two ceramic mugs of steaming dark liquid. "Here's your coffee, ya'll, food'll be up in just a couple minutes, kay?" she plunked the mugs down onto the table and bustled off again.

"Have you told your brothers about the dreams?" Castiel asked, watching Alex turn the mug of coffee where the handle was on the other side. She slipped her fingers through the loop, pulled the mug to her lips, and blew softly.

"Nah," she answered, seeming to imply with her body language and expression that wouldn't be a good idea. "They'd just think I was nuts. They don't need to know. The dreams are probably nothing, like you said."

Cas looked at Alex, who had clearly lost weight this past month, slept very little—and now he had a strange suspicion that she hadn't spoken much either. He thought back to how she had told him about the past month but hadn't put any personal details in—it had all been factual and removed. He felt a sudden, strange sensation taking over him, his mouth suddenly opened, his eyes squinted closed, his lungs pulled in a long, slow breath and he couldn't stop himself—he felt so tired. What just happened?

Alex was looking at him in a mixture of surprise and growing mirth. "Did you just yawn?"

He blinked a few times, surprised and realizing she was correct. "I think I did."

Alex tilted her mug of coffee toward him as if toasting him, and she nodded toward his untouched mug, indicating he drink some. His nose wrinkled just slightly and he lifted the mug, wary. He remembered how this stuff had tasted, and he hadn't liked it before. Still, he lifted the rim of the mug to his lips, sipped—and his nose wrinkled even more. Alex smiled sympathetically at him. He set the mug down and scratched at the mosquito bite on his wrist again, irritated. "Will this bug bite always itch?" he asked, looking at the soft swell of reddened skin that stood out on the inside of his wrist.

"Until the end of time," Alex told him with deadly seriousness. Castiel looked at her in shock—that long? Her deadpan face cracked into a grin—and she looked so beautiful like that. "No," she told him. "It won't."

"You're always teasing me," Cas commented, but he wasn't unhappy about it. In fact, he somehow liked it when she did that, because she always laughed afterward.

Flo reappeared with two plates and a dark bottle of something. She set down their meals. "Order up, sweethearts. Enjoy!"

Castiel picked up his fork, realizing this was a new experience altogether for him. "I've never used a utensil before..." he said, and looked at the round, dimpled food item on his plate—a waffle—in the center of it, a little pat of pale yellow stuff was dissolving. He wondered if he should stab the fork down into the center and try to eat the waffle like that, or—

Alex had her fork and held it out demonstratively. "Watch." She leaned closer to him, showing him how to use a fork to slice into the side of the waffle. Then she looked at him expectantly, indicating that he do the same. He took his fork and used the side of it like she had, mimicking her. She made another cut, creating a crooked little triangle—and then she stuck the fork down into the triangle and pulled away a bite-sized piece of waffle. She smiled at him and stuck it in her mouth, chewing triumphantly.

Cas now had a little wedge of waffle, too, and looked at it with dawning fond interest. "It's very ingenious," he said—both the fork and the waffle. He put the bite of food into his mouth. His frown softened as the blunt taste of coffee was covered over with the starchy, slightly sweet, fluffy taste and texture of the waffle. He smiled, impressed and pleased. "Now this… I like."

"I bet you like this, too," Alex said, and put a piece of bacon from her plate onto his. "Everyone likes bacon. Well, except vegetarians I guess."

"But I don't want to take your food—" Cas protested.

Alex gave him a pointed, easy going look. "I got extra for you," she explained setting one more strip onto his plate. "Now try it." He hesitated, then complied and lifted his fork. "With your fingers," she added, amusement playing on her voice again.

Oh. Cas picked up the strip of bacon and looked at it a moment, then took a bite. Crunchy, savory, salty, smoky. He liked this! He cracked a half-grin. "This is very enjoyable," he said and Alex laughed at him.

"Thought so," she said, and repeated herself in joking triumph. "Like I said. Everyone likes bacon."

"Except vegetarians," Cas echoed through a mouthful.

Alex grabbed the little dark brown bottle the sever had brought. "Try this. It's syrup and it's good." She drizzled a little bit over his waffle for him, then put some on her eggs and bacon… strange.

She mashed everything on her plate up together—the final product was brown and sort of unappealing —but Alex ate it all ravenously, and Castiel felt good watching her eat. He began to work on eating his waffle, taking his time, cutting wedges out, pouring more syrup when he realized how sweet and sticky and tasty it was. It was a very good invention, this syrup substance. He got better at using the fork, too.

As he stuck another piece of waffle into his mouth and chewed, catching Alex's eyes across the table, Castiel wondered if this would be his existence from now on… breakfasts with Alex, stealing cars. Being together. On the tail end of a swell of joy, he felt a ripple of doubt. He barely knew how to use a fork, he didn't exactly fit into her world seamlessly. He had been better suited to be with Alex when he'd been an angel, or at least better for her—able to protect her and watch over her. He'd been less powerful than before, but he'd still been powerful, at least in comparison to this, now. What did he have now? He looked at one of his hands, clenched it, let it fall open, then turned it over a moment. He had nothing but this, his flesh and bones. He briefly imagined growing old. Aging like she would. Together. What would that be like?

Alex's phone rang just then, a garbled sound. She pulled it out, squinted at the screen, then answered, glancing up at Cas. "Hey."

Cas could hear who it was from where he sat. "Hey, sorry to call so early, you up?" came Dean's voice.

Alex appeared mildly hesitant. "Well, uh, yeah..."

"Okay good. We're like four hours out."

"From Bobby's." Alex surmised.

"Yeah."

She cleared her throat, apprehensive about what she said next. "Okay, well I'm like… I dunno, fifteen hours out from Bobby's."

Dean's voice raised in surprise. "What? Where are you? What are you doing? When'd you leave?"

Cas looked at Alex earnestly, the piece of waffle on his fork forgotten briefly. "Should I explain?"

"...Was that Cas?!" Dean exclaimed.

"Uh, yeah, so Cas is alive," Alex explained. "Called me last night—or early this morning I guess."

"W-why didn't he just zap over to Bobby's?" Dean asked. He sounded suspicious and confounded all at once.

Alex glanced at Cas briefly. "Uh… no can do."

"Explain."

"Well, he's been in a hospital in a coma for the past month… and now that he's back in the land of the living he's just…" she trailed off hesitantly, seeming reluctant to keep going. "Kind of powerless, I guess."

"Wait, you mean he's outta angel mojo?" Dean asked incredulously.

"That's one way to put it."

"Well that's… just great," Dean paused. "So, what, he calls and you just, drop everything and go to wherever he is—without telling me?" He sounded unhappy and Cas frowned slightly. He didn't like to hear them argue, especially not after the last time. But he knew that Dean had been good to Alex the past month—it was one of the first things he'd asked her about after they'd stolen the car.

"Hey, I tried calling you all day yesterday and you never answered," Alex retorted, then sat back in her seat, falling into deep thought. "Wait, if you're on the way back to Bobby's, do you have Pestilence's ring?"

"No—but we know where he is. Davenport, Iowa, some nursing home. Where are you two, anyway?"

Alex glanced out of the restaurant window. "Few hours north of New Orleans. Mississippi."

Dean thought for a second. "Tell you what, meet us there in Davenport. We're probably ten hours out. If you guys get a car or ride a bus you can meet us there. You have money?"

Alex made a face. "Who do you think you're talking to? Of course I do."

"Okay, good," Dean said, then chuckled derisively. "Yeah and Sam here tells me he told you his genius idea to say yes to the devil."

"Yeah, he did." Alex confirmed neutrally. She looked like she were prepared for Dean to become unreasonable.

"Un-freakin-believable," Dean said, and Cas wasn't sure if that were a commentary on Sam's idea or Alex's failure to relay the information… but Alex just kind of smirked.

"Weren't you jumping up and down a month ago to say yes?" she countered.

There was a sullen pause. "You didn't have to bring that up."

Cas looked at Alex, trying not to be rude, but not sure when else to ask. "Can I speak to Dean?"

Interested, Alex nodded. "Hey, Cas wants to talk to you, hold on." She handed the phone over.

"Hello Dean."

"Cas." Dean's deep, gruff voice was much clearer now, and he sounded less sullen than he had a minute ago. "We all thought you were dead, man. I'm… I'm glad you're okay."

"Thank you. Dean, your sister's told me about everything that happened. Thank you for keeping your word."

He heard Dean chuckle airily. "Yeah well, I'm the one who should be saying thanks. You saved their lives and I… I really underestimated you, Cas buddy." Dean sounded as though the compliments were hard for him to say, so Castiel appreciated them even more. After a long silence, Dean spoke up again. "So... can I talk to my sister again, or…?"

"Yes. Of course." Cas handed the phone back.

"Hey," Alex said. "We'll head that way soon, okay? Also, my phone's about to die and I don't have the charger, so..." she trailed off.

"Dammit, Alex, what have I told you about always making sure I can get in touch with you?"

Alex looked up at the ceiling. "I know, I know..."

"Okay, look. Just burn rubber and meet us at Serenity Valley Convalescent Home. Davenport, Iowa, got it?"

"Yup."

"And hey… no funny business, you hear me?"

Alex rolled her eyes, appearing to be unsure whether she should be annoyed or amused by her brother's command. "Bye Dean." She ended the call and stuck her phone into a pocket. "Looks like we gotta get moving…" she told Cas, and scraped the last bit of egg off her plate with her fork. "Pretty sure Iowa is like twelve or so hours from here."

The server came back as if on cue, holding a yellow slip. She set it down onto the table. "Here's your bill, ya'll, need anything else?"

"Can you tell me where the nearest bus station is?" Alex asked.

"There's a Greyhound station downtown, just east of here." Flo pointed for emphasis. "Cross over highway fifty-one and go a couple streets down, the depot's there."

"Thanks."

"Uh huh! Ya'll have a good day." She took their plates and left.

"A bus?" Cas asked, confused.

"I'm too tired to drive—I really need sleep." Alex paused. "And I'd rather not take a stolen car much further anyway."

"Because it's wrong to steal?" Cas asked.

She cracked a lopsided grin. "Because the longer I keep driving it the greater the chance of getting caught by the cops. But sure, let's say because it's wrong." She took a gulp of her coffee, grimaced, then wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, digging in her bag. "I have to live on pretty gray morality, Cas. And now you do too. For example… I need to stop and steal you some major prescription pain medicine… that morphine in your system'll wear off soon and you'll be in a world of pain." She seemed to be almost talking to herself at this point as she raking through her bag, frowning. "I guess I could forge a prescription but I don't have any stuff to make a believable one with me…" She fished out some money and set down a twenty and a ten dollar bill onto the table then gave him a slight, helpless shrug. "At least I'm paying for breakfast, right?"

---

Later

About thirty minutes after leaving the Waffle House, Alex found a twenty-four hour pharmacy. There she left Cas in the stolen car, went inside, tripped the fire alarm and used the distraction to steal Cas some medicine called Lortabs. They then crossed town and found the bus depot, bought tickets to Davenport, boarded the bus and were settled in the further row of seating in a back corner. Outside the sun was rising slowly, rendering the sky a dim gray. The passing landscape was hard to make out, and Alex had turned on one of the little overhead lights so that she could see what was in her hand.

"So, take one of these. It'll probably make you sleepy for a little while," she advised, handing Cas a little white pill speckled in blue. He took it into the palm of his hand and she pulled out a water bottle out of her bag. She must have gotten that from the drug store, too. She seemed to realize that he hadn't ever had to take a pill before. "Uh—put it on your tongue then just take a drink of water, really relaxed… and swallow it."

Cas did as she said. It was a strange sensation when he felt the pill go down and knock up against the back of his throat. He swallowed again, feeling it stick in the base of his throat. He then drank a little more and felt the pill go all the way down. Not the most pleasant thing he'd ever experienced. Water did, however, drip down out of his mouth and onto his pants.

"Thank you," Castiel said. Alex took the bottle back, screwed the cap on, then stuck it back into her bag. That's when she paused.

"Hey, that reminds me." She pulled out a book from her bag. "I got this for you. When I stole the drugs. I, uh, stole this too."

She held out a paperback that said Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut. It had a light purple cover with three strange hand-drawn yellow eyes on it. "I… thought you might like this. I read it when I was ten. Heady stuff for a ten year old but… I dunno. I saw it there on the shelf and… I think it might be your kinda novel."

Cas was surprised and felt an odd sense of humility wash over him. She had gotten something for him. "Thank you," he said, looking at her a moment longer, almost too surprised to know how to accept the gesture. She held the book out further to him and he took it, turning it over in his hands reverently. He could smell the pages—a thick, pleasing, papery smell. He'd never read a book before—he had the word of the Lord etched onto his mind of course, but that was different. He'd never done what the humans did and read for pleasure or interest. He looked at the back of the book, curious as to what made Alex think he would like this particular tome.

The description said: "Beyond the limits of space, where the beauty of woman is without compare but man is without a memory of sexual delights… where nothing is forbidden but free thinking is an unforgivable sin… where life is perfect, but resistance to perfection means death." Intriguing.

Alex shrugged kind of bashfully. "I dunno. I thought, long bus ride, maybe a book…" she did that thing she did where she dipped her head toward her shoulder a little self consciously. She cleared her throat and started pulling things out of her bag. They were the things that had been in his pocket: she set them down one by one into the small space between them. She pulled out his ruined cell phone, some quarters, the box cutter, her silver whistle, and then the wrinkled, water-stained pictures. She looked at the one of herself thoroughly and made a face. "Whoa. This is the worst picture of me ever. You really need a better one."

Castiel frowned. He loved that picture and didn't understand. "What would make it better? ...It's of you."

She seemed surprised, flattered, and a little embarrassed by what he'd said—but mostly flattered. Bashfully, she handed the photo over to him. He put it back into the pocket of his coat where it belonged, then picked up the rest of his things and put them there too.

She pulled his angel blade out—she had it stashed inside her jacket along with Zachariah's, which she was now clearly claiming as her own. "Guess you'll want this back," she said, and turned the blade, offering it to him handle-first. He accepted and met her gaze as he took it. He remembered when he'd given her the blade back in 1979. How long ago that seemed...

Alex rubbed one of her eyes with the heel of her hand, blinking rapidly after. She was tired, Castiel remembered and observed. He thought maybe he felt the same… his body felt sluggish and weary. "I think the medicine is working." His eyelids seemed heavier than they had before. "I feel very drowsy." It was similar to when he'd been drunk, but less unpleasant. His body urged him to just shut his eyes, but he resisted.

Beside him, Alex suddenly yawned—a soft little sleepy sound—then leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Me too," she murmured. Feeling her there against him, so trusting and close… his chest seemed to grow a little bit somewhere inside, welling up with vast emotion he wasn't sure what to call. Looking down, he could see that her eyes had drifted shut. For a moment, Castiel basked in this moment and felt how his heart grew warmer and bigger in his chest.

Momentarily Cas opened up the book—his book—and read the first line of the first chapter: Everyone now knows how to find the meaning of life within himself. But mankind wasn't always so lucky.

A content smile rested on his lips. He liked that. The statement of a whole consciousness, the implied shift in perception, the indication that things had not always been so glorious but had become thus at the present time the sentence had been written. All of that in eighteen little words. He heard the softest little snore and looked down—realizing that Alex had fallen fast asleep. That big, swelling feeling in his chest grew even bigger. He would never leave her side again. He swore it to himself, and in that moment, he believed he could actually accomplish that goal. After about five minutes of watching her, the book forgotten, Castiel nodded off to sleep too.

In the back of a greyhound bus, they were easy to miss—the man in a trench coat and the young woman with dark brown hair sleeping together with heads leaned in. She had both of her arms looped around one of his. How could anyone know that the man was a fallen angel? That the woman leaned against him was the reason he fell?

---

Davenport, Iowa
Serenity Valley Convalescent Home

"This way," Castiel said, leading them down a dim hallway. So far they saw nothing—no one. Not a peep of anything. Kind of eerie. After an thirteen-hour-and-some-change bus ride, Cas and Alex had finally arrived in Davenport. Alex had used a phone book and a town map from a gas station to find the nursing home where Sam and Dean said they'd be… because neither of the Winchesters had picked up their phones when she tried to call from a pay phone.

Cas seemed to know where he was going, maybe sensing Pestilence's presence somehow. Alex wondered if his angelic powers really were all gone like he thought. But the way he'd gotten hungry, thirsty, slept that day (for nearly nine hours, longer than she had)… wasn't exactly angelic. However he'd never had to use the bathroom and he hadn't gotten hungry again. It was hard to tell what exactly was going on with him.

They rounded another corner and Cas led on. Alex had her newly acquired angel blade out—Zachariah's. Figuring it had more of a chance of fucking up Pestilence and any demons with him than her little hunting knife did, she gripped it tightly. Where the hell were her brothers, anyway? She knew they were here—the Impala was parked out front.

A wave of nausea hit Alex and she grimaced. Bad time to get a stomachache, body. Please not now.

She and Cas turned another corner and promptly stopped. A few bodies littered the area and Alex felt another wave of nausea hit. "He's close," Cas told her—that explained her sick stomach. He turned to look at her apprehensively. "I don't think you should go any further," he looked down then the hallway ahead, frowning deeply. "He'll make you very sick."

"And he won't make you sick too?" Alex challenged. He met her gaze and she told him in no uncertain terms, "I'm not letting you out of my sight. Where you go… I go."

Surprisingly, Cas didn't argue. He accepted it with a mixture of chagrin and fondness, like he'd known she would say as much. "Stay close," he told her, holding her gaze a moment longer.

She gave him a little smirk. Always.

They advanced down the hallway and Alex felt sicker and sicker—Cas wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, suddenly sweating profusely, maybe feverish. Alex stumbled about seven steps down the hallway, her stomach cramping up miserably, and she threw an arm up against the wall to support herself. The world was spinning strangely, she felt like vomiting. Her entire body was on fire with a violent fever.

She felt Cas at her side, supporting her. "Are you all right?" he asked as she struggled against the queasy feeling, the need to puke everywhere.

"Nope," she managed in a strained voice. "He's definitely close."

"Let me take you back," Cas said, indicating she come with him, back away from where Pestilence.

Alex shook her head hard. "No. I'm not leaving you." She suddenly coughed violently and doubled over, gasped for air. Shit, Pestilence didn't play around. Were her brothers okay? They needed to hurry, she could feel it.

Cas looked miserable and she wasn't sure if it was because he was feeling ill as well or didn't like to see her unwell. Either way, they moved forward again, jerkily this time. Alex's vision began to double. Her grip on her angel blade had become shaky and sweaty and loose, she wanted to fall over and die… where was she, anyway? What was happening? Why did she hear the tune of Back in Black in her mind? She felt distinctly nuts, like she was close to hallucinating, and she wondered how high her temperature was. Cas was holding her up, his hand gripping her upper arm. He stopped at the next door they came to. "He's here," he panted, pulling his blade out from inside his coat. Alex grabbed onto the doorframe to hold herself up, not sure if she could go any further without collapsing. The world spun with more and more speed.

Cas kicked the door open, startling the occupants inside—a wiry, elderly man in glasses—Pestilence—and a young curly haired black-eyed nurse. On the floor Sam and Dean were curled up groaning and injured, sick, oblivious to the world.

Not thinking straight, Alex stumbled toward them lurchingly, making it about three steps into the room before she staggered into a fall, dropping her blade. Holding herself up on all fours weakly and hacking up a huge glob of blood, she groaned pitifully, clutching at her stomach with one hand and falling onto her side. Her entire body was wracked violently with deep coughs and the inability to catch her breath. Somewhere above her, she saw Castiel's blurry outline. He came into focus for a second—she saw that he was horrified. She moaned and bared her teeth, shutting her eyes against a violent spasm of pain.

"Al...ex…" Sam managed in a gasp, through a mouthful of blood. Alex tried to reach him, but he was impossibly all of three feet away.

Pestilence and the nurse looked at Castiel with what was clearly fear—they didn't know, yet, that the angel in front of them was almost as human as the Winchesters were.

"How'd you get here?" Pestilence asked Cas darkly—he sounded nervous.

Covered in a sheen of sweat, Cas swayed in place. "A bus."

"...Cas?" Dean asked, groaning on the floor.

Cas lurched toward Pestilence, hefting his blade, appearing more and more unwell every second. "I—" he started, then gave a great choking cough and fell onto his hands and knees, hacking up blood. His blade clattered uselessly to the floor at his side. Pestilence bent and took the blade easily, turning it over in his hand with great interest, looking at Cas with great amusement.

"Well, look at that!" Pestilence exclaimed as he understood the situation. "An occupied vessel, but powerless. Oh, that's fascinating…" Cas was heaving, blood dripping down and off of his lower lip, his eye caught something on the floor near to him, he glanced at Alex, grimacing… and she was groaning horribly, writhing almost—Sam and Dean were similarly incapacitated, looking close to death. Cas looked back at Pestilence, his expression murderous. The horseman was grinning down at him, intrigued. "There's not a speck of angel in you, is there?"

In a flash of movement Cas grabbed the demon blade from where it had been discarded on the floor. Summoning strength he didn't know he had, he sprang to his feet, grabbed Pestilence by the wrist, then cut off his ring finger and pinky finger all at once with a brutal slice of the blade.

"Ahh!" Pestilence cried out in surprise and pain.

Even as Castiel released him, he managed to grit out: "Maybe just a speck."

The demon nurse bellowed in rage, rushing Castiel brainlessly, knocking him over—then found herself with the demon blade in her stomach. She convulsed and collapsed, dead. Cas threw her off of himself and stood up, panting from exertion and anxiety.

Sam and Dean were already getting up—when Cas cut the ring off Pestilence's finger, the powerful spell had been broken and they weren't ill anymore. Maybe just a little stunned. Sam pulled his dazed sister to her feet even as Dean rushed over to the table and picked up the bloody ring and finger Castiel had just cut off of the horseman.

Pestilence, who held his bleeding hand as he stood back at the far end of the room, was disturbingly calm. "It doesn't matter," he told them softly. "It's too late." And then he vanished into thin air.

Alex and Cas looked at each other breathlessly, frowning. "You okay?" Sam asked his sister, and she nodded, straightened up.

"Yeah, you?" she asked.

A little disconcerted, Sam rubbed his palm down and over his mouth and chin then shrugged. "Guess so."

"What took you so long?" Dean asked with a note of aggravation, looking at Cas and then Alex.

Alex looked at him with a rigid expression. "You could have waited for us to get here," she retorted. "Nice to see you too." She gave him an irritated side glance as she picked up her discarded angel's blade, then Cas's too. Dean said nothing, pulled a face.

"It's really good to see you Cas," Sam said, gingerly clapping the angel on the shoulder with one of his massive hands. "Glad you're still here with us."

"Thank you, Sam," Cas said. "It's good to see you too."

Alex handed Cas one of the angel blades and Sam saw the significant glance the two of them shared. Dean said nothing, but his cold scowl was enough commentary.

Sam looked at the spot Pestilence had disappeared from, filled with foreboding. "What did he mean it's too late?"

Dean looked too. He appeared deeply unsettled. "I'm not sticking around to find out." With a couple of dark glances at Cas and Alex, Dean nodded toward the door and pocketed Pestilence's ring. "Let's blow this popsicle stand, huh?"

They headed back without delay to Bobby's. And in a show of his immature control freak nature, Dean would suggest that Cas sit up front with him in the Impala, separating his sister and the angel by way of passive aggression. It was a long seven hour drive back to Bobby's.

---

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

"And then Cas cut his ring finger off and none of us were sick anymore," Sam finished explaining. Dean pulled the ring in question out of his pocket, holding it between his thumb and pointer finger.

In the study, Sam and Dean sat across the desk from Bobby—Cas leaned against the desk at the wall a few feet away, Alex was beside him sitting backwards on a chair. The four of them looked tired out and tense, and for the Winchesters, that was normal. But for Cas to look physically weary was a little on the odd side.

"Well, it's nice to actually score a home run for once, ain't it?" Bobby asked. Dean plunked the ring down onto the desk, staring at it blankly. Bobby took in everyone's grim expressions and grew confused. "What?"

Sam heaved a soft, thoughtful sigh. "Last thing Pestilence said: 'it's too late.'"

Bobby sat back, frowning dubiously. "He get specific?"

Sam shook his head. "No."

"We're just a little freaked out that he might have left a bomb somewhere," Dean said. That had been the topic of most of the glancing discussions they'd had on the car ride back from Davenport—what Pestilence had meant and what way, if any, they had of stopping whatever plan he'd set into motion. "So please tell us you have actual good news."

Bobby wasn't enthused. "Well... Chicago's about to be wiped off the map," he said reluctantly. "Storm of the millennium. Sets off a daisy chain of natural disasters. Three million people are gonna die." Sam and Dean looked at each other darkly and Alex put her face into an exhausted hand.

"I don't understand your definition of 'good news,'" Castiel said, frowning.

"Well… Death, the horseman—he's gonna be there," Bobby explained. "And if we can stop him before he kick starts this storm, get his ring back…"

"Yeah, you make it sound so easy," Dean commented snidely, his tone bordering on rude.

"Shut up Dean," Alex told her oldest brother, annoyed with him. Bobby looked at the two of them closely. There it was again, the clear, growing rift between the oldest and youngest Winchester. He hated to see that. He glanced at Cas, who was looking down, seeming to be conflicted. "How do you know all that stuff, anyway, Bobby?" Alex asked. She sounded distinctly suspicious and Bobby looked distinctly guilty.

"I had, uh, you know… help."

The sound of someone clinking around in the kitchen made them all turn. "Don't be so modest," Crowley said airily, announcing his presence as he always did—without warning, and at the strangest of times. He was pouring himself some of Bobby's whiskey. "I barely helped at all." He took his glass of whiskey and sauntered into the room, leaning against the doorframe. "Hello, boys, madame. Pleasure, etcetera."

Alex had stood up the second she saw him, Cas right after her—and Crowley looked at the two of them saucily. "Please, no need for that," he said, and they slowly sat back down. He sniffed the whiskey he'd poured himself, made a face then set the glass down, leveling Bobby with a little arrogant smile. "Go ahead. Tell them. There's no shame in it."

Everyone in the room looked back at Bobby in unison. "Tell us what?" Sam asked. He seemed to be bracing himself for the worst, which, hell, this pretty much was.

"World's gonna end," Bobby mumbled, dodging everyone's eyes. "Seems stupid to get all precious over one little… soul."

Sam and Alex both went slack-jawed, Cas hung his head in dismay, even as Dean's face went cold all over. "You sold your soul?" he asked in disbelief.

"Oh, more like pawned it," Crowley commented mildly. "I fully intend to give it back."

"Well, then give it back!" Dean demanded, temper flaring.

"I will," Crowley replied evenly.

"Now!" Dean thundered.

Sam was looking at Bobby with a morbidly curious expression. "...Did you kiss him?"

"Sam!" Dean exclaimed.

"Just wondering," Sam defended.

"It's a good question." Alex put in, siding with her twin, her hands shrugged up to her shoulders. Dean made a face, but was clearly curious too—all three of the Winchesters looked at Bobby expectantly. Crowley of course was loving it.

Embarrassed as hell at how all the eyes in the room were on him, Bobby made an indignant face. "No!"

Crowley cleared his throat meaningfully, drawing all the gazes in the room to himself. He held out his phone, and on the screen there was a picture of Bobby and Crowley kissing—Bobby's eyes were screwed shut, Crowley was looking into the camera. The Winchesters gaped, Alex put a hand over her mouth—it wasn't clear if she were covering up a gasp or a laugh.

Bobby looked at Crowley, mildly humiliated. "Why'd you take a picture?"

"Why'd you have to use tongue?" Crowley shot back silkily, further deepening the embarrassed flush on Bobby's cheeks.

"...Can you text that to me?" Alex asked Crowley, drawing four incredulous stares from Sam, Dean, Bobby, and Cas. She shrugged defensively, looking at them innocently. It was just her inner troll at play. "What?"

"Sure, lemme have your digits and I'll sext it right over," Crowley purred.

"All right. You know what? Enough of the comedy hour," Dean said, standing up out of his chair and crossing the room to confront Crowley. "Give him his soul back now."

"I'm sorry," Crowley said without much conviction. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?" Dean thundered, close to flipping his lid completely.

"I won't, all right?" Crowley retorted, a little more loudly, a little more defensive now. "It's insurance."

"What are you talking about?!"

"You kill demons," Crowley said in a velvet growl, then glanced at Sam sharply. "Gigantor over there has a temper issue about it, can't say that your little angelfood cupcake sister over here feels any sweeter on me than he does." He glanced at Alex, who was regarding him guardedly now. "But none of you will kill me…" Crowley said, smiling again casually, "as long as I have that soul in the deposit box."

"You son of a bitch," Bobby muttered, realizing he'd been had.

Crowley looked like he resented that comment. "I'll return it," he reiterated. "After all this is over, and I can walk safely away." His voice suddenly raised into an unexpected shout. "Do we all understand each other?!"

Dean looked at Bobby angrily, then Crowley, his expression foul. "Yeah. We understand each other." He brushed past Crowley and stalked out of the study.

"What's got under his skin then?" Crowley asked, as if he hadn't the slightest idea why Dean was perturbed. He gestured back at the kitchen. "Anyone fancy a cuppa?"

"How's about you get lost?" Bobby retorted sharply.

Crowley looked around the room. "Fine. I can tell when I'm not wanted." He disappeared into thin air.

Bobby looked at the twins, who were eyeing him strangely. "Why'd you do it, Bobby?" Sam asked. He sounded upset, which made Bobby feel a couple shades worse.

"I only wanted to help," he said. "And hey, I found Death, didn't I? It was part of the deal." He paused. Alex and Cas were looking at him with similarly anxious frowns on their faces. Bobby shrugged, adjusting the brim of his hat. "This hare-brained plan to shove the devil back into his little box is our last option, so… I was just tryin' to do my part to make it happen."

Sam nodded tensely, deep in thought. "Once we have all four rings though, then what?" He looked back at his sister, then scrubbed his hand across his forehead, standing up with a heavy expulsion of breath.

Alex looked pained and reluctant, like she was silently begging her brother no—don't do this.

---

Outside and behind Bobby's house, Dean had the Impala's hood raised. He pulled out the filthy air filter to replace it with a new one. It was cold for late April and the sky was cloudy, overcast, dim. He heard two sets of footsteps on the gravel nearby and he glanced up. His siblings. Further off by twenty or thirty feet, Cas hung back with his hands in his coat pockets. Dean looked at him warily before turning his attention back to his brother and sister. Sam gave him a look and leaned his back against the car. Alex stood there with her arms crossed beside Sam. She didn't look too happy. Hell, neither of them did. "Lemme guess," Dean said, coming to stand a couple feet off from Sam. "We're about to have a talk."

Sam looked down. "Look, Dean, um…" he drew in a deep breath as if he were steeling himself. He stood all the way up, looked at Dean intently. "For the record… I agree with you, with both of you." He glanced at their sister, who remained silent and brooding. "About me," he clarified. "You both think I'm too weak to take on Lucifer... well... so do I." Alex was visibly mildly surprised at his admission. "Believe me, I know exactly how screwed up I am," Sam continued. "You, Alex, Bobby, Cas… I'm the least of any of you."

"That's not true," Alex butted in, frowning in confusion and almost personal offense, "Why—"

"No, it is true," Sam interrupted, and his voice was full of conviction. "It is. I've always run away, I've always given up, I've never hung in like you guys have and I'm sorry. I'm not the right man for the job. But… it looks like I'm the only man for the job. If there was another way we could…" he trailed off. Dean folded his arms now, listening with a stony expression on his face, leaning against the Impala as Sam continued. "But I don't think there is another way. There's just me."

Dean glanced up at Sam, deep in thought, and Alex looked at her oldest brother. Taking in his expression made her become irate. "Are you actually listening to him?"

Dean threw his hands up dispassionately, his shit attitude written all over his moody expression.

More understanding and kind than Dean was at the moment, Sam looked at his twin emphatically. "Alex, I know you don't like it, and I'm definitely all ears if you have any other suggestions," he told her, pausing to let a silent beat hang for her to come up with another idea or solution, which clearly, she didn't have. She said nothing, only clenched her jaw tightly, glanced at Dean darkly, then back to Sam. "I don't know what else to do," Sam told them both earnestly. "Except just try t-to do what's got to be done."

"Aaaand… scene," came a familiar voice behind them. Crowley smiled at them and sauntered around the car. "There's something you need to see," he said, handing a newspaper over to Sam who took it uncertainly. Lurking still at a reasonable distance, Cas watched with a dark frown aimed at the demon.

"...Niveus Pharmaceuticals is rushing delivery of its new swine-flu vaccine quote 'to stem the tide of the unprecedented outbreak,'" Sam read slowly. "Uh... shipments leave Thursday—tomorrow." Sam looked at Crowley, stumped. "What's this have to do with anything?"

"Niveus?" Alex repeated, her head canted to the side in thought. "Isn't that where you snatched that Brady guy up from?" she asked, thinking back to everything her brothers had said in the car trip back to Bobby's about their past week tracking down Pestilence.

"Yeah, but…" Sam trailed off, realization dawned onto his face. "Oh."

"Ding ding ding. That's right, Brady, V.P. of distribution, Niveus Pharmaceuticals," Crowley confirmed then smiled leisurely. "We all caught up, then?"

"So, Pestilence…" Dean started slowly.

"...was spreading swine flu…" Sam continued.

"So he could distribute a quote unquote vaccine." Alex finished.

"Smart one, right here," Crowley patted Alex on the shoulder fondly, she gave him a dirty look even as both of her brothers seemed to become slightly taller and Cas took a step closer. Crowley's face fell indignantly. "Oh the lot of you! Knock it off, will you? I'm here to help. Now, I'll stake my reputation on it—mark my words, boys and girl, that vaccine is chock-full of grade-A, farm-fresh croatoan virus."

The Winchesters exchanged a quick look. The brothers were especially aghast. "Simultaneous, countrywide distribution," Sam commented tensely. "That's quite a plan."

"You lot better stock up on… well, everything," Crowley said. He wasn't being a total wiseass—there was a certain note of warning to his voice. "This time next week... we'll all be living in zombieland."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great. One more thing to do, like we didn't already have enough on our plate," he muttered in frustration.

"Oh come off it. You make it sound so impossible." Crowley gestured to the three of them. "Look, there's a whole lot of us now. Dean, you and I head over to Chicago, get Death's ring while Sammy and Al here, they go knock Niveus over onto its ass. Win, win."

"Divide and conquer," Sam surmised, eyes downcast as he thought about it.

Dean looked at Crowley grimly. The demon had a point, but not one Dean was very enthusiastic about. "For the record, I don't like this," he said.

Crowley just smiled mildly. "Didn't think you would. Now, there's something we'll need, Dean. I'll be back round in just a tick." He disappeared again.

Dean turned and faced Sam straight on, pointing an authoritative finger at him. "Okay, Sam, look, I'm gonna get this last ring but we are not jumping head first into some crazy plan where you say yes to the devil. We are gonna make this decision together, okay, the three of us." He paused. "Cuz call me crazy but if you say yes to the devil and can't fight him off… the world's all kinds of screwed. You'd dominate that poor bastard half brother of ours like no one's business." They were all silent for a guilty minute thinking of Adam. "It's not a good idea, period," Dean finally concluded mistrustfully.

Sam was reluctant and resigned. "I never said it was good. I said it was our last chance."

Alex was looking someplace over Dean's shoulder. Decisively, she went around to the back of the car, opened the trunk, grabbed a shotgun and ammo out of the trunk, then started off toward Cas.

"Where you going?" Dean asked gruffly.

She glanced back at him. "To teach the angel how to shoot a shotgun."

The brothers watched her go. "That's not something you hear every day," Sam commented, attempting a chuckle. Dean didn't look so amused.

"What if it backfires, Sam?" He asked in a low, quiet voice. "What if you say yes and you can't even raise a pinky against Satan?"

Sam looked at his older brother direly. "That's not an option. If I do this… we have to know it's gonna work."

---

On the outer edge of the salvage yard, Alex had just finished going over gun safety rules and was giving Cas a live demo. She loaded a single shell into the gun chamber, cocked, aimed, fired and left a large gaping hole in one of the junked cars beside them—all in about one second. The sound of the shotgun blast was startlingly loud. "Now you do it," Alex told Cas. She handed the gun to him and he took it uncertainly, then the shotgun shell she handed him.

With nervousness, he put a shining golden cartridge into the chamber and slid it in until it clicked, just like she had. He held the gun like she'd shown him when the gun was empty, but his confidence wasn't too high. Alex corrected his form by putting one of her hands onto the barrel as she stood beside him, pushing the butt of the gun more firmly into his shoulder. "Always tight into your shoulder," she reminded. "If you don't, the recoil will bruise you bad." He looked at her as she continued to explain. "Shotguns like this one, sawed off, work best at a close range, about how far we are from the target right now. Just aim in the general vicinity of where you wanna hit, cuz the buckshot will spray everywhere. You can't miss, pretty much." She pointed at the old car headlight she'd set on top of an upside down barrel, patted him on the shoulder, and gave him an encouraging little smile. "Go for it, Cas."

He felt utterly foolish but aimed as best he could then pulled the trigger and watched the car headlight explode as buckshot hit it. The gun kicked hard against him, he was surprised at the brute force of it… and also reminded sickeningly of the time he'd seen himself shoot a gun in visions of the future. He was disheartened and miserable. He lowered the shotgun, feeling entirely useless and trapped in himself, doomed to the fate he'd foreseen...

"Hey, hey," Alex said, taking the shotgun from him, noticing his sudden upset mood. "It's okay. You can do this," she encouraged. "I know it must be overwhelming." She was assuming he was upset because he was having difficulty with so many new experiences… when the truth was that he was only thinking about how powerless he was to protect her now. And how he'd used one of these manmade weapons, a gun, to end her life in the future.

"I don't like guns," he told her, meeting her concerned gaze slowly. His mind ghosted over the memories of her dying in twenty-fourteen.

Sam lumbered up, a couple beers in his hands. "Hey guys. How's the shotgun lesson going?"

Alex smiled sympathetically at Cas, who was morose and not too confident in himself. "I think he'll do just fine," she said, trying to cheer him up.

"Cas, Dean told me to tell you that he wants to talk to you, whenever you get a minute," Sam said.

Cas's face twisted into a half-quizzical, half-apprehensive frown. He glanced at Alex. "I'll go now," he decided.

Alex set the shotgun down onto the hood of an old busted Bronco after making sure the chamber was clear. "I'll come with you," she said, but Cas shook his head, his frown deepening.

"No…" he trailed off. "I think I should speak with him alone."

Alex looked at him carefully, concerned. "...You sure?"

He didn't look sure, but he seemed resigned. "I'll be fine."

They were doing it again, Sam noticed—looking at each other silently, seeming to study each other and speak to each other at the same time. After a couple seconds, Cas headed back toward the house and Sam smiled at his sister crookedly when she finally looked over at him. "It's good to see you two together again," he told her.

"...Really?" she asked softly. His kindhearted, considerate smile was silent confirmation. She gave a quiet, rueful little air laugh as her eyebrows shot up briefly. "I wish Dean felt the same."

Sam wasn't sure if it were true or not, but he decided to be optimistic. "He'll come around."

His sister gave him a funny look, mildly suspicious and mostly sarcastic. "Are we talking about the same Dean right now?"

Sam chuckled softly, offering her one of the drinks he'd brought. "Beer?"

She swiped it readily. "Please."

---

Dean was leaned over the engine of his car off in his own little world as he tinkered. He had his jacket off and wore a t-shirt that had some dark black oil streaks on it.

"Hello Dean," Castiel greeted.

Dean glanced up somewhat warily and straightened, wiping his hands on a black-streaked rag. "Cas." He tossed the rag down onto the edge of the engine, spread his hands apart and leaned over the engine again, not looking at Cas. "So, all outta angel batteries, huh?" He glanced up briefly. "What, you human now?"

Castiel frowned slightly, pensive, unsure. "I might as well be."

Dean stood up again, looking at Cas in that same wary, watchful way. "I'm sorry man. Glad you made it though." He sounded a little forced, and tried to chuckle—a clipped, strained sound. "We thought you were dead. Like, never coming back dead."

"Yes, that's what everyone has been saying," Cas confirmed slowly. He wasn't sure where Dean was going with this conversation.

Dean wet his lips and put a hand out in a pay attention sort of gesture. "Look man, we gotta clear the air about something." Castiel felt the small amount of dread in the vicinity of his stomach growing bigger as Dean looked at him with a cloudy expression. "I don't know how I feel about you and my sister, okay? I don't get it, for one. Of all the human girls in the world, why'd you have to pick my little sister?" Dean sounded almost pleading, which was worse than when he was angry.

Castiel couldn't put it into words, the way he'd been drawn to Alex from the start. He shook his head. "I... I don't know. I just did."

Dean's expression darkened. "Look, I'm all for her having a guardian angel, for getting protection from Heaven, blah blah whatever, but… we've talked about this. And now you're human or at least mojo-less. Just like the Cas I met in twenty-fourteen. See, I'm watching the future unfold right in front of my eyes where Alex is dead and Sam is Satan and you're… a wingless, drugged out mess. I saw her give you Lortab on the friggin' car ride over here… do you know how freaky this is? What if this is where you get hooked on pills?"

Cas was silent, stunned by the thought. He hadn't even considered that.

"Tell me again how I'm supposed to just go along with this," Dean continued tightly. "'Cause I'm not down to watch her ruin her life over you. I'm not trying to be a dick, it's just the way it is."

Cas was growing frustrated. "Dean, if the idea of what happens in that future didn't loom over us, would you still feel this way?"

"Yes!" Dean replied immediately, emphatically. "You're too old for her, you're not normal, you're not human."

Castiel felt himself darkening. "Strange that you didn't seem to find these things to be issues where Anna was concerned." Dean was startled. "I know about you and her, Dean," Cas said bluntly. "All of it." Castiel stared at him tensely. "And I believe the term that most accurately describes you right now is… hypocrite."

"That was different," Dean said forcefully. "When she and I were together, she was human."

Cas shook his head. "She was what I am now. In fact, she had more angel remaining in her than I do."

Not what Dean had wanted to hear, clearly. He threw his hands, his face screwed up into a overbearing expression. "I mean, how would you ever take care of her, man? It's a delusion. She needs someone who can provide for her, protect her from the world out there—someone who she doesn't have to raise, train like a pet or a kid. Not some angel from planet clueless! You don't know how to do anything, Cas. The whole time I've known you, everything normal to me, to us, you look at like it's Greek. You're not from our world, you don't understand our life, and what's more... I don't think you ever can."

Stung, Cas was silent. He wasn't sure why, but now, like this, his emotions were so much more close to the surface. And what Dean had just said hurt.

There was a box of silver tools balanced on the side of the Impala just above the car's headlight. "Hey, hand me the socket wrench would you?" Dean asked, and Cas recognized that it was a challenge. Cas looked down at the tools and didn't know what any of them were—he recognized only a screwdriver and a small hammer. Dean gave Cas a somewhat superior look and Cas wondered if Dean were trying to make him feel stupid. Dean picked up a long silver tool when Cas did nothing—the end of the tool reminded Cas of a faucet. "It's this one." The way he said it hurt again.

Cas watched Dean pull something out of the car engine. His heart was beating faster than normal and he looked at the tools, discouraged, feeling worthless. But he thought of Alex, who looked at him like he was something valuable and worthwhile. He looked back at Dean and raised his chin. "I may not know the names of all these tools," he said, "or how to do the most basic human tasks but… Dean... I love her."

Dean's head whipped to the side as he looked at Cas in abject shock which quickly darkened into indignant anger. "No you don't," he said, standing up. "Don't you say that to me and don't you dare say that to her," he thundered. Cas thought he saw fear flickering across Dean's eyes. "You don't know what that word means."

Cas looked at Dean, not understanding why his friend would treat him this way. "How can you claim to know what I feel?"

Dean pointed a livid finger at Cas. "You listen to me. All you will ever do is hurt her, leave her, and damage her. Mark my words Cas!" He gestured vaguely at nothing and whisper-shouted so as to not be overheard. "You don't know how broken she was this past month with you gone, how messed up—almost suicidal she was!" Castiel was shocked, unsure whether Dean were overreacting or speaking truthfully. "I may be in your debt for what you did to save her and I am grateful to you, I am," Dean said, controlling his anger but still giving away how enraged he was. "And I am trying my damnedest to be reasonable but you don't seem to get what you're doing and I need you to understand." Dean's outrage was building up at a rapid pace. "Ever since I was a damn kid those two have been my responsibility and I have watched them live the shittiest life in all existence and all I've ever tried to do was make it better. And now it's at an all time low—my brother is talking about going to hell and dying like I did and my sister is with the last guy she should be with and there is nothing I can do about any of it!" He threw the wrench he'd been holding across garage and it knocked into a shelf of stuff that clattered down to the ground. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and gathered himself. "Look man I know you care about her, I do. But you're bad for her and you know it. And if you did love her you'd walk away and let her be with someone her own age, her own species, someone who isn't gonna screw her over in the end." Dean looked at Cas pleadingly, begging him to listen.

But Cas shook his head slowly. "I won't walk away from her, Dean."

Dean's expression hardened and fell, he nodded, his mouth in a hard line. He shook his head, wouldn't look at Cas for a few seconds. "I wish to hell we could be friends Cas. But I am not okay with this. I'm not."

"Dean…" Cas felt like he had nothing left in himself. He was pleading at this point. "Shouldn't it be her decision?"

Dean's next words were heartbreaking. "Not if she chooses you."

Castiel looked down, hurt and confused, deflated. Feeling unworthy, abominable. Useless. Foolish.

"You two do whatever the hell you gotta do," Dean muttered. "Just don't expect me to like it or accept it, ever."

---

"So did killing Brady make it better?" Alex asked Sam. She was sitting cross legged on the hood of an old car up near the windshield. Sam was reclined next to her, his long legs hanging over the edge of the hood. He was propped up on an elbow, his beer in a hand.

"No. I feel worse," he said. He was staring off into middle distance, thoughtful and somewhat grim. "Cuz, turns out my whole life, demons have been right there behind me, manipulating every single step I took... makes me feel like a puppet." He looked at the beer in his hand. "Scares the shit out of me. Makes me wanna take matters into my own hands, stop being played, you know?" Alex looked at him carefully, knowing he meant saying yes to Lucifer. He shrugged, raising the beer bottle to his lips again. "But what if I'm just falling for it again, you know?"

The twins were silent and pensive for a minute. It was getting pretty dark outside now. Looked like rain for sure sometime soon. "I used to dream that you died," Sam suddenly said and Alex looked at him as if she'd misheard.

"Huh?"

"I dreamed it over and over," he said, his eyes somewhere far away. He looked deeply disturbed. Alex felt disturbed by association. Sam shook himself. "And the details, maybe I blocked them out or m-maybe I didn't dream clearly, I'm not sure. But there was fire, I remember that. And… I was too scared to tell anyone." He looked down, obviously deeply ashamed of himself. Alex touched his shoulder gently for a couple seconds and he glanced at her briefly. "When Azazel died... I thought we were home free, you know? I thought I didn't have to worry anymore." He looked at her, and she could see how torn up he was about it. "Now I'm not so sure. Brady was saying all this stuff and… and now I'm just worried about you all over again."

Sam looked away again, grinding his teeth, she could tell from how the edge of his jaw worked. "Hey, I'll be fine," Alex said with an air of exaggerated confidence. "See, I have these awesome big brothers… who always have my back. Maybe you know them?"

Sam chuckled lowly. "They sound like losers."

"Nah, they're pretty cool," she joked back. "...Even if they are super ugly."

Sam made a half-amused, half-offended face. "Hey!"

She shrugged, made an overly innocent face, and then they both laughed softly. This, the two of them hanging out, reminded her of when they'd been kids and had just been friends. It had been different then of course, but somehow, she thought this was better. Not just because she had the ability to speak now, but because they'd worked through their issues and were more solid than ever. So it was even more important to her that he didn't go and get himself killed by the devil.

Dying in a fire. Sam had dreamed she died in a fire. She thought of her dreams of Lucifer burning the world. In some of the dreams, she'd been on fire. She thought that telling him about her dreams would only freak him out more, so she said nothing. Only looked at him after a moment. "You can't say yes Sam," she murmured tensely, remembering the dreams so clearly that for a moment she couldn't look at his face—because that was Lucifer's face. "We have to figure out another way."

There was a long pause. "I don't think there is another way," he protested. And he sounded hopeless.

Alex let out a breath and ran the palm of her hand down across her chin and mouth. "You know, you and Dean have always sacrificed yourselves… and it's just your default M.O. now." She thought a minute about what Crowley had told her. "But there is another way. I can feel it."

"Maybe," Sam said. "Maybe not."

She was quiet another moment, trying to figure out a way to test Sam's reaction to the things she was thinking about. "I wonder if I had been born a boy, if you and Dean would have been so protective over me."

Sam looked at Alex oddly. "That's... a kind of random thing to wonder." He gave her a fond, slightly lecturing look. "It's not a bad thing to have brothers who want you to stay safe and alive, Alex."

"I know," she said with a sigh. So far so good. "But it seems like a double standard." She paused. She had to be careful about how she phrased this. "Like, for example... if I suggested that I could kill the devil by saying yes to him… you and Dean wouldn't even let me think about it. Just because I'm a girl."

"No that's… I mean yeah, no, we'd never let you do that, period, no matter what. Maybe you being a girl is part of it but…" Sam got slightly frustrated, his confusion and suspicion piquing. "Do we really even need to hypothesize about this?"

"Yeah, no, sorry." Alex sipped at her beer again, looking over the junk yard somberly. Just like she thought. Sam was the less overprotective of her brothers, more reasonable than Dean by a long shot—and he'd shot down the glancing possibility of her being able to kill the devil without a second thought. There was probably nothing to it, anyway, she thought. But, Crowley did seem to be pretty well informed. Alex craned her neck a little, trying to see over the piled-high cars and toward the house, wondering if she'd see a flash of tan trench coat. She was mildly worried about whatever Dean wanted to talk to Cas about.

"So did you really get me a pony for our birthday?" Sam asked, giving her a cheeky little smile and cutting into her thoughts.

She looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah. Pink. Sparkly."

He chuckled. "Cuz I uh, actually have your present here." He wasn't joking.

He was reaching into his jacket pocket and Alex felt herself sit up straighter in surprise. "Aw, Sam," she protested, feeling bad. "But I haven't gotten you anything yet."

"It's okay. I just… saw this in a gas station and thought of you, thought I'd give it to you early. No time like the present, right?" He held out a really cheap, flat metal keychain shaped like a cupcake and painted with cheesy glittery paint. Sam almost laughed at himself at this point, shrugging. "It's... kinda stupid."

Alex looked at her brother, took it and grinned down at it. "I love it."

His mouth lifted up crookedly in a stupid grin—his dimples cut into his cheeks. "Yeah and I know how you don't even have keys to anything, but I thought you could put it on your duffel or something," Sam continued.

"You genius," Alex said fondly. He shrugged in playful humility and Alex looked at her keychain, then reached over and hugged an arm around his neck, pressing their cheeks together for a second. "Thank you Sammy," she told him as she pulled away. "You're a good big brother." She contemplated his familiar face, thinking about the past few years and how rocky things had been for them. "I'm really glad we're friends again," she said honestly.

And she saw that he felt the same. He smiled at her softly, nodding. "Me too."

Alex laughed awkwardly at them, pointed at him, then cringed slightly. "So, chick flick moment over, or...?"

"Yup," Sam agreed readily, and sat up all the way, swinging his legs over the side of the car to sit beside her still but with his feet on the ground now. "I'll go see if Bobby needs a hand with anything. Gotta figure out how exactly we're gonna stop this whole Croatoan outbreak thing." He paused, gave her a little smile. "Betcha ten bucks explosives will be involved."

Alex nodded her approval. "Hm. Those are always fun."

The twins headed to the house together—Sam walking a little slower than normal to keep from outpacing his twin with his long legs—and when Alex glimpsed Dean working on his car alone, she frowned, telling Sam she'd see him inside.

She approached Dean slowly. He was banging around on the engine aimlessly—she recognized that he was trying to act like he was doing something important but really was just trying to kill time. "Hey, you seen Cas?" she asked.

He glanced up at her fleetingly. "Went off somewhere, I dunno. Seemed kinda pissy."

Alex got quiet a second. Dean wouldn't look at her still. "What'd you say to him?" she asked, her tone mildly accusing.

"Nothing," Dean muttered. "Don't worry about it."

There was an uncomfortable pause. "Dean… the world's probably about to end. Do you really want to spend our last days pissed off at each other?"

He stopped clanging around under the hood and straightened up, giving her an unreadable, terse look, wiping his dirty hands on a grungy rag. "You know, I've been thinking about what you said," he told her, looking straight at her now. "How I'm just like Dad in all the bad ways." Oh great, here we go. Alex looked at her big brother reluctantly. "And I think maybe you're right," Dean said, surprising her. "But I'm also like him in the best ways. I do what I have to to keep this family safe. Even if it pisses you off, even if it's not what you want."

Alex was pissed off now. Still, she tried to reason with Dean, even though it never seemed to work. "Dean. I'm going to be twenty-eight in a week. I'm an adult and I have been for awhile now." She huffed somewhat indignantly. "And... you're not my father. So stop acting like it." She appealed to him desperately. "Just be my brother. Be happy that I found someone."

Dean looked insulted and wounded. "Him?" The word was said with disbelief and total lack of understanding.

"Yes," Alex said. "Him." And she said the same word Dean had with great amounts of affection, emotion.

Dean looked almost repulsed. Or maybe that was hopelessness. He swung his rag onto his shoulder, shook his head, and didn't look at her. "I don't get you at all anymore." He began to mess around underneath the hood of the car again closing the conversation.

But she had a final remark to leave him with. "Maybe you never did."

She stalked off in search of Cas, leaving Dean to stew. And honestly, he wasn't even angry anymore, he was lost and confused and felt like giving up on everything. His brother was slipping out of his grasp, his sister too… the two people he depended on most in the world. And one of them, Alex, hated him. All Dean was trying to do was protect her. He was so, so unsure of himself these days, which made him try even harder to do the right thing. The thing was, it was getting hard to tell what was wrong and what was right.

She did deserve to be happy, but… not with Cas. How could he be the right guy for her? How?

Alex would look for Cas for several minutes and finally find him at the end of Bobby's road, staring off into the distance somberly, deeply upset about something. He wouldn't tell her what, would claim it wasn't important. She would talk him into going back to the house for peanut butter sandwiches and milk, telling him that they could use his help formulating the plan to stop the croatoan outbreak. He'd go with her but would remain withdrawn and brooding for the rest of the day.

---

Just After Sunset

Castiel stood outside beside Bobby's old black van. Bobby was loading up some of the C4 that Sam had brought up from the basement into an army green duffel bag a few feet away. Cas watched glumly, uselessly.

Sam, Alex, and Bobby had tried to include him throughout the day as they'd planned out the attack on the Niveus distribution center, which was a couple states away. However, he hadn't been able to add anything to their efforts and had felt out of place.

The plan was that they would leave from Bobby's shortly, drive most of the night, arrive in the morning, stop the trucks from leaving, then blow up the plant.

Dean's words had been running through Cas's mind all day. About what Alex really needed—a man, a human man. Cas was deeply distressed, because he'd tried to think of what he could offer her, and he could think of nothing except himself. What did he have? Nothing. And losing all the powers that had made him relatively useful at all, in a dire time such as this… to say the least, fate had a cruel sense of humor. Cas felt himself heaving a disconsolate breath and Bobby stopped what he was doing a few feet away.

"What's your problem?" the hunter asked.

Cas faltered slightly underneath Bobby's pointed stare. "This is what they mean by 'the eleventh hour,' right?"

"Pretty much," Bobby confirmed.

"Well, it's the eleventh hour, and I am... useless. All I have is this." Cas waved the shotgun he held briefly, hating the feel of it, the weight of it, the smell of it. "What am I even supposed to do with it?"

"Point it and shoot." Bobby replied snidely.

"No, I know that," Castiel mumbled. He felt low and small, pathetic. "What I used to be—"

"Are you really gonna bitch—to me?" Bobby demanded, gesturing to himself in his wheelchair. And Cas was chastised by the man's hard tone. Bobby wheeled himself forward, grabbed the duffel bag out of his lap, then threw it at Cas who barely managed to react and catch it in time. "Quit pinin' for the varsity years…" Bobby told him gruffly, "and load the damn truck."

Cas watched roll back into the garage. He threw the bag Bobby had tossed at him into the old black van resentfully. He glanced back at Bobby, who was now about fifteen feet away… behind him, Alex appeared from the inside of the house. She had a couple of ammo bags and a box in her arms. She was heading toward him and Castiel went to help her, feeling even worse than he had a moment ago after Bobby's harsh words, but wanting to be helpful however he could. Alex took in his morose expression as he took the box from her and she attempted a smile. "I know what you're thinking… how come Bobby had all this C4 just laying around, right?" He tossed the box into the van, feeling too miserable to know how to react. "What's wrong?" Alex asked, looking at him intently, sliding the ammo bags off her shoulder and slinging them into the van without looking.

He turned and faced her, not attempting to hide his state. He knew she would listen to him, if no one else would. "Everything."

"Everything?" she repeated, slightly hurt and confused by his words. She looked both ways—Dean was off a little bit, loading up the Impala, not paying attention to them—Sam and Bobby were fussing over some stuff in the garage. Surprising Cas, Alex grabbed his hand and pulled him around to the other side of the van out of eyesight of the three other present people.

Cas was confused but intrigued by the unexplained action, and when she pushed him up against the other side of the van and stood so close that no space was left between their bodies, he understood. He became breathless, wondering what she was about to do. She touched the side of his face gently, soothingly.

"A lot's wrong right now, I know it is." She whispered, and her eyes held his gaze steadily. He felt her hand move down just a little across the skin of his face. "But not everything." She traced her thumb down across his lower lip, looking at him with eyes that had grown full of a quality that made his pulse raise by several beats per minute. "...Right?" she asked softly, hopefully. His expression flickered and changed, melting a few degrees. And Alex went onto her tiptoes just slightly, pressing her lips up to his softly—a comforting and sweet reminder. An anchor that pulled him back down to earth. It sparked that familiar fire to life deep in Cas. He met her kiss with his own and suddenly they were helplessly deepening that embrace, forgetting everything but each other and the magic of their undeniable connection. She sighed so softly into his mouth, he felt one of her hands in his hair, the other snuck inside his coat and jacket to curve around his waist and pull herself to him. He forgot all of the things that had been plaguing him.

He felt the rigid way his face had been etched all day softening and he realized dimly that ever since the hospital he'd been thinking of kissing her like this and had never found the right time… and that she must have been doing the same—because he'd discovered there was a tone to kisses, and the tone to this one was desperate and hungry, filled with pent up things. Like they'd both been saving up and holding it back—and finally unleashing the floodgates. On instinct, Cas turned them a hundred and eighty degrees so that she was the one with her back against the van—she breathed out the faintest gasp into his mouth as he continued to kiss her deeply, tongues stoking fire. He pressed himself close, she whimpered ever so softly and Castiel did too. He was losing his mind—becoming very hot, his clothes felt too tight, all he could think about was how much he wanted her in the most primal way he knew of. How did she simultaneously make him feel powerful and powerless? A soft little groan sounded in the base of his throat—he put a gentle hand on the side of her neck. He could feel her pulse fluttering underneath his thumb, the most gorgeous rhythm in the universe… and he would never be tired of how it felt to kiss her and be kissed by her, it felt like worship and adoration, like comfort and reassurance.

He pulled away a little enough to look down into her face deeply, in awe of her and the overwhelming surge of emotions in his veins and chest—the love he felt for her was even more than ever before and he didn't understand how he could hold all of it inside. He wanted to tell her. He wanted her to know. And then he realized her face was clouding with deep sadness. He didn't understand until she spoke: "I missed you so much," she admitted in a hoarse whisper, her eyes shining with the ghosts of the clear pain he could hear in her voice. He held his hand at the side of her head, fingers threading through her hair, and he was so quickly distressed to see her in anguish. Her breathing was slightly labored, her eyes rapidly scanned between both of his in thought. "I, I thought you were dead—" she continued, and Cas held himself very still—he could hear how important this was for her to say. But her voice was barely audible. "And the worst part was I never got the chance to tell you—"

"Where'd you two idjits disappear to?" Bobby's voice, on the other side of the van, thundered. "This truck ain't gonna load itself." There was some grumpy mumbling. They could hear Sam talking somewhere nearby too.

Cas looked at Alex, reluctant to part but knowing they should. He stroked the side of her hair, searching her gaze. All he wanted was to be with her again, to be wrapped up in her, to show her what he couldn't ever seem to put into words. Maybe reassure her, reassure himself, too. She didn't look as sad anymore, there was a soft little smile on her face and the way she looked at him prompted him to pose one soft, single word question to her. "When?" He didn't feel useless when it was the two of them together. And he wanted to know what she was about to tell him. She understood, and her dark eyes looked up into his.

"Soon," she promised in a whisper. They drifted together again, lips seeking the others, but another loud shout interrupted.

"Alex, where'd you put my ammo sling?" Sam hollered.

Even more reluctant than before, they parted, the promise of soon on both of their minds. "Wait here a minute," Alex told Cas quietly. She was looking at him slightly coyly again, eyeing the crotch of his pants with a cute little expression. "Then follow." He looked down at himself. Oh. He saw why she said that. Yes, it seemed like a good idea to wait here a minute.

A few minutes later with the van loaded up and the Impala full of supplies, everyone gathered near the garage to say goodbye. Thunder sounded in the distance.

"All right, well…" Dean looked at Sam in mild cynicism. He seemed so tired. "Good luck stopping the whole zombie apocalypse."

Sam pulled a face. "Yeah. Good luck... killing Death."

"Yeah," Dean replied, nodding hollowly. He glanced at his sister, then Cas, tense and clearly worried about going separate ways. "You guys be safe, all right?"

"We will be," Alex said. Dean met her gaze begrudgingly. They both had regrets about where they currently stood and it was obvious.

Sam however was down on memory lane with a funny look on his face, chuckling briefly. "Remember when we used to just… hunt wendigos? How simple things were?"

Alex and Dean both made similar doubtful, cynical faces. "Not really," the oldest Winchester said, shaking his head with the softest rueful smile.

Sam reached around behind his back. "Well, um…" he pulled out his demon blade and offered it to his brother. "You might need this."

Dean reached out to take it, but then a new voice startled them and interrupted the moment.

"Keep it." Crowley handed Dean a small scythe. "Dean's covered. Death's own, that. Kills, golly, demons and angels and reapers and, rumor has it, the very thing itself."

"How did you get that?" Castiel asked incredulously.

Crowley shot Cas a cheeky expression. "Hello?—King of the crossroads." He turned back to Dean. "So, shall we?" He glanced at Bobby now, too. "Bobby, you just gonna sit there?"

"No, I'm gonna riverdance," Bobby retorted, giving Crowley a look that clearly said bite me.

"I suppose if you want to impress the ladies," Crowley commented, mystifying everyone, but especially Bobby. Crowley sighed as if in impatience. "Bobby, Bobby, Bobby... really wasted that crossroads deal. Fact—you get more if you phrase it properly. So, I took the liberty of adding a teeny little sub-a clause on your behalf."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, raising their eyebrows slowly, even as Cas and Alex exchanged a glance too, frowning in dawning disbelief.

"What can I say?" Crowley asked. "I'm an altruist." He looked at Bobby again, a soft little smile on his face. He made a get up motion with his hand. "Well? Just gonna sit there?"

Face full of frightened disbelief that didn't dare to trust but deeply wanted to, Bobby gripped the arms of his chair… pushed himself up really slowly at first… then shot to his feet when he realized his legs worked again, and perfectly too. "Son of a bitch," Bobby breathed in surprise as everyone looked at him in wide-eyed surprise, smiles dawning.

"Yes, I know," Crowley said at Bobby's slack-jawed state. "Completely worth your soul. I'm a hell of a guy."

Bobby looked at him in the oddest mixture of gratefulness and confusion. "Thanks," he said uncertainly.

"I know, I know, I'm the tops," Crowley muttered. "This is getting maudlin. Can we go?" The demon walked off toward the Impala even as Alex practically bounded up and hugged her uncle around his neck, grinning widely. Sam stood back grinning too, barely able to believe it.

"I'll be damned," Bobby said, looking down at his feet, still in shock.

"You will be if he doesn't give your soul back," Dean muttered. When he got two looks of disapproval from the twins, he attempted to backpedal. "I'm just saying!" he said defensively.

"Well, shall we?" Bobby asked. Nothing could dampen his sudden good mood. "I'll drive." He grinned—for probably the first time in months, and circled the van, got in, starting the engines.

"All right Dean," Sam said, turning and putting a hand on the passenger side door handle. He paused tensely. "Seeya."

"Yeah," Dean said, looking at his two siblings. He looked like he felt excluded or sad. "Seeya."

And he didn't say anything to Alex, just looked at her, appearing mildly ashamed. His hands were in his pockets, he glanced at Cas then turned and walked away to his car, not looking back at them.

Alex watched her big brother go, following by a couple of drifting footsteps before she stopped, wounded. Not sure what she'd been hoping for. The divide between herself and Dean was only getting bigger. It hurt that he wouldn't accept the one she loved. He was making her choose. And she'd made her choice. The one she was getting into the van with.

She turned and gave Cas a small, strained smile, got into the van, and he followed.

And the under a dark night sky full of storms, two vehicles went their separate ways.