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.

44. Dust to Dust

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 44 / Dust to Dust

"Love of mine, someday you will die, but I'll be close behind…
if there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, I will follow you into the dark."
- Deathcab for Cutie

---

In the rear of Bobby's van, Cas sat on the floor with his back leaned against the vehicle wall. He held Alex curled up against him and her head rested against the front of his shoulder. Asleep, her breathing was shallow and uneven. She was heavy in his arms in a way that Cas couldn't quite describe—not physically.

The day before yesterday, the two of them had sat on the top of a picnic table in the early afternoon, their feet resting on the bench where you were supposed to sit. Birds had been exchanging songs in the tree branches above, a few families with young children played on the playground nearby. Cas had been aware as they sat there with her that he was part of a real, normal moment of Alex's life—and of his life now, too. His life now, too. The day before yesterday, he'd been truly struck by the realization that they were going to share a life together here on earth. But that future had been shattered.

Today... she was in his arms, wilting like a dying flower.

The day before yesterday, they'd shared turkey sandwiches from a convenience store as they sat on the table instead of at it. Cas had fondly recalled seeing Alex during the year he'd watched over her—he'd been without a vessel and so perplexed and intrigued at how she always sat off alone on things that weren't meant to serve as seats: tables, speed bumps, fences, countertops, car hoods, curbs, sidewalk ledges, tree stumps (anything but an actual chair). So that's why in present day, he thought perhaps most people would have glanced their way and seen nothing but two people sitting on a graffitied picnic table, but to Cas, being part of her life even in the mundane and the ordinary was beyond meaningful. In that moment he'd felt that even though all of this was new and foreign to him—food, sleep, pain, fatigue, powerlessness—he could belong here in this world if she were beside him. In between their feet, a plastic grocery store bag full of candy had rested. Because "everyone in the world has a favorite candy," she told him after the sandwiches were gone. His face had twisted up into a questioning, slightly worried look—he had never eaten candy, how was he supposed to have a favorite? She had picked up several bright packets. "We just have to figure out yours." She had smiled so much that day, her eyes wrinkling up at the edges in beautiful little crinkles. Even when she stopped smiling little lines stayed, evidence of how happy she'd been. It had made him smile, too.

Today... Cas knew that he might not ever see her smile like that ever again.

The day before yesterday he had told her he would go with her wherever she went, that he would stay with her for the rest of his now-mortal life.

Today... she was dying. And Castiel felt as if he were dying with her.

When he thought about how he would be left behind to go on living this life as a stranger in a strange land alone… he didn't want to remain. How could he live here knowing she was either in Heaven in total darkness or in Hell being tormented forevermore? How could he face even a single day knowing how she had perished, how he had stood by and watched it happen? She was his friend. His best friend. No. She was more than that, so much more, but Cas couldn't put it into words even in the space of his mind. All terms and endearments fell short, no words in any language felt big enough to say who she had become to him. All that he knew was that when he lost her, he would be lost too.

He studied her sleeping face morosely and ran his fingers over the side of her cheek. The skin was cold to the touch and the sensation sent grief racing through his body. She was barely alive. He let his hand rest against the side of her head, and everything inside of him was wrecked as the love he felt for her ached through him, tore him apart because he would do anything to save her from this. Her color was ashen, the strange obscene blue veins making a profane patchwork of hairline cracks across her skin everywhere. Despite everything, he still thought she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld. And he hadn't known true despair until now, until this.

He had to find a way to save her. But with every minute that passed, he knew with further appalling certainty that he had no options remaining. He wracked his mind incessantly trying to find a way to save her. He had no soul to sell, but if he did have one, he would trade it in a heartbeat to see her live past this. He had no allies in Heaven to call upon for help—he would be killed the instant he attempted it. No doctor could reverse the damage Lucifer had done to Alex simply by possessing her. It was over, and he knew it.

But he didn't understand. The day before yesterday, she'd been strong and alive and laughing and his and now…? Now she was fading away, slipping out of his grasp, and there was no way of holding onto her. He was losing the one he loved, losing her to the darkness forever.

---

Dean stared nearly unseeingly through the windshield of the Impala as he sped down a dark, mostly-deserted highway heading west. The radio was off and the car was silent. He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and ground his teeth mindlessly, glancing into the rearview every few minutes to see Bobby's headlights behind him.

Lawrence, Kansas.

The minute Chuck had said that's where the 'appointed battleground' for Michael and Lucifer's final showdown would be, Dean had felt an even larger sense of dread. It seemed poetic that it would end where it began—the town he and his siblings had been born in. He didn't used to believe in destiny but you know what, maybe he should. Even though Dean was trying to convince himself that there was still a chance to change everything that was going wrong right now… he knew the truth. He'd messed up big this time, run himself out of options, and was finally, finally at the dead end of the road. He could feel it. That this was the end. It was already over. And there was nowhere else to go, nothing else left to do but to go down swinging.

Take care of your brother and sister. Keep them safe, make sure they're okay.

Dad's words were seared into his mind and staggering guilt came with them. Family first. Family first. Family first. That's what Dad drilled into all of them… and with it had come the bitterness at how hypocritical his words had been. We have to take care of each other, he'd say… then disappear for days at a time, leaving Dean to be the caregiver to Sam and Alex, leaving Dean to wonder if Dad would even be back this time at all. John Winchester had put too much on all of his kids. But especially on Dean.

And without meaning to, for no reason, Dean abruptly remembered the first time his sister had walked—cute little wispy-haired baby Alex, maybe about to turn a year old. She'd pulled herself up to stand by using the leg of a chair, then taken two great lurching steps toward him on little fat toddler legs. Little Sam army-drag crawled after her, drooling all over the motel room carpet and crooning happily. Dean had whooped as Alex wobbled toward him, two little baby teeth in that gummy smile. Her mouth had been open in a silent, delighted laugh, she had clearly been amazed at herself, at this thing she had just discovered how to do. Alex is walking Daddy, she's walking! Dean had exclaimed, gleeful and amazed and five years old. He'd hurried forward and caught his little sister as she toppled forward unsteadily after she tried to take a third step. John had glanced up from his journal. That's great, Dean. He'd smiled a little, tiredly, then looked away. Sam had sputtered happily, making pbbt-pbbt noises with his mouth, unaware of how disappointed Dean was that Dad didn't seem to share his rapture at what had just happened.

Even then at five years old, Dean had known something was wrong with his dad and the way their family worked. Even at that age he'd understood, somewhere deep down, that his brother and sister needed protection and love that their dad didn't seem to know how or want to give. Dean had missed Mom so much, crying at night when he thought of how she had been taken away, how she was never coming back. He'd clung to his brother and sister even tighter, afraid they would get taken, too.

It was unhealthy, the way he treated his siblings throughout their childhood and adulthood, trying to parent them one minute then depending on them for his sense of self-worth the next. For years Dean had felt like the way he'd been there for the twins and raised them was the one thing he'd done well... but he didn't think so anymore. Hindsight was twenty-twenty and Dean wished he could have seen then what he saw now. How bad he'd messed up—how so much of what was happening right now was his fault.

If he hadn't been so domineering and black-and-white, quick to shoot Sam down without a second thought, maybe Sam would have told him about Ruby and the demon blood sooner, would have come to him for help instead of trying to work through his addiction on his own. If Dean could have been more approachable, more willing to accept Sam despite his problems, maybe they would be closer, maybe Sam would have trusted Dean with his secrets.

And Alex. Dean knew he was a total fucking idiot for how he'd driven a wedge between himself and his sister. They'd been so close their whole life that he'd assumed nothing could ever change that. Well, apparently an angel wearing a trench coat could—or at least Dean's reaction to said angel's interest in his sister. Dean knew he'd done a lot wrong where that whole thing was concerned. That he'd acted like he owned Alex almost. He'd insisted on treating his sister like she was still a kid, he'd insisted on trying to control her life to his standards just like Dad had done with all of them. It hadn't worked—it had just left Alex embittered and unable to trust him. Maybe if Dean hadn't alienated her so much recently, she would have told him about her idea to kill Lucifer. It was true what Satan had said to him… that in his hellbent quest to protect his sister, he'd done the opposite and made sure she would get hurt.

It was infuriating for Dean to look back and see how all of their individual flaws had ensured this outcome: Sam the vessel, Alex a pawn, Dean the one left to try and fix it all but powerless to do so and afraid to do anything, because what if he was just being manipulated again? It was terrifying how every step of the way they had been blindly playing right into the devil's hand. The kicker was how they always thought they were doing the right thing: Sam thought killing Lilith would stop Lucifer from rising, Alex thought she could kill Lucifer because of the lies he'd had planted for her to believe. Dean had set it all into motion by telling Sam he was okay with him saying yes to Lucifer and trying to use the horsemen's rings to throw the devil back into the cage. And that action had in turn prompted Alex to run off, thinking she was saving Sam and giving Michael an instant win. God. What a mess.

Take care of your brother and sister. Keep them safe, make sure they're okay.

Dean swallowed a painful lump in his throat and propped his elbow against the window ledge, rubbing the side of his forehead with painful force. His mom and dad were dead. His sister was dying and his brother was possessed by the devil. He wanted to break something in his helpless and sad fury.

Take care of your brother and sister. Keep them safe, make sure they're okay.

How could he? Their fates were all but sealed. He'd tried and tried and tried, God help him he'd tried… but look what had happened. Abruptly, Dean slammed his hand up against the steering wheel and let loose a wretched sobbing sound as the helpless, frustrated, scared tears came. He was unable to hold his grief inside any longer; his heart was broken completely. Dad's words wouldn't stop repeating over and over in his mind.

Take care of your brother and sister. Keep them safe, make sure they're okay.

He clenched his hands on the wheel, steeling himself, forcing his emotions to shut up. He just wanted to know why it had to be this way, why the people he loved the most in the world had all paid an impossible price and why he was left untouched, living and breathing just fine. He had dodged the bullet and he hated that fact with his entire being.

Hate it or not, it was what fate had dealt him. So Dean was going to do what he could to make it right and try one last time, despite the impossible odds. He refused that Sam should have to do this alone, and he would try, goddammit he would try one last fucking time. And if he couldn't help Sam throw the devil off his back, Dean would die where he belonged—with his family, with his brother and sister. That was his only consolation. That if all three of them were going to die anyway, at least they would be together.

He blinked away tears, unable to believe how it had so suddenly come to this.

At least they would be together.

---

She was so, so cold, and it burned her down to the bone. Alone in darkness and scared of something but unsure what, Alex suddenly jolted awake breathlessly, her heart racing at a dizzying speed. She gasped loudly, gulping for air as if she'd been drowning. Disoriented, she grabbed for something to hold onto, realized she was being held, and that what she reached for was the familiar material of Castiel's trench coat.

"Alex?" he asked, and she looked up at him with wide eyes, trying to catch her breath. Everything inside of her hurt and she felt weak, drained, lifeless. So, so tired and cold, so cold. Her stomach was wretched, her heart fluttered too fast to be normal, and with every beat of her pulse, pain pounded through her veins. "Are you all right?" She could hear how worried he was and looked away. She was so ashamed of herself and felt the gentle way his hand cradled the back of her head. She struggled not to cry.

She wanted to be sick, her head was spinning oddly, and she couldn't stop thinking about how cold she was. "It's so cold," she mumbled, and he held her a little closer to himself, his familiar solid warmth comforting and distressing all at once. She shivered, unable to get warm, feeling like winter had settled down into her bones. That's how she had felt with Lucifer inside, his icy fire permeating and overtaking every cell of her body, killing her slowly. Even when Sam had pulled Lucifer out of her and taken him in her stead, the chill had remained.

Sam. Oh god, Sam… Alex's heart hurt viscerally at the thought of her brother out there somewhere, going through what she had gone through. Alex buried her face so that Castiel couldn't see her expression, because she was having trouble staying calm, staying composed. She'd been tricked, she'd been used, and now Sam was going through the same thing she had gone through, he was being consumed by sharp cold needles of everlasting pain. And she blamed herself for not telling her brothers what she planned to do, she blamed herself for not trying harder to find a way to convince Sam not to say yes. She blamed herself. The shame was unbearable, the knowledge of what she'd done was horrifying. She had thought it was the right thing and she had been completely wrong, played like a fiddle. Devastated wasn't even close to how she felt. She wished her brothers had left Lucifer there in her, called Michael down to that dank old Detroit apartment, and had let her die and Lucifer with her. Then the world would be safe and the three men she loved most in the world would be saved. But Lucifer had known that her brothers would never let her die like that. He had known their weakness was each other, but especially her.

Her stomach churned and alarm screamed along her veins in a frenzy as her heart cried out on Sam's behalf. They had to save him or they had to die trying. There were no other options.

She shook with the sudden onset of tears, trying even harder to turn her face away from Cas, to still her body's giveaway quakes. But Cas knew and she heard him let out a grave, soft little breath as he maybe searched for words. "None of this is your fault, Alex," he said softly in that deep, rumbling voice she loved so much. She shook even harder with silent sobs because he was trying to comfort her and make her feel better. But it was her fault. She was so stupid. She'd been duped and she was going to fucking murder Crowley—she didn't care if he knew it was all lies or not. She needed someone to blame. Becoming angry, she tried to sit up, but floundered weakly and miserably. Cas had to help her sit up better and she became even more miserable, realizing how debilitated she was.

"It is my fault," she managed to get out, her tone sharp with animosity, mostly directed at herself. Even her voice was weak and sickly, lacking its normal steady timbre. "For believing that I mattered in this whole thing. For being so fucking stupid and not telling anyone. For thinking I could save the world." She said the last sentence with great amounts of wounded sarcasm, because it hurt to fail, it hurt to be tricked, it hurt because she had thought for once she mattered. And she hadn't. She'd just been a pawn. A foolish, foolish girl.

"You were tricked," Cas appealed, seeming to sense her self-loathing emotions. "Don't be ashamed. How could you have known?" His voice and tone were both heartbroken and Alex felt so mortified. She couldn't look at him without wanting to break down completely.

"I'm supposed to be smarter than this," she said brokenly, wishing so badly she could take back yesterday, wishing she knew how Cas could still look at her so tenderly and caringly after she made such a fatal error, how could he still look at her like he loved her when she knew she looked like a monster.

It didn't seem to matter. Cas was as gentle and loving as ever, touching the side of her head, searching her eyes. She couldn't help herself at that point. "Cas," she sobbed, crumbling at his touch, at the look in his eyes. As much as she loathed herself in that moment, she couldn't self-protect and turn away from him, not now. She needed him so much, maybe more than she ever had. She clung to him for comfort as she realized that she was already mourning his loss... because she knew she was dying and she was afraid for what would happen to him when she was gone.

She had a thousand things she wanted to say to him and she despaired because there wasn't enough time left—they had barely scratched the surface of what she wanted to be to him. The helpless romantic inside had imagined a life with him, she had dreamed of waking up with him every day and just being together for the rest of their lives. But her dreams were dashed on the rocks. She clutched his trench coat tighter in her hand. "I wanted more time with you," she confessed raspingly, and felt his arms tightening around her, felt his scruffy cheek against her clammy forehead. Her heart hurt so badly. "I… I didn't think the rest of our lives meant a couple more days." She shivered and shook with quiet choked tears, wondering when she had become so fallible and vulnerable, so afraid, so pitiful. Her throat felt like it was closing up on her when she thought of what was coming. "I'm scared to die," she choked out in a whisper, letting her most terrifying feeling out into the open, blinking back more tears at the thought of being alone in the darkness up there forever without him, without anyone. It was like being a petrified little kid again. "I don't wanna go," she choked out.

Cas drew back purposefully and sought her gaze. She could see him as passing lights flickered weakly over his face. He had a hand against her face, his thumb at her jawline and he looked deadly serious as his eyes held her gaze. "You won't be alone," he told her with an earnest, fervent resolve that she hadn't expected. "I'll find you. No matter what, no matter where you are... I'll find you." His words were a fierce oath. "I promise."

Her heart clenched, softened, and burst all at once. She believed him. And wondered how she hadn't loved him how she did now from the first time she saw him—she couldn't find the end of how grateful, awed, and confounded the way he loved her made her feel, but at the same time, it confused her. "I… I don't understand why you love me Cas," she said quietly, both humbled by his affections and feeling entirely undeserving, unsure as ever what he saw in her, why he would choose to love her and pursue her into the unknown, find her in the afterlife.

Her statement seemed to momentarily catch him off guard—at first because, from the look on his face, he seemed to think why would it be any other way? But then he thought a minute. "I've also tried to understand it," he said slowly, his eyebrows pressing in together. "But it's too vast." He seemed poignant in that moment without meaning to be. "Perhaps it doesn't need to be understood," he suggested, and his voice softened, and his eyes flickered between hers slowly. "I feel it all the same."

Her heart broke because she knew how much he did love her—he had proven it over and over and promised himself to her for the rest of their lives—but even though she knew that, simultaneously she thought of how he deserved something better than her: a happy story, a long life and joy every day. Not this abrupt tragic ending. She saw the pain and loss and heartbreak in his eyes and knew that she had caused that. She dismayed for him, wishing she hadn't done this to him. She hadn't meant to devastate him like this. But despite her misgivings and inner lamentations, her heart echoed his sentiments: what she felt for him was too vast for her to understand, and she knew that whether or not she understood it, she still felt it. Her heart would never be able to forget him, this angel who had walked the earth and sought her out and given himself to her in every way possible.

He was mortal now all because of her. He would die too, if not today then some other day. And Alex was consumed with sorrow as she thought of him up against this harsh world all by himself. She held onto him as tightly as she could and buried her face in him, beyond grieved, wishing that they could have both stayed in the day before yesterday, just existed there forever—that day had been theirs and theirs alone.

But that day was lost into the void and they could never have it back. Today promised the demise of it all, the demise of them.

---

Lawrence, Kansas

They had barely made it to Lawrence in time. Chuck had said noon was when the archangels would fight, and the hour was fast approaching. Dean was antsy and nerve-wracked as he turned onto Stull Road and slowed down. The cemetery was about a mile down the road, and Dean pulled over into an overgrown parking lot adjacent to a gas station that had been demolished years ago. Only the sign remained, hanging sideways and cracked in two. Bobby's van pulled in behind him, parking a couple car lengths away and Dean shut off the Impala, grabbed his keys out of the ignition and sat there, deliberating.

The silence rang in his ears and he wrestled with himself for a second, then spread his hands powerlessly, looked up, and let his hands fall down onto the tops of his thighs. "Okay, look…" he said out loud, then. This was stupid. He wet his lips, unable to believe how desperate he had become to do this. "I don't even know if you're out there or listening or if you even care but…" he trailed off, rolled his eyes at himself, and huffed, becoming exasperated and sullen at the same time. His tone darkened and he looked down. "Ah, forget it," he muttered. "I already know you don't care." Dean got out of the car and shut the door behind himself.

Bobby was walking around to the side of the van that Dean couldn't see and Cas was approaching Dean—and not wearing his trench coat. Dean met him at the end of the Impala. Cas was morose and distracted, apprehensive and terse. Four things that Dean realized didn't even used to be in Cas's emotional vocabulary a year or so ago. Interesting, but what Dean really wanted to know was what happened to the angel's signature wardrobe piece. He looked odd in just his suit. "Where's your coat?"

"Alex is cold," Cas said somberly, and Dean softened measurably at the answer and what it meant.

"H-how's she doing?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Cas just shook his head and looked downward. Dean's heart sank. "She's weak, in pain…" the other man's expression distorted visibly, his voice weakened with sorrow. "She doesn't have long Dean."

His heart spasmed painfully at those words. Dean had to shut his eyes and grit his teeth to keep himself together. He'd known she was dying the minute he'd seen Lucifer in her, but he couldn't bring himself to accept this. It hurt too much. Dean sighed heavily and turned to put his back to the Impala. He leaned against it as he looked down and scrubbed his chin and lower jaw with the palm of his hand. He felt agonized. He didn't want her in harm's way, but he couldn't deny her this last request, could he? "I really don't wanna take her in there, Cas," he confessed softly, staring out into middle distance with a rigid expression. "Goes against every instinct I got."

Cas mimicked his body position and stood beside him, leaning against the Impala too. His eyes traveled the far distance and he seemed guarded and disturbed, sharing Dean's sentiments. "I don't want her to, either," Cas said. "But it's what she wants." He was reluctant but resigned. Dean looked at him sidelong, unsure how to react to Cas's input. He'd swallowed some major pride in letting his sister ride with Cas and Bobby the way here. He'd always wanted to be the one who would take care of her and it was hard to see someone else, someone relatively new in their lives do that. That, and he hadn't had the heart to take Alex out of Cas's arms. She'd been huddled into him and holding onto Cas by the shirt, and he could see that she hadn't wanted to let go. So he hadn't said a word. Just told them "follow me," and gotten into the Impala.

Cas looked back up momentarily, glancing at Dean's profile in concern. "We don't have much time until the archangels will meet. What is your plan for all of this?"

Dean shrugged shallowly and avoided looking Cas in the eye, uncomfortable because there really was no plan. "Try and talk to Sam."

Cas looked away, brow furrowing deeply. "I doubt that will work."

Dean half rolled his eyes, a knee-jerk reaction to the increasing hopelessness he felt. "Well thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas."

"However, at this point, any effort is better than none. The archangels will be angry to be disturbed," Cas said thoughtfully, ignoring Dean's sarcasm. "It would be better, easier, if you could perhaps speak with Lucifer and Sam alone, without Michael being there." Cas went silent, said nothing else and Dean looked at him, waiting for more, allowing himself to become mildly hopeful at the ex-angel's input.

When Cas remained quiet, Dean prompted him. "Any ideas on how to make that happen?"

"Yes, actually." Cas looked at him intently. "Do you still have the holy oil I had given to you?"

Dean frowned in thought. "Yeah, in the trunk. But it's not much, not enough to make a very good circle."

There was the faintest little sly smile on Cas's face. "I wasn't thinking about a circle."

Dean was intrigued. "What then?"

"An improvised incendiary weapon. Uh, I think you call them fire bombs."

Dean held up a hand, realizing what Cas was suggesting. "Wait, wait… a Molotov cocktail? Made with holy fire?" Dean was surprised and impressed at the idea, then quickly skeptical. "Would that work?"

"It would give you five, maybe ten minutes," Cas answered. He was somber again, probably thinking about the magnitude of what they were talking about doing.

"Hey, it's something," Dean said, feeling a little better than he had a minute ago. Not great, but a little better. He looked sidelong at the angel who had proven himself over and over despite the way Dean had treated him. Softening and feeling like now was the time to say everything he needed to say, Dean lifted his hand and clapped Cas awkwardly on the shoulder. Cas looked at him strangely. "Thanks Cas," Dean said a little awkwardly, deciding not to let any of his misgivings or grudges or judgement get in the way right now. "For everything."

Cas didn't react how Dean thought he would. Instead of looking pleased and accepting of the compliment, Cas's expression darkened and he looked displeased. He looked down toward the ground. "It's... not enough, what I've done for your family," he answered gruffly. "I don't deserve your gratitude."

Dean recognized that self-loathing, guilty tone in Cas's voice and gave the fallen angel a look. "Come on man, don't do that. I don't think we really had a shot in hell from the get-go. But you still tried, you know? You did what you could. And I can appreciate that." Cas looked up at Dean sidelong, and pain flickered across his face, staying there in his eyes. Dean was slightly taken aback at the intensity of it. "What?"

Cas's expression only grew more and more agonized. "I comprehend the fact that all people die, Dean. But I…" he trailed off, and revealingly, he looked toward toward the van, where Dean knew Alex was. "For the first time in my existence I can't understand why it has to be that way."

Dean didn't know what to tell him, because it set off feelings of helplessness and despair in him all over again. He stared off, deep in thought for a long moment. When he finally spoke, it was soft and low. "All my life I been watching people I love die. I'll never understand why, Cas. Understand it or not, it happens. Over, and over and over. To everyone ever." His mouth wobbled a little and he moved his jaw oddly, glancing toward the van. "Even her." He felt Cas looking at him. "And now you too," Dean observed, realizing that he had no idea what was going to happen to Cas in all of this. "What'll happen to you when you die, Cas?"

Cas shook his head once and answered simply, off in his troubled thoughts. "That remains a mystery." He turned his head and looked toward the van again. Dean watched him a minute, consumed with the irony and guilt of this whole thing. He didn't really know what was going on between Cas and Alex, he didn't understand how robotic, awkward, stilted Cas could enrapture his sister so much. But it was clear the dude cared about her immensely, and Dean felt bad. All this time he had been a man on a mission to get Cas away from his sister, using the excuse that he was saving her and protecting her. But it had been an excuse, and a shaky one he realized now. He shook his head faintly.

"You know, all the times I ripped you a new one cuz I was worried that you'd be the one to get her killed..." Dean was unable to smile even humorlessly. "And in the end it was me." He looked down, unable to bear the burden of that truth as his eyes began to sting. "In the end it was me."

The men looked to their side as the sound of heavy footsteps approached. It was Bobby. The older hunter looked ragged and worn out, and Dean knew he was probably just as downtrodden as the rest of them were. "You two yahoos busy shootin' the shit or we gonna figure out a game plan for this whole thing?"

Dean cleared his throat and stood up. "Yes sir. Time to make us a holy fire cocktail."

"A what?"

Dean managed a smirk. "You'll see." He rounded the back of his car and cracked the trunk open.

---

Alex sat in the open van doorway, legs hanging over the edge. Cas's coat was draped across her shoulders and it swallowed her completely. Didn't do much to warm her, but she still hugged it around herself. She leaned her shoulder into the side of the door, almost too weak to even sit up. Cas had insisted she take one of his Lortabs for her pain a few hours ago when she'd woken up, and even though it made the pain a little better, she felt even more tired and sluggish than before. Her body was protesting every little thing she did, and Alex was beginning to feel more and more ready to be done, to close her eyes and let life slip away. But she hung on. Mostly for Sam's sake.

She could see one side of the Impala from where she sat—the passenger side. Vaguely, she could hear Dean's voice, Cas's voice, Bobby too. When the three of them all went to the trunk and opened it, she looked up, finally able to see them now. She caught Cas's gaze. Dean turned and looked at her too, and both of their expressions were tense and worried. Cas said something to Dean and then approached Alex. He looked so different in just the suit—handsome as ever, but different, not quite himself. Still, seeing that he was coming to her immediately soothed her a little.

He reached her then knelt down onto one knee so that they were eye level—his hands found hers and the fingers intertwined loosely so that their hands rested together in her lap. The warmth of his hands in hers was so tender, so soothing. He studied their hands for a long moment, frowning deeply in quiet distress. Alex had to focus on breathing steadily not to become overcome by emotion, not to throw her arms around his neck and beg him to find a way to change this terrible ending, find a way for them to stay together, if not forever, just a little longer, please. As the end came closer and closer, as she got more and more tired, she was beginning to panic. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It shouldn't end like this.

Cas finally looked up at her, and the sadness on his face was great. "You're sure about this?" he asked her gently.

She could barely meet that sad gaze of his, she could barely breathe, so she looked down. As much as she also wanted to be selfish and just go be with Cas somewhere quiet until her body gave out for good, she couldn't. Not when her brothers, all three of them but especially Sam, needed her. She almost choked on the lump in her throat as she answered. "Yes. I'm sure." She looked back up into his beautiful bright blue eyes, regretful and torn.

His face showed conflict, his eyes briefly lowered to stare unseeingly into her collarbone before he looked back up at her pleadingly. "Let me come with you," he asked emphatically. "I know Bobby and I are supposed to follow behind... but…" he trailed off, his face wavering. Alex noticed how his features moved so differently than it used to, utilizing broad ranges of emotion that it hadn't when she'd first known him. "I don't want to be away from you," he all but begged. "Not now."

Alex didn't want to be away from him either. She had no idea what Dean was planning, but she guessed she and her brother would drive in and Bobby and Cas were going to follow or flank them. She didn't know how to answer him or what to say. "I'll be okay," was all she could muster, and she tried to smile softly at him through her pain, through the knowledge that soon they would be away from each other forever. But the smile probably just looked like a pained expression.

Swallowing what felt like a rock in the bottom of her throat, she touched his face gently and searched his eyes, struck by nostalgia, by awe at how much she loved Castiel, how he'd taken her life by storm and changed her forever—softened her heart, cut through her like a knife without even meaning to. A real, unforced little smile that was tinged with wavering emotion spread across her face as she thought of how far the two of them had come.

Alex shivered suddenly, and she knew that no amount of blankets in the world would help. "It's so cold," she whispered, and leaned forward to press her cheek against his shoulder. He shifted to put his arms around her. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, even though she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to grit her teeth together to stop it. The shivers passed, leaving every muscle in her body exhausted and done, begging her to lie down and just stop fighting it.

No. Not yet. Not yet.

She feebly tightened her arms around Cas, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing.

Off by the Impala, she could see that Bobby and Dean were embracing, clapping their hands on each other as they hugged goodbye. "I think it's almost time to go," Alex said, voice wavering. She didn't just mean in the car. She was fading away. She was scared, he was scared. A slight breeze blew her dark hair across the front of her face and Cas used two fingers to tuck the loose strands behind her ear but it slipped back out as soon as he let go and the ghost of a smile came over his lips.

"Even your hair is stubborn." His voice was fond, sad, and quiet. The smile faded and he looked at her deeply, soulfully, moving her hair back again, his fingers staying behind her ear as he leaned in to her, his eyebrows knitting together in anxiety as he softly pressed his lips to hers. Weak as she was, Alex brought her hands up to press against either side of his face, trying to memorize this so she could carry it with her forever, wherever she ended up beyond this life. Because somewhere deep down in her heart of hearts, she knew—she knew—that this was the last time that he would kiss her. It was equal parts fierce and tender, the simple touch of lips to lips transcending words. They lingered there, mournful.

When they drew apart, he searched her eyes with his and brushed his thumb across her cheek as his hand stayed against her face. Pain and regret were both clearly etched onto his handsome features and he looked like at any moment he could begin to cry. "I would have saved you if I could have," he told her in a voice broken with guilt and grief. He shook his head faintly, staring at her in agony. "I'm so sorry this has happened to you."

"You did save me," she said, thinking of how his presence had changed it all. "From silence…" her gaze faltered as pain and love alike swelled. "From being alone."

His face crumpled. She thought maybe he was really going to cry and it made alarm and grief surge forth inside of her. "Please don't, Cas, please," she begged, her voice becoming strained as her sorrow grew more pronounced. That's when he looked back up at her with eyes that were welling with confused, heartbroken tears. His face was distorted and she'd never seen it like that before.

"But Alex... I love you." He looked so lost, like he was begging her for help with understanding why it was ending this way.

She broke down and fell forward to him, clutching him with all the strength she had left as she buried her face in the side of his neck and cried. "I love you," she managed, trying to put all the feelings that she felt into the words, trying to show him, somehow, that she meant it, that she would give anything to save him from this sadness she had caused him. They stayed there, clinging to each other in mutual grief and confusion as they both breathed unevenly and held onto each other for as long as possible. They heard booted feet approaching perhaps thirty seconds later and pulled apart a bit to see who it was.

It was Dean and he said nothing—no rude comments, no bitchy looks. "It's, uh, ten till noon," he said quietly, not looking at them squarely at that point. "We gotta get over there if we're gonna do this." He looked at Alex sadly. "If you still want to."

Alex nodded at her brother, heart hammering sickeningly in her chest at the thought of what they were about to do. With her hands on Cas's shoulders, her reluctant gaze met his. This was it. His eyes were red and his cheeks had shining tear tracks on them. She had no words, she couldn't think of how to tell him goodbye, mostly because she didn't want to. That stupid lump was back in her throat and she could see that he was struggling too. And then, she got an idea. She lowered her hand and reached her pinky finger out—Cas looked down, saw it, and his expression wavered, but then he reached out his hand, too, looping his pinky finger through. He held her gaze soulfully. In a soft voice meant only for her to hear, he reassured her. "I meant what I said. I'll find you." He got that little smile on his face he got when he was pleased with himself—only it was tainted with great sadness and pain. "And if I recall correctly…" he tightened his finger just a little bit, "this means I'm forever bound."

Her heart burst all over again at the comment. He remembered that stupid joke she'd pulled on him. Eyes welling with unshed tears, she nodded. She believed him and she felt at peace, despite the great sadness. "Forever bound," she repeated in the softest whisper, trying not to cry. "I'll—I'll see you later, Cas."

He nodded just slightly and neither wanted to part, but both knew they had to. Their fingers unlaced and Alex shrugged his coat off one shoulder with great effort. "You'll need this." He took it slowly, looking at her uncertainly, like he was going to protest, but then he didn't. He stood and put the coat back on and Alex felt better as she watched him pull it on one arm at a time. There he was.

Dean cleared his throat, came closer, and reached for Alex. "I got her Cas," he said softly.

Cas looked at Dean, then back to Alex and seemed to resign himself—he stepped back sadly and watched as Dean bent down and slipped his arm around Alex's back, down to her waist, about to pick her up. "No, I wanna walk," Alex protested, her voice wavering. "Please." She didn't say why, but she didn't think she needed to. It might be the last time she did. Dean's face flickered with pain and then he attempted an everything's fine smile.

"Okay. I gotcha." Dean said nothing more and helped her stand up and looped his arm underneath hers then down around her middle, supporting her on the walk of maybe fifteen steps to the Impala. Alex looked back several times at Cas who stood with his arms hanging at his sides, a pensive look on his face. Bobby stood at the front of the van and gave a grim wave. He'd already said goodbye to Alex, privately, a few minutes ago in that Bobby Singer way. A pat on the shoulder and a gruff "you done all right kid. Proud to know you."

Dean got Alex to the passenger door of the car and opened it for her. One last time, Alex looked over her shoulder at Cas. Their eyes locked across the distance for a brief moment and she didn't want to leave him.

"Duck your head down," Dean instructed, and she refocused. She lifted her legs laboriously into the car.

"You're sure about this, kiddo?" he asked softly, steadying his arm against the car door frame. He looked at her long and hard. "You don't have to come. You and Cas, you two could just… wait this one out, you know?"

Surprised at his resigned offer, Alex looked up at him and tried to figure out if he were being genuine. She saw that he was and she was shocked. As much as she wanted to stay with Cas, she'd made her decision. "I'm sure."

Dean paused, then gave her one more chance to get out of what was about to happen. "It's not exactly the safest place for you to be, you know?"

"I know," Alex said. "But that's where our brothers are. So…" she looked through the windshield and took in a very deep breath. "That's where I'm going."

Dean's worried face broke into a soft little smile, and she could see that he was both proud of her and hated the idea of her going. But he accepted it. "Okay." He patted the door frame. "Okay." He shut her door for her, walked around the back of the car, gave Bobby the thumbs up, and the hunter and the ex-angel got into the van together. It started with a thundering rumble. The two of them were going to go in front of Dean and Alex and get in place by cutting through the back of the graveyard. Bobby had the little weapon Cas had suggested making and now they just had to wait and see if it would work. Dean swung into the driver's seat of his car as the van pulled past them. Cas looked at them with a tense expression on his face, then was gone.

Alex watched the van leave out of the side of her eye. Her chest hurt and she brushed some leftover tears off of the skin below her eyes. It was time to be brave, one last time.

"Okay, we give them a couple minutes, then we head in," Dean muttered. He seemed distracted and Alex looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"You think we have a shot in hell at this?" she asked, pretty sure he didn't.

A muscle jumped in his cheek. "Here's hoping," he answered vaguely, then cut that conversation short by explaining the plan. "So basically you and I are gonna drive in right at noon, distract the two featherheads. Cas and Bobby sneak in from behind, get rid of Michael so we get some Sam time. Then we talk to him, see what happens."

Had she missed something? Alex thought hard. Her brain felt muddled. "Get rid of Michael how?"

Dean looked her way, almost smirking. "Holy fire Molotov. Cas's idea."

Alex looked down at her lap, smiling softly at the twinge of pride she felt. "He's pretty clever, isn't he?"

"Yeah, not too shabby," Dean replied neutrally. He cleared his throat and dug in the pocket of his jacket. "Look what I found in Sammy's bag." He pulled out a little folded up piece of green construction paper. "I was going through it a minute ago, trying to find some friggin' matches and… I found this." He unfolded the paper, which looked old and faded—then handed her the dented paper over. It was a kiddy crayon drawing of three very rudimentary lopsided stick figures: a stick figure girl with outrageously long arms stretched out to two stick figure boys on either side of her. i luv Sam end Deen it said underneath. Lopsided stars and hearts were sprinkled around the three figures. A badly drawn car—the Impala, she guessed—was beside them. Most kids would have drawn a house.

Her throat tightened as she realized what it was. Choked on sadness, she struggled. "I can't believe he kept this stupid thing," she whispered.

Dean was nodding and trying to keep his face from crumpling. He took it back and looked at it with a hard to read expression. Alex could tell he was trying to gather his courage to tell her something. Finally, he set it down and looked at her with an emotionally open expression. "You know, Sammy and I were real lucky to have you around, Al."

The look on his face, the realization that he was about to give her a goodbye speech freaked her the fuck out. She couldn't accept how close the end was. "Dean…" she protested.

"I mean it," he cut her off. "And I might not get another chance to say this stuff so… just hear me out." He looked down at the drawing a second then swiveled in his seat and put the paper onto the back seat before he turned to look at her again. "Sometimes I thought about how what it would have been like growing up without you. And I just... it wouldn't have been right, you know?" He put a hand onto the steering wheel, brows knit in thought as he looked out through the windshield of the parked car. "You... you put a lot of sunshine into our lives." He chuckled suddenly, like he was remembering something. "Homecoming, remember that one homecoming we went to? One of my favorite memories."

Alex made a face, trying to remember. Surely he didn't mean what she thought he did. "...You mean the time I dumped the punch bowl over that asshole principle's head and got us kicked out of the dance and suspended from school?"

Dean raised his hands, shrugging. "Hey, the dude had it coming!"

Alex couldn't help it. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at her older brother and she remembered what she hadn't thought about in years. How Dean had taken her to a homecoming dance when she and Sam were newly fourteen—he'd insisted on it, hadn't taken her silent grumpy headshakes for a no. Instead he'd stolen ("borrowed!") an old prom dress from the girl he was dating at the time and told her she better put it on so he could take her whiny ass to the dance. So Alex had grudgingly worn the god-awful blinding purple dress but with boots and a jacket, annoyed the entire time, but also secretly delighted to be part of a normal high school tradition. At a certain point she'd dumped punch all over the idiot principle who seemed to have it out for her family—he'd insulted Sam in front of a bunch of teachers and pissed Alex off for the last time. As soon as the juice rained down, Dean and Alex had gotten kicked out—Sam, who managed to escape association from the fiasco, had been mortified by his siblings antics. So Dean and Alex had ditched and gone to a local fast food joint then sat on the roof of the place, throwing french fries at people's heads from above. Dean had laughed about the look on that principle's face for what seemed like weeks.

"Yeah, the dude did have it coming," Alex said, voice fraught with emotion and nostalgia. Dean seemed to be thinking about it too. He was laughing with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"That guy's face man, when all that red punch and the lime slices…" he trailed off, chortling. Then Dean's grin faded and he looked at her with softening eyes. "You were prettier and cooler than any other girl there that night, you know that?" He sounded guilty now, and Alex's smile left her face. "I didn't tell you stuff like that enough." Surprised at him, Alex just stared. Her oldest brother cleared his throat again, seeming to be embarrassed. "Listen, I just, I know I've screwed up so a lot more than anything else but… everything I've ever done I've done trying to keep you safe." He looked at her earnestly through a rigid, regretful expression. "And I will never forgive myself for pushing you away like I did this year." He paused tensely, seeming to have trouble meeting her gaze. "I just need you to know that I love you. And that I'm sorry."

God, Dean… Alex swallowed painfully at his confession and openness. There were a lot of things that he'd done wrong and she wasn't over a lot of them... but there was something stronger than all of her resentment. How much she loved him, all the memories they shared, the lifetime they had lived together. Even more tears were gathering in her eyes and she smiled at him through them. "World's best oldest brother," she said simply, emotionally.

He looked equally as emotional. "World's best, coolest, bad-assest sister."

"Assest isn't a word," she told him, smiling despite the pain, almost laughing. She loved this jackass brother of hers so much.

He smiled bittersweetly then shrugged humbly. "It is now."

Alex attempted some humor, summoning the energy to make a face at him. "I'll call Miriam-Webster, let her know."

Dean made a confused face. "The dictionary is a woman?"

Alex looked at him with mock dead seriousness. "Yeah, I mean, she knows everything, so... makes sense to me."

Dean seemed to realize he should have seen where that was going and he laughed, a bit reluctantly. "Touché." He checked his watch anxiously, drummed his fingers on the wheel of the Impala and Alex took in a deep breath.

If this really was it, she had to let Dean know a few things, too. But this was hard. She had to swallow her pride and fear. She clenched her jaw, trying to figure out how to word herself. She glanced at him sidelong. "Dean… what I said to you… last month or whenever. About you being just like Dad in all the bad ways." She pressed her lips together, turning her head to look at him better. He was silent, almost holding his breath, dreading what she was going to say.

"I wouldn't have made it if it weren't for you." She owed her life to him ten times over, and saying this sappy heartfelt stuff aloud was uncomfortable but she kept going, watching as her brother's face become deeply affected. She meant every word of what she said and knew that it was what he needed to hear. "I never questioned whether you were on my side or not," she said falteringly, voice high-pitched from effort. "I never had to worry because I knew you'd be there no matter what. If Dad left, if Sam left… you'd still be there. I never doubted."

Her face was crumpling. She remembered how he had covered for her and claimed that he needed a nightlight and that he was scared of the dark when he figured out she was scared of the dark—how he had always given her high fives and thumbs ups and fist pounds and told her "that's my girl" whenever she did something right or cool—how he had snuck her into the best R-rated movies when she was still to young to legally see them—how he had always brought her books he thought she would like, how he looked out for her constantly and how he'd always, always told her it would be okay then made sure it was. "You were my best friend, Dean. You still are."

His eyes were welled up with tears and he scooted closer, hugged her tightly but carefully, holding a hand against the back of her head firmly. She felt him press a kiss to the side of her head and she shut her eyes, trying her hardest to hug him back through her failing strength. Memories of their years together flooded her mind, and despite all the horror and crap and loss and tragedy, she was so thankful that she'd had Dean and Sam with her for it.

Dean drew back, hand still on the side of her face and he looked at her with a bittersweet expression, his thumb stroking her hair affectionately. He managed a little smile and she knew he was about to make some kind of joke. "So, been meaning to ask… you really like that Cas guy, huh?"

A rueful, weak smile softened her face. "'Like' isn't the word," she said honestly.

He nodded, looking at her intently, expression hard to read. "I know."

She couldn't tell what he was thinking, what he wanted out of that question and she shrugged, growing withdrawn at the thought of Cas. "Doesn't matter now though does it. It's over. Everything."

Dean didn't seem to like her statement. It made him sad. "It ain't over till it's over, right?" He let go of her, shrugged, and looked off into middle distance. "Maybe today isn't it for us. We've gotten through worse, right?"

As much as she would have liked to believe that, Alex shook her head, depressed. "I don't think so. You're just trying to make me feel better." She worked her jaw and her voice dropped to almost nothing. "I think we both know this is over."

"Hey, hey." He looked at her with the beginnings of indignant denial on his face. "Don't you give up on me now, Al." She looked at him sidelong at the harsh tone and he paused, wet his lips, softened his voice. "You were trying to do the right thing with what you did yesterday." He had her attention and she looked at him with a strained expression. "It's okay," he told her. "I'm not mad at you."

What? Alex stared in faint disbelief. She deserved his anger, everyone's anger. "How can you not be mad at me?"

He looked at her earnestly. "I love you too damn much to be mad at you." Regret and grief filtered across his features. "Just wish I could have kept this from happening to you." He leaned in a little, demanding her gaze. "You listen to me. Lucifer was gonna get Sam one way or another. Don't blame yourself for that."

She withered a little bit under his words and stares, wanting to believe what he said was true, wanting to believe he really felt that way. She looked down at her knees, fatigue washing over her anew. She blinked heavily and took in a raggedy breath. "I feel so tired Dean."

His face showed fear and grave concern, he swallowed and his voice was barely above a whisper. He touched her shoulder gently. "Hang on just a little longer, baby girl, okay? Just a little longer."

She nodded pathetically and didn't look at him, because she wanted to cry again. "Okay."

He glanced at his watch then let out a shaky breath. "All right, showtime." He started the car and pulled back onto the road. Alex saw how his hands clenched and unclenched on the wheel of the Impala, how his jaw wouldn't stop tensing, how freaked he was, how scared shitless.

She was too, and it was making her sick. She stared out the window at the unremarkable landscape. "My heart's beating like fucking hummingbird's wings," she muttered anxiously, chewing on the inside of her mouth. She felt like she'd drank five energy drinks in a row. Dean glanced at her sidelong, chuckling despite himself when he saw her chomping the inside of her cheek.

"You're gonna chew a hole in your face, Al," he said affectionately. He'd told her that constantly growing up... and she hadn't yet. They exchanged the smallest little smile at that memory. He gestured at the little box of cassettes on the floor near her feet. "Hey, do me a favor and find Pyromania, will you? I need some Leppard right now."

Of course you do, Dean. Alex bent with effort and pulled the box closer and rifled through his tapes until she found the one he wanted. It clacked around in its plastic box. "Side one or side two?" She asked, sitting up and feeling out of breath from the simple task.

He slowed down and turned, pulling them into the entrance of the graveyard. He looked at the graveyard ahead with a terse expression. "Side two," he told her, and she slid the cassette into the tape deck.

"Gunter, glieben, glauchen, globen!" The song began, then the cowbell started the beat. "All right! I got something to say!" The electric guitar began to whine the riff they'd both heard a million times. "Hey it's better to burn out! Yeah, than fade awa-a-a-y!"

Dean took in a huge breath and expelled it noisily, once again giving away how nervous he was. And then he did something he hadn't done in years. He held his hand out to her, looking hopeful that she would take it, and she looked at him with a puzzled look on her face—he used to do that when she was younger, when they were heading into a scary or new situation; it was his way of silently reassuring her that she was going to be okay, that she wasn't alone. He'd never been embarrassed about doing it, ever—how many times had he walked her to a classroom at a new school? How many times had he gotten made fun of for holding his little sister's hand? But he'd never let it bother him even once, not outwardly anyway. He'd just told her "they're jealous they don't have such a cool sister like I do. Now go kick some ass, Mouse."

And now he was asking her for the same gesture. Alex scooted closer and put her hand into his, holding as tight as her weak digits would allow. She felt a little better, immediately, a little braver. Their hands held there on the seat of the Impala and Dean's shoulders relaxed a little, he nodded and looked out at the graveyard, taking in another deep breath. His jaw flexed and he swallowed. She could literally see him gathering his courage and squeezed his hand silently, feeling him tighten his grip back. "All right. Here goes nothin'," Dean muttered, and gunned the engine a couple times, then slowly drove them into the cemetery.

As the car crawled over a small slope, they could see that two familiar figures stood in the center of the old abandoned graveyard. Sam's tall imposing form, Adam's shorter and more proportioned. They both turned at the approach of the Impala, their expressions unreadable masks. Dean pulled right up to them, looked at Alex and let go of her hand with one final squeeze. He parked the car, shut it off and got out, leaning onto the door. "Howdy, boys." He paused, looking between the archangels with a gruff expression. "Sorry. We interrupting something?" He shut his door and walked forward a little bit even as Alex pushed her car door open, barely able to even summon the strength to even do that. She used the window ledge to haul herself up to stand. She was having a hard time breathing and when she looked at her brothers—the one she'd known a lifetime, the one she'd only met recently—her emotions were almost impossible to control. How the hell had this even happened? Dean looked back at her glancingly, worried. She shut the door and it didn't close all the way because she couldn't summon the strength.

Lucifer looked at Dean cooly. "Dean. Even for you, this is a whole new mountain of stupid." It was chilling because he looked exactly like Sam, but the demeanor was different, the way he held himself was different, his eyes were cold and lifeless, calculating and cruel. Those eyes slid to Alex, he looked amused and perplexed all at once. "And you brought your dying sister… now why would you do that?"

Dean was staying guarded and calm. "You promised to save her, so you gonna make good on that or what?"

Lucifer's eyebrows rose slightly, he pretended to be thoughtful, narrowing his eyes and looking off to the side before he looked back at Dean challengingly. "Nah."

Dean looked like he'd expected as much. "All right then, I'm done talking to you. I'm talking to Sam now." Lucifer's eyebrows raised in faint amusement.

Michael stepped forward at that moment, his expression foul. "You're no longer the vessel, Dean," Michael said. "Neither of you got any right to be here."

Dean looked at Adam tensely. "Adam, if you're in there somewhere, I am so sorry."

No emotion or feeling crossed Adam's face. "Adam isn't home right now."

Alex caught a flash of beige on her peripheral and her heart jammed in her throat, knowing Castiel was nearby. "Well, then you're next on my list, buttercup," Dean said, oblivious. "But right now, I need five minutes with him."

"You little maggot," Michael said, distaste sullying his face and voice. He began to advance on Dean. "You are no longer a part of the story!"

A deep, commanding voice from behind them suddenly rung out. "Hey, assbutt!"

Castiel had stood up to his full height from where he'd been hidden and Michael turned to see him holding a bottle from which a flame was burning—and Cas threw it squarely at the archangel, who screamed as it hit him and exploded, engulfing Michael in scorching flames. Dean stumbled back from the heat and piercing sound that accompanied the blaze, and beside the passenger-side tire, Alex leaned away, hands clutching onto the hood as she shut her eyes. She couldn't crouch down. Her leg muscles were too shaky and spent.

When the noise was gone and the heat faded, Michael was gone. Dean looked at Castiel breathlessly. "Assbutt?" he asked incredulously.

Cas shrugged, like he was silently saying it was the best I could do at the time. "He'll be back—and upset—but you got your five minutes." Cas's gaze went to Alex, and she thought he was about to come to her, but then Sam's voice stopped him.

Lucifer set Cas with a venomous stare. "Castiel. Did you just Molotov my brother with holy fire?"

Cas took a slight step backwards, suddenly aware he was the object of the devil's wrath. "Uh... no?" Alex's stomach dropped in alarm as she realized how angry Lucifer sounded, how dangerous.

Lucifer's jaw tightened. "No one dicks with Michael but me," he said wrathfully, and Sam's hand raised up, fingers held together like he was going to snap them—

"Lucifer, no, no, no please!" Alex begged in a rush of frantic pleas, and she chanced taking a few stumbling steps forward, leaning heavily onto the car as she did. Lucifer turned and looked at her coldly, annoyed, fingers still raised by his head as Cas's face filled with emotional pain at her clear struggle to stand and move.

"Alexandra, you're really not looking too well," he said snidely. "Why don't you just leave this matter to the men?"

She ignored the insult. "Please, please, don't hurt him," Alex begged—she was shaking perceptibly. Cas had taken a couple steps toward her the second Lucifer had turned halfway to look her. Lucifer's fingers relaxed, his hand lowered, he turned to face her straight on. He got the smallest little wicked smile on his face.

"Hm. Well since you asked so nicely," Lucifer said darkly, and began to walk towards her.

Dean quickly moved to block Lucifer from getting to his sister—his expression tense and warning and grim. "Sam—" Dean started. "Talk to me, Sam." Lucifer paused momentarily, his expression torn between amused and annoyed. And then he swept Dean aside easily with a wave of his hand, sent him flying nearly twenty feet across the graveyard where he collided painfully with a tombstone and groaned, staying there.

"Dean!" Alex cried, even as she was roughly grabbed by the front of her jacket and lifted up until her feet dangled above the ground. She let out a sound of wounded surprise. Lucifer looked at her with a cold expression.

"Let her go!"

Lucifer turned his head to see Castiel standing in a wide stance just a few feet away—weaponless, angry, afraid. A faint little inconvenienced smile came over Sam's face and Lucifer moved his free hand in a 'come here' motion—Castiel was grabbed by an invisible force and dragged through the air, whirled around a hundred-and-eighty degrees where he slammed into the driver's side of the Impala, shattering the window with the force in which he collided. He groaned, seeming to be stuck there half-standing, his back pinned against the car. Dean was moaning in pain somewhere nearby by Alex couldn't see him anymore. She had her hands weakly grasped around Sam's wrist that held her up high so easily. Barely able to breathe, Alex searched Sam's face for a sign that he was in there.

"Sam, are you in there Sam?" she asked desperately, knowing he could hear her because she'd been able to hear, too.

Lucifer turned his head to look back at her, and even though the face was that of her twin's, he had never looked so unfamiliar to her. He ignored her question. "I didn't finish what I was saying," he practically growled, and he strode over to where Cas was, holding her up above the ground the entire time, making it even harder to breathe than it had been before. He dropped her roughly to the ground where her feet collided and sent pain shooting up her leg bones even as he whirled her around so that her back pressed into his chest, so that she faced Cas. Lucifer made her stand there and fear cascaded over Alex as he inexplicably reached into her jacket.

"Since you asked me so nicely not to hurt your precious Castiel…" Lucifer breathed down her neck, "how about you do the honors?" He pulled out her angel blade from where it had been hidden and he grabbed her wrist with his other hand, making her hold the handle of the blade, crushing his other hand over hers, forcing her to wield it. Cas looked at her in something like horrified realization as he breathed hard, his entire body heaving with effort and pain.

Realizing what Lucifer was about to do, Alex panicked and began to whimper as she started to freak out at the most basic level, fighting wildly with every ounce of strength she had left which wasn't much. Her whimpers turned to screaming protests as she tried to push backwards, staring at Cas wide-eyed in horror and realizing she had no way of breaking the grip on her. "No, stop! No!"

It all happened so fast—Lucifer moved himself and Alex forward, too strong for her to resist. "No, no," Alex begged, and smashed the palm of her hand up against Cas's lower left-hand ribcage, trying with all of her sapped strength to push herself away from him, trying with everything she had to save Cas from what was about to happen.

Castiel just held her gaze anxiously, his expression tense and worried as his hand came to cover her hand that was pressing uselessly against his chest. His fingers curled around her hand tightly, as if he were reassuring her and telling her it was okay, that he didn't blame her, that he accepted what was about to happen. His breathing quickened even further, like he was preparing himself. "Don't watch this, Alex," he implored her urgently, even as Sam's hand clamped down even tighter onto hers. Alex began to scream again, as if somehow her wretched protests could make this stop "I'm so sorry," Cas choked out, and his eyes were filled with immeasurable pain and regret, helplessness, unwillingness to leave her.

"No, please, Sam, no!" Alex sobbed frantically, feeling Sam's steely fingers almost breaking hers as his body tensed and he drew the blade back, puppeting her. "No, noooo!" she was almost hyperventilating at that point, dying of terror.

"Yes," Lucifer said through gritted teeth, and with a thrust of his wrist, he made Alex stab Castiel through the heart. Cas screamed and his head went back as his Grace blazed out of his eyes and mouth. Alex screamed, Dean shouted from somewhere nearby—and Lucifer let go. Alex fell over as Cas did too, lifeless, leaving wing prints charred across the Impala. Sobbing deliriously, crumpled over Cas's still form and holding onto two fistfuls of his trench coat in her hands, Alex was shellshocked. He was dead, and she couldn't breathe. She heard Lucifer smirking as he stood over them. "Till death do you part," he mocked heartlessly. And the comment made Alex see red, she closed her shaking feeble hand around the hilt of the angel blade in Cas's chest, preparing to do something incredibly stupid—she looked up at the devil just in time to see a bullet hit him in the shoulder.

Lucifer turned slowly and challengingly to look at Bobby, who had the colt raised high. Bobby shot him again, straight through the heart. Nothing happened. Lucifer only looked down at his bleeding chest, annoyed, then back up at Bobby, his features twisting with hatred. Lucifer raised his hand up and jerked it oddly—and Bobby's neck snapped.

"Nooo!" Dean shouted—he was standing nearby, slumped over slightly. Alex almost passed out as she watched Bobby hit the ground. Lucifer's neck whipped to the side and he fixed Dean with a menacing glare.

"Yes." Lucifer shoved Dean back and into the Impala's windshield violently. The impact of Dean's head cracked the glass into a jagged circle. Groaning, Dean laid there dazed, but Lucifer grabbed him by a leg, yanked him down the hood and pulled him up, punching him in the face hard enough to make him whirl, see stars, and momentarily lose clarity. Crumpled over the hood of his car, Dean saw the blood dripping down from his mouth onto the shining black surface of his car. Take care of your brother and sister. Keep them safe, make sure they're okay. Dean gathered himself and turned around, breathing hard and trying to fight the sick feeling in his stomach.

"Sammy, can you hear me?" Dean asked, almost in tears.

Lucifer's face filled with cold contempt and he approached slowly, murder in his eyes, no hint of Sam anywhere to be seen. "You know... I tried to be nice... for Sam's sake." He brought his hands up slowly to grip Dean by the lapels of his leather jacket. Dean tensed, preparing for whatever was next. "But you... are such a pain... in my ass."

Lucifer backhanded Dean brutally, sending him stumbling sideways, then kicked him in the knee, hard enough to break bone. A pained scream tore out of Dean's mouth and he fell over, clutching his leg. Panting in pain, Dean looked up at Lucifer. For a minute, he contemplated staying down. Take care of your brother and sister. Keep them safe, make sure they're okay. Dean dragged himself up, using the bumper of the Impala and keeping all of his weight on one leg. "Sammy, fight him, you hear me?!" Dean urged, then hissed in pain he didn't have time to let himself feel. His voice rose in urgency. "Sam, I know you're in there, don't let him win!"

Lucifer grabbed Dean by the jacket. "Oh, Sam's in here, all right." He threw another bone-crushing punch, holding Dean with one hand so that he couldn't fall away. "And he's gonna feel the snap of your bones!" Lucifer socked him again and let Dean fall down to the ground this time. "Every single one." He hauled a bleary-eyed Dean to his feet. "We're gonna take our time. I've already won, Dean." Lucifer shoved Dean up against the Impala and began to beat him ruthlessly, not stopping even once, he hit him again and again and again, until Dean's face was swollen and disfigured, raw and oozing blood. And Dean didn't fight back, he just took it.

Inside of himself, Sam felt every sickening blow his fists beat into his brothers bloodied face, heard his brother's pained cries—and could do nothing. He struggled and begged and pleaded and raged but nothing worked and he was stuck. Dean! Dean fight me! Don't let him kill you!

Suddenly, Sam felt a strange pressure in his side. Lucifer looked down and when he did, Sam could see that there was an angel blade stuck halfway right into his ribcage. He looked up. Alex was standing slightly behind him, clearly about to fall over—she'd thrown the blade but missed and hadn't thrown it hard enough. Sam despaired even as Lucifer's fury blazed. "You—leave—my brothers—alone!" Alex shouted in a weakened voice, not backing away, and Sam shrank internally in horror as Lucifer yanked the blade out of himself and cast it down, looked at the glowing blue wound contemptuously. He let Dean go, who fell down to the ground, wounded and dazed. Alex looked frail and deathly, like even standing was a struggle.

Sam felt his mouth opening, felt himself speaking, but it wasn't him. "You know, you may be more trouble than you're worth, Alexandra," he said quietly, but there was a danger there in his voice, a warning. He felt Lucifer's annoyance and impatience and Sam fought even harder as Lucifer took a step toward his sister. Don't you go near her you son of a bitch!

Alex didn't run, didn't move, just looked Sam and Lucifer straight in the eye and spoke to Sam. Tears streamed down her cheeks and he could see how she was in every kind of agony that could exist. "Sam, fight him!" she cried.

I'm trying, oh god I'm trying! Alex get away from me! Run!

Sam couldn't stop Lucifer no matter how hard he tried and he watched himself bear down onto her and take her by the neck then slam her to the ground ruthlessly. He straddled her crushingly and put both hands on her neck, beginning to choke the life out of her.

No, no, no! Please don't kill her, don't hurt her!

His hands only tightened on her neck.

I'll just bring her back later, Sam. Stop trying to fight me, I'm getting tired of it.

"Sam, no! Sam!" Dean begged from somewhere behind them. Without even looking, Lucifer gestured a single annoyed hand. Dean slammed into the side of the Impala and hit his head hard.

Beneath him, Alex was choking, gasping for air and fighting to stay alive, her hands grabbed onto his uselessly. "Sam, please…!" she rasped. Tears ran out of her eyes and down into her hair as she looked up at him in fear and pain.

"I'm not Sam," he growled through gritted teeth. And then the strangest thing happened. Alex's face relaxed, she stopped struggling. She looked at him and it was so obvious that she loved him. Sam reached out to that desperately, to who he was: her big brother, not the devil. Lucifer wavered.

"You are Sam," she wheezed, barely able to breathe, turning blue, but appearing fiercer than Sam had seen her before, more determined and strong than ever. Her teeth were gritted, her expression was intense and furious. "My Sam. And I am never giving up on you ever!" Her ragged, shallow inhales sounded inhuman. But she choked out words all the same. "Listen—to me, you're—not alone, I'm—with you, Sammy!" Sam screamed inside, fighting with everything he had for his twin, the one he'd been with since conception, the one he shared a birthday with—the one whose hand he'd held in his as they crossed the street as kids—the one who had kept all the secrets he ever told her—the one who had tried to make him chicken noodle soup that one time and exploded the microwave when she put the entire can in there—the one who knew his favorite things and his biggest mistakes and had always been willing to give him just one more chance.

Sam could feel himself gaining traction as he thought of how much he loved her and how much he wanted to save her from everything Lucifer had planned for them. As he held onto this solid anchor, Sam found a new strength within himself and began to wrestle Lucifer backward, began to regain control over his body. Sam was able to loosen his grip on her neck and Alex could breathe again—but then as soon as it had begun, Lucifer suddenly rushed back over him and kicked Sam downward internally. Lucifer brutally pressed Sam's hands down with deadly force... and Sam felt Alex's neck snap beneath his hands. Her head lolled to the side, eyes shut, body still, life gone.

No! Oh god no!

Dean, who had crawled over was several feet away—he froze. "Oh god, no, Sam, no..." he pleaded in a broken sob. Inside, Sam was screaming. But outwardly, he just stood up, annoyed, and grabbed Dean up by the front of his jacket and slammed him down onto his back, then dragged him over to the Impala, slamming him into the metal siding harshly. "How many of you people do I have to kill today?" he snarled.

Dean tried to reach for Sam through his heartbroken tears. "Sam, it's okay," he choked out. "I-it's okay. I'm here," he said. "I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you, Sam."

Pathetic, Lucifer told Sam. Pathetic how he thinks he can reach you. You're mine, there's no escaping now.

Lucifer punched him again, then again, but Dean just took it tearfully, repeating himself, voice choked with emotion. "I'm not gonna leave you."

Stop! Sam despaired, wretched and agonized. Just stop!

No. I'll never stop, this is just the beginning. Now watch as I kill not only your sister but now your brother with your own hands. All they've ever done is held you back. All they've ever done is weaken you!

Lucifer drew his fist back for another punch, one that would kill Dean… but just then, a cloud moved away, the sun came out and glinted off the roof of the Impala, catching Lucifer's eye. He looked, seeing his own reflection in the window, then past that, a little green army man stuck permanently in one of the ashtrays of the car. On the back seat, a drawing of stick figures and big sloppy kid writing was laid errantly—i luv Sam end Deen was surrounded by lopsided stars and hearts. And Sam saw these things too. Lucifer wavered inside underneath the surge of emotion and memories the army man and drawing produced.

All Sam could hear was the wind whistling around him as he remembered playing army men in the back of the car and how Alex always used to chew on the little toy soldiers heads and arms and Sam would complain and Dean would say not to complain, that Alex was just making the army men more realistic, like they had sustained combat zone battle wounds. And then Sam thought of how they had carved their initials onto the floorboards together in secret one afternoon and how Dean had jammed legos into the air vents of the car and how Alex had stuck chewed off army men heads into the passenger ashtray and the summer heat had melted it all into a hard mass and rendered the ashtray completely useless. And Sam remembered sitting on the hood of the car on starry nights and sharing a beers and laughs and even a joint with his siblings after hard days—he thought about watching Alex catch frogs and then shove them down the back of Dean's shirt to make Sam laugh… and a million memories of them flooded his mind: his brother and sister, the two people in the world who had fought with him and for him and beside him and never permanently given up on him, ever. Love, sheer overwhelming love washed over Sam as he realized that Lucifer was wrong.

No. They never held me back. They made me better. They gave me something to fight for, something to believe in. And I believe in them more than I believe in you! They strengthen me, you son of a bitch!

And Sam gathered all of that strength as the memories of his life careened through his mind, spilling out in a monsoon. With a deafening roar, Sam surged upwards inside of himself and cast Lucifer aside and he gasped, stumbling back in control of himself again and momentarily shocked by it.

Blinking rapidly, gasping and out of breath, Sam looked at his hands, the hands that had just killed his sister and agony came across his features. "Oh god," he said, and looked back at her. She laid like a broken doll on the dead grass and he staggered toward her as if in a horrified trance, like maybe he thought it had all been a bad dream. She laid there without moving, clearly dead. "No, oh no—" his hands were on either side of his head as he looked at her in terror. He did that. Oh god, he did that! He had murdered her, he'd let Lucifer do it, he hadn't been strong enough or quick enough...

"Sam?" Dean asked, mumbling, almost at the point of passing out where he was sitting slumped beside the Impala.

Sam turned, tears streaming down his face as he heaved from labored breathing. "I-it's okay, Dean," he told his barely conscious brother, filled with terror and absolute grief. "It's gonna be okay—I've got him. He's not gonna hurt anyone ever again. I'm ending this now." Sam reached into his pocket with shaking hands and tossed the horsemen's rings down about seven feet to the left of Alex's body. "Bvtmon tabges babalon!"

The ground caved in around the rings and the earth shook, air began to suck down into the widening hole, a loud and powerful wind filled the entire cemetery and whipped at Sam's hair and clothes. This was it, the end for him. Sam turned back to Dean, afraid, breathing heavily, distraught and tortured by what he had done. Dean stared at him with a slack jaw, only one of his eyes able to open—the other was swollen shut. Both of the brothers were in tears and Sam nodded at Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him. I'm going to save you, Dean. Sam looked at his sister's dead body again and his misery doubled, his horror and guilt were beyond comparison. He turned to jump into the hole, to end this once and for all—he had wanted to save her from Lucifer, but in the end he wasn't able and he would never forgive himself. He took a step toward the edge of the hole, tensed, preparing to jump.

"Sam!" A sudden voice behind him startled him and Sam whirled. "It's not gonna end this way!" Michael shouted. "Step back!" Adam's familiar face glared at him and Sam's heart spasmed in fear but he didn't budge, in fact, he slid his foot back, edging closer to the hole.

"You're gonna have to make me!" he shouted back through his agony. His eyes burned with tears, he slid back a little more.

Michael's glare deepened. "I have to fight my brother, Sam!" Michael insisted in a shout above the wind. "Here and now! It's my destiny!"

Sam looked at Dean, who stared back fearfully, silently urging Sam to jump but also horrified that he would. Sam looked down at Alex's dead body. No. It may be your destiny, but it's not mine.

"Listen to me, you're not alone, do you hear me? I'm with you, Sammy."

Her last words to him, said with so much love. And as the image of her dying at his hands replayed in his mind, he didn't have to think twice about what to do next.

With a gut-wrenching sob, Sam closed his eyes and spread his arms, letting himself begin to fall backwards… and with a shout, Michael lunged forward and grabbed onto Sam, attempting to pull him back, but Sam held on with all of the strength he had, pulling the archangel down with him.

And Sam and Michael fell together, down, down, down. The circle of sunlight above them vanished completely and inescapable darkness swallowed them whole.

Above the ground, the hole closed with a blinding flash of light and loud horrible crack.

And then all was silent.