Song Remains the Same
Chapter 47 / Lay Me Down To Sleep
"It was pride that changed the angels into devils."
- Saint Augustine
Alex remembered jolting awake as glass shattered and wind roared. She'd fallen out of bed reacting on instinct, reaching for the gun under her pillow—then been ripped away from the motel room completely. Like a little leaf she'd been caught in a gale force, spinning out of control into an endless abyss, not sure which direction was up or down or what was happening at all but now… now everything was still and dark.
She felt like she was in a waking dream—her eyes were barely able to focus as they blinked open blearily, she had the distinct feeling that her body was moving faster or maybe it was slower than her mind, like she was out of sync. Something was wrong with her, and she realized that as she also realized how everything hurt and then that she was tied to something with wrists behind her back. Her head lolled forward onto her chest and she struggled to raise her head—she ached all over like she'd been in a fight, like she'd collided hard with a hard surface several times. But—she hadn't—had she? She must have been. She could feel cuts and scrapes on her bare arms and the back of her head was pounding where there'd been some kind of impact. Son of a bitch it hurt.
Alex struggled to hold her head up, survival instincts telling her to focus, focus. She quickly took inventory of herself: arms behind her and tied tightly to what felt like a small metal pole. Beneath her a cold cement floor. Her legs were sprawled out in front of her and one of them felt broken. Her eyes were too cloudy to make out much more. She blinked several times over, squinting as she realized her hearing was off—everything sounded muffled and tinny.
What had happened? She couldn't remember a damn thing. The world was flickering, making her feel drunk and stupid. It was probably someone looking for revenge who had brought her here—she hadn't exactly made many friends this past year...
Her eyes regained some ability and she was able to see that she was in a warehouse... but it kept changing—through a dirty window not far away from her Alex could see sunlight, and from the angle of light, it looked like it was late afternoon—but then it changed and it looked more like early morning, then it was abruptly night, then it was daylight again and raining, then sunny again, then windy and snowy—like she was somehow leap frogging through time. And then Alex noticed the warehouse changed too every time the outside changed—the interior was decrepit and rusted then nicer and newer, then dirty and abandoned looking, then clean and brand new, then old again. It kept changing and changing and changing and Alex felt sick, distorted, off balance. Her visioned blurred again and she tried to shake her head, but she was slow as a slug and could barely manage to blink. She heard echoing footsteps beside her and tried to look up and see who it was. But her muscles were stiff and uncoordinated. She couldn't quite manage to turn her head.
A tall, lithe young woman walked over and around to stand in front of Alex. She was intensely beautiful with piercing eyes and striking youthful features and hair that was pulled away from her face tightly. Alex felt a sense of recognition, even though she was very convinced that she'd never seen this person before. The stranger's arms were folded across herself in a mistrustful, cautious posture and she was dressed in a shimmering jet black top and expensive looking black slacks, pointed black heels. Expensive diamond earrings hung from her ears. By all appearances she was ready for some kind of elegant event and Alex was mystified. Was she a demon? Some kind of monster? Maybe a skinwalker. The woman arched a single, artfully penciled eyebrow down at Alex, who attempted to speak, but it was like trying to talk through a mouthful of sludge—she felt like she'd been put on slow motion. "Who… are?" she managed slowly, thickly. No other words seemed possible to form, it was too tiring and monumental.
The woman seemed fractionally irritated, her eyes narrowing just slightly. "We've been over this, Alex," she said in a low voice that was surprisingly girlish and rasping at the same time. Something about the voice felt familiar. "When you attempted quite foolishly to kill me a few minutes ago?"
Kill her? Alex had never seen this person before. "I… don't…" she managed. If she hadn't been tied down, she would have fallen sideways at that point. She blinked heavily, wondering if maybe she was hallucinating or drugged. Maybe that's why the warehouse kept changing. She was tripping balls.
"Hm. The time displacement really seems to have gotten to you..." The woman crouched down and held Alex's chin firmly. "I'm Nandriel." Shock registered in Alex's mind, and it must have also shown on her face. "You seem surprised," the angel commented. There was a veiled, guarded, mistrustful tone to her voice, and the same qualities also came through in her entire demeanor. "What did he tell you? About why I was demoted? Somehow... I doubt you got the full story." Nandriel's face softened into a smile that was cynical at best. "Did he tell you I was imprisoned? Stripped of my powers? Treated like I was the devil himself just because I wanted to become a human?" At the dazed look on Alex's face, the angel let go and stood up. Nandriel seemed disturbed, further mystifying Alex. "I'll take that as a 'no.'"
Nandriel sauntered slowly to the window—she stood tall and straight, her movements were graceful, like how a seasoned ballet dancer might move. The angel didn't seem to notice the seasons and days changing through the window, just looked through the glass pane quietly, focusing on a distant point. There was a serene quality to her, but there was also sadness and anger, and something else entirely that set Alex's inner red flags raising. Nandriel was her ex-guardian angel, right? That's what Cas had told her, what, two years ago—and Alex had always assumed that Nandriel had fallen like Anna had, becoming human. She didn't know she'd been in angel prison all this time. Maybe that's why Nandriel felt familiar to Alex, but why was she doing this? What was happening? Wait. Was this some kind of revenge move? But what did I do? Confused and helpless and under the effect of what felt like a mind-numbing drug, Alex twisted her wrists uselessly against the rough rope that held her in place.
Nandriel cast a fleeting glance Alex's way. "Do you know, Alex… I thought I'd be trapped in there forever?" Her voice was soft and thoughtful. She took a long, slender finger, tracing it down across the flickering window slowly, watched the digit with dark, somber eyes. "I thought they would continue to punish me century after century, until the end of time, for my so-called sins." Her voice softened wistfully, pain filling her soft, girlish voice. "All I wanted was to be a human." She turned and looked back at Alex beseechingly. "Tell me, is that truly so wrong?"
Don't answer that. Alex's first thought and instinct, because there was a very clear sense of danger that she was getting, a very strong intuition to err on the side of caution. She tugged weakly at her wrists again, realizing that even if she were at her full mental and physical capacity, the rope was just too tight. Weapon, where was a weapon. She had a knife in her boot, but that was impossibly out of reach... her angel blade was… back with her jacket, slung over a motel chair. There was no way to get to her little knife, there was no way to pull out of the ropes, and she was under some kind of spell or drug, she could barely even think a single coherent thought. She tried to focus instead, to learn as much as she could, maybe stall whatever was happening. "Why… are we… here?" she asked stutteringly.
Nandriel became visibly bothered and her eyes slid to Alex for the briefest of moments. "Because I need you for something." She then refused to look directly at Alex, instead began to look at the ground near where Alex was restrained. "I hope you'll believe me. I wish it didn't have to be this way."
Well that was vague as hell and ominous to boot. Alex's sense of danger was now soaring at an all time high—this was not good and she had a really strong conviction that she needed to get out of there pronto. But she clearly couldn't do it on her own. That meant there was only one option left. It scared the shit out of her to hang all of her hopes on the one who had disappeared without explanation from her side over eight months ago but she still believed, deep down, if she really needed him, if it were life or death... he would come to her. Oh god please don't let me be wrong. Filled with a dreadful hope and fear alike, Alex opened her mouth to say the name that filled her every waking thought. "Ca—"
The second she opened her mouth, Nandriel was suddenly in front of her and had clamped a rough hand across her mouth, preventing Alex from finishing the word. A violent wind blew over the room with the speed the angel had moved with.
"Why would you call him?" Nandriel asked angrily, suddenly unhinged and expressive, the total opposite of what she'd been a minute ago. "Has he answered any of the other times you called him this year?" Her jet-black eyes flickered between Alex's, and there was a cold, indignant scowl on her face. "He's just like the rest of them. Self-loyal. Traitorous. A backstabber, a hypocritical fool." She stood back and let go of Alex brusquely, who attempted to speak again... but found herself voiceless. Alex gaped dumbly up at the guardian angel she had never known, feeling betrayed. She was panicked and sluggish, trying harder to make a sound and finding herself totally unable. Nandriel's beautiful features were twisted in disgust. "How is it you can still love him after he deserted you and abandoned you? How is it you have always loved the ones who hurt you and wronged you? Your father; your brothers, and now Castiel who has shown you no concern in nearly a year!"
Silence rang loudly and Nandriel glared down at Alex demandingly. The words stung, or maybe that was Alex's eyes, which fell away and down guiltily. Nandriel had carefully aimed those verbal barbs like she knew exactly what they would do to Alex: they raised a hundred doubts, fears, and guilts all at once, spoke to Alex's insecurities, and made her feel small and foolish. Nandriel's jaw was tight with a cold anger. "I know you better than anyone else in this world, child, I know your brainless loyalty and dependence on your broken, defective family. Why? What I want to know is why." She grew silent and studied Alex with somber contempt. "I know you but I don't understand you."
She began to leisurely walk in front of Alex, back and forth with her delicate brow knit together and wrinkling slightly. The angel suddenly scoffed and halted as if she had a realization, looking at Alex in dawning epiphany. "The things you've done this past year… perhaps you don't understand yourself anymore, either." Alex's stomach dropped a little. How much did Nandriel know? The angel's features twisted scornfully. "Do you honestly think he would still love you if he knew? The things you've done? The thoughts you've entertained? ...the tall blond man you were sharing a motel room with when I found you?" Nandriel was haughty now, snide, bitter. "Perhaps you and Castiel are perfect for one another, after all. Both of you disloyal to the other at every level imaginable."
Unable to speak a word in her defense, Alex just shook her head as vehemently as she could. It was a concerted effort against the wooziness that washed over her like a wave. No, you're wrong, you're wrong!
"Anyway." Nandriel was suddenly calm again, thoughtful and measured, almost apologetic. Her voice grew soft. "Castiel won't find you here, outside the reach of time itself. Even if he wanted to." She looked mildly rueful, and then guilt flashed across her pretty face for just a moment. "I am sorry for what's going to happen here soon, and I am sorry to silence you but… you must remain quiet, now." She looked off to her side vacantly. "Until Raphael arrives."
Alex's eyes snapped up at that. Raphael? Memories of the angry archangel flashed through Alex's mind and she felt her stomach jolt. What was going on here?!
Nandriel paced languidly in front of Alex again, her inner torment clear on her youthful but stony features. "I grew fond of you over the years, Alex. I did. But fondness is fleeting and meaningless to me now. What I desire is freedom." She looked at Alex, who was silent, not by choice—holding onto hope that someone was going to find her here, wherever here was. Jamie, at least—she'd be looking for her, she knew she would be. Nandriel looked sympathetic, like she knew and recognized the look on Alex's face. "I can see how you're hoping for rescue. But no one's coming for you, Alex. Not this time."
Nandriel was, in a word, wrong. Even as she spoke, cycling Alex and herself through time over and over again, effectively hiding them from anyone who wasn't invited, Castiel had realized Nandriel was outside the reach of summoning after trying for the third frantic time. Close to panicking, he held himself still and forced himself to think, think. If Nandriel, who was supposed to be in prison and who had taken Alex for some unknown reason, was beyond the reach of summoning, she must be in another dimension or perhaps even in a time-loop. Usually, this would hide an angel completely, but Castiel suddenly realized… Nandriel had been present in Alex's life for over twenty years. All he needed to do was find an instance of the angel within time. If he could do this, find her and get some of her blood, there was an Enochian sigil that he could use to find her in the current time. So without a second thought, Castiel slipped back through the bonds of time to a night he knew Nandriel would have been part of.
The night of the nursery fire.
Lawrence, Kansas
1983
Castiel found himself in a dark room. It was small and decorated with images of teddy bears piloting airplanes—a whimsical but unrealistic motif. There was a moon shaped night light on a wall beside a little wooden dresser, two cross-stitched circles hung on the wall beside a colorful teddy bear clock. One of the circles said Alexandra in pink letters, the other one said Sam in blue letters. A crib was set in almost the middle of the room, leaving all sides free to stand near. The room was quiet save for the sound of two babies cooing and gurgling quietly, the clock ticking. Castiel kept himself invisible as he moved toward the crib, reflecting on how strange he found this moment to be, how deep a sadness he felt knowing what was going to transpire in that room in just the span of a few minutes. For a moment, he was paused from his current state of apprehensiveness in favor of reflection. How odd that he was about to see Sam and Alex as infants, but especially her. Another unsettling reminder of how old he was, how ancient.
He peered down into the crib as he walked around to the side that was closest to the window. There they were. The twins laid beside each other wide awake, little arms and legs pumping enthusiastically—dressed in blue pajamas, Sam was looking up at the airplane mobile that hung over the crib, cooing and drooling as Alex, in pink pajamas, tried to grab her brother's ear. They both had impossibly large eyes, and even at six months old, Sam was noticeably bigger than Alex. Still, they were so small, so fragile, and Castiel suddenly thought of how he could change this—he could change everything if he so chose. And the thought terrified him.
"Come on, let's say goodnight to your brother and sister," came a soft feminine voice, and the lights came on in the room, even as a little boy with a thick mop of brown hair—Dean—ran on short little legs to the crib and clambered up the side opposite of Cas. Mary stood at the doorway wearing a white nightgown. Her long blonde hair tumbled around her shoulders. She hung back for a moment and watched her oldest child with the twins, a little smile on her face.
"'Night, twins," Dean said, leaning down over the babies. "Love you Sammy..." he kissed Sam on the head, who sputtered happily. "Love you Al..." Dean leaned as far as he could and kissed Alex on the head. He was rewarded with a high pitched coo from his sister, who tried to grab Dean's hair but missed. Dean grinned and chortled, then leaned back and rested his arms on the top of the crib railing, putting his chin on top of one of his hands. For a minute he just admired his brother and sister, watching Sam reaching for his toes.
"Dadadada," Alex babbled.
Dean gasped loudly and whipped his head around. "Mommy, she's doing it again! She's saying dada!" He announced in an excited almost shout.
"Shh, love, shh," Mary said, chuckling and coming to stand behind her oldest, circling him with her arms comfortingly and pressing her cheek beside his. "Let's not rile them up, okay?" It seemed to be too late for that. Even as Mary kissed Dean's cheek, Sam laughed shrilly at his big brother and waved his arms uncontrollably, thwacking baby Alex in the face, who blinked in surprise and started, a reaction delayed by a couple of seconds.
"Oh, careful Sammy, you hurted Allie's face!" Dean said, catching hold of his brother's chubby arm gently and guiding the arm down to Sam's side slowly and carefully. His voice took on a certain note of instruction and wisdom that parents usually used with children. "We have to be gentle with each other."
"That's right, little man." Mary smiled at her oldest son, and Castiel could see how proud the woman was of her children. She stroked Dean's hair affectionately. "Such a good big brother, Dean," she murmured. "Always taking care of your brother and sister." She pressed a kiss into his hair.
"Yeah, Mama, I always will," Dean said.
"I know you will, bud." Mary ruffled his hair playfully before turning her attention to the twins. Even Castiel, who was not one for the subtleties of human emotion felt another burst of deep sadness inside of himself. This young boy, barely four years old, would be saddled with responsibilities and sadnesses no human being should have to carry. This woman, the Winchester mother, would die a terrible and painful death on the ceiling above their heads in a matter of minutes. But to the Winchesters, this was just another night.
Mary leaned down over her babies, smiling. Alex was kicking her legs cheerfully as Sam studied his mother with wide eyes and a curious expression. "Good night, my loves. My Sammy boy..." she brushed Sam's wispy barely-there hair back from his head, kissed his forehead, then she smiled down at Alex, who cooed and wriggled, still kicking her legs and flailing her arms excitedly. Mary chuckled softly, eyes crinkling up at the edges. "My sweet, sweet girl." She kissed Alex's head, stroking her darker hair affectionately and tracing her fingers across soft features. "Angels are watching over you," she whispered.
"Hey, Dean!" came a deep, authoritative male voice. John Winchester had just entered the room. Cas looked up and watched as the man who would soon turn into a shell of who he was now grinned widely at his boy. Castiel felt a flicker of distaste.
Dean turned and jumped off the crib, already racing across the room, delighted to see his father. "Daddy!"
"Hey, buddy!" John scooped Dean up and laughed, hugging his son whose little arms circled his neck tightly. It was striking, Cas thought. How much Alex grew up to look like her father: the dark hair, wide set eyes, thick eyebrows, strong jaw. "So what do you think?" John asked his son. "You think your brother and sister are ready to toss around a football yet?"
Dean laughed. "No, Daddy. And Allie is a girl, she can't throw a football!"
John chuckled deeply. "Now, we'll just see about that, son. Girls can do things just as good as boys can."
Dean's little features scrunched into a dubious expression. "Uhh I don't know Daddy... but I do know they're just babies—they're too little to throw a football!"
John pretended to be very serious and thoughtful. "You know what, I think you're right, bud. Maybe we should wait a little longer before we try that, huh?"
"Yeah, I think so," Dean said, not realizing his father was joking with him. He lit up suddenly, thinking of something. "Dad, Dad! She was saying dada again!"
John seemed both pleased and slightly deflated. "Was she? And I missed it again?" John sighed, glanced at his wife, and gave her a tired smile. "Ah, one of these days I'll be around when she says it."
"How was work?" Mary asked, coming toward her husband from the crib. There seemed to be an unspoken tension between them, or perhaps it was just that both were tired.
"Work was work," John answered. "I'm glad to be home."
"You got him?" Mary asked, referring to Dean.
John nodded an affirmative. "I got him." He gave her a smile that was worn around the edges. "You get some rest, sweetheart. I'll be in after awhile."
Mary nodded and kissed him lightly on the cheek as she passed by. "Thanks, hon."
"Night Mama!" Dean called after her.
"Goodnight, Dean," Mary answered from where Cas couldn't see. And that's when he realized how final that farewell really was.
John was looking into the room, still holding Dean up high in his arms. He smiled at the twins through the slats in the crib railing. "Sweet dreams, Sam. Sleep tight, Allie girl." He turned his attention to Dean. "Come on champ, let's get you to bed."
He turned and began to retreat down the hallway. Castiel could hear their fading conversation.
"Aw Da-aaad... I don't wanna go to bed yet!"
"No complaints, that's an order little man."
"O-kaaaay. Can you come home early tomorrow from work, Daddy?"
"We'll see, dude. Hey, did you brush your teeth yet?"
The sounds of their voices faded into muffled, indistinct sounds and Castiel looked down at the twins once again. The two babies were cooing and looking at each other. Sam's chubby little baby hand reached out and grabbed at his sister's cheek—an uncoordinated little movement. He giggled then sputtered wetly when she protested in frustration with a little keening sound. They seemed so defenseless and vulnerable. Premonition filled Castiel, whose instincts told him he should be protecting the Winchesters from what was about to happen. It was within his ability and power—he could kill Azazel easily. The Winchesters would never know the difference.
The children would grow up with both parents, John wouldn't lose his mind to grief and destroy his children's lives in the process. Alex would live a normal, typical life.
But then there was the fact that none of the Winchesters would become hunters. All the people they saved in the future would die.
Still, Mary would live. Alex would speak. Sam wouldn't be groomed as the vessel of Lucifer, and Lucifer might not rise because Azazel couldn't complete the preparations. Perhaps another demon would step in and try to complete the task, but perhaps not.
Dean would never go to Hell, he wouldn't be forced to grow up too fast. He would remain Michael's vessel, but without Lucifer rising, there would be no need… Castiel thought back to the cupid who said John and Mary's union had been commanded of Heaven—and he knew it was because Sam and Dean had been meant to serve as the vessels. But just because something was meant to happen... did that mean it should?
Castiel pondered deeply, realizing something very important and troubling. If he killed Azazel tonight… he would probably never meet Alex, and if he did, she wouldn't be the same Alex that she was now. That, and would he even remember everything that he had with her during the past three years? Or would it all be erased? Would he forget and continue on as he had—alone in Heaven, watching humanity from afar, forever feeling like he was waiting for something, never realizing the thing he'd been restlessly longing for all along had been her?
Alex—his Alex—would become someone else entirely, she would blossom with the ability to speak and with a loving mother to guide her. She would grow up, she would fall in love with and marry someone else, live a normal life, never know what a pained, mostly wretched existence she would have led otherwise. Never know him, never know what might have been. These thoughts unsettled him to his core.
Besides all of that, of course, Castiel knew that altering this night—an already-written past—would severely damage or even destroy the fabric of time. The nursery fire had set so many important things into motion, as horrible as it was—and if Castiel changed it… there was no way to predict what else would change. A few years ago, Castiel never would have considered intervening and attempting to change fate. He would have seen it as being none of his business or concern. But now—now he wondered, he considered it, he weighed the options carefully.
His instincts told him it was too great a risk, too great an unknown, and he could potentially destroy everything by tampering with what had already transpired. But the biggest reason he didn't want to was because at his core (and he realized this now) he was selfish. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her, or of erasing what they had found together: this precious, fragile connection, this understanding. This feeling of being held and of holding in ways beyond physical. It hurt to think of her, it hurt not to think of her, it pained him in places he never knew pain could touch. And yet he knew what happened here tonight must remain as it always had.
Baby Alex cooed low and soft and Castiel looked down at the twins. It felt wrong to love her; he felt a bitter sense of self-hatred. Everything he'd ever done and it still wasn't enough. How long would this war last? How long would he be forced to stay away from Alex? Was she even alive? Had Nandriel harmed her? How was it she could be right here at six months old and lost to him completely at twenty-eight? Worry and fear filled him at the unknowns, the questions, the thought of her hurt and needing him, the guilt of knowing how long he'd been absent from her side. His only comfort was knowing she that was with Dean and that he'd been able to get her messages. Still, they were small comforts.
He needed to see her, he couldn't bear the separation much longer, and the thought of her out there somewhere in another time or dimension with Nandriel, who was most likely driven crazy by her time in the exile of prison… it urged him to be hasty and find her, find her now.
Growing even more anxious, Castiel glanced around the darkened room. It wouldn't be long now. The twins settled down and about five minutes passed, then Castiel could hear the faint sounds of the television downstairs in the background. Five more minutes ticked by with no sign of angels or demons. And then, Castiel felt it. The faintest ripple of a dark presence nearby. The mobile above the twins began to spin of its own accord, and the twins looked up at it sleepily. Fascinated, perplexed. The clock stopped ticking. The moon-shaped nightlight flickered and Cas looked at it with great apprehension. Azazel was close. Castiel's senses became hyper-focused. Where was Nandriel?
A plain, light-haired man in a black peacoat edged into the room and the nightlight caught his unnaturally yellow eyes for a second. If it were possible for blood to run cold, Castiel's blood did. Azazel.
The demon glided into the room without making a sound, unaware of Castiel's presence. He placed his hands on the crib railing and smiled down at the twins wickedly. He was directly across from the angel, who didn't take his eyes off the enemy for a single millisecond. The demon's long fingernails tapping against the wood—the sound chilling. "Hello, little ones," he greeted in a soft, dark voice. "My special children... Daddy has plans for you." He smirked proudly and ran a hand over Sam's head almost affectionately, then reached for Alex to do the same and Castiel went completely rigid. A sudden, soft female voice startled the demon, halted him mid-reach.
"John?" It was Mary and she seemed half-awake. "Are they hungry?"
Azazel's face had gone stony, he turned just slightly. "Shh."
Mary sighed tiredly and didn't see that it wasn't John standing there in the dark room with her children. "Okay." She padded away and Azazel waited a moment, then returned his attention to the twins. He smiled calmly, using his long thumbnail to cut his wrist open leisurely. In the dark, his yellow eyes flashed ominously and Sam was beginning to moan anxiously, sensing that something wasn't right. Castiel was growing increasingly alarmed. Where was Nandriel? She was supposed to be here to save Alex from receiving the demon's blood, but she wasn't.
Azazel reached his wrist out and held it over Sam who was closer to him. "Well Sammy, you're up first, aren't ya…" the blood dripped down into Sam's mouth who was now fussing quietly. "Now, now, that's it," Azazel soothed, watching to make sure the blood made it into the child's mouth. Castiel looked around with increasing panic. Nandriel was nowhere to be seen. "Better than Mother's milk," Azazel purred, cracking a smile and showing white, even teeth. Satisfied with what Sam had received, Azazel's yellow eyes flicked over to Alex, who was resonating with her twin and was showed the beginning signs of upset, her lower lip quivering.
"And now, my little princess…" Azazel murmured and smiled down, moving his hand forward to drip blood into her mouth too—but the demon jumped in shock when his wrist was grabbed by an unexpected grip like iron. He suddenly found himself face to face with a fierce, angry entity. Castiel held the demon tightly, stopping him from what he had been about to do.
"No," Castiel growled. "Step away, now."
At both the sound of Castiel's deep, furious voice and his sudden appearance out of thin air, baby Alex was startled. She began to fuss and cry in quickly rising volume—the kind of volume that could get the demon caught—so Azazel looked down at her and put a finger to his lips. "Shhhhh." And Castiel felt it—the crackle of energy and power and then the little cries from baby Alex stopped even though her mouth was still open in what should have been a very loud cry.
Castiel was shocked and dismayed when he realized what had just happened.
"And who… are you?" Azazel asked in fascination, oblivious to Cas's stunned horror. When Cas just stared at him wordlessly, Azazel dug his fingernails into Castiel's wrist painfully. "What, cat's got your tongue?" The demon hissed. Hatred and protectiveness alike surging forth, Castiel bristled—his huge, dark wings manifested and took over the entirely of the nursery almost, dwarfing the demon who at that moment realized that he was locked into a battle of the wills with an angel. Shock and fear flashed over the yellow eyed demon's face.
At that moment, Mary raced around the corner, eyes wide, face full of panic and fear. She took in the sight of an angel and demon struggling over the crib with her babies in it and she raced forward mindlessly, her only instinct to reach her children. "Get away from them!" she cried out, and Azazel raised a hand. An invisible force slammed her into the wall and she began to scream as she was pushed upwards.
"If you're gonna stop me, Wings, you better make it snappy!" Azazel barked, and Castiel let go of his wrist, watching Mary in horror, wanting to intervene, but knowing he shouldn't and couldn't. The worst part was how Mary looked at him with scared eyes, seing his wings and perhaps imagining that he was there to save her. But he wasn't, and he couldn't. Like a coward, he stepped back into the corner and out of sight, shielding himself from human eyes even as Mary was pushed up the entirety of the wall then slid along the ceiling, right over the crib, paralyzed. Azazel cut her stomach open with a slashing gesture of the hand. The demon disappeared then, perhaps fearing that Castiel would reappear and stop him. And just like that, it seemed to be over—everything was silent—but Castiel knew it wasn't over.
He could hear John running up the stairs and calling his wife's name… but all the angel could do was look up at Mary, who was silent and frozen and staring down at her babies in pain and fear. Azazel had paralyzed her completely. Sam was whimpering, beside him Alex was crying full-force, little features twisted up like she was screaming. But no sounds came out. John burst in through the closed door into the dark room. "Mary?" he asked, confused, and he came to the crib, his expression worried. He didn't see his wife on the ceiling.
"Hey, Sammy… you okay?" he asked softly, relief coming over his face. He patted Sam's head, then looked at Alex and his expression froze as he saw how his daughter was crying hard enough to turn red, but was making no noise at all. Worry grew on his face rapidly. "Allie? Baby what's..." blood dripped down and onto the sheet beside Sam's head. John looked at the little drop, touched it, then his expression wrinkled up further when another drop of blood landed on the back of his hand. He looked up slowly, then fell backwards in shock when he saw his wife, bloody and pinned brokenly on the ceiling, face frozen in a pained, silent cry. "No, Mary!" he shouted, his expression filled with absolute horror.
Flames burst all around Mary at that exact moment and John screamed his wife's name in terror even as Sam wailed. Burning alive, Mary would have been screaming too—but she and her daughter were silent after Azazel's work. Castiel couldn't continue to stand by and do nothing. Wretched compassion and sorrow compelled him forward and he reached up, breeching the space between himself and Alex's mother, his wings carrying him up into midair and he allowed her and her alone to see him. Mary looked at him in confusion—who are you?—the question he could see in her eyes.
"Rest, Mary. May Heaven welcome you gently." Filled with sorrow, he touched Mary on the side of the face, taking her pain from her and channeling it into himself, bearing the brunt of agony for her—this was a feeble gesture, but the only thing he could offer. And when he touched the side of her face, relief flooded her features and her eyes closed as if into a peaceful sleep even as the ends of her hair began to burn away into red-hot threads and then nothing. Flames filled the entire room now and Cas felt as if he were being burned alive even though the flames didn't even touch him. Pain filled every his atom and he allowed himself to feel it; he deserved to suffer.
John was shouting somewhere in the hallway and Cas knew that he had taken up the twins and that Dean would have them now. Immense pain continued to fill his vessel, but Castiel bore it and remained with Mary as she burned to death. Her pain continued to be his. It was immense. "Mary! Mary!" John cried desperately, somewhere close by. The flames raged and began to hurl fireballs. John was forced to flee. And then, without fanfare, Mary was gone completely. Castiel felt her life force expire and her soul evaporate into the void. The pain he had felt that had been meant for her was gone, leaving him stunned. And then all around him, there was a violent explosion of flames. He heard sirens approaching, he could hear baby Sam's screams somewhere outside even from inside the burning nursery. His feet touched the ground again and his wings faded away and he stood there, aghast, dazed, blindsided.
Slowly, Castiel walked through the flames to the window and looked down into the dark yard. He saw a firetruck pulling in, he saw John huddled with his children at the corner where the yard ended and two streets met at an intersection—and Castiel went there invisibly, standing beside what was left of the Winchester family. John was on his knees in the dew-wet grass, staring up through devastation at the flaming window of the nursery. He was held Sam, who cried incessantly. Dean clutched Alex to himself with a face soaked by tears. "Where's Mommy?" he asked in a trembling voice. "Is she with the firemen? Daddy, where's Mommy?"
John looked at Dean speechlessly, unable to answer. Sam began to scream all over again. John blankly rocked the baby and told him "shh, shhhh," as he stared again at his house, as firemen began to soak the flaming second story. There was a look on John Winchester's face like no other look Castiel had ever seen. And Castiel was ashamed for reasons he couldn't name.
Dean looked down at his sister and for the first time saw how she was crying and no sounds came out. Great concern came over his young face, he said her name a couple times, then fearfulness overcame him completely. He looked up at his father with wide, panicking eyes—his voice rose in pitch and speed and volume. "Daddy, she won't make noises, Daddy, something's wrong with her, Daddy—"
John snapped, losing patience. "Dean, be quiet, be quiet!" John said at a near shout, then saw how his son was startled and scared by his tone. John looked down, clearly struggling not to weep, trying to hold himself together, to understand what had just happened to his wife. "Just—just be quiet buddy, please. I'm… just please, Dean, wait a minute, calm down. Your sister is fine, we're all fine." He held baby Sam with one arm and put his face into his hand. Dean held his sister even tighter, his little eyes filling with tears all over again.
Castiel walked away, too overcome to listen to anything more. They weren't fine and they never would be ever again. Neighbors came out of their homes, peering with folded arms at the commotion. Cas stood back, deeply upset.
Where had Nandriel been? Had he really been the one all these years who had saved Alex from the demon blood? And was he the one who was to blame for her mute state for the greater portion of her life? Is that why he had been so ready to fix her? Because somehow, he'd known he had caused it? The thought was enough to destroy him.
He was almost too afraid to go to another close call in Alex's history to try and locate Nandriel—what if he caused some other tragedy to befall her? This seemed to be his curse: always doing more harm than help to her.
He shut his eyes, miserable. Wanting to die. And then, like a ringing gong, like a chiming bell, clearer than clear, he heard Alex screaming his name at incredible volume, almost deafeningly—and when he heard that familiar voice calling him so loudly and urgently, his heart seemed to leap up to the top of his throat, life seemed to surge forth in his veins, and whatever downtrodden feelings that had been weighing him down disappeared. His eyes snapped open, overwhelming feelings of protectiveness surged over him in response to her call. I'm coming! His entire being seemed to proclaim without saying it held onto her voice and rocketed through time and space to where she was.
A Few Minutes Ago
Whatever drug or spell that Nandriel had put over her seemed to slowly be wearing off—the time jumps had slowed down, the wooziness was dissipating, her mind felt miles and miles clearer, but Alex was still unable to speak. Bitch. She watched Nandriel carefully, guardedly, trying to keep herself emotionally under control. After so many months of successfully avoiding an emotional break—except that one epic breakdown Jamie had borne witness to a few weeks ago with the Kitsune family—Alex had remained cold, aloof, detached, and in control. Silent, measured, and harsh by outside appearances. So she wasn't about to lose control now. But at the thought of Raphael coming to get her for unknown reasons Alex was inwardly despairing, getting the feeling that she was about to be used yet again as some kind of bargaining chip or something. But why? Cas had been gone for nearly nine full months now, he'd never told her why, he hadn't replied to her calls—she'd stopped calling completely save the now-and-then skyward glance and question of his name. She'd all but given up and avoided thinking about how she'd given up, because when she started to think of Castiel… she felt, and she felt a lot.
Alex watched as Nandriel paced in front of her. The angel was off in her own internal world. Alex wondered why Raphael would want her—to use against Castiel? That was the only logical conclusion she could come to, but it implied two things: one, that Castiel was still alive and two, that he still cared about her, and… she didn't have much evidence to believe Castiel still even thought of her. He would answer, he would send word, something, wouldn't he? He would. It wasn't like him to just leave her, in fact, he never would have—not without a damn good reason. That was the ever wavering conviction that her heart stubbornly believed. She felt like a cracking frozen lake, buckling underneath the weight of the many angers and fears accumulating on the icy surface.
Some days she decided he must be dead—because Castiel would never, ever leave her alone and wondering. But maybe he would. Maybe she didn't know him like she thought. She circled around and around and around mentally trying to figure out what had happened. It frustrated her and grieved her to no end. Most of all she couldn't bear to think that he were alive and had stayed away on purpose.
Maybe Castiel was upset about how she had killed him in the cemetery—maybe he had realized that she wasn't whatever he had imagined her to be, maybe he'd realized how weak and worthless she really was. Maybe his return to his angelic default had somehow changed things for him. She kept hoping that there was some explanation, some sort of reason that would make sense once she found it out. But for now, she couldn't take the thoughts of what she'd lost and what had happened.
So she tried not to think about it at all and had managed not to for the most part these long, empty months. The killing, the working, the self-discipline, the copious amounts of booze, the constant doing and throwing herself into projects and hunts… she'd poured all of herself into tasks and routine and staying busy and it had kept her sane. She hadn't let herself slow down and think, because that's when she could feel herself cracking further and further.
But now, pretty sure she was about to die or be used as an angel chew toy… she couldn't stop herself from thinking through everything. She wanted to wake up and find out these past eight months of hell had been nothing but a nightmare she'd imagined. She just wanted to see him again, hear him again. Know he was all right. But the days kept coming and the loneliness was all-consuming and Sam was dead and Cas was gone and Dean had chosen a different life. As the longing for the way things were and the yearning for the one she loved overtook her, the feelings of rejection and abandonment came too.
There was a great looming fear that maybe Dean had been right—Cas had used her. That she'd been naive to believe that the angel loved her. As soon as she thought these kinds of things she would internally about-face and kick herself. Castiel had loved her. She knew he had. She'd heard it and felt it; he'd breathed it into her and pressed his love into her lips with every kiss. So what had changed that?
She didn't know. But she still loved him. To the point of agony.
That's why every empty day that continued to come weighed down her shoulders with greater hollowness and meaninglessness. That's why she grew both more desperate and more apathetic all at once—two contrasting states of being that didn't make sense to feel at the same time. There was a distinct feeling of going through the motions, of existing without living. She'd lost everything that had anchored her and all at once. Sometimes she thought it was a wonder she hadn't lost her mind completely. She'd lost damn near everything else.
She thought of Sam. No more animated "hey guys, get this!" No more chastising looks and moral compass inputs whether you wanted it or not. No more research buddy, no more partner in crime, no more random facts at strange moments or moose jokes, bear jokes. No more Sammy, who was the best at keeping secrets and giving advice and annoying the ever-loving shit out of her at the drop of a hat. He had become a real man, he had grown up, he had become a hero—her hero—and now he was gone.
She thought of Dean, whose absence was so visceral and painful. No more replays of the same classic rock songs over and over, no more well-intentioned if domineering guidance. No more constant companionship from her most kindred of spirit; no more just feeling understood by someone at the most basic level with no strings attached. Gone were the days when she knew she always had someone in her corner, backing her up even if he was pissed to high hell at her. No one called her Al anymore. No more Dean giving her a look, motioning for her, and insisting "get over here—we're gonna hug this bitch out." And no more big brother who could take one look at her and cut through the crap and know something was wrong.
All of it was gone.
And it wasn't that Dean had left her. She'd decided to leave him before he could leave her... but she'd tried to hedge within her own mind and convince herself she did it for him, because she wanted what was best for him. She knew the truth: he'd never quit hunting and settle down with Lisa with Alex in the picture needing him. It was a jumble in her heart and mind and she wasn't even sure anymore about her motivations. All she knew was she was trying to do what her brother had always done for her and look out for him, protect him in some small way.
Dean didn't look exactly happy the few times she'd spied (there was no other word for it) on him. But she'd always thought she was projecting her own misery onto him. Of course he'd be happy. He had a family, a house, a regular job, he wasn't harrowed by sleepless nights and monsters and constant peril. He was happy. Right? He had to be.
She wasn't, but that went without saying. Alex had lived the same life they always had, unsure of how to do anything else… squatting and staying in shit motels and eating gas station food. She'd used her more illegal skills—card counting, pool hustling, pickpocketing—in that first month to survive, buy a car, and get set up. She'd found her Mustang at a used car dealership and it had been written off as junk because the engine was rusted and useless. She'd bought it cheap and restored it herself, working at a mechanic shop for awhile and bartering her time for parts. She remembered sometimes thinking how Dean would be so proud to see her putting the skills he'd taught her to use.
Before Jamie and before getting back into hunting, Alex worked a string of odd jobs, taking under-the-table pay and trying her hand at quote unquote normal life. She waited tables and worked at a chicken farm and then another mechanic shop and then briefly tended a bar at a strip club (until her temper had gotten the better of her and she'd beaten some asshole into the ground for harassing herself and one of the strippers). She had hated every second of 'normal life.'
Then Jamie Ward had shown up and Alex had gotten dragged back into the game. There was Glen too—who always came and went, drifting in and out of the hunts as his freewheeling mood dictated—and Alex had settled into a new normal of hunting with Jamie. It was a good balance and partnership because Alex had a new, unspoken rule that she did not get close to anyone. Jamie seemed to be cut from the same cloth. She kept things at a relatively non-personal level and never pushed or pried, which Alex was good with. Glen… was a different story. He was the world's biggest flirt, he liked to tease her and goad her, he didn't seem to understand why Alex was quiet, closed off, and "a huge downer" like his sister. Sometimes though he'd say something really poignant or meaningful, sometimes he'd catch Alex slightly off guard and make her think there was more to him than how he acted on the surface level.
Alex realized the sounds of Nandriel's footsteps had ceased and she looked up quickly. The angel was looking at her sharply, seeming to notice how coherent Alex was becoming. In response, Nandriel drew her gleaming angel blade from somewhere behind her back and approached Alex with intention written all over her face.
Alex squirmed backwards uselessly and Nandriel seemed impatient. "Relax, Alex, nothing you haven't been through before." The angel grabbed Alex's bare upper arm, steadying herself as she crouched and without warning, sliced her arm open—Alex gasped loudly at the startling sting of pain—Nandriel drew vast amounts of blood and dipped her fingers into it then began to fingerpaint on the floor beside Alex, a strange symbol she didn't recognize. What was she doing? Her breath was coming in short now, Alex felt herself panicking.
"Rah ma ya zod—" Nandriel started. And hearing the language of angels did something to Alex—all she could think of was Castiel and it was like a dam broke, she sobbed silently without warning, all the thoughts she'd been holding inside sort of all welling up at once—and she couldn't stop herself as tears of desperation, pain, fear, confusion, sadness, heartbreak wrenched themselves out of her. Every sense she possessed was so distraught, every thought was of her angel, every voice in her head screamed his name, begging him to still be alive and to still care about her, to come to her, to help her. Castiel! Her mind screamed. Please!
"—na zod ka ra va." The sigil drawn in blood went up in a puff of smoke and the feeling of wooziness returned suddenly like a clap of thunder. Alex's head flopped forward uselessly, drugged all over again.
And then, she heard the voice she hadn't heard in what seemed to be a lifetime.
"Nandriel!" he thundered. Stomach flipping, Alex used all the power she possessed to look up, believing she must have finally lost her mind. She couldn't breathe—even though her eyesight was muddled—she could see that it was him. Castiel stood at the far end of the warehouse, his trench coat sweeping around him from the blast of wind he'd arrived in, and then the wind rushed over Nandriel and Alex, who blinked rapidly against the strong surge of air. His expression was fierce and Alex thought she would die of the intense shock of seeing him again.
Nandriel stood with a face filled with confusion. "Castiel, how—" she began, but Cas began to bear down on her with a murderous look on his face. Weapon still in hand, Nandriel froze him in his steps by crouching down and holding the sharp blade to Alex's neck.
"Come closer and I kill her!"
Cas, who had stopped the second he saw where she was going with the blade, held his too. His shoulders heaved up and down with shallow, impassioned breaths and he glared at Nandriel then his gaze shifted to Alex—who stared at him in a daze, barely able to believe what was happening. Cas? His expression flickered, wavering, she felt like hers probably did too—then Cas looked at Nandriel, wrathful and fearsome. "What have you done to her? Why are you doing this?"
Nandriel looked at Castiel dangerously. "You found me... how?"
Castiel ignored the question. "Explain yourself, Nandriel," he said forcefully, voice trembling with anger. "What have you done!?"
Nandriel grabbed Alex roughly and pulled her to her feet, holding the blade at her neck the whole time. Cas's vengeful look wavered as Alex cried out silently in pain, gritting her teeth against blinding agony. Yes, her leg was definitely broken. She tried to stand all on one leg and lean away from the pole, but her movements were sloppy and uncoordinated, she kept accidentally putting pressure onto her broken leg and pain screamed along her entire leg. The time jumps were rapid fire and making her dizzy.
Cas held out a staying hand toward Nandriel and his stormy approach faded—he became more concerned and cautious as he saw how injured and out of sorts Alex was. "Don't hurt her," he said, voice distinctly pleading, taking on a note of desperation. Slowly he became mystified, as if he were struggling to understand. "How could you hurt her? She was your charge once, her safety was supposed to be your priority."
Nandriel looked at Castiel challengingly, and grief filled her face and voice. "I can't care about that anymore." She seemed vastly emotional as she began to speak in rising timber. "I was imprisoned for no reason Castiel. For my entire existence I was faithful, I served Heaven, I did what the archangels said, I did exactly as I was told! I decided, after millennia upon millennia, that I wanted something else and this is what they give to me? Imprisonment and exile, discrimination and despair? It's wrong. I didn't deserve that. I just want to be free."
"And how is it that bringing her here and hurting her will accomplish your freedom?" Castiel questioned, aghast, but seeming to have a vague, horrifying clue to where this was going.
There was a long, cool silence and Nandriel raised her chin. "You made a mistake, brother," she said, by all indications she was truly sympathetic. "You weren't discreet. Everyone in Heaven and Hell, too, I imagine… knows this human's worth to you. I didn't do that—you did. And Raphael? He'll agree to leave me alone and never come looking for me if I hand-deliver Alex Winchester to him." Castiel's face went cold and dark and Nandriel raised her eyebrows warningly. "Don't misunderstand me, Castiel. I don't like this. I'm fond of the girl, I am. But I can't let it affect my judgement."
Castiel was shaking his head and it appeared that he was both terrified and angry and trying to conceal both, trying to remain veiled. "You've lost your mind, Nandriel."
"I have found my mind!" She shouted without warning, then seemed to realize how uncontrolled her outburst was and almost ashamed, she calmed herself then tried again. "Castiel, I'm like you." Her attempts to stay calm failed. "I want freedom, I want free choice, I want to make my own decisions, I want to be free!" She practically screamed that last part, and she seemed like a petulant child to Alex, who looked at Cas through swimming eyes. He was so close but so far away, and she was afraid he was going to disappear again without warning. He returned her gaze with an indescribable look on his face, hovering and holding himself back from running to her.
Nandriel was oblivious to the silent exchange and kept talking. "I want to know that no one is coming after me. I give Raphael what he wants... he leaves me alone."
Castiel looked distinctly murderous again. "How did you escape? No one escapes." His voice was practically a demanding growl now. "Were you let out? Give me a name." He took a single step forward, testing the waters or perhaps forgetting himself for a moment. Nandriel tightened her grip on Alex and Cas froze again.
"No one let me out... are you crazy?" Nandriel scoffed. "Your war? It's tearing Heaven apart at the seams. I found a hole, a tear in my cage… and I clawed my way out." She grew deeply baleful. "I'm never going back, and I'm making sure of it." Her voice trembled, she spoke through clenched teeth. "I'll die before I go back. I never deserved to be there, you know I didn't."
Castiel reacted negatively. "Then why didn't you save her the night of the nursery fire? Why were you going to let her receive demon blood?"
Nandriel looked offended, then quickly pious. "My orders were clear, Castiel. Prevent immediate death. Not protect her from every small thing, not coddle her. I did my job, and I did it well." She paused, surprise dawning on her features. "Wait… wait. Are you the one who stopped Azazel?" Her eyebrows rose in surprise even as a caught look passed over Castiel's features. "All these years… everyone wondered who intervened. Some thought it was God himself. And all this time it was... just you." Nandriel sounded almost disillusioned. Alex looked at Cas questioningly—her dulled mind was struggling to follow the conversation taking place.
"I'm not interested in your commentary," Castiel said gruffly. "Tell me how you found her, how you traced her location."
Nandriel was clearly offended this time. "How did I find her? Castiel. I watched her for twenty-five years. I know her better than anyone else. Including you. Finding her was easy." The female angel seemed to be losing patience, too. "Listen, I'm short on time. Raphael will be coming soon—you better make yourself scarce, I've heard you two don't play nice anymore. And isn't there some battle you're missing by being here right now?" Her sarcasm was met with a deadly glare from Castiel.
"I am going to give you one chance and one chance only," he warned. "Step away from her or perish. Now."
Nandriel only shook her head slightly despite the flicker of fear that ran across her features. "No."
Castiel's jaw tightened and ruefulness flickered across his face. "Then you leave me no choice, Nandriel."
Nandriel was decidedly sad. "There's always a choice, Castiel."
Castiel's blade glinted at his side and he looked at Alex, his expression difficult to read before he looked back to Nandriel. He, too, seemed sad—but resigned. "Then you have chosen to die."
He disappeared abruptly and Alex's heart seemed to fall out of herself completely—no—and then there was a blast of wind at the side opposite of where he'd been, Nandriel frowned, looking—Cas had a hand raised and had reappeared almost right beside them. Nandriel flew backwards by about forty feet and slammed into rusty warehouse siding, fell down to the ground. Without Nandriel holding her up Alex collapsed down, still tied to the pole, but Cas caught her with both hands and helped break the fall. No sooner had their eyes met than he was flying sideways and away from her.
Wrathful and malevolent, Nandriel strode up the length of the warehouse with her blade clenched tightly. She wasn't as powerful as Castiel was and that much was clear to even Alex who was still having trouble focusing—but she could see that Cas had barely been blown back ten feet and he was on all fours, already standing back up with his blade brandished, his sights set on Nandriel, whose pride and foolhardy decision to fight Castiel would be the end of her life. She raised her blade high as she got close to Cas—she sought to bring it down on him but he grabbed her wrist mid-arc, using her own attack against her. In a display of strength and warrior prowess, he deftly yanked her forward and flipped her over his head, slamming her down to the ground flat onto her back, whirling and stabbing his blade down through her chest without hesitation.
Shock and pain filled Nandriel's face, she screamed and writhed, bright blue light scorching out of her mouth and nose and eyes. And then she was dead and black feathers fluttered in the air around them.
Cas withdrew and looked down at her for the briefest instant, conflicted about what had transpired, but then he turned to look at Alex, who was trembling from trying to stay conscious and keep her head up. He forgot Nandriel and dropped his blade and rushed over to Alex, quickly sinking to her level and catching her face gently in his hands.
His warm hands sent relief sobbing through her, his touch made her ache and soothed her all at once. "Are you all right?" he asked urgently, voice soft with worry and concern. His brilliant blue eyes were so much more intense than she remembered, his features so handsome. She opened her mouth to reply, remembered she had no voice, then grew confused and frustrated. "...Can you not speak?" Cas asked, his expression growing intensely disturbed as he realized that she was effectively mute. She shook her head no.
He immediately touched her throat with two of his fingers and met her gaze with eyes she had dreamed of for the past eight months and she wanted to reach out to him, but her hands were still tied behind her back.
"Cas—" she managed weakly in joy, able to speak again.
A tender, relieved, overwhelmed little smile mirrored back to her from him. And then Cas's eyes dropped slightly—he noticed her facial scar and he was startled, stilled, and then agonized—she felt him run his thumb over it, his eyebrows knitting together deeply. It stretched from just below her left eye down across her cheek, a jagged, white, ugly scar. She'd gotten it in the first demon attack she'd experienced that year. Cas's voice caught. "Oh, Alex…" he breathed out seemingly unable to even word himself—her eyes were welling with tears at this point, she was so overcome, barely daring to believe he was really there and just like she remembered him. "I didn't…" he stumbled, "I don't…" his expression changed suddenly, grew cold and terrified, and he seemed to be hearing something and he looked around almost frantically—then Alex heard it, too. A high pitched ringing sound.
Castiel panicked and ripped her away from the pole almost painfully, holding her like a limp rag doll—and for just the briefest moment she was in his strong arms again. She tried to hold on, she weakly grabbed his lapel for dear life. But she couldn't.
In rapid succession several things happened. She thought she heard him say that he was sorry, she felt a sudden burst of clarity like she'd been brought out of the strange trance Nandriel had put her in, and then without any warning whatsoever she was flying through nothingness, spinning and out of control and alone, then suddenly blinded by midday light as she crashed into a cold snow bank.
Shocked to find herself freezing and shivering and surrounded by cloying wet snow, she pushed herself to sit up and hugged her arms around herself hard against the incredibly cold, sharp air. She moved her leg slowly, cringing in anticipation of pain… but there was none. It wasn't broken anymore. She reached up and touched her face, finding that the scar on her face was gone too. She looked around in confusion.
"Cas?" she asked, and her voice trembled. She tried again louder. "Cas!" Her voice carried a certain note of desperation across the huge, snowy field she was inexplicably in the middle of. No reply came.