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.

48. Noise and Confusion

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 48 / Noise and Confusion

"Oh she's waiting for me but I'm a long, long way from home."
- Foreigner

---

In a frozen field god knew where, Alex sat in the snow and looked at her arm blankly. The place Nandriel had cut her was gone, and so was the scar that had run along the back of her arm—she held out her hands and turned them over in rapid unison to look first at her knuckles (smooth, unscarred) and then the palms of her hands (like nothing had ever happened). It seemed that every single last scar she'd ever had was suddenly gone.

That wasn't really her first concern though. Had Cas really just flung her somewhere and left? She stood up then promptly let out a surprised, pained "aah!" and almost fell when she realized her ankle was twisted—it must have happened when she tumbled across the field and crashed into the snowbank. She hissed in pain and wrapped her arms around herself uselessly, teeth chattering. It was below freezing and she was in the middle of nowhere—a lone, gravel road stretched out alongside the field she was in. Alex looked at the road then upwards, not sure what exactly had just happened. "Cas?" she asked, eyes hungry to catch sight of him somewhere. But all she saw was snow. Her heart was still hammering from what had been anxious relief a moment ago. Those feelings were quickly becoming terrified fear that she had been abandoned again.

"Cas!" The only answer that came was wind whistling harshly over the frozen ground. "Please—what the hell is happening?!" She begged. No reply. She stood there for a few seconds, realizing the obvious truth she wanted to deny: she was alone. It destroyed her all over again. But the elements gave no mercy and no consideration to her emotional distress. Her teeth chattered together as she shivered anew. She needed to get herself to shelter or this cold would turn lethal.

With no choice but to move, Alex began to painstakingly limp and hobble her way toward the road. Was he okay? Had that ringing sound she'd heard just before he threw her been the approach of Raphael? If it was so dangerous he had to shove her into the void without even looking to see where she'd land, was Cas even alive now? What war was Nandriel talking about? Nothing had explained why he'd disappeared nearly nine months ago, why he had never sent a message, why he'd just left her and never bothered to tell her why. She wasn't sure if she should be worried and afraid or angry and indignant. Why couldn't someone just give her some damn answers? Alex gritted her teeth and hop-hobbled faster. Her nose was already numb from the cold, her bare arms were losing feeling from the frigid sting of windchill, she hugged herself tight in a useless attempt to warm up.

When she got to the edge of the field where a low hand-stacked wooden cross-tie fence marched, rage overcame her and she picked up one of the heavy ties and clumsily threw it several feet with a shout of animalistic anger—which just ended up twisting her ankle even further from the brainless outburst. Eyes glittering with tears, she clenched her fists and looked at the field in heartbreak. It remained empty and she despaired. She put her face in her hands and breathed deeply in and out to calm herself down. No crying. None. Stop. That shit was the shit that Old Alex did. She looked upwards again and gathered herself, then set herself back to the task of surviving.

Alex awkwardly and clumsily clambered over the fence and onto the other side, glad that she'd gone to sleep in her shoes that night when Nandriel had taken her. She looked both ways—the road stretched straight in either direction, and neither way looked different than the other. The road was covered in a light layer of snow, no tire tracks. She didn't hear any sounds of traffic and saw no power lines, meaning this really was a remote place. Well that was fucking comforting. So was the thought that she would die from exposure if she was out here for too long. So she picked a direction and headed that way, hoping for the best and wrestling her miserable feelings the entire way.

About an hour later Castiel appeared in the middle of the field that Alex was now miles away from and he looked around in high anxiety, out of breath, blood running down the side of his head in a single trickle from the ambush he'd just barely survived. Short of breath and knowing Raphael was right behind him, Cas squinted through what appeared to be a quickly growing snowstorm. The angel rapidly became increasingly dismayed. Where the hell was this? He'd meant to return Alex to the motel he'd met Dean in a few hours ago, but in his rush, he'd been unable to fully calculate the trajectory—and it looked like he'd missed completely. His sense of alarm doubled.

Now she wasn't here at all and it was dangerously cold; a human couldn't survive for long in these conditions. Castiel turned in a slow circle, trying to see footprints, trying to find some kind of clue as to which direction she'd gone. He saw no such clue. And then the tell-tale ringing began to sound and Castiel's heart sank because he knew he couldn't stay. He had no choice in what he had to do next. He couldn't bear how cornered and forced his hand was.

He tore himself away from that place and began to rabbit through locations and dimensions, drawing Raphael away from that snowy field, trying to elude the archangel so that he could go back and find Alex. He was wrapped in helpless fear, the fundamental need to make sure she was all right harrowed his every second of existence. But Raphael was right on Cas's heels, and remained so for what was on earth days and days.

---

Grand Ledge, Michigan
Oakwood Cemetery

"I'm telling you… this is a waste of time," Jamie said, re-hefting her duffel bag of supplies.

Carrying two shovels in one hand and a plastic container of gasoline in the other, Dean glanced her way as they walked side by side through a shaded, snow-dusted cemetery. Their shoes crunched on the frozen ground. "Maybe," he conceded. "But it's something to do."

She shook her head, looking like she was thinking about either laughing or rolling her eyes. "Might wanna reevaluate things if this is your idea of a good time."

Dean knew she was joking, but it got on his nerves. He shot her a look and suppressed a rude remark. He was on edge—sister missing, Cas not responding, dead ends everywhere he turned, and ever since finding out Alex was MIA what, maybe seven hours ago, he was feeling increasingly cagier and cagier. All of everything was getting on his nerves. The one-hour drive here to Grand Ledge had been a little bit like hell: the insane way she drove (stopping too fast and driving over the speed limit and just pissing him off in general—he hated not being the one who was driving), and the absence of food (he couldn't stomach the thought of eating right now, anyway). All of it was creating a foul mood. At the very least, she'd elected not to play any of her death metal crap at him—instead putting in a Tom Petty CD. That had obviously been for his benefit and he grudgingly reminded himself of that small act of kindness.

"I said it was something to do, not something I liked," Dean corrected, trying his damnedest to be polite… ish. She was humoring him right now and he knew she was annoyed, too. This little trip to the cemetery probably was a huge waste of time just like she kept saying. But he was desperate and needed to do something, even if it were something pointless. And maybe this wouldn't be pointless.

They came to a stop at two roped off headstones. Bright yellow police tape had been strung around the area, forming a clumsy rectangle crime scene. Dean used the shovels he was holding to raise up the Police Line Do Not Cross tape high then looked at Jamie pointedly. "After you," he prompted a little wanly. She looked at him sort of suspiciously at the courteous gesture, like she expected there to be a catch. Either way, she decided to let him be chivalrous and ducked under it. He followed, letting the tape fall back down.

"Well. This is it." Jamie said needlessly.

Dean looked over the crime scene with a studious frown. Side by side, two headstones stuck out of the ground. A husband and wife—Jane and Henry Griffin. The husband's grave had been dug up, dirt was piled beside a five-foot hole, there were some charred remains of a wooden coffin at the bottom. Some crime scene numbers had been set out near evidence. The wife's grave was untouched. This was the last job Alex had worked.

Jamie said the husband—Henry Griffin—was the vengeful spirit, that the wife had been unfaithful and the husband's spirit had been going around killing a bunch of ex lovers, and that there had been quite a laundry list. Dean didn't know all of the details, just the quick and dirty facts, but it was enough to make him feel slightly ill when he realized that the headstones were covered in sappy poetry about marriage and love. Dean shook his head to himself. "'All you need is love,'" he read sarcastically, sending a slightly trollish look Jamie's way. "And apparently, twenty lovers on the side."

She returned his look with a knowing look of her own.

When Dean had heard that Alex and Jamie didn't salt and burn the wife's remains too, he'd gotten the crazy idea that maybe the wife was the vengeful spirit—or a vengeful spirit—and had something to do with Alex's disappearance somehow. Yeah he'd found an angel's feather and Castiel had said some name before he disappeared and went AWHOL—Nandriel—but Cas was being a douche bag and not answering Dean, who never could sit still and do nothing. He'd called Bobby and then some other hunting acquaintances but gotten nothing, then grilled Jamie and Glen on their recent hunts, trying to find some kind of thread to follow. So when Jamie had mentioned this particular case, he'd jumped at the chance to do something. So here they were. Glen was still at the motel in case Alex showed back up.

Crouched over her bag of supplies and pulling out the can of salt, Jamie looked up at Dean and stood, fixing him with a naturally disarming smile. "So, you take all the girls grave digging?" That was the same teasing, friendly, but carefully guarded tone she'd been using with him all day.

"Only the cool ones," he quipped right back, and tossed her a shovel.

She caught it easily and accepted the compliment with faint, positive surprise. After all, he'd been pretty committed to letting her know what a fucking loser she was when they were teenagers.

Dean stuck his shovel into the hard dirt that laid above the wife's grave and stomped his foot down onto the metal lip of the shovel, forcing it down as far as it would go, and he grunted, tossing the first shovelful of dirt over to the side of the grave. He'd forgotten how much of a pain in the ass digging up graves was, especially in the wintertime. Across from him, Jamie was threading her fingers through her long blonde hair to tie it back into a ponytail.

He glanced up at her as she pulled her outer jacket off—it was cold as hell out here, but he guessed she was just anticipating working up a sweat. Her dark plaid button up shirt shifted and he could see the distinct mark of some kind of intricate tattoo inked across the front of her shoulder—it looked like maybe her whole shoulder was tattooed, he couldn't tell, but he was interested and surprised.

"Cool tattoo," he commented, sort of impressed that she had one at all. He wouldn't have guessed that from knowing her before.

She had tossed her jacket down on top of her bag and pulled her shirt back into place so he couldn't really see what it was. "Thanks," she said, then smirked as she grabbed her shovel, glancing at him kind of proudly. "Got it to piss off my mom."

Dean felt his eyebrows raise slightly in mild amusement. It was hard to tell if she was for real or not. "Did it work?"

Jamie tossed her first shovel-full of dirt on top of the pile Dean had started, briefly sending over a playful little look that seemed to say yup. Nice. He smiled conspiratorially for a second then began to dig again, glancing at his partner in crime a few times, wondering.

He'd only been around her for a couple weeks back in 1995, and now a few hours into present time, and he wasn't really quite sure what to make of her. Back when they'd been teenagers, she'd been distinctly snobby and prudish—the kind of girl that had annoyed him to no end. Really know-it-all and stuck up, book-smart and not afraid to let him or anyone else know how she intellectually dwarfed them. She'd had a huge vocabulary that she'd used and confused him with, she'd been dorky and gawky and unaware of how uncomfortably uncool she was. Maybe that opinion he'd held of her had also been him being a little more on the shallow side, too. But he definitely knew she'd been a pretty bad hunter, kind of skittish and bad about second-guessing herself. He'd gotten the feeling she was new at it back then. Her uncle, Gary Ward, had been a real stand up guy, a definite pro. Dean had pieced together their story a bit at a time back then: Jamie and Glen's dad was gone or dead, their mom was in jail for one reason or another, and their uncle had custody. He didn't know the full story at all, but he was pretty curious, admittedly.

Back then, she'd been pretty easy for him to read. Now? He wasn't really sure. He'd only been with her for a few hours, but the difference was pretty much night and day. She came across now as laid back and self-assured and a bit calculated, not very in your face or in your business. She'd developed a snarky side and had what seemed like a pretty badass personality… she had chilled out on the look-at-me-I'm-really-smart thing, and she was proving, so far, easy to get along with. But there was something he couldn't quite put his finger on about her that felt slightly forced, like she was trying too hard or hiding something. And there was an unmistakable wounded aspect he sensed, some invisible scar she carried.

It kind of went without saying that something terrible had happened to her: she was a hunter. With the title came the guarantee of pain and tragedy. She'd apparently spent the past fifteen years hunting, and that was why she'd changed and hardened and why she seemed somehow damaged even though nothing really pointed to that overtly: it was just a hunch. Dean knew what hunting did to people better than anyone else. It didn't matter who you were: you hunted, you were forced to close off and become toughened to the outside world. You were damaged, and the longer you hunted, the more damaged you got. That's why he was such a miserable wreck.

As they silently continued to shovel more and more dirt out of the grave, Dean reflected on how he probably wouldn't have gone along with this had their roles been reversed. If Jamie had shown up and said "hey, let's go dig up a grave and burn the remains just to be on the safe side, even though you're sure you finished the job" he would have told her to screw off; he did it right the first time. He kind of got the feeling she felt that way but was putting up with it anyway. Maybe she understood where he was coming from: she was the older of herself and Glen after all. Maybe she was tolerating Dean because she got his desperation. Either way, he appreciated it and also felt kind of shitty about it.

He paused and wiped his brow briefly, his muscles sore already from the back-breaking work.

Jamie tossed another shovelful of dirt, glancing at him with a near-smirk as she continued doggedly. "Don't tell me you're tired already."

Dean joked back halfheartedly. "I've been in retirement, go easy on me." He forced his shovel into hard earth again, refocusing and determining that he wouldn't take another break until she did. They continued on for a moment in focused silence. While Jamie was preoccupied, Dean snuck a few glances at her so he could really take a thorough look. Her face remained focused, a few long wisps of butter-colored hair falling down to frame the sides of her face. She was pretty and he'd have to be blind to miss that—but more than pretty, she had this shrewd fierceness to her that he found intriguing. Her ice-blue eyes snapped up to his just then, catching him. He looked away fast, immediately feeling awkward. Neither said anything.

And Dean fell into deep thought as he continued to shovel up cold packed earth. "So Alex really never mentioned the name Cas or Castiel to you?" he asked abruptly, breaking the silence without warning whatsoever.

Jamie kept working. "No. That guy who showed up in the trench coat and scribbled all over the table, right?"

"Yeah."

She shook her head, grimacing a bit against a heavy shovelful. "Today's the first time I heard of him." A small, curious glance came his way. "They friends or something?"

"Yeah. Or something," he muttered, almost to himself. Jamie looked at him curiously at the way he said that, said nothing, returning to digging.

Dean tried to resume digging, but he was frustrated and needed to know so bad he couldn't stand it anymore. He stuck his shovel into the ground beside him. "Look, did my sister ever mention why she won't come see me?"

Another one of those brief, careful glances from Jamie, who kept digging. It seemed like she was being careful how she answered him. "I asked her once and she said it was none of my business."

Dean frowned slightly, trying to figure out exactly what kind of partnership Jamie and Alex had struck up. "What, you weren't curious?" he asked. "You just... gave up, let it go?"

Jamie stopped digging and stabbed her shovel down into the ground beside herself, seeming to get mildly defensive at the questions. "I was curious. Still am." Jamie gave off the distinct impression that she didn't have time to explain herself, but she did anyway. "I'm curious about a lot of stuff. How she got her voice back. What happened to Sam." There was a brief pause and she softened somewhat. "What happened to you. Your dad." She seemed to intuitively sense there was pain around all subjects she'd just mentioned even without the details.

"A whole lot of shit happened," Dean summed up softly in just a few crummy words.

Jamie nodded faintly, her eyes contemplating him closely and expressing surprising amounts of sympathy without words. "Yeah," she murmured, a word that somehow made Dean feel sad from the way she said it. Seeing how the mood was so gray, Jamie took in a deep breath to bolster herself and spoke more businesslike again. "I could tell from the way she acted that it was all a closed subject. So... I didn't push."

Dean wasn't sure about that approach and eyed her skeptically. "Call me crazy but I like to know the people I hunt with. I need to be able to trust them."

Jamie was skeptical right back. "Meaning what?"

"I'm saying did you really just let her waltz into your life without wanting to know the details? Who you were bringing on board?"

The sarcastic jokester returned. A grin broke Jamie's face and she looked down then over, half-rolling her eyes. "You're right, I should have run a multiple-point background check and gotten some personal references." Dean wasn't laughing. He made a face and she forcefully made herself get serious. "I'm a good judge of character, okay?" She shrugged and let her free hand go wide then hit against the side of her upper thigh. "And maybe I was a little desperate, too," she admitted. "Glen... doesn't exactly always... or usually... follow through." A flicker of disappointment ran across her features and she hurried to hide it. "And it's not easy to hunt alone."

Dean didn't get it. "Then why do it?"

Jamie looked like she was thinking about answering honestly for a brief second. Then didn't. "The salary and benefits," she wisecracked, then resumed digging. Dean grudgingly figured he needed to follow her lead. "The monsters lately they're... out of control," Jamie said after a moment, much more genuine now. "Never seen anything like it before. So when I ran into Alex… well, it just kind of all worked out."

Dean tossed a load of dirt away. "You said you ran into her waiting tables, right?" He couldn't picture that.

"Yeah, some hole-in-the-wall place a few towns over from you."

Damn. He got a lump in his throat all over again, staring off into space, holding the handle of the shovel beside himself idly. "I wish I knew she was that close," he said quietly, thinking aloud. "I kinda figured she would get as far away as possible from me after what happened."

"Sam dying?" Jamie asked carefully.

"Yeah," he answered noncommittally, and began to dig again. But he was distracted and bothered. In an effort to distract himself from his distractions, after a minute he decided to try for a conversation, after all, he was curious about a few things, and he wouldn't mind knowing just a little bit more about the chick he was working with currently. "So," he said, starting off with a conversational tone, overly friendly, trying to brush aside any weirdness from before. "Humor me. What exactly's keeping you in the life, James? I know it ain't the salary and benefits." She shot him a look—maybe because of the nickname she hated, maybe because she didn't want to talk about it. She looked kind of adorable when she was pissed and he felt himself smiling without meaning to, amused by ticking her off. She rolled her eyes upward and hefted another shovelful of dirt out of the grave. "Oh come on," Dean goaded, "I know more than you think… the rich family, old money, crazy mom…" he trailed off and got another sharp, slightly surprised sidelong look from her. A little smug because he'd been right, he leaned onto the shovel like it was a staff. "I'm good at reading between the lines," he told her, a little prideful. "And I know for a fact this life is an option for you. So why you still in it?"

She stopped digging, her expression stormy and defiant, fully aimed at him. "Did reading between the lines also tell you I want nothing to do with the life I came from?" He'd struck a raw nerve. "Cuz I didn't then and I don't now." She resumed digging with fervor born from anger. It reminded him of the teenage Jamie he'd known. "I'm not the rich kid snob you think I am, Dean. And I wasn't then, either." She huffed, wiped fingers across her brow, and relented a bit, calming herself down. Maybe a little embarrassed at the outburst. "Anyway. You know how hunting is. Doesn't really leave you compatible with the real world." She rammed the shovel into dirt again with a rigidly held jaw.

He agreed more than he could say. After a minute of feeling a little awkward, he decided to keep probing around for info. "Your mom still in the can?"

Jamie didn't ask how he knew that—Glen had let it slip that their mother was in jail and Dean had always thought that was interesting. With a very loaded expression on her face as she jabbed her shovel into the ground harder than necessary, Jamie revealed a very surprising detail indeed: "Killed herself in there when I was nineteen."

Dean was immediately taken aback and awkward all over again. "Oh, uh—damn. Sorry," he offered feebly.

She said nothing in return, just made a really thoughtful face and straightened, pausing her work to look directly at him. "You know... it's kind of amazing that you got out," she said, switching subjects purposefully and by all appearances she was both a little jealous of him and sort of in awe, not sure how it could really be true. "That just doesn't happen too often from what I've seen."

It was Dean's turn to feel put on the spot and he tightened his jaw, looked away, and fiddled with the shovel handle. "Yeah well."

Jamie was visibly intrigued. "Don't tell me you miss this."

Dean remained deep in thought, reminiscent in a painful way. He shoveled another scoop of dirt halfheartedly, not really focused. "What I miss is that I always knew who I was gonna be with."

She was quiet for a minute, understanding dawning across her aquiline features. "But you have a family now, right?" She asked. "That lady and her kid?"

Dean hesitated, lost in his thoughts. "Yeah," he muttered, an answer given just to close the subject.

"Well there you go, Jacket." Her voice was back to the more playful, non-consequential tone she'd been using all day.

He felt a little pleasantly surprised grin come across his face. "Jacket," he repeated, chuckling despite himself, glancing up at her as his face was tilted downward. "I forgot about that."

"I didn't." Jamie smiled a little at Dean's reaction to the old nickname. When he'd incessantly made fun of everything about her in 1995, she'd picked the jacket he always wore—the leather one of Dad's—to try and harp on him about, she'd refused to call him Dean and either called him Jacket or jerk. She'd made fun of him for wearing it all the time, which thinking back, wearing it in the blazing early summer temperatures had been kind of ridiculous... "You thought you were so cool," she teased.

"I was," Dean said with an air of playful smugness, enjoying the more light banter over deeper stuff. He shrugged slightly in faux modesty and wiggled his eyebrows once. "Still am."

"Mmhmm," she commented in put-on doubt for comic effect. She nodded her chin out toward his shovel. "Okay Fresh Prince, how about more digging, less yakkity yak." She tossed her shovelful of dirt right at his feet and laughed at his indignant "hey!"

"I can dig and talk at the same time," he said, resenting her implication and shaking each foot in turn to get the dirt off.

A friendly if challenging look came his way. "Then why aren't you?"

He just gave up and in and sighed heavily. "All right, all right," he muttered, but in a better mood than a minute ago. They were down about three feet into the grave and Dean stepped into the hole at this point, Jamie followed with a little jump.

"Where is that thing, anyway?" Jamie asked. They were back to back now. "The jacket."

Dean was quiet for a minute. "Put it away in Lisa's somewhere." That jacket was another reminder of Sam and Alex and he'd packed it away awhile ago.

"Lisa—that's your girlfriend, right?"

"Yup."

A few beats of silence passed. "Does she know?" About the life.

Long pause. "A little," Dean said. Lisa knew enough, and she didn't need to know more. It was bad enough that Dean carried what he did. He'd rather no one else have to carry that impossible weight. "Honestly the less she knows, the better," he muttered. "Anyway, I'm out of the life now, so..."

He could hear the amused smile on Jamie's voice. "Says the guy digging up a grave…" he smiled a little, too. He knew one thing: he didn't miss this back-breaking work. His hands were getting chaffed. Damn, he'd gone soft in these past eight months. "So when we find your sister, what then?" Jamie asked, startling Dean. That was a damn good question he hadn't thought about.

"Dunno," he answered honestly, stopping mid movement and looking unseeingly ahead of himself. He was so worried about Alex that he could almost cry—he'd failed, he should have looked for her harder all those months ago, he should have done more than he had. It was too late now for real. Maybe she was dead. His voice was barely audible. "I just... wanna see her again."

Jamie was quiet, he could hear that she'd stopped digging and turned her head toward him slightly. She sounded like she were cautioning him when she spoke. "Dean, you need to be ready for the possibility that… she might not wanna see you."

Dean's heart twitched painfully at the suggestion and he turned his head toward her slightly. "What? Why?"

Jamie let out a thoughtful, weighty breath. "Call it a gut instinct but… shit." He heard her shovel clatter down and knew something was wrong even before he had fully turned around. "Cops," she said in a whisper—and Dean glimpsed two officers getting out of a cruiser off at the main road within shouting distance.

"Come on, come on!" he urged, already leaping out of the grave and grabbing Jamie by the wrist, pulling her along with him and towards where the woods began to get thicker and deeper. Shit, had they been spotted? He wasn't sure. After crunching through the frozen leafy ground at a run for long enough to put some distance between themselves and law enforcement, they stopped, a little out of breath—Dean more than Jamie. Another reminder of how out of shape and practice he was. Too many beers, not enough running for his life.

"Did they see us?!" Dean wondered out loud—Jamie had seen more than he had.

She shrugged breathlessly, craning her neck to try and catch sight of the officers. "No, don't think so, or maybe a little, I don't know—they probably did, I mean—ah, who knows."

"Well okay, that's clear and concise," Dean commented snidely. He got a don't test me look in return.

"Come on, we gotta get outta here," Jamie said sullenly, no doubt pissed she'd lost some stuff including her cool red jacket, at the gravesite.

"But we didn't—" Dean started.

She whirled, patience snapping in half, voice rising into a whisper shout. "Dean. There's nothing there. You know there's not." She paused, softening her tone at the look on his face. "Sorry, okay? I'm not getting arrested over this and neither are you. Now come on." She grabbed him by the arm and pulled.

He didn't really have much choice and feeling utterly deflated, he went along with her. Once she was sure he was accompanying her, she let go of him with a backwards glance made of mild sympathy and mild annoyance both. They cut back through the woods, circling back toward where the front of the graveyard was. Jamie had parked in the designated parking lot outside of the cemetery—and when they could see it again through the trees, they both came to an abrupt halt in unison.

"I told you you should have parked somewhere else," Dean said in a heated whisper, throwing his hands up in exasperation when they saw that another cop car was pulled up into the parking lot and another set of officers were peering into Jamie's Tahoe. They were only about forty feet away—if Dean threw a rock hard enough, he could hit one of them.

"Well where would you have parked, genius?!" Jamie shot back in a testy whisper. The two of them looked at each other tensely for a second. "We'll just wait for them to leave." Jamie waved a hand in dismissal, glaring with crossed arms through the trees and at her car.

"They're not gonna just leave," Dean insisted. He took on a patronizing tone and looked at Jamie pointedly. "They're gonna find that stuff at the grave, see that we were digging up another one, then start looking for us, impound the car, then what?" Jamie's annoyance at his input only irritated him further. Just because he hadn't hunted in awhile didn't mean he was an idiot. "This isn't my first rodeo, princess," he told her in another disgruntled whisper.

"Oh and this is mine?" She retorted, eyebrows raised up high.

"See that guy?" Dean indicated one of the cops. "He's radioing for backup. We need to get a handle on this before—" he stopped mid-sentence, realizing explaining was pointless, she looked like she'd rather stab herself with a screwdriver than listen to anything he had to say. So, he decided to revert to his default mode of operation: take charge. "Okay look, I'm gonna make a diversion, you—hey!" he protested when she reached up and ruffled his hair violently so that it was a total mess, then angrily yanked his jacket so that it was askew on him and half off one shoulder—what the hell was she doing? Dean watched, frozen and caught off guard and definitely not in charge as she very quickly pulled her hair out of the ponytail and let it swish like chicks did in the hair commercials. A glorious wave of blonde fanned out and she scrubbed her hair roughly, making it look unkempt like she'd been rolling around on the ground. She unbuttoned her shirt incredibly fast, revealing a skintight camisole underneath and she yanked that down a little and grabbed at her boobs, pushing them up high to give herself more cleavage—and red-blooded man that he was, Dean couldn't help but gawk. Jamie missed it because she was staring off at the cops in deep concentration. Dean was admittedly mystified and a little, uh, turned on. "W-what are you—"

"Just follow my lead," she muttered and grabbed his hand, pulling him along and then out into full view of the officers. Even as Dean was panicking at the sudden unexplained move, she turned around and grabbed him by two handfuls of his jacket with a startling huge grin on her face, walking backwards as she did so, dragging him right along with her. She giggled throatily and Dean panicked slightly when he realized she was craning her neck forward to him like she was gonna kiss him—but then it turned out she'd been faking. She pretended to notice the cops just before she would have touched her lips to his. "Oh!" she exclaimed and Dean thought absently that she really should be an actress, even he believed what she was doing. But more important, what were they supposed to do now? She had frozen, and the two officers were approaching.

"This your car, lady?" One of them asked, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder at her SUV.

"Yeah, yeah it is," she answered in a wide-eyed, innocent kind of way that Dean almost laughed at because it didn't fit her personality at all.

"You kids wanna explain what—" the other officer stopped, taking in their appearance and seeming to put two and two together. Jamie giggled again and bit her lip and cuddled into Dean as she grinned in a you caught me way at the officers and Dean realized what she was doing. Oh my god this was the stupidest… he wanted to sigh and roll his eyes but he went with it helplessly—what else could he do? He let himself act like he'd just gotten some action, forcing himself to grin kind of slyly and put an arm around Jamie in what hopefully looked like a familiar way. He tried not to enjoy himself, either. Because Lisa.

Both of the officers looked at each other sidelong, then back at the couple.

One of the officers seemed more straight-edged and disapproving, the other one nodded kind of approvingly at Dean, like he was thinking you sly dog. The more pious officer leveled them both with a stern frown. "What exactly were you two up to back there? We've had reports of grave robbers."

If Dean had looked beside himself he would have seen Jamie in deep concentration. "We were messing around," she said, and Dean's eyes slid to her sidelong in a silently aghast remark. This was the craziest, dumbest idea...

"They were messing around," the approving officer said to the dubious one. Dean frowned slightly.

One of the policeman's radio beeped, a voice came through over the little speaker. "Uh yeah Frank, we spotted a Caucasian male, brown hair, with a Caucasian female, blonde hair, they left a bunch of junk up here at the grave site, over."

Dean stiffened. Shit. Busted. He tried to decide which officer he should punch in the face, which one he could deck easiest—but beside him, Jamie spoke calmly. "That wasn't us." He felt her sway slightly and grab his arm like she had a head rush or something. Instinctively, he tightened his arm around her, his free hand grabbed her wrist just in case and he held her up slightly, but didn't look at her. She was trying to act nonchalant and he followed suit.

To Dean's shock, both officers nodded. "Right, no," said one.

"We know it wasn't," said the other and tipped his hat, stepped aside and swept his hand out, indicating that they carry on their way. "Have a nice day, kids."

Jamie—seemingly recovered from whatever little head rush she'd experienced, sent a smile at the men. "Thanks officers," she said, and walked right through them, pulling Dean along by the hand. "Come on, honey." The second they had walked through the officers, she let go of his hand and dropped the act like she'd flipped a switch—she was sullen and bitchy again, walking a little faster than necessary and shooting him a dirty look. What did I do? He was confused, looked back at the world's dumbest officers a couple times. He couldn't believe their luck.

"That was the stupidest idea," he muttered to her as they reached the SUV, trying to figure out how, exactly, they had just walked away from that. They parted ways at the back of the car, both getting in and shutting their doors and he looked at her suspiciously, patting his crazy hair back down. "You Obi-Wan Kenobi or something? Jedi mind tricking your way outta stuff?" he asked. Half joking, half serious.

She looked at him sidelong and held up a correcting finger. "Number one: I'm Han Solo. Number two:" She seemed a little cheeky. "That's just the power of boobs, dude." At the look on his face she grinned at him. "Lighten up."

Jamie began re-buttoning her shirt to put her cleavage away and Dean tried not to check her out again, but he really couldn't help stealing a last glance at her very nice rack before she finished her work. She was curvy and athletic, the exact type of female body that he went crazy over. Yeah. That was just the power of boobs. Pathetic, he thought with chagrin. Done with himself and annoyed, Dean looked at the dashboard pointedly and cleared his throat. When she was done and started the car, Dean relaxed a little and sent a sidelong glance her way then frowned. A bright red trickle of blood ran out of her nose. A little surprised and slightly worried at the unexpected sight, he sat up a little straighter. "Hey you got a nosebleed. You good?"

She faltered and wiped underneath her nose with the back of her hand, looked at the blood with a little frown then brushed his concern aside with a justification. "Dry air," she said, then hardcore focused on driving and pulled out of the parking lot fast. Something about her reaction struck him as weird but he said nothing. Her phone began to ring. "Hold that thought," she said, and grabbed the old cell phone and answered it. "Hello?" Jamie's face suddenly registered total shock then relief. "Alex!?" A grin appeared. "Oh my god! Hey!" Dean's head whipped sideways. "Where are you, are you oka—hey!"

Dean had very rudely grabbed the phone from her and clapped it to his ear. "Al?!" he breathed, pulse suddenly going a hundred miles an hour in despairing anticipation.

There was a long pause and he almost said her name again because maybe the connection had been lost. Then he heard her familiar voice after months of silence. "...Dean?" she asked, sounding dumbfounded.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and a huge smile broke his face, his heart literally felt like it unfurled from the tight hold it had been stuck in. "Oh my god, Al, you okay? What happened? Who took you? Who found you? Was it Cas? How—"

"Slow down, slow down, I'm fine," she said. Truthfully she sounded not fine, exhausted and burdened and a little shocked that she was speaking to him but she repeated herself. "I'm fine… but... what are you doing with Jamie?" He could hear traffic behind her. She was probably on a pay phone.

"She came and got me when you disappeared last night," Dean said. Not important, they could talk about this later. First things first. "Where are you? We'll come get you."

She hesitated. "Uh, Reed City, apparently." She sounded distinctly reluctant.

Dean thought quickly. "That's just a couple hours from here," he said, wondering why she was there of all places. Something was off. "Hey, where the hell is Cas?" Dean asked. "Did he find you? He said some name, Nandriel? Can he zap you over to us?"

His sister let out a very long, noisy breath of air. "Look, it's all a long story I just don't feel like telling, Dean… I'm exhausted and it's fucking cold as balls out here and I just walked like three miles with a damn twisted ankle. No idea where Cas went. He just… dropped me off in the middle of nowhere and left and…" she was frustrated and he could heard it.

Even though she was complaining and grumpy, she was coherent and she was alive, and knowing those two things, Dean was smiling through what worries still remained. The rest, to him, was details. "But you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Dean…" she paused, her voice might have caught, or maybe it was the traffic noises, he couldn't really tell. "It's... really good to hear your voice."

He swallowed and looked out his window at the passing scenery, not realizing how badly he'd needed to hear that. She did miss him. And now he knew. He felt the same. "Yeah," he agreed softly, trying not to sound overly emotional. Jamie was in the car, after all. He couldn't help himself from asking what he was dying to know, though. "Why haven't you come to see me?" he asked her earnestly, trying not to sound as hurt as he felt. "All these months I've been waiting. Worried as hell about you and if you were even alive." He tried to laugh a little, try and sound lighter than he felt.

There was another long pause on Alex's end and she sounded guilty when she spoke again. "I know Dean. I'm… just not ready yet."

Her words were like a pin to a balloon, and the elation he felt suddenly evaporated as he realized this wasn't going to go like he'd envisioned it. Hurt, he could barely think of what to say. "Not ready yet?" He blinked rapidly, trying to think carefully and not say the wrong thing and upset her further. "I don't get it, did I do something?" he asked, then realized he'd done a lot of things. But… still. "I mean, outside of the obvious?" He asked, then wet his lips quickly, trying to convince her, again. "I promise, Alex, I did not tell Cas to leave last year, I wasn't lying to you about that."

"No, I know." He didn't know if he really believed her answer and it hurt. "No. I just… I just can't see you. Not yet, you know?" No, he didn't know. "I can't. It's just too much."

Dean resorted to begging, because he couldn't not see his sister, he just couldn't. "Al—come on, this is crazy," he implored, voice beginning to waver with emotion. "We can't just, just never see each other again—it's been almost nine months."

"Trust me," she said, and her voice was heavy. "I know exactly how long it's been." There was another long pause and Dean was heartbroken by lost confusion all over again. "Dean. I need you to respect my wishes. And don't push me. Don't." She was barely audible, he could hear how sad she was. He just wanted to know everything would be okay someday. But maybe it wouldn't be. He said nothing, just kept listening in defeat. "I'll come see you soon," she promised. "Just not yet."

Dean didn't know what to say and struggled for a minute. "At least give me your new phone number," he asked, trying to smile and sound accepting, like he was okay with all of this, trying so damn hard to back off and not rock the boat, maybe convince her he'd changed.

Alex paused. "Put Jamie back on."

It was like a sledgehammer to the stomach. Dean's voice cracked. "Al—really?"

"Yes," she said gently, and she sounded composed now, done with the conversation. Not really like the Alex he knew and he was taken aback. "Really."

He felt angry at that, and for a moment, he thought about trying old tactics of guilt tripping her by telling her how miserable she was making him and how terrible she should feel for doing that to him, or telling her too fucking bad, he was gonna come see her like it or not. But in a display of either great maturity or great cowardice, Dean forced himself to let it go.

"Yeah, fine," he said, and almost handed the phone off there in bitterness. But he knew he needed to take what opportunities he could. He swallowed his pride and struggled, looking upward and shaking his head, closing his eyes. "Take care of yourself, okay? I miss you. And I love you. And… I really hope you come see me soon." It was like pulling teeth to say that stuff in front of Jamie and he could barely hold it together, but he didn't wait to see if his sister said something back. He shoved the phone in Jamie's general direction without looking at her. "Here."

Jamie took the phone and a brief one-sided conversation followed. "Hey. Yeah. Okay. Well look, I'll call Glen, see if he's—oh okay. All right. Then I'll just take your sister Dean home and meet you guys back in Grand Rapids tonight. Yup. Mmhmm. Okay. No, no. Yeah. You too." She hung up and let the awkward silence hang for a couple beats, glancing cautiously at Dean sidelong a few times. "Glen's gonna go get her, he's only like an hour from Reed City." She trailed off, got quiet, and gave Dean some space and silence.

Dean said nothing for a long moment, caught up in all of his deep distresses. Alex wouldn't even give him her fucking number, was he really that bad of a person? Did she really hate him that much? What if she held this grudge of hers forever? Was she really okay at all? Every instinct in him said something was wrong and his only evidence was her absence and the behavior she'd displayed before splitting. And one part of him said he was just looking for an excuse to barge into her life, another part said he was being an idiot and she'd just grown up finally and subsequently outgrown her need for him.

He looked at Jamie miserably, needing reassurance or something. "Jamie—is she okay? Like for real, is she? 'Cause she took off almost a goddamn year ago after almost shooting me in the face and that just now was the first time I've talked to her since." His voice choked up a little. "I had no idea if she was even alive, you understand?" Jamie did sympathize, her face said it all. "And I'm going nuts not seeing her and I can't do it much longer—I just can't..." He trailed off, agonized by his feelings and hating that he was telling a near stranger all this. Jamie was silent, mulling over his questions. It didn't look optimistic. "She's not okay, is she?" Dean prompted, seeing it written all over her face. His voice softened with something like dread. "What aren't you telling me?"

Jamie's eyes narrowed, she had one hand on the wheel and her eyebrows were knit together in deep thought like she were trying to decide something. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips briefly and she didn't answer him directly. "Look. Tell you what. If in—say, three months—she still hasn't come around your place or called you…" she looked at him briefly and significantly. "Call me. I'll arrange for us to uh… accidentally run into you." Dean was genuinely surprised at the offer and she quickly edited herself: "Just don't push your luck Jacket." She sighed and leaned an elbow onto the windowsill, resting her head into her hand ruefully. "I can't believe I'm promising you this crap to begin with. She'd kill me if she knew."

Dean nodded shallowly, grateful and touched by the offer, not sure what he'd done to deserve it, but not about to question her about it, either. "Thanks," he murmured, then turned and stared at the passing landscape, deep in thought.

"Guess I'm taking you home, then," Jamie said, and reached up for her aviator sunglasses which were tucked up in the little sun visor above the steering wheel.

"Yeah," Dean said quietly, distracted. "Home." That word just didn't ring true like it should have.

He could hear the easygoing grin she cracked in her voice. "But first, burgers." Dean glanced at her and smiled halfheartedly despite himself, his more tense thoughts about his homecoming to Lisa and Ben fading out. Eats didn't sound like the worst idea on earth.

Dean wasn't in the best place ever but Jamie's promise to make sure he saw Alex eventually was a small comfort. That, and he could really go for a burger right now. Knowing Alex was alive, his appetite was back. One step at a time, he figured. He didn't love this, but at least Alex was hunting with someone who Dean guessed he didn't mind that much. That, and at least he knew his sister was nearby geographically. It wasn't what he wanted, but it sure as hell could be worse, couldn't it? He gave Jamie a small smile, reflecting back to a pimply and opinionated teenage brat who he'd never have predicted turning into the woman he sat beside now. "You're not too bad, James." That was his way of saying thanks for everything.

He saw the telltale annoyed muscle jump in her cheek and an eye roll came his way. "Jamie," she corrected with all the patience of an exasperated saint.

His mouth twitched slightly and he fought a smile. "Uh huh."

She looked at him sidelong in cool, amused challenge then reached for the volume knob. Dean groaned and sank down in his seat a little bit. She was going to take her revenge on him with death metal. With a sigh, he guessed he'd earned that one.

---

Reed City, Michigan
Sawmill Saloon

Alex scowled sidelong at the bartender who was looking at her oddly where she sat at a booth. Maybe it was because of all the shots she'd ordered and was still downing or the way she glared at anyone who passed her by. Maybe it was because she was wearing a fucking tank top in the dead of winter and because her tight ponytail had gotten pulled sideways and was falling down, giving her the appearance of a homeless person. Whatever. Alex didn't bother to fix anything. She was in a foul, bitter mood and thought the bartend should count himself lucky that she wasn't trashing the place or picking a fight with someone. She hadn't gotten drunk like this in awhile and it didn't feel good at all. Anger kept building, then sadness, then the frustration of helpless feelings. She'd been here for approaching three hours now and Glen was taking his sweet-ass time as usual. Grand Rapids was only an hour car ride away. Hurry it up, asshole.

She had walked for three miles before she was able to hitch a ride into town. And with each step the pain increased—not onlyher ankle, but the pain she carried in places past the physical. Add to that the unexpected shock of hearing her brother's voice on the other end of the line and she was kind of a wreck right now. She tapped her fingers on the booth she sat at, not sure how she should feel or how she did feel. Foreigner played on the bar radio. Dean liked this song.

I was inside looking outside, the millions of faces — but still I'm alone, waiting, hours of waiting — paying a penance, I was longing for home.

Stupid fucking song, why did it resonate with her so deeply? Home. She didn't have a home anymore, and never had like most people did. To her home was people. Dean and Sam, Bobby… and most of all Castiel. She grew miserable as she remembered secret things only they knew about. He'd felt like home to her, he'd been forever and hers and they had belonged. She wanted that back and would give almost anything just to have things be the way they were—they hadn't had enough time together at all. She wanted to drown in sadness. Fuck my life she thought despondently.

She worried about him again, thoughtlessly gnawing the inside of her mouth and staring blankly at the space in front of herself. Nandriel had wanted to hand her off to Raphael, who apparently was against Cas at this point. Was he fighting all of Heaven? And if he was, the most important question was why? Why couldn't he just come explain it to her? She had called him a few more times as she'd hobbled into town and then given up sort of angrily. No answers as usual.

She rubbed her forehead tiredly and stared down at the dark liquid in the shot glass she kept turning and turning in circles. She focused on the sound of the glass sliding against the tabletop. She began to consider leaving Jamie. It had been a good distraction, her and Glen whenever he was around but… she was restless for something she couldn't name. Well. She could name it. But she couldn't have it. And if she ditched the Wards she'd be alone again. That thought of that was more frightening than she wanted to admit.

Talking to her oldest brother today and hearing how upset he was when she told him she didn't want to see him (in so many words) had been gut-wrenching. She wanted to see him, of course she did. But the thing was, she knew she couldn't. Not right now, and for a bunch of reasons, but mostly because she was scared shitless of it. This past year she'd been strong because she'd had to be. She'd had no crutch or fallback, at least not at first. And she thought that if she saw Dean now she'd immediately revert back to the weaker role of 'little sister.' He'd take one look at her and leave the life he'd built with Lisa and Ben and she didn't want to be the reason he gave up such a rare chance at normal. Dean needed a healthy, stable life, and Alex wasn't a part of that. In a way, she was trying to protect her big brother from himself, from his own co-dependent instincts. Hers too.

Alex took the shot she'd been toying with, hissing against the burn as the liquor went down. Eventually she would go see Dean but… she couldn't handle the idea today. She was pretty sure that she'd lose it when she finally saw him and had to come face to face with the guilt of everything she'd done: forcing Sam's hand into saying yes to Lucifer, going nuts on Dean and leaving him and saying such fucked up shit to him… and there were darker things that she was worried for Dean to find out about. She somberly thought of all the demon attacks she'd faced that year. Dean would literally kill her if he found out what she had kept hidden from everyone else so far...

She glanced up and saw Glen's familiar towering figure darken the doorway of the bar as he pushed the glass door open and came in out of the cold. Finally. His tousled blond hair looked windblown and he ran an errant hand over it as he approached her, spotting her right away. He wore his tan Carhartt jacket over a plaid shirt and looked like a typical woodsy, outdoorsy guy. He got a few glances like he always did. It was the height, for one—he was probably about six-foot-five or maybe a little more, he was built proportionally and was physically commanding. He loped over to Alex, easy going as always—she didn't think she'd ever seen him in a hurry.

"Hey!" he greeted in his deepish tenor voice. He slid into the booth across from her and glanced around at the bar, scoping it out briefly before he looked her over. "You good?"

Alex could have killed him. Was she good? "Peachy," she snapped irritably and downed another shot. "What took you so long?" He did that thing where he smiled, shrugged, and made you forget why you were mad at him—he had the charm and looks to pull it off. Except it didn't really work on Alex. "I twisted my ankle and almost froze to death," she complained like it had been his fault.

He remained unperturbed by her bad attitude. "I better call 911 huh?" Alex rolled her eyes. "Just asking," he teased. "Don't shoot me." His crooked grin faltered as he stared with narrowing eyes at her left cheek. "Hey... where'd your scar go?"

Alex huffed drunkenly. She'd realized since being flung into the snow that her wisdom teeth were back too—a dull ache in the back of her mouth said so. "The angel did it," she muttered, not super willing to discuss all that with Glen fucking Ward of all people.

"What and he didn't he fix your ankle?" Glen asked innocently, clueless as to how it would trigger Alex.

"Yeah, and he didn't stick around long enough for me to fucking talk to him either!" Alex exploded, her resentments and frustrations coming to a head in her alcohol-addled state. Glen was genuinely surprised at the outburst and looked at her in a way he never had. She realized she'd never been drunk around Jamie or Glen. Tipsy maybe. Drunk as fuck? No. This was probably not the best idea she'd ever had. Still. There were a few shots left and she wasn't going to leave without taking them.

"...you sure you're okay?" Glen asked, sounding like he was beginning to worry. Alex just scoffed. His steely gray eyes looked over the shot glasses and beer bottles littering the table then jumped back up to her. He seemed almost suspicious at this point. "What exactly happened? Where did that uh, Nandriel dude take you? What did he do to you?"

She didn't correct him or tell him who Nandriel was. He didn't need to know any of it. "Don't worry about it."

Glen looked mildly stung. "Alex. Come on." He almost seemed impatient, which was rare for him. "When are you gonna level with me? You've been hunting with Jamie and me for what, four or five months now? You're not gonna tell me what happened?" When she said nothing he scoffed mildly, heaved a sigh, then accepted it. Alex downed one of the remaining shots after giving him a cold, withdrawn smile. Glen watched her do that then nodded his head toward the door. "You ready to get outta here?"

In all of her maturity Alex took hold of another shot. "Leave me alone."

"So no then," Glen supposed and then cracked a cheeky grin at her, grabbing the last one of her shots and taking it before she could grab it away. Alex gave him a dirty glance and he just gave her a challenging, playful look. She rolled her eyes and downed the shot she'd been holding, content to stew here a little longer and make Glen wait. But as always, he made himself at home and looked like he didn't mind it.

Glen flagged down a server who was passing by. "Yeah, Guinness extra stout?"

The server—tall, tan, brunette—looked him up and down, obviously liking what she saw. "Coming right up." Glen saw the flirtatious nature of her response to him and acknowledged it with a little side smirk. He loved the attention as usual. Alex rolled her eyes. The day wasn't complete if someone didn't come on to Glen or make come hither eyes at him. His eyes were striking, she'd give him that much and his body was good, she guessed. But what attracted people was his attitude and demeanor. He always looked like he owned the place, like he knew exactly what he was doing, like he was relaxed and at ease and in control. He played it cool, close to his chest, and she'd always figured it was a carefully crafted persona.

But maybe it wasn't a persona. Alex had never seen him get pissed in any of the situations she'd been in with him. Jamie yelled at him sometimes when he was a dumbass and he'd get defensive and annoyed, but Alex had never heard him shout and never seen him flat out lose his temper. Usually he walked away when Jamie was trying to start a fight, removing himself from the situation instead of engaging. Dean could take a lesson from him, Alex reflected hazily.

The server came back after a minute and handed Glen a beer with a smile. "Here you go," she said and her eyes were practically undressing him. "Just lemme know if you need anything else."

Glen smiled back with the same energy. "Will do." She sashayed off and Alex saw how a receipt accompanied the drink and the little scrap of paper had her name—Stephanie—and number scrawled in pretty writing on it with an xo beside it. Alex shook her head, rolled her eyes again, but was almost laughing now. Of course. It was almost comical at this point. This was like a throwback to the Sam and Dean years. Alex remembered many a time when her brothers had been hit on by random chicks and sometimes men too. She felt a slight pang of sadness, remembering Sam and how he'd always been sort of weirded out by that sort of thing. And Dean, of course, loved every second of that crap. Guys had never had the guts to hit on Alex with Dean around, who was forever giving off touch her and you die vibes.

Glen cracked a crooked grin, seeming to feel pretty good about himself as he checked out the little name and number note he'd gotten. He wet his lips slowly with his tongue, then looked at Alex mischievously. "So what do you think, should I call her?" He took a swig of his beer, that shit-eating smile refusing to budge.

Idiot. "I think we both already know you will."

He smirked and looked down, eyes scanning the name and number. When he crumpled up the bill and tossed it down into an empty shot glass, Alex was a bit disconcerted. "Nah," Glen said, giving an entertained smile at her surprise. "Not interested." He leaned back in the booth, threw an arm over the back, then grinned crookedly as he saluted her with his beer. He took another swig and remained nonchalant. "So that dude in the trench coat… Cas—he's seriously an angel?"

Not what she wanted to talk with Glen about. "Mmhmm."

"Huh." Glen took it in stride like the weather forecast. "He didn't look like I pictured angels would look like." She didn't engage, but Glen tried again. "You know him, right?"

A very cynical expression came over her face. "You could say that."

Glen shook his head and sighed dramatically, grinning and showing white teeth. "Geez Winchester you're killing me with the mystery hour. Would it really be that bad to tell me one thing about yourself?" He was teasing her.

But something about the question and his concern, however casual—that and the alcohol—and she suddenly found herself saying something very true and very personal. "I've never been as disappointed as I am right now."

Glen heard her somber, introspective tone and set his beer down, dropping his cavalier attitude. He seemed genuinely interested and concerned. "Why's that?"

Alex didn't look at him. She was off in her own head. "Do you ever spend a long time imagining what it'll be like to see someone again?" She asked quietly, staring at the table as she tried to make sense of it all. "And then that moment comes and is nothing like what you thought? And it's so far removed from what you needed that it makes you question everything?" She finally looked up at him. "I mean what kind of moron does what I did this year…?" She was so confused she could scream, but instead she just put her elbow on the table and covered half of her face in her hand, forlorn and feeling a little sick. Her nose felt stuffed up after all that time in the cold and her head was woozy. Maybe from the booze, maybe because she was coming down with something. "I had it in my head that things were different. But maybe it's over."

Glen was trying to follow her somewhat rambling monologue, the wheels in his head were turning and he seemed to realize. "Wait a minute… wait a minute. Are you telling me you and the angel in the trench coat…?" He looked at her in surprise. "You guys were a thing?" Alex's one eye just looked up at him and then she dropped her hand down so that the other half of her face wasn't covered. She shrugged wearily, confirming without saying anything. Glen was speechless for a second, processing. Then he offered some sympathetic words. "Well. I mean… if it's really over, then at least you know, right?"

It felt like a huge sledgehammer to her stomach. Alex shook her head blankly. She was getting emotional and fought it.

Glen seemed to feel sorry for her. "I think you deserve someone who's gonna stick around, personally."

Her eyes darted up to him and she sat back fractionally, feeling defensive of Castiel even though she couldn't completely disagree. "He's… got a lot happening right now, it's not that simple," she muttered. And that's what she hoped the case was.

Glen seemed a little confused about all of it and studied her for a couple beats. "I've never said it before but… I mean, I see it. How sad you are." Alex looked at him reluctantly as he kept speaking. "And if it's him making you sad…" Glen trailed off and didn't finish what he was going to say. "I just think you deserve happiness. That's all." His tone was intense and so were his eyes and he saw how he was putting her on the spot. So he changed his approach. "You know what you need?" He was joking again. "A rebound."

Alex sighed, rueful. She knew it would come to this, because it always did, and she'd never been sure if it were a joke or if he were serious. "Let me guess," she said, not smiling but not about to cry anymore either. "You're volunteering." He made a funny face and spread his arms a little, seeming to say well if the shoe fits, I'll wear it! She had to admire his tenacity if nothing else. She couldn't help herself, a tiny little annoyed smile came over her face and she looked away in an attempt to hide it, equal parts amused and irritated.

He just grinned at her, raising his eyebrows, seeing her smile. "I mean us here in this bar, having drinks which, oh look at that—" he slapped down a fistful of bills onto the table, "I just paid for. Our first date. What now, Winchester?"

It was hard not to smile back at him—he always did that to her, to everyone—charmed you even if you hated him. Alex tried even harder to be annoyed. She slapped her hands down onto the table and pushed herself up, mad that she wasn't as pissed at his antics she thought she should be. "I'm leaving."

He stood up too, a cross between dubious and amused as she hobbled away. "On what legs? And did you forget I'm your ride?" Alex stopped to lean on a booth—walking with a limp while drunk was more challenging than she'd thought. While she stood there and willed herself the mental clarity to walk out to his car, Glen shrugged off his jacket and put it on her without warning. She protested as he set it on her like a cape.

"No, don't—" she practically whined, but he cut her off, holding the jacket on her meaningfully.

"It's cold as hell, no arguments," he said in his that's final voice. Alex stared at him resentfully. The huge jacket was really warm and smelled like him, which wasn't a bad thing either. Glen was amused by her dagger stare. "You could look a little more pissed off about it though."

She rolled her eyes then frowned. "This is like wearing a damn tent."

"Always complaining," Glen said, then shocked her when he bent slightly and scooped her up into his arms.

"Hey! I can walk! Put me down!" She protested loudly, drawing a few stares from some bar patrons.

Glen was already heading for the door. "I just saw you not being able to walk, dummy." He used his foot to push the door open then they were outside in the freezing cold again.

Alex lamented her fate and remained sullen, trying to be stiff in his arms and not get too close. Glen seemed to be enjoying the momentary proximity. "You need to hurt your ankle more often," he joked suggestively, and she pointedly turned her head away from him.

"You need to get punched in the face," she muttered back. Her head was spinning from the shots.

He chuckled at the comment as he carried her across the parking lot and over to his Blazer—a tan SUV that had belonged to his deceased uncle. It seemed to have sentimental value to Glen, who kept the car really nice and had all these extra things added to it, like an expensive sound system and very pointless undercarriage lighting system. As he walked them over there, Alex tried not to think about how desperate she was just for closeness—how this little stunt Glen had pulled had her feeling really, really vulnerable after everything that had happened today. Glen was warm and solid and it made her think of Cas, who she wanted so badly. Being in his strong arms for ten seconds earlier that day hadn't been enough. Why. Why?! She was beyond frustrated and harrowed by the waiting and wondering. Was Glen right, was it really over? She didn't know, but she hadn't been hugged since the day Sam died and this right now was the longest physical contact she'd had with anyone in almost nine months and it was confusing and she felt so stupid. She wished so badly for one of her brothers at that exact moment, someone to just hold her and tell her it was gonna be okay.

Her first preference, of course, would be Castiel—but maybe it was over, maybe he was just her guardian now and nothing more. Her mind spun with possibilities. Could she go certifiably insane from this? Sometimes it felt that way.

They were at the car now. "Watch it, careful," Glen said as he began to lower her to the slushy, snowy parking lot ground so that he could unlock the car. But she grabbed onto his arms when her feet hit the ground because her equilibrium was super compromised. "Lush," he teased mercilessly, his steely eyes warm and full of bright fondness that Alex didn't quite understand. Didn't quite trust. And then the look in his eyes shifted to something else very intentional. That's when he caught her off guard by closing the space between them with a sudden, soft kiss she hadn't asked for. A kiss she pulled away from immediately. Alex's abrupt shock at the action gave way to embarrassed fury. With a quickness and force that sobered her a great deal, she pushed him away hard with both hands. "What the hell!"

Glen looked embarrassed and even a little surprisingly aggravated at her response. "My bad," he said simply. "Sorry." But there was some attitude there that was very easy to dislike. But before Alex could reconsider going anywhere with him, Glen was back to his lighthearted ways. He opened the door for her, indicated she sit down. "Buckle up, booster seat. Let's get you back home."

Thrown off—Glen had never made her feel like he just had in that moment before, maybe it was an honest mistake—she hesitated, considering her options, then got into the car with a face like stone, avoiding looking at him. She was fucked up in the head completely and mortified. Had she sent him signals? She didn't think so...

He shut the door once she was in and she sort of angrily tore his coat off of herself and threw it into the back seat. She'd just be cold, screw temperatures. Miserable, Alex clenched her hands tightly and stared out the window of the car. She'd never felt more alone or lost than she did at that moment and she shivered a little, sniffing again… it felt like the beginnings of a sore throat and a stuffy nose for sure. That's just what happened when you walked around outside in sub zero temps for an hour in nothing but a tank top, she guessed. And you know what, she deserved misery, she deserved to fucking die. Life just didn't feel right anymore. Fuck this. All of it.

Glen got in, started the car, turned on some music and didn't goad her or try and talk to her. He seemed to sense she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Alex stared out of the window the entire car ride back, plagued with horrible feelings and the terrible conviction that she had gone back on everything she'd ever said and promised to Cas.

She'd always thought it, but she thought it even more at that point than ever before: Cas deserved so much better than her.

A tear ran down her cheek when she thought that maybe he had finally realized that, too. Maybe that's why he had left.

---

Three Days Later
Hell

Crowley threw another dart at the massive poster of Jesus he had plastered on the stone wall in front of himself. The dart landed right between the eyes and Crowley chuckled, pleased with himself. The King of Hell raised another dart—then was thrown off completely by a loud voice at the precise moment he let the dart fly.

"Hey, Bossman!" Lola snapped her gum loudly.

Cantankerous at how his dart had hit the space beside the poster, Crowley looked at his assistant silently, short on patience. He'd just started and needed his me-time, dammit. Lola was wearing a gaudy getup as usual and little glittering butterfly clips were scattered through her nearly neon red hair. It was, in a word, abhorrent. Leaning against the doorframe of his entertainment room, she grinned jauntily and jerked her head back toward where she'd just appeared from. "Stalin's complaining about his bunkmate."

"Ah, Dahmer being mouthy again?" Crowley chuckled, turned, and threw another dart. Right in Christ's holy junk. The King of Hell practically cackled then glanced Lola's way, remembering that she was waiting. "Tell Stalin not to lose his head," he advised, then aimed another dart, shutting one eye for accuracy.

There was a long silence then a very timid throat clearing. "Uhh…"

Crowley paused and turned smoothly, lowering the dart. Lola looked distinctly guilty. "Lola... you didn't."

She winced innocently, shrugged, and tried to act nonchalant. "...I can staple it back on." She bit her lip. "...again."

Crowley chuckled at that and gave her a look. Oh you.

Suddenly, a fierce wind blew over the room and Crowley found himself being grabbed and slammed up into the poster of Jesus. "You said you were protecting her, you said she was safe!" Castiel's angry, bloodied face was right in front of Crowley, who was, in all truth of the matter, quite taken aback at the sudden arrival of said angel.

"What the bloody hell?!" Crowley protested.

"The angel Nandriel took her several days ago and you said you would tell me if she was in peril and you didn't!" Castiel shouted.

A bit flabbergasted, Crowley looked at Castiel like he was looney. "First off, why don't you kindly unhand me," he growled lowly, not appreciating the threats in his own house. "Second—and this's important..." his voice rose to an indignant shout. "It's not my fault!"

"Then whose is it?" Cas demanded angrily without taking his hands off Crowley. The angel was the most frustrated Crowley had ever seen him. He seemed a little insane almost. "I have been running from Raphael for days now, I don't even know how long and I don't even know if Alex is alive and it's your fault this happened, so explain and quickly if you value your life," Castiel thundered, shoving Crowley further into Jesus for emphasis—then looking up at the poster and seeing what it was of. Faint confusion overcame his features.

"Look, Cas—I understand you're upset, I do," Crowley said impatiently, trying not to fly off the handle completely. "But your little missus has been killing all the demons I keep posting on her, you see. Told you this before, you might recall. Same with the last one who, oh, I didn't find out was dead until today! Whatever you're talking about with this Nandriel character... I'm in the dark, mate." Castiel's face remained a furious mask. Crowley was getting really irritated with how the angel wouldn't let go of him, but he realized he knew how to get him to let go. "But you should know—she's fine. Alive and well." He paused, pretending to remember something. "Actually, seems down with the common cold but that's a small detail, isn't it."

Castiel's face worked fast and hard, his expression inscrutable and he glanced back at Lola, who had been standing there with wide eyes and her arms ramrod straight at her sides.

"I don't want your kind watching her any more," Castiel growled, turning back to Crowley. He let go with a shove. "Is that understood?"

Crowley frowned a little. "What, you're gonna leave her out in the wind?"

Cas didn't answer, just looked at Crowley fiercely. "Tell me where she is, now."

So dramatic, this one. Crowley rolled his eyes, only tolerating Cas at this point because he was useful. "Lakeland Motel, Whitehall, Michigan. Room one-oh-one."

"You would be wise to hurry your part of the arrangement," Cas growled, then was gone with another blast of wind that ripped the poster of Christ off the wall completely.

Crowley straightened his suit sullenly and looked at useless, wide-eyed Lola. "Ya know, angels are real arseholes when it comes down to it," he muttered, then kicked at the curled-up Jesus poster on the floor. He severely disliked this entire Alex Winchester drama and sometimes thought it'd be easier to kill her off completely or pull a Raphael and use her as a hostage against Castiel.

Then again, Crowley wasn't a fool. And he knew if he did that and got caught… it'd be the last thing he did. So for now, he just had to tolerate the whole thing. And hey, at least after tonight, he didn't have to send any more red shirt demons down to keep tabs on little Winchester. It was beyond annoying how she kept spotting and killing them.

If ever there came a day, he might have it in mind to exact a little revenge on her for cleaning out his demon stockpile. But for now, he left well enough alone.

---

Lakeland Motel
Whitehall, Michigan

It was risky and it was not the best idea—but Castiel knew Raphael was currently in battle in Heaven and was hopefully subsequently distracted. Cas walked up the motel walkway along the rooms, invisible to the human eye, searching for Room 101 anxiously.

He couldn't keep doing this, he couldn't—and he wasn't even sure what he hoped to accomplish with what he was doing right now, he just had to verify with his own eyes that Alex was alive. Cas felt so guilty for flinging her into an inhospitable environment and disappearing after. He cursed himself for entrusting her to the care of demons. He'd known it was a bad idea from the beginning and still he'd done it. Why? He should have trusted his instincts that had so strongly warned him against it.

Castiel found Room 101 and peered into the window. Relief flooded Cas at the sight of her. Alex was sitting back on a bed, leaned against the headboard with her knees drawn up near herself—she wore a long sleeved shirt and looked generally tired and ill, her nose was red. She was sick just like Crowley had said, and Cas thought surely he could chance the quickest of encounters to heal her, to speak with her face to face, finally, tell her more details that the messages he'd sent with Balthazar and Rachel hadn't divulged. Cas was about to go into the room—every part of him anticipating the moment and straining for her—and then he saw the tall blond man he'd seen the other night with Dean. This man was walking to Alex across the room and Cas faltered. Slightly confused, he peered into the room further and saw that no one else was there. Where was Dean? Why was Alex alone with a strange man?

She seemed to know this man, who had an extra blanket and put it around her then rubbed the top of her head affectionately then sat beside her, handing her some pre-packaged food items and talked to her in a seemingly casual, free-spirited way. Alex smiled just a little—the smile was a little hooded and sad and then Castiel saw the way this man looked at Alex: he was interested in her. And a feeling Cas had never experienced before bristled in him. It wasn't pleasant and he didn't know what to do, but his first thought was that he should do something to this man to hurt him. There was no logical reason for it… Cas just felt it. And then he heard his Lieutenant calling to him urgently, saying hurry Castiel, Raphael's broken through our ranks and we need you!

Cas didn't leave immediately, he stared at Alex and this man in confusion, unsure what he was witnessing. He must be misinterpreting. She wouldn't take a suitor, she wouldn't, not unless… he frowned in thought, confused and feeling distinctly wounded at a deep level. Surely it hadn't been that long that he had been gone. Alex had told Rachel she would wait for him and he had clung to that message. Cas thought hard—he'd been gone for something like six and a half months of earth time, if he was calculating correctly. But maybe he wasn't. Had more time than that passed? A feeling of horror and panic passed over him and he wondered if maybe it had somehow been a few years and he didn't even know it. His eyes caught the little bedside calendar. The date was late January 2011. It hadn't been years. It had been nearly nine months. But why was Alex with this man, who was he, why was he sitting so close to her?

Rachel was calling him again in rising panic and torn beyond belief, Castiel had to respond, even though everything inside of him protested leaving Alex with this man he didn't know. Logically, he knew he had to return to Heaven and finish what he'd begun, that his garrison needed him, that he was a leader and he had to lead. But tearing himself away from earth was almost impossible.

Castiel knew that everything was in vain if he couldn't defeat Raphael... but he felt, that day, after seeing Alex and the strange blond man, as though he was the one who had been defeated.