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.

51. Blurred Lines

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 51 / Blurred Lines

"You save yourself or you remain unsaved."
- Alice Sebold

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*** CONTENT TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual Assault (non-explicit) ***

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A Few Days Later

Glen Ward was many things, but he wasn't evil. People liked him, thought he was funny and charming and cool. He was capable and strong, a little self-obsessed, but hey—if that was his only flaw, not bad. He wasn't evil. Yeah, he did things that were questionable but that was just part of living life to the fullest and taking in every experience possible. He stole, he cheated, he lied, he manipulated people and situations, he didn't care about anyone other than himself… but, he wasn't evil.

That was Glen's mantra, the only thing he cared about pretty much: I'm not evil.

He had started repeating this to himself on July 4th, 1988. Everyone else had been around the front of the mansion watching fireworks in the night sky and some of those bright bursting lights had reflected in the dark water of the luxurious family pool. Glen had stood there at the edge of the shimmering water and wondered am I evil? Because below the surface of the water, his two-year-old little sister Erin was struggling after falling in by accident. Glen just watched and did nothing, curious and fascinated as her tiny body sank to the bottom of the pool, eventually going still and beginning to drift. Am I evil? He thought maybe a big brother should have jumped in to save her or called for help, but he didn't do either. It seemed marvelous to him that life was so fragile and easy to snuff out, and he'd been struck by the chance to watch it happen. And who was Erin, anyway? Just another human being taking up space on the planet. Him letting her die like that was just a kid being curious. He wasn't evil. He was different.

He remembered how Jamie found him staring into the pool—small, eight-years-old, she'd screamed in shock and quickly panicked, hyperventilating as she told Glen to go get someone. Then she'd jumped in to try and save their already-dead sister. Jamie didn't really know how to swim at the time but had somehow found it within herself to overcome her fear of water and pull her sister out. Glen had watched her sobbing over Erin, who had been blue in the face... dead for several minutes already. Adults clustered around his sisters and Glen stood off, staring and mildly frustrated. Why didn't he feel the panic and horror everyone else did? At first he thought it was because he was evil, but he didn't like the thought that he was evil. Then he decided it wasn't because he was evil. It was because he was smarter than everyone else, and higher above stupid things like emotions. He was better than everyone else.

Ever since that night, he'd felt this smug sense of power. Because he knew he could have changed what happened and he'd chosen not to. He was like a god or something, he could say whether another person lived or died by what he chose to do or not do. That thrilled him. And as he grew up, he learned how to keep people believing things other than what was actually true: how to play on their doubts, fears, weaknesses, desires, wishes. He became an expert at playing roles and manipulating any situation he was in, always to his own benefit and amusement.

To his sister, he was forgetful and half-ass and flighty—he kept her in the dark by letting her think she was the smarter one—to Alex he was a rogue with a heart of gold who was opening up slowly to the idea of a real, lasting relationship and true intimacy. To Jennifer, he was a business major who was down on his luck and looking for a love to heal wounds from his past. To Sadie, he had been a bad-boy one night stand with quite a bit of S&M thrown in there. There were other women and even a few guys too and there would always be more. It wasn't even entirely about the sex for Glen, although it never hurt to get laid. It was about pushing the boundaries to see if he'd get caught, because he got off on danger and lies and the pleasure-rush those gave him. He got off on controlling people's thoughts, puppeting them into exactly the situation he wanted them in. And no one ever guessed his secret because he was smarter than all of them. They fell for what he said and believed him every time. He'd never get over how much he loved looking people in the eye and saying something and watching them believe it as the whole time, he was smirking internally at how easy it was to prey on their trust and vulnerability.

He was an opportunist and the world was his grand experiment. It was all an inside joke. And he always got the last laugh. No, he wasn't evil. He was good. The best. And Alex was about to find that out. Right at that moment, she was inside a motel room and he was outside getting a first aid kid. She'd just gotten cut up sort of bad in a scuffle as they put yet another vengeful spirit down earlier that day. And seizing the opportunity, recognizing what a perfect scenario it was, Glen had sent Jamie off on a fool's errand by telling her he'd just gotten a call from an old hunting buddy and they needed to move on that as soon as possible. He'd said he needed to patch Alex up and that they would catch up. He'd basically sent his sister on a wild goose chase and later would tell her he accidentally told her the wrong address to go to. She'd get exasperated with his 'forgetfulness' and bitch him out. He'd act like he cared what she said about him and around and around it would go… this little game he played with the world and everyone in it.

Glen loped back up the sidewalk and into the motel room, opening the door. He paused there and smiled crookedly at Alex, who was sitting on the edge of a bed and had rolled her shirt up to look at the angry red slash across her torso. The day he'd found out she'd been with an angel, that had been the first act, the time when he became truly intrigued with the thought of seducing her—intrigued with the idea if seeing if he could best a celestial being. And today? Today was the grand finale.

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Alex hissed a little as she peeled her shirt up a little and looked at the stinging line that had been slashed there just below where her ribcage began. Thanks, barbed wire. You're so great. She sighed in discomfort, waiting for Glen to hurry his ass up with that first aid kit. Ever since she'd been a kid, she'd had that placebo effect of a bandaid or bandage making her feel better immediately. She put a hand to her head, feeling a headache coming on. She glanced at her stuff piled at the top of the bed pensively. Her flask was empty... she needed more.

The sound of the door made her look up—Glen paused there, kit in hand, smiling at her a little. Alex gave the biggest flirt she knew a friendly but warning look—she wasn't a prude but sitting there with her entire midriff on display to him was bound to get some comments and she wasn't in the mood to hear it. He smiled a little more at her don't say a damn thing, idiot glance. "You think you'll live?" he asked teasingly and came over to her.

She rolled her eyes. It was just a scratch. But it did sting pretty bad. "I'm fine."

He surprised her when he knelt one-kneed in front of her and set the kit down beside her on the bed to look through it slowly, oblivious to the way he'd caught her off guard. "Sure you are," he commented vaguely, implying something and glancing up at her fleetingly a couple times, his eyes intense and full of meaning. She looked away, uncomfortable with how close he was. She tried to think of something rude to say. But honestly, he had her off her game, knelt down in front of her like that. All the things he'd been doing and saying lately had her second guessing him and herself, too. It made her uneasy. Was Glen her type? She didn't know. Did she even have a type? In high school and stuff, she'd always been attracted to the outcasts, the really artsy guys, the theatre majors, the dorky but nice math nerds, the ones everyone made fun of. In later years on the road, she hadn't even really met any guys who made her look twice. Her type… was the tall, dark-haired, awkward, heartfelt type that wore a trench coat. At the thought of Cas, she became even more uncomfortable at Glen's proximity.

"Okay, you need to get just a little closer so I can actually do this," he said, trying to joke with her—she was sitting as far back as possible from him. He had a little disinfecting wipe in hand, but hadn't taken it out of its little individual wrap. He took hold of her briefly—a hand curving around either of her hips just where her jeans started—and pulled her forward to him. Her pulse picked up at the abrupt touch of his strong hands—her knees went apart when they bumped up against his chest, he scooted closer too—either side of his torso hitting against either of her inner thighs. What… what was he doing? He let go of her and she was stiff as a board, frozen, not breathing, trying not to flip out. He was studying her cut closely, not seeming to acknowledge how close and intimate of a position he'd pulled her in to. You're just misjudging. Calm down. Although she did have to wonder: would he be dressing his sister's wound like this...? He opened the little alcohol pad he'd gotten out of the kit, not noticing her spiking anxiety. Glen was nice, really… funny, strong, witty, smart, laid back. And he definitely wasn't bad to look at. All these facts made her even more flustered when she realized she'd noticed him a lot more than she realized.

"All right, this might sting," he said and steadied her with a hand against her side—warm palm to her bare skin. The gentle touch made her swallow and get flustered automatically. It had been forever since she'd been touched in a way that felt sensual and she hated her body for responding the way it did—with longing for more. She tried to ignore herself and then was actually glad when the alcohol pad touched to her wound and sent searing pain shooting through her torso.

"Agh…" she winced and grimaced. Son of a bitch.

He smiled a little, his eyes flickered up to hers. One of his fair eyebrows raised slightly. "Come on, that didn't hurt."

"Like hell it didn't, hurry up," she complained. He shook his head and smiled to himself fondly, gently brushing the pad across the length of the cut several times to clean and disinfect. She held back protesting sounds of discomfort the whole time. When it was done he silently reached for the antibiotic ointment and then began to lightly smear the medicine across her cut. Alex frowned a little. His hand was still on her side and his thumb moved back and forth, like he was trying to soothe her. She tried not to look at his fair eyelashes or regal features, the little ghost smile tugging at one end of his mouth, his strong broad shoulders and tousled blond hair, the three day scruff he always sported. She tried and failed. He set the ointment away when he was done and then looked up at her with this intense, emotionally vulnerable look in his eyes, startling her. Suddenly he put his other hand on her other side so that he held her bare waist in both hands—he pulled her forward a little more and kissed her softly on the stomach just below the cut, shocking Alex and scaring her all at once because the only one who had ever kissed her there before was Castiel and oh god. She reacted to the touch by drawing in a soft, surprised breath and going rigid all over again. Then she grabbed his hands and shoved him away defensively as anger grew—both at his audacity and her reaction to how good it had felt. "Knock it off, Glen," she fumed, grabbing at an oversized bandaid in the kit. "I'll do this myself." She began to shakily tear open the packet in front of herself.

"Stop," he appealed softly, and caught her fumbling hands in his, making her cease and look at him. She was breathless and embarrassed and ready to rip her hands out of his... but something about the way he was looking at her changed her mind and made her stay put. He really did look apologetic and a little scared that he'd done something wrong, which made her reconsider. "Sorry," he said, "I'm sorry... I-I didn't mean to push you. I... just acted without thinking. You, you make me… do things I don't understand, sometimes." He seemed to get embarrassed, looking away. "Ah, forget it." He took the bandaid from her, and unhappy with himself, he began to apply it, this time keeping a respectful distance, looking up at her repeatedly with chastened eyes.

Alex let him, not because she needed help—she could do it herself—but she was literally so starved for a gentle, caring touch that she couldn't deny herself the fleeting comfort and closeness. As guilty and torn as she felt about deriving any small semblance of pleasure from his touch… still, she did. She stared blankly over the top of his head and blinked against watery eyes, not sure if it was because of the stinging cut or something else. It felt like betrayal to think of another man at all in the way she was beginning to allow herself to think about Glen. And it wasn't just betrayal, it was finality… it was the sound of the door closing, it was the end of the hour, it was the last page of a book. It was her really realizing that it really was over.

Glen finished gently applying the bandage and he looked up at her with slow, cautious eyes that seemed soulful and earnest. "You really think I'd ever do anything to hurt you?" he asked softly, and it made her feel bad. He put his hands on her sides again, hesitant and careful, because maybe he could see through her and how she'd wanted that touch, how she still wanted it, even though the second his warm big hands settled onto her skin, so did the guilt. He searched her faltering eyes pleadingly. "Do you really think I'm such a bad guy?"

Underneath his gentle touch, Alex was struggling to think straight; her heart was aching with sad confusion. "No, I just—there's—there's someone else."

"There was someone else," he corrected. She tried to look away and he caught her jaw in his hand, gently making her look at him. "Look at what he's done to you, Alex. Broken your heart completely. I know he did. I see how sad you are. How lonely." He moved one hand up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear—a sweet touch her life had been missing for so long now. He softened and empathized: "You don't have to be." Words that threatened to make her break down. She didn't want to be alone anymore, she was so tired of being empty and abandoned; she needed someone. But she still wanted that someone to be her angel. Castiel wasn't there though, was he? And Glen was.

She looked at him with eyes filling with telling tears—she was torn down the middle, not wanting to go along with this on one hand, but on the other hand, thinking she should give in and use Glen to forget her pain. "You're so goddamn beautiful," he murmured and gently touched the side of her neck as he looked from her eyes to her lips. "I just… really wanna kiss you right now," he almost whispered, and his hand brushed against the side of her face, his lips parted a little. He looked so earnest and heartfelt. Alex was at war inside of herself—her heart was racing and she felt dizzy, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant, either.

He was craning his neck up slowly, watching her carefully, and she knew he was going to kiss her. His other hand touched the other side of her face so that he was cradling it tenderly in both hands and she still didn't move, her face becoming agonizing in expression the closer he got, and she didn't know if she was going to accept the kiss or not—and just before his lips would have touched hers, she turned her head away, unable to bring herself to it. "I can't," she insisted in a broken little whisper, and her hands pressed gently into his upper chest to stop him. His hands stayed where they were as he sat up a little higher on his knee and leaned his head in to kiss the curve of her neck gently as his hands glided down to her shoulders. Alex shut her eyes, eyebrows slamming together and fingers curling into his shirt, body tensing as treacherous heat flushed her. Having someone touch her so gently and longingly after a year of holding out for Castiel was too much—and even though everything in her screamed yes, she was hyper-aware that it wasn't Cas who was touching her like that and she resisted, holding herself stiffly, almost jumping away from Glen and threatening his life if he ever touched her again… but she also was so unbearably lonely. Glen was warm, breathing against her neck and then kissing her again softly, moving some of her hair back, stroking the sensitive skin of her shoulder and neck with his fingers, eliciting a soft little expulsion of breath out of Alex's slightly agape mouth. He kissed again, less innocently—more sensually—and something snapped.

Cas. Her other half, the one she belonged to, the one who she couldn't betray like this—and she got panicked and pushed Glen back then got up off the bed quickly, anything to get away from the temptation he was presenting her with. She shakily rolled her bunched, torn shirt back down, her back to Glen—and she went to the window, distancing herself. She was playing with fire being here alone with him in her emotionally deteriorated state. And she'd had demon blood a couple days ago. It made her even more sexually frustrated than normal.

"Alex—" Glen appealed, standing up slowly. She lifted up a couple of the closed blinds that laid across the window, looking outside tersely. "I'm sorry, do you really not want…" he trailed off and he sounded so sad that Alex felt guilty all over again. Had she somehow led the guy on all these months? She'd thought he was nothing more than a gigantic flirt, a rakish frat boy at best. She hadn't seen the substance he apparently hid away deep down. The thoughtfulness and heart he hid from everyone else.

She turned her head slightly, hearing him approaching with soft footfalls. "I told you, I can't," she said, then shook her head and let the blinds snap closed again. This was so, so hard. "I won't." She needed to leave. But...

She felt him come up behind her and her breath caught a little at his proximity and the question of what was he doing to do? "Sweetie," he murmured sympathetically, and she felt his hands gently touch either of her arms from behind. She weakened at the feeling of being held however gingerly. "He's not coming back." She looked upward, blinking rapidly as she fought that statement. "I'm here," he told her in a soothing tone. His warm breath made her body tingle without permission. She felt such deep confusion. His firm chest touched her back ghostingly and his warmth seeped into her. She shut her eyes, conflicted at an excruciating level. "It's okay," he told her. A whisper, a seduction. "You wanna forget, right?" Yes, she did—no, she didn't. She didn't know...! He ran his hands up and down her arms gently, sending a feeling like sparks across her skin. "I can help with that." He kissed the side of her neck again, straining her defenses. "If that's all you want me for… all right."

He was saying use me. Goddammit, she was supposed to be stronger than this! Alex gritted her teeth together as he kissed her neck again, his lips warm and soft. "No—I…" she almost whimpered but it was a stuttering and weakening excuse, a fallacy, an automatic thing she said. She could. Nothing was stopping her, not physically. She turned her head to the side, trying to look at Glen, wishing she would see a handsome weary face with dark eyebrows and brilliant crystal eyes and wide lips and age lines scattered across tan skin—a gaze that conveyed love and tenderness beyond compare.

But it wasn't Cas. And somehow she still wanted this because it was better than nothing. She despised herself for that thought.

"Stop thinking, just let me help you," Glen murmured behind her, circling his arms around her and nuzzling her neck with his nose then mouthing it softly, half kissing, half sucking. Her throat closed up a little bit and she didn't know herself anymore, her hand shot out and grasped the wood border of the window she was facing and she held onto it for dear life as she fought herself, not sure what to do. He sucked inwards hard and she gasped softly in pleasure and pain alike, felt him lacing a hand through her hair and pulling her head to the side, tilting her head to expose more of her neck and he repeated his actions, leaving marks on her neck and eliciting soft gasps from her, his hand on the front of her neck now, soft. Dangerous desire was pooling deep down and the allure of what Glen was doing softened her, melting her.

Faintly, below the chaos of rising titillation, Alex was struggling against a rising panic. Was this really happening? Was she really letting him do this? She was, and she couldn't believe herself. Being as emotionally and physically impoverished as she was, she didn't do what her instincts kept telling her to do, she didn't run away. Instead, she stayed there and let Glen touch her in an exploring, slow, curious way but she felt wrong about it, so wrong. He's not Cas, she reminded herself over and over again. Glen continued to kiss and love-bite her neck, ghosting his fingers across the front of her neck even then down over the swell of her chest… she sucked in a breath sharply and his hand dropped lower to over her belly button and he pulled her closer to himself, flush to his hips.

She tried to force herself into this, because maybe this was the only way to get over Castiel. She tried to just let go, to not be anything but into it as Glen's hands slowly trailed up, coaxing her shirt upwards over her middle. She let out an almost pained sound when he nipped and sucked the skin just below her jaw into his mouth and through the space between his teeth. Her other hand slammed straight into the blinds to press there flat-palmed.

She forced herself to shut her eyes as misery and guilt piled onto her with horrible, consuming vastness. There was a lump in the bottom of her throat that she couldn't swallow away, there was a vaguely sick feeling in the pit of her stomach even though her body was enraptured at the feeling of being kissed and touched. This was cheating. She was cheating on Castiel, she was being unfaithful to him. Sure, he hadn't shown his face in a year, he'd vanished abruptly, appeared for all of ten minutes to save her from Nandriel and then thrown her into a random place without thought… and maybe it really was over for him, but it wasn't over for her. She still loved him and that's why this was wrong—she still hadn't let go of him. And maybe never would. Glen was gently touching and squeezing her chest now over her shirt and it felt good and she craved it and yet it was so detestable. She felt her throat thickening as emotion choked her.

Why the hell would Cas leave her like he had and refuse to come to her constant calls?! Say he loved her and possess her heart itself and say he'd be with her the rest of his days then leave without a single fucking word of explanation? What if the rest of her life was like this? Would she really never know why he'd left?

Glen's hands moved down to caress the fronts of her thighs and she shuddered, freaked out as hell and simultaneously aroused and filled with horror at herself—she wasn't sure if she could go through with this after all. Yes, he knew exactly how to touch her: his hands were experienced and confident and she had no doubt that he was probably an amazing lover but… beyond her physical desire for sex, she craved intimacy and love those two words were tied to Castiel exclusively. Even if Cas never ever came back, even if Glen was the last man to ever show interest in her… was it really worth it? Knowing she'd gone back on her word? Glen's hands curved inward to the insides of her thighs, moving upward to hit up against her between her legs. Her eyes shot open, her breath caught, she clearly saw Castiel's face in her mind's eye. This is a mistake. I can't do this.

"Stop, stop—" she said, voice rising a little in panic, and she pushed at his hands—then was met with surprising resistance.

"Come on, baby, just relax," he soothed into her ear, not letting go, or taking his hands away, in fact, touching her harder by rubbing a hand across the crotch of her jeans despite her telling him to stop. "I know you want this; just quit fighting it."

His words terrified her immediately. "I said no!" she insisted, conveying herself clearly, leaving no room for doubt that she wanted him to stop, now—and she tried to yank away, but he didn't let her and stark panic overtook her, confusion. "What the hell are you doing?!" she demanded in a quickly rising voice.

"What you want, what I know you want." His tone had become sharper.

"No, get off of me!" she insisted, and began to fight his hold. His arms closed over her like a vice and fear choked her at the abrupt shift that had taken place.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he demanded, tone distinctly angry and full of righteous indignation—it was like a different man was suddenly there behind her—he was hurting her and he sounded merciless. She was struggling and he abruptly sounded like he hated her. "You're gonna string me along all this time and act like you're gonna give it to me then stop me now? What, you trying to trick me or something Winchester? Me?"

"Glen, stop, please—!" she begged, getting hysterical and trying to fight him away, but her movements were made incredibly useless by her panic. "What are you doing—what are you doing!?" she protested, struggling valiantly, but he had her in basically a bear hug and he shoved her against the window roughly, holding her in place with his sheer size and weight—blinds smashed into the side of her face. This wasn't Glen! She knew him! Was he possessed?! No, not possible, he had an anti-possession tattoo. And that was the most terrifying, gut-punching thought of all: that she had trusted him and he wasn't who she thought.

"No," he growled, "Hell no, you're not gonna make me look like the bad guy, you wanted this you little bitch, you begged for it, don't try and act like you didn't!"

And she realized far too late that she was in the most dangerous place she'd ever been, that Glen wasn't who she'd been led to believe, and that he was quite possibly out of his literal mind. "Get off me, get away!" she protested uselessly, voice rising in panic as he refused to let go of her, his arms crushing her painfully, one of his hands roughly trying to undo the button of her jeans as he went on a tirade about how he wasn't evil, how dare she make him resort to this, and he used some of the ugliest words in the english language to refer to her—then put a hand on the back of her head and shoved the side of her face into the window more. And something about that seemed to flip a switch in her brain, help her focus and push her panic aside. She felt the familiar adrenaline-rushed feeling she got in the middle of fights and she decided no. You don't get to do this to me, you lying psychopathic asshole.

And gathering her wits, tuning out his words and letting herself become tunnel-vision focused, she went back to what she knew. Fighting dirty. She went slack in his arms, pretending to give up, even though her every sense was furious and ready to take the advantage when he gave it—and he did immediately, shoving shoved a hand down into her jeans—and when he did that, one of her arms got free and she bent it so that the elbow was a sharp point. With every ounce of strength she had, she pushed away with all of her weight from the window and used the freedom of motion to ram her elbow back into his stomach. She turned with the motion and managed a valiant blow to his face with her fist, hard enough to break the skin of her knuckles and crack his nose—he stumbled back a step, catching himself on the nightstand—and he angrily ripped the clock radio off its cord and too fast for her to counter, he struck her in the side of the head with it so hard that her ears rang and her vision doubled, going grayish. She stumbled sideways, stunned, falling down to her knees—and realized she should have run while she had still been able. Oh my god what is he going to do to me? A strange, dull question that echoed as the room spun around her maddeningly.

Glen grabbed her easily like a rag doll and threw her down onto the bed, stomach-first.

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Easter, Pennsylvania

Dean and Sam walked out of the Lincoln Avenue Police Department, both dressed in their FBI getup—suits, ties, the works. Dean was back in, and the two of them were hunting together again as of about one hour ago when Dean had rolled into town.

After the shifter baby debacle a few days ago—which, incidentally, had ended badly with another shifter getting the kid after all—Dean had returned home and, after some discussion, Lisa had basically told him she couldn't stand to see him wallowing around in restlessness, that she couldn't take his mopey, cagey attitude. That he needed to go hunt, because it was clear to her that he didn't want to be there now that he knew Sam was alive and now that he'd seen Alex again. Come home when you can, Lisa'd told him, but not without resentment. He was still torn about the decision.

So far, Sam was still questionable. But it had only been an hour so… Dean didn't wanna misjudge anything. He could definitely feel how different things were though, and it wasn't just because Sam was acting bizarre, it was because Alex was missing from the dynamic. It was weird to Dean, it felt like he was trying too hard to reclaim the golden years—a.k.a. the time before Stull Cemetery and the subsequent collapse of his family as he knew it. And he couldn't believe he was calling the hell they'd lived the golden years, but at least they'd been together. Maybe they still could together again, maybe they could find it again: the way they used to be. He hoped so.

He needed to call their sister soon and try and apologize for… what, for the fact that he was worried for her? The fact that Glen gave him the creeps? The fact that he knew it was dangerous to hang around witches? He'd been totally blindsided by the revelation that Jamie was a witch, and felt oddly betrayed. He'd thought she was cool—then learned that. He had to figure out a way to get his sister out of the volatile partnership she'd struck up with the two Wards. He just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

It was ironic his thoughts were on witches, because the two paranormal deaths they were investigating here in Pennsylvania? They both seemed pretty damn witchy: two dead officers; one completely liquified, the other covered inside and out in huge, disgusting boils. That particular corpse was basically one of the more disgusting things Dean had ever laid eyes on.

"So, what do you think?" Sam asked, in stride beside Dean as they walked down the sidewalk. "Next move? Go see Officer Bumpy's partner, see if we can get any leads there?"

"Huh? Oh, uh… yeah that sounds—" Dean's phone rang and he dug in his pocket, holding up a finger with his other hand. "Hold that thought." He frowned a little when he saw who it was calling. Alex. She hadn't called him since the the whole Jamie-is-a-witch thing and was probably still pissed at him. He almost thought about not answering because if she was gonna chew his ear off… no thank you. But he decided to take the chance as Sam glanced impatiently, ready to get a move on. Dean ignored him and answered, using his most charming, lighthearted tone. "Hey, kiddo, not still mad at me are you?"

"Dean!" she burst out. He stopped walking abruptly. Her voice immediately alerted him to the fact that something was wrong. "W-where are you?" she asked in a breathy, panicked voice.

"What's wrong?" He asked intensely. He had stopped breathing for a second.

"I'm—I—I need you Dean, come get me, please—" she sobbed and he thought he heard her say 'oh god' as if in pain and he went from being worried to terrified for her in a millisecond. "I just killed someone, I just killed someone—" she wept.

Holy shit. "What, like, like… a person?" he asked, aghast because she killed things all the time, but she had said she killed someone.

"Yes, a person." She made a horrible gaspy breathing sound.

Wide-eyed and needing to know a million things all at the same time, Dean freaked, a hand on his head, fingers jamming through his hair shakily. He turned around, paced a couple steps back the way he'd come, then turned back and headed for the Impala, disorienting himself. "Where are you? Do you have a weapon? What happened? Are you injured? Did anyone see?" He could faintly hear the sound of traffic whooshing past Alex, like she was driving with a window down or standing beside a highway.

"I'm—I, I was driving but I can't see right and—my head—the—I'm in Adrian and I just passed mile marker ten on Highway twenty three." She sounded sort of sluggish and confused—scaring Dean all over again—he stood there with a hand on his head, listening hard, getting more and more terrified the more she said. "My—I have weapons but I think I'm about to pass out—" she groaned loudly and he could see her pained face in his mind's eye. "Dean—how far away are you?"

She needed him and he knew it and was already scrambling in his brain to figure out the fastest route to get there—he'd started walking again, fast; he was a man on a mission and that voice on the other end was the most important thing in the universe to him right then. He didn't let her know how scared he was: he kept his voice calm and assertive, confident. "I'm a few hours from where you are but I'm gonna break every speed limit to get to you, you hear me baby girl?" He poured every ounce of brotherly reassurance he possessed into his tone and words. "You just sit tight, you hear me? I'm coming to get you. Can you get somewhere and lay low?"

"Dean, hurry!" He could hear that she was crying and she didn't answer his question. "I see spots, my head hurts, Dean it hurts—"

Her reaction to the pain was freaking him out the most. She never cried about pain—complained and bitched yes, but never cried like a little kid about it. Dean was panicking by association. "Is your stomach upset? Have you thrown up? Do you have a fever?" he asked rapid-fire, trying to diagnose her on the fly, because head injuries weren't something to kid around with—but he heard no answer. She seemed to have hung up. Son of a bitch. What the fuck was happening! He called her back and it went straight to voicemail. Shit—shit! With shaking hands Dean started to put in Bobby's number as he got to the Impala, trying to get his keys out with one hand and put the number into the phone with the other, then remembering his silent brother who had followed him and was looking at him questioningly, waiting for an explanation with way too calm of an expression.

"What's up with her?" Sam asked like he hadn't heard Dean's frightened tone or seen how the call had terrified him.

"Alex's in trouble, we gotta go," Dean said, shoving the key into the door to his car.

"Now?" Sam asked incredulously, as if her crisis was inconvenient for him. "How bad of trouble?"

Indignant and immediately furious, Dean looked at his brother sharply. "What do you mean 'how bad'?!"

"Dean, these leads are gonna cold if we don't—" Sam started, collected and reasonable.

"Fuck the leads!" Dean shouted, enraged. "Do it yourself if it's so goddamn important; our sister is passed out on the side of a road somewhere four hours from here and you're worried about some case?!" Sam had lost his mind; he had literally lost his freaking mind!

Sam huffed, looked like he was trying to collect himself, like he was getting ready to make an excuse. "Look, I didn't mean—"

"I don't wanna hear it Sam!" Dean thundered angrily, short on time and patience alike, "now are you coming or not?"

"We don't both need to go." Sam was the picture of removed and cool-headed and it infuriated Dean. "You get her, I'll go see the dead officer's partner."

"Yeah, great, you do that," Dean snapped and got into the Impala without another word to his brother. He squealed tires out of there and kept his police scanner on, because the speed with which he planned on driving was illegal… and he didn't have time for a pullover or pursuit.

Just over three hours later when he strode into Bixby Hospital in Adrian, Michigan, still in his FBI getup, Dean knew what he was walking into and was as prepared as he could be, given the circumstances. He had used the time on the road to both get Alex safe and then gather as much information as possible using call after call. He was was even more anxious to lay eyes on his sister after what he'd found out.

He'd worked with Bobby over the telephone to first find out what county Adrian was in, and what the direct line to the 911 dispatch there was. Using that information, he'd reported his sister's general location and condition, made sure an ambulance got sent to her—called back ten minutes later and verified they did have her and she was alive, found out what hospital she was being taken to. He'd called Bobby back and to let him know what was going on then called the local police department where Alex was and gave the officers a false name and badge number, said he needed to know about any disturbances or homicides reported that day. There had been one. A shooting of some kind at a local motel—or, gunfire and a lot of blood left behind. But no body. Maybe Alex had gotten rid of whoever she killed; Dean didn't know. But apparently when she'd been taken into the hospital, the police had responded to the scene of her collapse and found her car full of weapons—including the gun that matched the bullet casings found at the crime scene. So as if it weren't bad enough she was in the hospital, she was gonna be held on suspicion of connection to a shooting. Dean had called back an hour later after that call for an update and found out they'd run Alex's prints and realized who she was and that she was wanted in several states for various crimes. So basically, by getting her sent to the hospital, he'd opened a pretty big can of worms. The real FBI would probably be there within hours for her as she was on their watch/wanted list.

Dean's priority was get her outta there (if she wasn't too badly injured) before the shit could really hit the fan. If he couldn't pull off an escape for them both… it would spiral out of control fast. So this had to work. Anxious, he struggled to play the part of steely, lackadaisical and burnt-out FBI agent. He flashed his badge at the first hospital personnel member he saw, no time to waste, nervous he'd look over his shoulder any second and see the real feds. "Agent Bonham, FBI," he announced to the mousy, frazzled looking nurse he'd all but shoved his badge at. "I need you to take me to the patient in custody, now." She complied and led him through the hospital to his sister without question.

Dean first saw Alex as he passed a long glass window that separated the room she was in from the hallway he walked down—and he was shocked. She was laying in a hospital bed propped up halfway with hands loosely laying in her lap—one of them cuffed to the little side railing on the bed. She wore jeans, boots, and a shirt that was torn in the midsection where he saw a bandage had been applied—and it looked like she'd been in the fight of her life. She had strange red blistering marks that looked almost like hickeys across her neck, a huge black and blue bruise on the side of her head, a cut down the middle of it, a split lip, and a puffy shiner just below her right eye. Dean automatically bristled at the thought of someone putting those injuries on her—and he hoped whoever she killed was the one who did that to her—but then he took in the look on her face and his fury faded. She stared at her hands vapidly and he could see how deeply upset she was, how lost in thought, how scared—she looked years younger to him somehow, like the little pre-teen Alex who had constantly been picked on in school and tried to hide her sadness by withdrawing. No sooner had he thought that than she looked up and saw him, gettting a look of relief and desperation on her face—he saw how bad she wanted him to be in there with her and he could barely stand to do what he did next—he gave the subtlest shaking no of the head as he followed the nurse to the door to the room. He glanced at the officer stationed beside her and the nurse meaningfully. Alex understood and looked away, distressed.

"Right in there, sir," the nurse said. Dean nodded his thanks as she left. This was risky. He had to play it just right, he had to really bust out some acting chops for this one if he wanted to get his sister out of this. Please, please let this work. He opened the door to the room and went in, swaggering a little like he owned the place, fully committing to the role, because Alex's fate pretty much depended on it.

The nurse who was attending Alex turned, frowned at him. She was short, middle-aged, and overweight with pleasant features and ruddy cheeks. "Excuse me, sir, you can't be in here—"

"Oh, I think I can," Dean said sarcastically, giving off the air of vague disinterest in everything. "I'm with the bureau, your superiors should both have told you to expect me." He glanced at Alex and pretended to be unimpressed with her—all show for the watchful nurse and officer. Alex was utterly quiet and her shoulders were caved forward, she looked at him with an unreadable expression. He turned his attention back to the officer and room nurse, not letting himself give away the ploy. He flashed his badge and an acrimonious smile at them then closed it with a snap, pocketing it smoothly. "Agent Bonham. I have orders for you to release her to me—" he looked at the officer beside Alex and scoffed, putting his hands in his pockets and smiling facetiously. "Let me guess, you small-town crackpots didn't already know that, either."

The nurse and police officer looked at each other uncertainly and Dean kept up the act, playing on their doubts. He paced the room a little and took a hand out to gesture lazily like he was used to this. "Right. No. Great. Well contingent on her condition, we want her back at headquarters for questioning concerning other matters I'm not at liberty to discuss." He stopped, turned, then looked at the RN again, putting his hand back in his pocket. He was careful to sound appropriately blasé and routine about all of this, even though he wanted nothing more than to just knock them both out and take his sister and run. But unfortunately, the room was bordered with three clear glass window panes. Doctors, nurses, staff and patients were all around and would see if he did something like that. So, Dean had to do this the pain-in-the-ass way. "Mind telling me her condition?" he asked the nurse. "She stable enough to transport?" She looked okay, he'd seen her worse off.

"Well, uh…" the nurse faltered and looked at Alex hesitantly, then at Dean. "Let's speak outside."

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly, not appreciating the grab for power in the exchange. "In here's fine, ma'am."

The nurse's face pinched and she suddenly got sort of sassy. "Outside the room, Agent," she said, dropping the nice act. And she turned and led the way, surprising Dean. Not having to feign annoyance, he followed sullenly, casting a glance at his sister before doing so. He saw she was worried that he wasn't going to actually get her out of this.

Dean and the nurse stood outside the room beside the window and Dean crossed his arms unhappily, briefly glancing sidelong where he could see Alex in the bed. "All right, what's the big secret, Nurse… Peggy?" he asked, reading her name tag.

The nurse folded her arms too, fixing him with a serious look. "I didn't think it would be prudent to discuss this in front of her," she said churlishly, apparently not liking his attitude. "Yes, I think you can transport her," she continued in clipped tones, almost like she held a personal grudge against Dean. She glanced Alex's way and Dean thought he saw mild worry in the nurse's eyes. "Her condition's stable and we've done about all we can do for her—she's got your basic run of the mill assault wounds… some mild head trauma, a pretty good concussion, mild contusions. But there's possible sexual assault and she's refused the rape kit."

It was like he'd been punched in the gut—Dean's entire body was struck with the most horrifying sick feeling. "...Rape kit?" He repeated dazedly, his voice suddenly gone weak. No, surely he'd misheard—no, no—

"Right, yes," the nurse said, still looking into the room and currently oblivious to Dean's fallen, horrified face, his look of utter growing terror. "She told someone on the ambulance she'd been assaulted and she seemed to indicate it was of a sexual nature, but once she was here, she clammed up and refused the rape kit examination point blank." She paused and looked at Dean directly then was taken aback by his expression. "You okay, sir?"

Dean remembered himself and he scrambled to find a reasonable excuse for his face. "Uh, yeah, yeah, she… I got a sister about her age… and I just… what a horrible thing to happen." He looked into the room and struggled to control himself and his expression. He was about to give himself away if he didn't get it together.

Except, his show of genuine emotion seemed to work in his favor. Peggy softened toward him a little and reevaluated him because of his clear compassion and concern. "Oh, oh, I see," she said, nodding her understanding, seeming touched by his response. "Well. It's not uncommon for victims to refuse the exam, but…" she trailed off and looked at Dean candidly. "Can you promise me, Agent—that you'll be careful with her? See if you can get her to do the exam again once you're wherever you're going? It really should be within ninety-six hours of the assault for best results." She faltered. "I know I'm not a police officer or an agent and it may not be my place... I know she's a wanted criminal... but in my book, she still deserves to be treated like a human being. With kindness and compassion, just like everyone else."

Dean stared at her wordlessly, so shockingly touched by her statement—she didn't even know how much she'd sort of renewed his faith in the human race with that single sentence. Overcome by emotions for every reason possible, he struggled to save face and respond to what she'd said. He looked into the room, at his sister on the bed. "Yeah, I'll, uh, I'll take good care of her, don't worry," he said, dazed, not even entirely sure what he'd just said. "She'll be safe with me."

Nurse Peggy sighed, obviously conflicted. But she nodded. "Okay. I'll draw up the release papers in cooperation with the bureau. She'll just need to rest when possible, though, Agent Bonham. Maybe wait a few days before questioning her too intensely, if you can swing it?" Dean gave her a tight will do smile and Peggy looked into the room at Alex, Dean followed her gaze. "I just really can't believe a sweet little thing like her's wanted by the FBI…" she said softly, then looked at Dean hopefully. "Mind if I ask what for?"

Dean feigned a smug smirk, trying to get back to the indifferent FBI persona. It was hard. "That's classified, ma'am. Now if you'd get me those release papers. I need to get a move on." His expression felt plastic and fake, but he held it.

She nodded. "Of course." And just like that, she headed to the nurse's station.

One down, one to go. Dean let out a heavy, long breath—this was, without a doubt, the worst day of his entire life. He glanced into the room at the officer and thought to himself here goes everything. He reentered the hospital room. Looking at his sister and those bruises and marks now... he almost lost it completely but somehow managed to hold it together. But he knew his front wasn't as seamless as it had been before, his demeanor was affected and he was thrown off by what the nurse had just told him. Still, he had to do this and get his sister out of there. Digging deep, he summoned a facetious little smile and glanced at the cuffs that were tethering his sister to the bed. He looked pointedly at the officer who was standing beside her, hands clasped in front of himself. Dean indicated her cuffs and feigned lazy indifference, even though his heart was pounding painfully fast. This was the moment he couldn't screw up. "If you would, officer?"

The police officer hesitated. Dean knew the type: middle aged, lazy and uninspired, sort of complacent, bored all the time in a small town that didn't see a lot of action. By the book and scared to do something wrong, thrilled by the idea of being a hero in whatever small way, even if being heroic just meant being anal retentive. "I'm sorry, Agent," the officer said, "but none of my superiors said to expect you…" he trailed off nervously.

Dean's gaze was dagger-sharp and filled with the clear message that you just pissed off the wrong fed. "Lemme guess, Sparky," he said, addressing the older man with no respect and a growing note of carefully placed anger. "You wanna be a good little small-town cop and waste federal time because your cute little department is slow on the uptake and bad at communicating with each other—" Dean scoffed through a cynical smile, acting like he got that shit all the time, then he let himself get mad for real. It wasn't hard. "Well listen, I don't got time to fuck around, okay?" He pointed a finger at his sister. "This kid is wanted in eleven goddamn states and has been on the wanted list for years and as of when I walked in here a minute ago, she's my jurisdiction, not yours!" he thundered, letting the officer wither under his glare. Then came time for the threats, the physical intimidation, and Dean laid them both on thickly, maybe a little over the top because of how urgent his need was to get his sister away from the cops and feds. "Buddy, you do not wanna piss me off—I'll slap you with obstruction and official misconduct so fast it'll make your head fly off—Jesus you little city cops are all the same, my god," he muttered. "Are we done with the bullshit? Get those damn cuffs off her and I'll take it from here."

As usual, the threats worked—the policeman looked scared of getting in trouble, of being the idiot at the end of the day. And so he complied. "Uh, right, okay." He fumbled for his keys and hurried to undo Alex's cuffs. Dean and Alex's gazes met tensely and she seemed so ashamed. His heart clenched painfully. He refused to think some man could have done what Nurse Peggy had implied. It had to be a mistake. "All yours, Agent Bonham," the officer said. Dean made a 'get up' motion to Alex with his fingers. She complied slowly, like she was sore and having trouble moving.

"Can you stand okay, kid?" he asked gruffly, trying to disguise his inner turmoil.

She was looking at the floor as she stood. "Yeah."

Dean put a hand on her shoulder as if to guide her, but honestly, he just needed to comfort her any small way possible—he struggled not to look at her like he wanted to. The officer was still watching mistrustfully and Dean realized he had to keep up the act just a little longer. "Miss Winchester, try anything and I'll shoot you. Got it?" he asked, then manhandled her toward the door, nodding a sharp goodbye at the officer.

Silently, brother and sister walked down the hallway, keeping up the ruse, not looking at each other—brother struggling to keep his composure, sister obviously in complete emotional distress.

"Just keep looking down, walk fast," Dean said under his breath, just loud enough for only them to hear, his hand still on her shoulder. He cast furtive glances around—hurrying a little bit for fear of the FBI showing. But as they neared the North Exit near where he'd parked, he saw a janitorial closet and on a whim after looking around really fast, he opened the door and pushed her in, followed, then shut the door behind himself and took her by both arms to really look at her—in stark florescent light, he could see her injuries with terrifying clarity and those marks on her neck made him hurt. "Jesus Christ, Alex, what happened?" He asked, barely able to speak. "Are you… are you okay?"

She held herself stiffly and the look on her face was the worst thing he'd ever seen. Her voice barely worked, it was thick with pain and maybe the onset of tears. And the word he had dreaded to hear left her lips with heartbreaking softness: "No."

His heart shattered at that single word and broke completely. He couldn't take what he thought it meant. She hung her head and covered her mouth with her hand, visibly trying not to cry. And maybe she was able to hold back right then, but Dean wasn't. Gritting his teeth against the helpless grief that was breaking him in two, he crumpled. He should have been with her, he should never have left her, or let her leave, or any of it. He cursed himself and despaired on her behalf—she didn't deserve this!

He touched her tangled hair gently there on the side of her head, trying to reassure her. His hand trembled, he heard himself taking in a horrible sobbing breath as he shook his head no over and over and reality set in. "Alex, no… baby girl, no," he protested pathetically, wishing mere words could undo tragedy. He didn't know what else to say or do. It hurt too much, and he couldn't do a damn thing to take it away. He hugged her gently, almost afraid to do so because what if she didn't want to be touched—but she hugged him back tightly, almost painfully, her face in his shoulder. Her smaller frame quaked against his as she tried to be brave and not weep. Dean shook his head as his composure cracked. Wretched tears rolled down his cheeks thickly, he squeezed his eyes shut and didn't understand how this could have happened. He trembled from effort he was using to keep his grief at bay.

And then, as he held her close like that, he realized he could pick up the distinct masculine smell of aftershave or cologne clinging onto her skin and hair—and rage boiled in his veins, he went cold all over, murderous. He drew back, shaking for new reasons, his grief turning into absolute fury fast. He tried to remain calm for her sake but his voice trembled, his face gave it away. His hands were on either of her arms and he looked at her intensely. "Who did this to you, Alex? Who?" Dean would kill him, tear him fucking apart with his bare hands—

Alex was ashamed, which didn't make sense when she said what she did next: "It doesn't matter. H-he's dead now. I... shot him and ran away." Her voice was weak and soft, raspy, hoarse.

Dean hesitated, confused—because she'd told him twice now that she'd killed someone, but if that crime scene at the motel with bullet casings and blood and no body was her work… did that mean the guy she thought she'd killed was still out there somewhere? He studied her closely, scared. "And you're, you're sure you finished the job?" he asked softly, hating that he had to ask it, because obviously she was upset to have killed a human. But she nodded blankly, more shame and conflict crossing her features. "Who was it, Alex?" He asked, because he had a horrible suspicion that he already knew exactly who had done this. There was an ugly feeling in the pit of his stomach, a dawning suspicion that he'd looked the man who hurt his sister in the eye and shaken his hand. When she said nothing, his voice dropped to utter softness and he asked what he was most afraid of. "W-was it Glen?"

Her eyes raised to his slowly, full of ashamed confirmation. She didn't say no and Dean wanted to punch the wall and then sink to a crouch and cover his face with his hands—that's how heavy the truth was. And then, faintly, brokenly, she nodded, eyes dropping away from his. And Dean was fucking ruined. God, how could this have happened to her? Son of a bitch—she was too innocent for this, too tenderhearted, too burdened by other shit to have this on her shoulders now too. That asshole, that motherfucking prick—Dean should have trusted his initial instincts.

Dean attempted to reign himself in, but another silent tear slipped out onto his cheek as he looked at his sister. All he could see was the bruise under her eye, the burst blood vessels on her temple, the split lip, the horrible red welts on her neck. Evidence that she really had been assaulted in the worst way. And he had to ask, because if he didn't, he'd tear himself up inside wondering. He tried to ask the most unthinkable question he'd ever had to ask her. His throat was dry, the words stuck on the way up. He could barely speak. "Was it…" ...rape? He couldn't say that and he worked his jaw painfully. "Did, did he… make you…" ...have sex with him?

Alex's hazel eyes, the same shade as Sam's, met his briefly, fire coming back into them, she surprised him with the loud and almost defiant way she answered. "No—hell no, you think I'd let some worthless son of a bitch do that to me?" Her voice trembled with rage. "That asshole tried, Dean." Even though she looked mad enough to kill, her eyes were shining with tears. "And then I put a fucking bullet in his chest." The closet went silent and Alex breathed heavily in and out of her nose. Her wrath faded and inexplicable uncertainty crossed her face, like she wasn't sure about what she'd done—she became stony and put her arms around herself and looked away from him, her voice became low and flat. "He didn't get what he wanted, okay?" Short pause and a flicker of vulnerability. Her voice was soft again. "And I don't wanna talk about it anymore."

Dean thought maybe he should feel relieved, just a little—but he wasn't relieved in the slightest. He was utterly horrified at the thought of some huge six-and-a-half foot tall guy trying to take advantage of his sister, leaving those angry red hickeys all over her neck, knocking her around and trying to force her to… to… Dean lost composure again and nodded his understanding, putting his face in his hand and struggling with all of this. "You don't have to say anything else. I'm just glad you're…" he trailed off. 'Okay'? She wasn't though. He couldn't find a word. All he felt was despair. "I should never have let you leave," he said softly. "I should have done so many things differently."

Her mask faltered. "Me too," she said after a pause, her face working oddly as she tried to hold herself back. And something about the entire exchange made Dean wonder: Did she think this was her fault somehow? He didn't know. He just needed to make sure she knew he was there for her. He carefully pulled her into a hug again with a soft "c'mere", ignoring the sickening smell of Glen that still lingered. If that asshole was still out there somewhere, Dean was going to find him and put a fucking bullet in his brain. But for now, he focused on taking care of his sister, making sure she knew that she was safe, and that he was gonna take care of her.

"You're okay now, I'm here," he soothed, still torn up emotionally but being strong for her sake. "I'm not going anywhere." And he meant that too. He gently, carefully held the back of her head, promising himself he would never let anything like this ever happen to her again. "I got you, sweetheart."

---

Several Hours Later
Easter, Pennsylvania

"Wow," Sam said and sat back, seeming to be blown back by everything Dean had just told him in hushed tones across the motel table.

They were a few stories up at least and the sound of traffic came up through the open window. Sam had research spread out all over the table but it was currently being ignored. The shower was going in the bathroom and the brothers were silent as Sam let it all sink in. Dean was in street clothes now and had his hands clasped on the table as he stared at nothing, expression foul and tense. "I knew he was bad news, Sam, I knew it—why didn't I listen to my instincts?" He stood up, antsy as hell, rubbing his hand down over his mouth anxiously.

"And you said they didn't find a body," Sam said, eyes narrowed in thought.

Dean glanced sidelong at his brother, who seemed only mildly concerned and perplexed by everything he'd just told him. "Right," he confirmed dourly. "But you know what, Alex doesn't need to know that. It'll just scare her more and she doesn't need that. Not right now. If he's still kicking, trust me. I'll fucking find out." He expelled a heavy breath through his nose and turned then paced the other way. "Anyway, she was pretty sure she killed the son of a bitch. So, I dunno. Maybe he crawled into a hole and died." Dean shook his head, filled with hatred. "I fucking hope he did."

"This is really unthinkable," Sam said, but even though Dean agreed with the words, the tone Sam used was devoid of the things Dean thought Sam should be feeling: hopelessness, horror, sadness, grief, pain. He just sounded… false. Dean looked at his brother with a what the hell is wrong with you expression. And then a phone began to ring, one Dean didn't recognize the sound of and he looked in the direction it was coming from—then saw it was Alex's cell. She'd left it on the night stand before going to take her shower. She'd been in there a really freaking long time, too. He cast a worried glance that way as he went to the phone and picked it up, frowning deeply. And when he saw the name on the screen he darkened. Jamie W. His stomach turned, his veins ran dark. He answered.

"What do you want?" he asked sharply with no pretense.

"...Dean? I was trying to reach Alex. What are—"

Dean cut her off. "Listen, I'm gonna be real clear about this: your fucking brother tried to go Ted Bundy on my sister today and if he's not dead already, you better put a bullet in his head or I will. We good here?"

There was a shocked pause. "What?! Dean—wh—I don't—what are you saying? I don't—"

"Trust me, sweetheart, I'm serious," he practically growled. "About all of it. And if I see you around me or my family ever again, I'll kill you too."

He hung up abruptly then angrily strode to the open bay window and pitched the phone out where it fell three stories and shattered on the sidewalk below.

Sam turned in his chair. "Uh... why'd you do that? That was Alex's phone."

"So I'll get her a new one," Dean said, flippant and forceful at the same time. He didn't have time for Sam's passive-aggressive comments. He heard the shower stop running right then and hoped he hadn't just made a mistake by tossing her phone out. He'd just cut Alex off from reminders of the Ward family, from contact with Jamie—in his mind, he was protecting her. It kind of went with the theme of the day, anyway: Alex had lost everything, it was all impounded somewhere in South Michigan—car, clothes, weapons, everything. And because of that, he'd stopped a couple hours back to get her new clothes—he'd run into Hal-Mart and cleaned out their stock of size small tank tops, flannel shirts, and size two jeans; he'd grabbed a pair of men's hunting boots in her size—then had gotten weird looks from an old lady when he picked out a pack of women's underwear. Dean didn't care—he'd had other things on his mind. Like maybe when this whole thing calmed down, they could go get Alex's car. If she even wanted it. Maybe she wouldn't. Maybe it would just serve as a reminder of what had happened to her and the people she'd spent so many months with.

This was insane. Trying to hold his broken, threadbare family together like this when Sam was being Mr. Robot and Alex was… he didn't even know. She'd been silent and brooding the car ride over, withdrawn. She'd said maybe ten words. Her expression the entire time? A tough I'm fine, don't ask kind of expression. She'd closed down and he'd backed off in the interest of being careful and respectful. He wasn't sure if he should try and get her to talk about it at some point or do things the Winchester way: pack it up and never talk about it again. Sweep it under the rug and pretend it hadn't happened. Ignore the issue and carry on like they always did. I mean, how could they though?

Getting frustrated, Dean realized he needed a fucking beer, now. Sam had the little motel fridge stocked and Dean pulled out a cold one then cracked it open and consumed it broodingly in the kitchen as Sam did stuff on his laptop, the picture of focus and interest in the job. The job in which Dean currently had zero interest. It was making Dean furious. And being Dean Winchester… he confronted his brother on it without a second thought. "A year ago, this happened to Alex, you'd be a mess," he accused. "And now you're just… compiling research? The hell is wrong with you?"

Sam sighed, sat back, and gave Dean his attention but acted as though it were inconvenient to him. "Dean. I dunno what to tell you. It's horrible what happened, it is, but be reasonable. Is getting upset going to help her? The best thing we can do is carry on like normal. Getting upset is only gonna upset her more."

Dean scoffed. "Oh please—me acting like I don't give a shit, how's that gonna help her out?"

Sam smiled briefly, a cynical little expression. He hung an arm back over the chair and regarded Dean cooly. "You know, this is actually another reason I never came and got you from Lisa and Ben's. I realized this year that this…" he gestured vaguely, "this family dynamic of ours? The one where you set the stage and run the show and make me and Alex into your kids? Where you bully us around emotionally?" He shook his head. "It just doesn't work for me, Dean. Not anymore. And apparently, it didn't work for her either." He turned back to his laptop as if that was that.

"Excuse me?" Dean asked, eyebrows had raised up high in shock at his brother's little deadpan monologue.

Sam didn't look at him. "You heard me just fine."

The bathroom door opened and Alex came out, drying her hair in a towel—dressed in her new jeans, a black tank, and a neutral flannel. The brothers went quiet for a minute, acknowledging her with a brief glance (Sam) and standing up straighter and looking at her carefully (Dean). He tried to see how she was doing but he couldn't tell. "Hey," he greeted carefully.

"Hey," she echoed, soft. She was being systematic, acting really focused on her task—which she had apparently just finished. She tossed the towel back over her shoulder into the bathroom without a second thought and walked toward the bed then frowned slightly, looked around like she was hunting for something. "Where's... my phone?" She looked intensely worried—a genuine expression.

"Uh." Dean wet his lips. "In a hundred pieces," he admitted. Maybe throwing it out the window had been a little much. Too late now though...

Alex looked at him with a panicking expression. "What? That's not funny Dean, where is it?" She flew off the handle completely when he hesitated tellingly. "Where is it?!"

At the outburst Dean realized he'd somehow made a huge mistake. He attempted to pacify, extending a hand slightly. "Hey, hey—it can be replaced, come on."

"No it can't—" she almost shrieked, then her face fell like she was going to weep—and as much as she'd held back all day, it was suddenly all pouring out. Alex looked like she'd lost something of immeasurable value and she flopped down to sit on the edge of the bed, seemingly defeated over the loss of her cellphone. "It had… it had a picture on it, the most important one..." she trailed off when her voice cracked and she put her face in her hands, beginning to sob like Dean had never seen—shoulders shaking, horrible crying sounds that were loud and pitiful and filling the entire room.

Horrified, not sure what she was crying about—was it the phone?—he falteringly went to her, feeling awful. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." He tried to sit next to her and put his arm around her but she yanked away and stood, angry tears glittering in her eyes.

"Look, you know what? I don't need you to feel sorry for me," she spat, shocking him. "I'm fine. Stop looking at me like I'm broken. I'm fine!" Chastened and pretty sure she was the furthest thing from fine there was, Dean watched her visibly compose herself and grow outwardly stony almost frighteningly fast—she'd been hysterical not ten seconds ago, but now she was wearing that same pinched, tight expression she'd worn all day. "If we can just not talk about it, any of it," she said lowly, and looked at Dean, then glanced at Sam. "I just want to do something normal, okay? I just wanna do something useful." She paused, looked at Sam, then peered at his laptop screen, walked over, crossing her arms across herself. "What kind of job are you guys working?"

...She wanted to concentrate on a job? "Al…" Dean started, but she looked at him sidelong, sharp and sullen, silently telling him don't.

"I'm serious," she said. "The job."

"It's an interesting one," Sam said readily, willing to indulge her request, not sharing Dean's concerns. "Seems sorta Biblical if you ask me. Three deaths… first guy liquefies into a pile of blood. Second dude dies covered in boils. Third guy—the one you missed while you were off getting Alex, Dean—locusts. Ate their way outta Officer Colfax's brain while I watched. Good stuff."

"...While you watched?" Alex repeated, eyeing the jar of live, buzzing locusts that was on the table beside her twin.

"Yup," Sam confirmed, typing away on his laptop.

So they were gonna do this the Winchester way: act like nothing happened. Dean gave in unhappily. He heaved a heavy sigh and ambled over to the table slowly. "So blood, boils, locusts," he said, distracted.

"Right," Sam said. "Three of your more popular Egyptian plagues. Check this out." He held up a jar of bugs Alex had been looking at.

"I thought you got over your ant farm phase," she said, sullen and attempting to crack a joke, but failing, mostly because she sounded miserable. Dean looked at her sadly, not wanting her to be like him and close off like that. But he guessed he couldn't blame her. He was still reeling from the entire day. He could only imagine what was going on in her mind if his was such a disaster.

"So you're saying they chewed their way out of that cop's melon?" Dean asked, forcing himself to focus on the job. He took the jar from Sam and looked at it oddly. "I don't quite remember that in the King James, do you guys?" He sat down opposite of Sam.

Sam shrugged, rifling through some papers. "Meanwhile, a kid named Christopher Birch was shot in the head last month after a vehicle pursuit. Guess who the three officers were on the case? Our three dead cops. And they all filed the exact same police report."

Dean took the paper Sam was extending to him and read out loud: "'Suspect exited vehicle brandishing a firearm. We were forced to fire.'" He paused, set the sheet down. "So what you thinking? They pop the kid accident or otherwise, plant the piece, lie about what happened? Sounds about right. Bunch of dicks. So who's trying to put the hit on on the cops? Kid's family? Kid's friends? Mad girlfriend?"

Alex paced over to the bay window at the far end of the room, looking out of it quietly with that same stern frown of hers as Sam shook his head.

"Dunno, but actually… Colfax was kinda out of it when I got there, but he kept saying how God wanted him and the other cops dead." Sam paused, clarifying kind of needlessly. "This was before he keeled over, obviously. Maybe Heaven has a hate-on for bad cops."

"What, like… Heaven as in angels?" Alex asked. Dean didn't miss the cautious, sort of embittered tone in her voice.

"Maybe," Sam said, shrugging mildly.

Dean scoffed. "So we're listening to the guy with the bug in his custard? That's—that's the, uh, the theory you want to go with? What about other sane theories—what I mentioned—family, friends, girlfriend?"

Sam brushed Dean's logic aside. "Yeah, but who'd have the juice to pull deaths like these out of their sleeves besides maybe a witch? It's not far fetched. I mean, angels gotta have something to do, right, now that we're post-apocalypse? And the deaths are blow-for-blow outta the good book. It makes sense, Dean."

"What, you're saying the halos are bored so they smite the five-oh with Egyptian plagues for kicks?" Dean shook his head. "I dunno." He sipped on his beer, thought hard. "Huh. I might know someone who could tell us though..." Dean hadn't thought of Cas in a long time, in fact, he was suddenly having a wait a minute moment. Where the hell had Cas been today when Alex was in trouble?!

At the wordless mention of Cas his sister had looked at him abruptly with an unreadable expression, her fingers pausing—she'd been smudging dust off the windowsill. Sam looked confused for a second, then realized what Alex had and made a face. "Who, Cas? You're kidding, right?" He scoffed. "Dean, I tried. It was the first and second and third thing I did, soon as I got topside. Son of a bitch won't answer the phone."

"Hey, you got any other ideas?" Dean asked, standing back up and shrugging his hands out a little.

"Sam's right," Alex said flatly, smudging the windowsill with her pointer finger again, not looking at either of them. "Trust me. He won't answer." She glanced at Dean with hooded eyes. "We're on our own with this one."

Dean bristled as an infuriating thought came across his mind. "Did you… did you try and call him today?" he asked, suddenly so angry at the thought of her in trouble and her freaking guardian angel bailing on her…

But Alex shook her head, cutting Dean's escalating wrath short. "No. I didn't even think about it." There was a flicker of sadness across her features.

Dean was shocked at her answer—really? She hadn't even thought about it? ...Damn. She must have truly lost whatever faith she'd had in the guy for that to be the case. And now that he thought about it, where the hell had Cas been this entire time, this whole year? What happened to all the 'but Dean, I love your sister and can't be apart from her' crap? What happened to that… that love between them? What happened to the utter obsession Cas had with keeping Alex safe? It made no sense. Maybe Cas had changed his mind when he got his angel mojo refilled? The loose ends and unanswered questions were really troubling, and maybe trying to call Cas was a bad idea, but Dean didn't see any other options. He cleared his throat. "Well, okay. I uh… I guess I'll still try and call. I mean, I got no other angels on my speed dial, so…" he trailed off, looking to his sister for approval. "Worth a shot, right?"

Alex looked at her oldest brother grudgingly and shrugged one shoulder up apathetically. She was opposed to the idea because she wasn't a fan of getting her hopes up and then being let down but… Dean could find out for himself that Cas didn't answer anymore. She turned away from her brother and gazed out the window over the city of Easter. It was an overcast day. A day like any other day. Except it wasn't. She looked down at the sidewalk and saw pieces of her smashed phone down there. Her heart clenched. That stupid piece of plastic and circuit boards had the only existing photo of Cas on it. And now it was destroyed. She couldn't even keep that small part of him. It all kept getting ripped away from her grasp and it wasn't fair but maybe… maybe this was fate, karma, telling her let it go.

She heard Dean shuffling over to the other side of the room and she swallowed a painful lump in her throat, trying to stop thinking about it. It being what had happened earlier that day. But she couldn't forget the feeling of being suddenly blindsided by someone she had trusted, someone she thought was her friend. She couldn't forget the feeling of having all the wind knocked out of her as his knee had jammed into her back and he crushed her down onto the bed—she could still hear his belt clinking and hear all the horrible, filthy things he'd said to her, trying to intimidate and demean her as he told her how she wanted it, how she had asked for it. She could still feel his callous hands unwelcome on her body as they touched her brusquely, and she unconsciously curled in on herself a little protectively, as the painfully fresh and vivid memories refused to leave her mind. How had she allowed that to happen? How hadn't she seen through his lies and bullshit? It made sense to her now in hindsight. Now that it was too late.

It had taken every last ounce of energy and focus to save herself, to reach for the keys she'd seen on the nightstand despite the ringing in her ears and the threat of unconsciousness after being hit in the head so hard. She'd slashed him across the face with the keys brutally, and managed to get out from under him and grab her gun from the pocket of her jacket, which hung off the headboard of the bed. She heard the gunshot in her mind and saw him falling over and laying there, shock on his face as he clutched his bleeding chest wound and gagged on his flooding lungs—and she'd felt bad. She'd felt bad for shooting the man who'd just attempted to fucking rape her. Not for the first time that day, Alex wondered what was wrong with her. She'd left him there to die and ran out in complete panic. She was a mess over the entire thing, wondering if somehow she was misremembering it, if she'd given him the wrong signals, if it had been her fault somehow… had she asked for it?

No. Hell no, who asked to be raped and or assaulted? He was a psychopath, he deserved to die and she was glad she'd shot him dead. She just wished she'd never fallen for what she now realized were carefully planted lies. He wasn't who she'd believed him to be. In fact, she had a strong hunch that no one had known who he really was. She'd done the world a favor by blotting him off the pages. Dread pitted in her stomach. Soon, she'd have to call Jamie and say 'hey, what's up? It's me. I killed your brother because he tried to make me have sex with him. Hope we can still be friends.' Jesus.

She rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand then glanced back at Dean who had just taken a seat on the edge of one of the beds on the end of the room opposite of her. She knew he was about to pray to Cas. Why hadn't she called Cas for help? A question that had been bothering her all day. But she hadn't even thought to call for him when Glen had attacked her. Not even for a second. She'd only depended on herself and then thought of him just before she passed out on the side of the road. It made her sad. Hadn't she been trying to forget him all this time? She finally had and it felt horrible. Wrong.

So, seeing Dean preparing to call him—she hoped he'd come and she also she hoped he'd stay away. Both. She turned back to the window and bit her thumbnail, frowning out into the distance unseeingly, her heart beating fast, her stomach feeling queasy with that familiar wretched hope. She told herself don't do that—because hope was wasted on her these days.

"Now I lay me down to sleep," Dean said, covering up his discomfort at praying aloud by trying to act dumb. "I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here." Alex shut her eyes. Hearing his name spoken aloud made unpredicted pain echo inside of her. It was the most beautiful and devastating word she knew of.

"You're an idiot," she heard Sam say.

"Stay positive," was the curt reply.

"Oh, I am positive."

Dean sighed loudly with aggravation. "Come on, Cas! Don't be a dick! We got ourselves a... a plague-like situation down here, and... do you… do you copy?"

A little bitter smile tugged on Alex's lips. It was hard not to be bitter. So hard. But it was easier to be embittered than to be lost in despair. She didn't want to believe he was dead, but more and more, that's exactly what she believed. She realized how much like a widow she was in that moment. Alone and in mourning; clothed in darkness at the thought of her other half lost forever.

"Like I said…" Sam said, smug. "Son of a bitch doesn't answer—" he trailed off and for a second Alex swore she had heard the sound of angel's wings. She opened her eyes to the city view in front of her, suddenly breathing shallowly as she heard Sam speak. No. No way. "H-he's right behind me, isn't he?" her twin asked.

Her heart jolted. And Alex turned around slowly as if in a dream, her nervous system screaming in suddenly unbearable anticipation—and when she saw Cas's back—his dark head of hair, his trench coat, his hands hanging at his sides—her mouth fell open in shock, her heart seemed to stop completely, her face contorted into an expression of utter disbelief, she froze because if she moved, he might disappear. The way he stood with his back facing her, he hadn't seen her yet and he greeted Sam. "Hello," he said—and his voice—the one she had been missing all this time—was everything she'd forgotten it to be. She was doubly stunned, near tears almost and hardly able to breathe. Sam looked up at the angel in disbelief from where he sat.

"Hello?" Sam repeated.

Cas paused, slightly uncertain. "Yes..."

"'Hello.'" Sam imitated angrily in a mock-Castiel voice before he reverted to his normal voice. "'Hello'?!"'

"Uh, that is still the term?" Cas asked—and Alex saw from the way his head moved that he glanced at Dean briefly.

"I spent all that time trying to get through to you. Dean calls once, and now it's "Hello"?!" Sam demanded—exactly speaking Alex's confused thoughts aloud. How was… where had… why…? Her mind felt cloyed. Her thoughts were stuttering slowly around inside her brain.

"Yes," Cas answered simply, sounding exasperated. He took a couple steps toward Dean.

"So, what, you—you like him better or something?" Sam asked.

"This isn't a game of favorites, Sam," Cas answered irritably—and what Alex couldn't see was how he was looking left and right, sweeping the room in front of himself over with a questioning gaze—looking for her—Dean saw though. And when Cas opened his mouth and asked, "Where's A—" Dean was already gesturing in her direction with his beer, expression a little pinched.

Alex would never forget that moment as long as she lived: Cas turning around and seeing her, their eyes meeting across that room. Her breath caught spectacularly as his expression changed from stern and rigid to soft and surprised, and maybe… relieved? No. Glad. Alex felt her face twisting slightly into a questioning expression because she didn't understand how he could just reappear when she had called and called and he had never come. No words or actions came to mind, she could only stand there struck silent and dumb.

He took a step toward her and for a minute from the look on his face, she thought he was going to walk the five or six steps separating them and hug her—and then suddenly he seemed to realize something, he frowned and looked at the motel table—she followed his gaze and saw him swoop in and grab Sam's knife that had been laying there. He approached her in sudden, unexplained urgency. Alex shrank away with her back to the glass pane of the window, confused, then even more so when he slashed his own palm open and punched his index finger into the blood. "W-what are you—" she started even as he grabbed the front of her shirt and ripped the button-up open enough to reveal her upper chest. Without explanation he finger-painted a strange Enochian symbol there so fast it was as if someone's life depended on it. Alex remained stiff in confusion.

"Hey, what the hell are you—" Dean said, already halfway across the room.

Cas held a hand out and back, silently telling Dean not to come closer. "Rah zod mah rah Castiel bay zoh dah." The blood symbol burned bright and stung a little. Startled by the quick rush of burning, Alex let out a surprised sound—when she looked, she saw that the blood had disappeared off of her skin.

Dazed, she blinked rapidly. "What was—what are you doing?" she asked in a shocked whisper, looking up into Cas's face for an explanation. But his fingers hovered just at her collarbone. He was taking in the welts on her neck with a deep, concerned frown. His eyes flickered up to hers, then he took in her other battle wounds on her face… and seeing him do that overwhelmed her with the need to disappear. She looked away.

"What… what's happened to you?" He asked softly, startling her when he touched two gentle fingertips to the puffy skin below her eye. The tender touch and look in his eye was the most confusing thing she'd ever experienced.

She shook her head hollowly, borderline offended she was so befuddled. "W-where the hell have you been?" she managed in a gaunt whisper.

He grew bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" Her voice rose slightly in accusation. "I called you so many times and you never came!"

Castiel looked just as stumped as she was, but dread was building. "I couldn't—because of Raphael. Because of the war." He grew uncertain and even a little afraid at her expression. "You know this," he stated, but it sounded like he was beginning to question if she did.

"How would I know this?" She countered, wracking her brain. Did he mean from that two minute encounter with Nandriel?!

Cas's concern kept mounting. "Because of the messages I sent."

"...What messages?"

Cas was quickly becoming just as aghast and confused as Alex was. "I sent two different angels in my stead," he insisted with faltering confidence. "At two different times." His brow knit together deeply as he connected the dots. "Are you saying… you never got either message?" He sounded as though he couldn't fathom it. "But Rachel told me…" he trailed off, seeming to realize something.

"Who the hell is Rachel?" Alex asked when he went silent. She didn't understand anything he was talking about.

"Not who I thought," Cas said, his color paler. Like he'd been socked in the gut. He shook his head as he visibly reeled, the pain filling his eyes so great that Alex suddenly wondered if this entire thing—the time apart, the separation—had been some gigantic misunderstanding.

When the two of them went silent to stare at each other in mutual confusion, Sam cleared his throat. "Hey, look, as touching as this reunion is..." he looked at the angel. "We kinda need your help, Cas."

Clear anger tightened Cas's features and he turned his head to look at Sam sharply. "It's rude to interrupt, Sam."

Sam's eyebrows raised in challenge. Een Dean and Alex were surprised at the gruff tone and sarcasm the angel used. "It's also rude not to answer when someone calls you," Sam retorted without missing a beat. "Repeatedly."

Cas scowled a little deeper and Dean—who so far had been totally ignored by the angel—sidled up beside him and Alex. "Cas—yeah, hi, nice to see you too—I think what he's trying to say is that he went to Hell for us. I mean, he really took one for the team. You remember that? And then he comes back without a clue and you can't take five friggin' minutes to give him some answers?"

Cas's expression faded slightly into reluctance and he turned a little more to face Sam, who was still sitting in the chair. "If I had any answers, I might have responded," he said wearily. "But I don't know, Sam. We have no idea who brought you back from the cage... or why."

Sam was silent and displeased. Dean, however, had something more to say. "Okay, right. Great. So then why'd you ditch out on my sister this whole year? What's your magic eight ball answer for that one?" Alex shot her brother a look—surprised he asked that.

Cas tensed again and glanced Alex's way. "It's complicated, Dean."

"Yeah?" Dean scoffed. "Well I think we'd all like to know. And by the freakin' way—what the hell kind of angel magic did you just do to her, man?"

Cas glanced at Alex, obviously not wanting to engage with the brothers yet—his hesitant body language conveying his desire to remain near her and speak with her—but he gave up and in to Dean's demands for conversation however reluctantly. "I cast a temporary shield against Raphael's eyes so that—"

"The archangel guy we visited in Waterville?" Dean asked skeptically, remembering back.

"Yes," Cas responded. "He's vying for command of Heaven."

"...so it wasn't God who brought me back?" Sam butted in, breaking the strained stare between Dean and Cas.

Visibly, Castiel lost patience but he attempted to corral it. "Sam, no one's even seen God. The whole thing remains mysterious."

Sam frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

Cas turned and took a step toward Sam. "What part of 'I don't know' escapes your understanding?" Yet again, Sam's eyebrows shot up high at the uncharacteristically clipped tone.

Dean cut in between the two, no-nonsense. "Cas, look, cut the BS. If Sam calls, you answer. If Alex calls, you answer. Okay? You wing your ass down here and you answer the damn phone, problem solved! Why you being like this? Ignoring Sam and Alex then coming when I call?" He scoffed and gestured at Alex. "I mean, I thought you were supposed to be her guardian angel! She told me you just up and left her for the whole year, man, I mean… what the hell? To be honest, that was one of the only things that made me feel okay when I was wondering where she was out there: that you were looking out for her—and you weren't? Damn, that's ten kinds of fucked up, Cas. And after what happened to her today…" he trailed off and rethought himself, shutting his trap.

Cas stood there in confusion. "What do you mean?" He asked, glancing at Alex—who was looking at her brother like how the hell are you just gonna bring that up to him in front of everyone?! Before Cas could press for more answers, he processed another thing Dean had said. A flicker of anxiety ran across his face. "Wait. I know that Sam remained apart from the two of you but… are you saying you two weren't together either?" He looked at the brother and sister in turn and Dean chuckled cynically, saluting Cas facetiously with his beer before taking a sip.

"Wow, Cas. You really have been gone, haven't you?" He muttered, shaking his head as if he should have known.

Cas turned to Alex, his features etched with pained confusion. "You were alone all this time?"

The way he asked her that, the look in his eyes… she had to look away. She could barely form words to answer and didn't want to, either. "More or less."

He was coming closer again and she swallowed, her nerves and emotions on overdrive. She hadn't thought their reunion would go this way all the times she'd imagined it. His eyes ran over her body as if he were examining her and then he froze in place. "Wait… what…" he paused and his expression distorted with horror. "Alex—have you consumed demon blood?"

It was her turn to look gut-punched. She almost passed out from the feeling of being discovered. Her first instinct was to lie to his face and tell him no, of course not, are you crazy? Because the truth was so horrible and embarrassing and shameful and she didn't want all to know. Behind Cas, Dean was staring in utter shocked horror. What were they going to say and do when they found out? Would they treat her like she was less than human? Would Cas be disgusted with her? Would Dean disown her? All she could do was try and save face, a little. Explain it pitifully. Try and excuse herself. "It was a hard year, okay?" She managed, then looked down, unable to meet any of their gazes. This was truly the worst day of her life in every way possible.

Dean spoke first, his voice soft and disbelieving. "What?" He sounded appalled. "D-demon blood, Al?"

She was almost unable to look at her brother at all—he looked like he'd been let down in every way possible. Sam however took it in stride—he had an attentive frown on his face. Alex wanted to disappear and almost burst into tears. Well, now they all knew. She was an addict. She redoubled her outward mask and became as detached as possible. "I didn't mean for it to happen, it just did, okay?"

"How?" Dean asked—and that's when she realized he was heartbroken, not furious. He put his beer down onto the table blindly and approached her. When she said nothing, Dean grew desperate. "Alex! Since when?"

She looked at him sharply, refusing to break down. "Long enough Dean, now stop asking," she snapped. Her oldest brother recoiled as if bitten. Alex was really at the point of running out of there any second—she couldn't do all of this, not today.

And then Cas surprised all of them. He'd gone silent briefly, clearly thinking hard as he looked at Alex with great amounts of concerned speculation. "Dean, Sam. If I could just speak with Alex privately for a moment, I'd—" he began.

Dean was already shaking his head no vehemently. "No. Not happening. I don't want her alone with a man other than me right now."

Alex withered. She hated that her brother knew what had happened to her. She chanced a look at Cas timidly, who silently questioned her with his eyes. She didn't want him to know about her assault. But she needed to talk to him—about other things. And so she looked at her brother meaningfully. "Dean. It's okay."

Dean looked like he was going to protest and turn this into another freaking fight like he always did. But then he surprised her when he visibly held some words back, took a beat, looked at Cas carefully, then checked back in with her. "You sure?"

She felt faintly amazed at that two word question. Was he really going to back off? "Yeah."

Dean didn't like it—that much was clear. But in a surprising show of respect and maturity, he let it go. "You two got five minutes," he said in a short tone. "I will be right on the other side of this door. You call me if you need me, Al." He gave Cas another mistrustful glance. "Come on, Sam." Dean then shook his head at himself, left the room with his brother behind him, and Alex watched them go.

The door closed, leaving the room in brief silence. The angel and the hunter slowly looked at each other, both of their gazes veiled. Was he angry at her? Was he going to say she was an abomination? Was he going to tell her that he'd left her because he always knew she would end up too twisted, too low, too sullied for him? Suddenly, Alex was scared to hear why he'd gone. She looked into his familiar face and didn't know if he loved her anymore and wanted to be anyone but herself in that moment. And then, wordlessly, hesitant and unsure and careful, Cas touched either of her arms gently and comfortingly. It startled her. "I didn't know," he said, three words that conveyed how agonized he was and how he hadn't known anything that had happened to her that whole year. How couldn't he have known?

Pain tightened Alex's face and she didn't even realize that when he'd touched her arms, hers had raised up and she'd laid her hands onto his forearms. She second guessed her automatic reaction to his touch—withdrawing her hands a little. She felt like she had to hold back from him even though all she wanted was to reach out to him. "I thought you left me," she whispered, so confused and unsure where to even begin.

Shock and hurt showed on his face. "No," he said immediately, and her heart burst as she dared to hope. "I thought—I thought you knew what was happening. I sent two angels, I sent two messages—and was even told that you replied." He shook his head faintly, seeming to understand. "I've been lied to." Pain filled his features as he put two and two together. "And you spent this whole time thinking I never sent word." And when he said what he said next, she realized she hadn't been wrong to hang onto hope. To believe that he still loved her. "I thought of you every hour, every minute, every second." His eyes searched hers deeply, almost pleadingly. "I didn't forget you. I didn't leave you. I would never. You know that."

Her eyes stung as he said that to her and even though the words were what she had been so hungry to hear... she didn't know how to believe him after all that time, after the utter loneliness and silence and broken trust. He did leave her. Cas appeared to recognize her reaction to his words as disagreement. And if Castiel, the angel who had once claimed to her that he possessed no heart could look heartbroken… he did. "I'm so sorry," he whispered weakly. "I didn't realize… I didn't know." He let go of her and stepped back slightly as if he were shaming himself. He looked down, his hands hanging at his side. "Please forgive me."

The loss of his closeness and the distance between them was painful. Alex looked at him silently, long and hard, trying to put all of her jumbled emotions into words, trying to boil down a year of waiting and hating herself and cultivating bitterness into a few words. And if she wasn't still completely in love with the angel in the trench coat, she wouldn't have bothered with trying to explain herself or talk to him about it. But if possible, she loved him even more now and it hurt her because he hadn't come through for her and she didn't fucking understand how he could just stand there like that and ask for forgiveness. "I needed you," she managed in a trembling, faint voice. "I needed you so bad and you were gone and I didn't know if you were dead or alive or… or ignoring me… you just… disappeared right after Sam died, what was I supposed to think?" An inferno raged in her heart. "This year was hell, Cas, hell."

"I'm so sorry," he repeated. She got angrier when he said that even though she thought she should be grateful he was back. She should just throw her arms around his neck and cry for joy. But the bitterness wouldn't let her, she was wounded deeply and didn't understand at all. The only thing she could feel was painfully shattered trust and the agonizing realization that things would never be like they had been before. She had spent all this time wanting to pick back up where they left off and now she realized… they couldn't. And she looked away, struggling with herself, wanting so badly just to reach out to him and beg him to tell her it would be all right, to please take her back to the place they'd been before—but stubbornly she insisted on holding herself back, trying to protect herself from hurting more.

Cas was studying her carefully: the cuts, scrapes, and bruises. He seemed hesitant to ask, as if he could sense that if he asked too harshly, it would upset her. "What happened to you?" The care in his voice broke her heart completely. That was exactly what she wanted to hear and she shut her eyes for a long second. "Who hurt you like this? Why did Dean say he didn't want you alone with a man other than—" he stopped mid-sentence, his face fallen with an expression that was scary for her to see. Alex said nothing—her pulse suddenly rising with dread and shame. He was looking at her neck and two warm, gentle fingers brushed against one of the marks Glen had made. "Are these…? Are these from kissing?" he asked so very softly and full of dread.

Alex could barely keep her composure. She moved a hand up to cover herself however inadequately, no longer able to hide her emotional distress. She felt overwhelmed and defenseless and she didn't want him to know how she'd been violated and manipulated and used. Or how, briefly, she thought she wanted it. Sex with someone else, closeness with someone else. How she'd let Glen put his hands on her, how she'd let him kiss her neck and feel her up and… her head hurt, she felt dizzy. "Yes," she choked out and turned away from him, fighting hard not to lose it. Behind her, Cas came a little closer. There was a long, rigid silence.

"Did… did someone force themselves onto you?" he asked in an absolutely appalled, fearful tremble.

Oh god. How was she supposed to talk to him about this? She almost snapped at him and told him not to worry about it but… she couldn't. Maybe it was because underneath the heartache, she still trusted Castiel more than almost anyone and wanted him to be the one she went to for help and comfort. She turned again and sank down to the edge of the bed, sitting there miserably, wishing she could keep this horrible dark thing from him and pretend it never happened. But it had. "I-I don't know," she said, answering honestly because she was so confused and mortified. She shook her head and stuck an elbow onto her knee, letting her head fall into her hand. "Yes, and no, I don't… I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" He asked, full of worry and stark confusion. She saw his feet come to right there in front of hers, he crouched down and peered up at her, and he was so handsome and she loved him so much and had missed him so much and didn't deserve him in the least. Maybe it was all her fault, everything that happened. She didn't know.

She tried to explain, even though it was the most sickening thing she'd ever had to say aloud. He deserved to know. "At first I thought… I thought…" her voice cracked. "I thought I wanted it. I was confused—I thought you were gone and… I don't know. I thought I wanted it." She peeked up at him miserably, unable to identify with herself now that the heat of the moment had passed. Cas looked agonized at her words.

Seeing that look on his face, she felt the weight of her actions and thoughts threatening to crush her completely. She just wanted to disappear. Alex moved her hands to her knees, about to brace herself and stand up. And then he gently touched one of her hands with his, stopping her—and when she looked at him in surprise, she saw how he was soldiering through this with her. He swallowed and a defeated kind of sadness rested there in every line of his face. "I was gone for a year. I understand. You were lonely."

Shocked, Alex suddenly scrambled to refute his argument because she couldn't stand the look on his face or the thought of him somehow assuming that anyone could ever take his place. "No—I mean, yes, I was lonely, but… I wanted to wait for you, I tried to and I really thought… that you were gone. And then, at that point... I just wanted t-to forget you. And I didn't know how to." Confessing it out loud was wretched. But his hand didn't leave hers and she held on more tightly, even though she felt pitiful and disgusting. She looked at their hands the entire time she spoke, so ashamed of herself, wishing she'd just held onto hope a little longer, run from Glen and the temptation a long time ago. But she hadn't. "I tried to go along with what—with what he was doing," she confessed, and a silent tear rolled down her cheek. "But I couldn't. So I said no." She paused, closed her eyes, trying to shut out the memories. "And he wouldn't stop."

Cas's expression—which had been supremely pained as she told him about it—darkened completely. Wrath flashed in his eyes. He stood up, clenching his fists at his sides. "Who?" She heard the murderous fury making his voice tremble.

Alex looked up at him with a pained expression, feeling small and foolish. "He's dead. I killed him." She got up, crossed her arms, and walked toward the window a few steps. Castiel must think her dirty, stupid, weak. All the things she thought of herself.

"You did?" He asked, sounding hurt. Why would that offend him? Alex was confused. And then, his next question made her realize why he sounded so wounded. "Why didn't you call me? I… I could have saved you."

She turned, a hand errantly resting against the wall beside the window and she looked at him sadly. Maybe this was the hardest thing to confess. "I... didn't think you would come." She paused, then her eyes fell away from his. "I saved myself."

Castiel was gutted. His shoulders visibly fell a little and his mouth parted open. And for once, he seemed utterly devoid of words. For a long and awful moment, neither said anything. Then he composed himself somewhat gruffly. "Let me heal your wounds," he said, and she heard his unspoken sentiment: let me do something, anything, to make this better.

She hesitated and almost said no because of angered pride—he couldn't take away what had happened to her just by making her physical trauma go away. But she was in pain all over… sore and bruised and cut up and her head was killing. So she swallowed her negative reaction and nodded yes. He came to her, putting his hand against the side of her face. The gentle touch affected her deeply and she looked into his eyes, seeing white light reflecting there as he took away her physical hurts. When it was over, he didn't move his hand away. His thumb moved tenderly against newly healed skin on her cheek. She weakened completely at the touch. "I'm so sorry," he said again. Without warning, him repeating himself and offering a flimsy penance for neglecting her that entire year stirred the anger up again. She pulled away from his touch.

"Saying you're sorry won't change it," she said stiffly, suddenly lashing out and word-vomiting all of her hurt and confusion onto him without warning. "And taking away my injuries doesn't take away what happened to me." Her voice wavered as emotions rose rapidly. As she tried to blame anyone but herself. "I wouldn't have even been around him if… if you… if things had been different, if I knew—if I had a single goddamn clue where you went or why you just split; I mean, you said you sent me messages but why wouldn't you come see me yourself? Did it really never occur to you to fucking double check?!" Her voice rose passionately. "Why the hell couldn't you just come see me, even once? You promised you would never leave me and I believed you and all the shit I got into this year was me hanging onto hope and dying more every fucking day that you didn't come back—and if you just don't want me anymore say it okay?!"

And the room went silent.

Alex was momentarily taken aback at the torrent of disjointed thoughts she'd just spewed. She didn't feel any better like she thought she would. Instead she felt worse. She wanted nothing more than to be angriest with him but really, she was angriest with herself. Cas was taken aback by her rant and he appeared to have no idea of how to reply except to shake his head and look at her in wounded bewilderment. "How can you think that?" Alex's mouth dropped open in renewed disbelief at him. How could she think that? How could she not?

"Because you left me like everyone else ever has! Without a single goddamn word!" All of the deeply-suppressed feelings she'd spent sleepless nights mulling over began to tear out of her like a banshee. "Ever since you came along I've been a stupid and weak and when you left I broke apart! You ruined me, Castiel! And then I ruined myself! I don't even know what I'm doing anymore!" She stood there breathing heavily from emotion, reflecting miserably on how stupid and childish to believe Cas actually cared, because actions spoke louder than words, right? And she wished she wouldn't have said any of those things, because she didn't want anyone to know how bad it hurt and how broken she felt. Cas again looked unsure of how to react to her—only deeply, deeply sad. And she became sad too, tears stinging her eyes. "I just—tell me why you never came to see me, please—you could have told me, you should have told me why you were gone. Tell me, Cas." She steeled herself. "If you don't love me anymore just say it, please, so I can finally move on with my life," she said, a desperate plea from a desperate girl.

His reaction was immediate when she said that about him not loving her anymore. "I am doing this because I love you!" He said, raising his voice emphatically and subsequently bringing a stark silence over the room. Her heart felt like it dropped out of her completely. Rendered completely still by his exclamation, Alex stared wordlessly. Cas took hold of her arms gently just below the shoulders, pleading with her silently for a moment. Then, out loud. "Alex, all my enemy's eyes are on me—the day that I left you at the cemetery I was ambushed by Raphael, he made it clear that if I came to see you he would follow me and take you from me, hurt you. I have stayed away to protect you. Because I know that if he takes you, I'll have no choice but to do whatever he says." Conflict shimmered across his features briefly. "I would sacrifice anything and everything if it would save you," he said intensely. "I would do anything for you—anything—and they know it. They're using what I feel against me. Against the entire world, and it's dangerous. I'm fighting this war for you, for us." His expression wavered into the territory of sadness, his eyes became gentler, more appealing, even as she felt herself becoming deeply ashamed at her one-sided, selfish assumptions. "I didn't even realize how long it had been for you. Time works differently here than it does there." He let go of her and she saw how weary he was, how jaded and taxed, and when he briefly rubbed fingers to his temple and forehead in a very human gesture, she was stricken with a sudden, grave worry for him. She was abruptly seeing just how hard the past year had been on him too, and sadness deeper than the ocean settled over her. This was such a mess. He shook his head, frowning at the floor. "The war, it's… torn Heaven apart. It never ends, the fighting, the killing. I'm… tired, Alex." She forgot her own angers and fears and hesitated, then touched his arm gently.

He looked at her hand, his frown clearing a little. With his opposite hand, he reached over and took her hand and held it in his gently, somberly. "I never imagined it would be like this," he said softly, and his voice was filled with remorse. "I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing," he confessed brokenly. "If I had known the things it would have set into motion, perhaps I would have… done things differently." His eyes found hers. "I didn't know what my absence would do and I know you said not to say it but… I am. I'm so sorry." His voice dropped to almost a whisper when he said 'sorry,' and Alex's heart reached out to him. They had both been through hell this past year.

"It's... it's okay, Cas," she said quietly, choosing to leave the bitterness behind and instead hold onto the chance of them fixing this because it was all she wanted. She'd woken up that very morning thinking Cas didn't love her and had left her and might be dead… but none of that had been true and with him here, now, holding her hand and telling her what had happened… she had hope again. It scared her, but she clung onto it fiercely. It wasn't ideal, this entire situation they were in and the aftermath of the time apart wasn't anything but intensely painful… and she didn't know if there would ever be a way to undo it all but she could start with forgiving him. What else could she do? "It's okay," she repeated and he shook his head no, obviously filled with guilt.

"No. It's not," he said miserably. "The things that happened to you. Because of me. I can't take them away. I can't undo it."

A harsh, painful truth. Alex took in a deep breath and looked at his large, tan hand holding her smaller fairer one. Her voice trembled tellingly. "Are you… gonna leave again?"

Rueful conflict was etched onto his face. "I… I can't stay. I can't endanger you. I'm leading a war." She was hurt all over again. It seemed like fate was cruelly determined to always find something to thwart them. And it wasn't fair. She couldn't bear the thought of him leaving again… this time knowing he was missing her just like she was missing him. Cas quickly and emphatically amended himself at the look on her face. "But I'll find a way, from now on—I'm not sure how, but I will. To always come when you call. No matter what's happening." He paused, his eyes pleading gently with her, and she looked at him in hesitance. "Promise me you'll call me when you need me, Alex."

She faltered, her inhibitions threatening to hold her back—she wanted to withdraw and save herself from the heartache, she wanted to run away from the depth and intensity of this love. But she couldn't. Everything she'd held inside for the year—longing, desperation, readiness to be with him again—compelled her to take the chance, go out on the limb, have faith again, and trust him with her heart.

"I need you right now," she confessed softly through a cracking voice, and finally—after a year apart, after days on end not knowing where the other had been, after sleepless nights and self-destruction and endless doubts, fears, loneliness—all of it was forgotten for the briefest moment as in unison, they reached for the other and embraced tightly in front of the window. She crumbled like a stone wall and cried in overwhelmed relief as he wrapped her in long-lost warmth and security and the knowledge that somehow it was all going to be okay, that Cas was still committed to this. And so was she.

Alex didn't know what tomorrow held, but she knew Cas hadn't left or forgotten her, and that's what she'd been holding out for, what had been keeping her alive all this time, practically. And even though she knew there was so much lost in the time apart and wounds that needed to heal and mistakes that had been made… she really wanted to believe that they could have the strength to weather the storm. Together.

Together.

---

Author's Notes: If you or someone you know has been abused, molested, or assaulted in any way, please reach out and tell someone who can help you (teacher, therapist, authority figure, someone you trust). If you carry that darkness alone, you shouldn't have to. I speak from personal experience and can tell you guys that the day you stop feeling ashamed about what happened to you is the day you can start to really heal. People will do all kinds of jacked up things to you your whole life but you don't have to remain a lifelong victim to the pain and trauma. What wrongs are committed against you don't have define you or hold you back.