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.

52. Fair Weather Friends

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 52 / Fair Weather Friends

"Everything you touch it surely dies."
- Passenger

---

Jamie looked around the motel room in a blank haze, stunned by the phone call that had just ended. Dean's words replayed over and over mentally, leaving her so shocked that she couldn't feel her feet or hands...

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!

Ted Bundy was an infamous murderer and rapist. Was Dean saying that Glen had… had tried to… do those things to Alex? Jamie spiraled. Glen wouldn't… he couldn't do either of those things, to anyone, ever—and certainly not Alex, their friend and hunting partner—Dean had to be wrong...!

Glen was an asshole and an idiot and a huge flirt but… he wasn't a murderer, he wasn't a rapist. Jamie knew him. She knew him.

...Didn't she?

The motel room the three of them had been staying in the past few nights had been labeled a crime scene and was locked down when she'd gotten there a few minutes ago—and she'd been unprepared for what she found when she broke in. Blood and disarray everywhere. Signs of a huge struggle. Glen's phone discarded on the floor. No sign of him or Alex anywhere. Panicked, Jamie had called Alex, but had gotten instead a very angry Dean who had told her the utterly unthinkable. Jamie stared at blood stained carpet—it had huge spread like someone had been bleeding out. Alex? Glen? She didn't know, but after talking to Dean, she thought it had to be her brother's. Terrified, she scanned the room yet again in a dazed attempt to assess what happened.

There was a broken lamp, a busted clock radio, and bloody car keys tossed on the floor. There was the messed up bed closest to the window which made Jamie's stomach twist. The sheets were coming off of it, mattress cover and all—like a life-or-death struggle had taken place there. Nearby two bullet casings were circled in police chalk and numbered. Jamie wanted to throw up. There had to be another explanation, there had to be. Shaking, she ran a hand through her uncombed hair. There was no trail of blood leading out of the room. Glen's car was parked outside. So where was he? Dead or alive, he couldn't just have disappeared.

Her eyes zipped to stare at the blood splatters again and Jamie felt the beginnings of a panic attack ramping up. It wouldn't have been her first. This scene brought back horrifying memories of finding her mother all those years ago and Jamie tried so hard not to think of that… so she closed her eyes and focused on deep breathing. In and out. One, two, three. Count to one, two, three. A grounding technique she'd used on herself since she'd been young. And even though her pulse calmed down and her throat didn't close up, she remembered that horrible day without wanting to: Finding her mother sitting hunched over in a silk dressing robe stained with blood while smoking a cigarette and downing sherry with a face of stone as she sat on the luxury chaise in her grand bedroom. Behind her, Dad was bloody and dead on the bed, stabbed repeatedly with a kitchen knife that glinted beside Mother on the expensive lounge.

You're supposed to be practicing! Caroline Ward had shrieked, standing and throwing her glass of alcohol at Jamie, who wore her soft pink ballet leotard and tights. Her aim missed by a mile. At eleven, the sight of a dead father and a mother covered in horrific blood had sent Jamie into a full-blown panic attack. Every one of her senses had gone dark and shaky and to this day she still didn't remember how she got from the master bedroom to the bottom of the grand marble staircase. But she would forever remember falling into one of the maid's arms as Caroline stumbled down the stairs with that bloody knife, smearing red against angelic white as she raged about killing Jamie next. That maid had saved Jamie's life by whisking her out of the house and calling 911 then hiding with her until the police arrived.

Jamie didn't like to think of that day. Or any day that involved her crazy bitch of a mother. Hate was not a strong enough word for what she felt for the woman who had treated her like a doll instead of a person, demanding impossible performative things from her from day one. Jamie—who actually never went by Jamie in childhood since she was born Jameson Rose Ward—had been stuck with nannies and maids and never given her much attention at all—whereas in comparison Glen had been doted on and hailed as the favorite. Caroline Ward had spent all of her time obsessing over Botox injections, age lines, social standing, expensive brands and luxury vacations, alcohol, and prescription drugs. She was the most unloving and shallow woman Jamie had ever known, insisting on being called "Mother" or "Caroline." Never Mommy or Mama or Mom. And Jamie was forever terrified to become her mother. It was strange to remember the woman who had birthed her: tall, austere, beautiful, plastic—coming out of their idyllic mansion in handcuffs, smiling serenely for the neighbors and onlookers… all while covered in the blood of Jamie's father. You didn't forget things like that. No matter how hard you tried.

Every time she saw great amounts of blood, she remembered that day with horrifying intensity. That had been the turning point in Jamie's entire life. With Caroline going to prison and Dad dead and gone, Jamie and Glen had been thrust at the first willing family member—their uncle Gary. He was the opposite of everything the rest of the Ward family was. Where they were all old money Southerners transplanted to the north, Gary was poor, salt-of-the-earth, genuine, and loved life. He lived simply and without airs. And he was a hunter. He manned up in the biggest way to take Jamie and her brother in and raise them like they were his own. He'd opened up Jamie's eyes to a different view on life, helping her learn to trust: he'd been present where Jamie's parents had been absent. Involved, considerate, and kind, reasonable. Reliable. He had changed her life in so many ways. He was the one who started calling her Jamie instead of Jameson and letting her decide what she wanted for her own life. Life turned from forced pointe ballet, French, violin, and horseback riding lessons to Jamie realizing she liked rollerblading, videogames, rock n' roll, and endless movie marathons. Their years together were flowers in her soul to this day, and she credited him for who she had become. When he died during a hunt when Jamie was nineteen, it had been devastating. It still was. Jamie opened her eyes back up.

A terrible thought was brewing: Glen had always been the closest to Caroline and had always been similar to her. He had been more upset about Caroline going to prison than Dad being dead… what if he was just like her? A secretly murderous narcissistic psychopath who never raised suspicion until it was too late?

Jamie swallowed deeply and edged closer to the huge blood stain on the carpet, forcing herself to keep her head, find out what happened, then freak out. Crouching beside the bed, Jamie noticed something that had almost blended in with the carpet perfectly. With a very dark suspicion indeed, she ran two fingertips across the dusty ash-like substance then sniffed what came away. Sulphur. She stood up fast and took two steps back. Demons? Glen, what have you done? What did you do? What happened here? She stood there in breathless increasing dismay for two seconds before grabbing one of her bags and angrily digging through it for what she needed—several elements and a bowl. She was going to find out what the hell happened here. She slammed the bowl down onto the ground and crouched again, scrawling the symbols for summoning onto the floor sloppily in her rush, finishing at a breakneck speed. Not thinking very straight, she shook as if her blood sugar was at zero while she grabbed more things out of her bag—tossing the necessary ingredients in with a passion. Finally, she took out her butterfly knife and swung it open deftly then slashed the gleaming blade across her palm harshly almost like she was punishing herself.

Jamie hissed, squeezing her blood down into the bowl angrily then found her matchbook, striking one with a snap. "Eos coram me." She dropped the match into the bowl and the contents went up with a poof of smoke.

A short, curvy woman with dark brown hair appeared. Jamie faltered. The newcomer was dressed in dark jeans, a loose purple top, and a black leather jacket. The demon looked at Jamie through narrowed eyes, seeming just as surprised and suspicious as Jamie was. "...and you are?" Her voice was strong, low, smooth, slow.

Jamie hesitated. "You're... not Ruby..."

The demon rolled her eyes with gusto. "Gold star for you," she drawled sarcastically, her voice lazy and not expressive. She folded her arms, put all her weight on one foot, and let her head cant to the side. She had a distinctly threatening look in her eyes but the softest little smile on her face, like she was relaxed. "Now, who the hell are you and why'd you summon me?"

Jamie frowned deeply, squeezing her throbbing, bleeding palm in an effort to dull the pain and stop the blood flow. "I summoned Ruby," she said lowly, disliking and fearing this unexpected turn of events. Did she do the spell wrong in her haste?

"Well you got Meg," the demon retorted with boredom then paused, narrowing her eyes—and interest grew, a smile crept up across her lips. "Wait... I know who you are." She smiled broadly revealing white teeth. But it was creepy, because the smile didn't reach her eyes. Meg laughed lowly. "Ruby wasn't a crossroads demon but you and her dealed, didn't you?" She gave a short little laugh but there was a sinister quality to it. With a nod, Meg's eyes sparkling with dark light. "I remember hearing about you. The witch." She arched a dark eyebrow. "So how's it feel, sweetie, knowing you helped raise Lucifer?" At the flabbergasted look on Jamie's face, the demon feigned innocence and surprise. "Oh—oops—didn't know that?" The look fell off her face into superiority and she chuckled mockingly. "Maybe you should have read the fine print before selling your soul, hon."

Raise Lucifer? As in the devil? Jamie stared in horror—she'd heard the rumors about the apocalypse and all the stuff about Heaven and Hell being at war with each other; she'd seen all the shit that happened last year but… no way. And no way did she have something to do with it, either. In front of her Meg sighed impatiently and glanced at her polished fingernails distractedly. "Look. Ruby's dead now and I inherited her deals, so… what do you want, princess?" She fixed Jamie with an unfriendly, hostile expression—which, coupled with a cool smiled, was chilling. "And make it snappy, will ya? I got places to be."

"What do you mean, I helped raise Lucifer?" Jamie asked in complete disbelief, forgetting, for a moment, her other questions. "You're telling me that really happened?"

"Geez Louise, giving blondes everywhere a good name, aren't you?" Meg drawled cool and sarcastic and mildly amused, giving the impression that she'd never met anyone stupider. "Where have you been the past couple years? It was apocalypse central up in this bitch, or didn't you notice?" Meg grinned at Jamie's confounded expression. Her slow and playful tone was absolutely infuriating. "Yup. That's right. And your cute little ass helped us out with it, too." She looked Jamie up and down suggestively. "Didn't it seem kinda peculiar to you that Ruby wanted you to sign off on something extra in return for your deal? Didn't you kinda wonder why she only agreed to take your soul deal if you'd agree to let her make you a little witchy?" The demon gave her a look. "Put two and two together, why don't ya?"

Angry and terrified of what she was learning, Jamie struggled to keep her protective walls up. "I don't make soul deals everyday, okay?" she snapped, her stomach turning sickeningly. Had everyone played her for a fool? "How was I supposed to know what was what?"

Meg's expression was smug. "They played you, Blondie… like a fiddle."

They? "The fuck are you talking about?" Jamie demanded harshly, dreading the answer but sharpening her words like knives, not letting Meg see for a second how scared she was.

Meg's eyes glittered and she adopted an overly enthusiastic demeanor which was insulting in the context of the conversation. "Well golly Pete, Barbie, what I'm talking about is how you were one of the seals—see, Ruby and me? We were Lucifer loyalists. We sorta… mm, fudged a few seals to speed up the big day. And yours was the one that went a little something like 'and a good woman shall give her soul over to the heresy of witchcraft to save a betrayer.'" She said that last part in a goofy, mocking voice then chuckled, bit her lip, and shook her head. "By the way… how'd it work out with the prince charming you traded your soul for? I mean, musta been a real swell guy if you did all that to save his life." She wrinkled her nose up, smiling, like she thought something was cute and started talking baby-talk. "Warms my cold, wittle black heart."

At the nameless mention of Jake, Jamie felt gutted all over again and it showed on her face. The demon chortled. "Oh no, trouble in paradise? No happily ever after? What a cryin' shame…" Meg's smirk deepened infuriatingly. "Honestly, you made it too easy for them, sweetie, basically handed that seal over on a silver platter." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Way to give it up on the first date."

Why did she keep saying them? Ready to stab Meg in the head—at least Ruby had been straightforward and not constantly laying on the innuendoes left and right—Jamie glowered at the demon, done with that discussion. In a burst of movement, she grabbed Meg by the collar. "Listen, bitch—" she breathed threateningly. She usually was better at keeping her head, but today had her feeling on the brink of sanity. "My brother—I think he dealed with a demon here, and you're gonna tell me which one."

"Oh am I?" Meg asked, voice cold and restrained with fury. Apparently, she didn't like being told what to do. She raised a hand upwards and suddenly Jamie flew backwards across the room, colliding back-first into the dresser with a painful crunch. She fell forward, catching herself with a hand, groaning in surprised pain, then suddenly felt her head being yanked up by the hair. Meg stared down at her contemptuously. "You hunters are all the same," she said throat bared teeth. "Fucking high-horse chumps. Don't forget who pulls the strings around here, cupcake." She suddenly laughed, a disturbing effect. A secretive smiled loomed. "How long do you have left, anyway?" she asked, enjoying Jamie's reaction to the question. "Not that long, if I remember right." She arched her eyebrow again and scrunched her nose up. "Time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it?" She patted Jamie on the face a couple times roughly. Her voice lowered in pitch. "Now, be a good girl for Mommy. Next time you see me... it'll be in hell." She let go and stood to her full height then gave another chilling smirk. "Can't wait. Toodles!" And in the blink of an eye, the demon was gone.

Cringing against the pain in her back, the witch winced and shut her eyes, struggling to breathe against the stabbing pain—it felt like she'd broken a rib. She held one of her hands against her side, cursing herself and her panic-dictated move. "Sana sub hoc manu—" she whispered hoarsely, and the forces of magic obeyed—her rib pain disappeared and she could breathe again. Relived, Jamie sagged against the dresser. The telltale trickle ran out of her nose and the pounding commenced in her head, the fatigue settled in. But it wouldn't last long. She had accepted this tired song and dance by now, and soldiered through as she lamented her reality.

It didn't matter really, after all, Jamie Ward was a dead woman walking and had been since 2008. She'd never told a single soul. She alone lived with the dark knowledge that every morning she woke up, she had one less day to go until the Hellhounds came.

She cursed the fateful day when she made a desperate, thoughtless soul deal. She'd been in love for what felt like the first real time. His name had been Jake, and she had thought he was a hunter. He'd swept her off her feet in the span of a month. And then during a hunt he'd had a horrible accident that seemed like it was all her fault. So when the demon Ruby just suddenly appeared out of nowhere and offered to save his life—all you have to do is give me your soul and let me make you a witch, then you never hear from me again until your time's up—Jamie had agreed without any consideration for herself, not caring what price she had to pay. And what a price it was.

She'd been cursed with being a witch that day. She'd never known why the demon had insisted on that stipulation either—Jamie had been so focused on saving Jake that she hadn't realized what becoming a witch would mean. Even now a few years later, she was still always having trouble with her abilities… often hurting herself or doing things slightly wrong in the process of trying to use them. Other witches didn't accept Jamie, and many hunters instantly turned on her when they found out. Latest example, Dean Winchester. Jamie wasn't proud of being a witch most days, even if her powers did save lives and allow her to do incredible things. It was a lonely, vagabond existence.

Had Jake been in on the plot to lure Jamie into breaking an apocalyptic seal? Was he a demon too? After talking to Meg just now, Jamie didn't know how it could be otherwise. After he'd been resurrected, he'd had sex with her one more time but it had been different—rough, cruel, selfish. She'd been confused and wounded emotionally. And then he'd said it had been fun but he was over it, then left abruptly and never shown his face again. Jamie had been absolutely heartbroken and humiliated. And now she understood. The entire thing had all been a trick. And she'd fallen for it, hook, line, sinker.

After Jake, her heart had gone completely dark, the light of hope leaving completely. She had sworn never to fully trust anyone ever again.

How was she supposed to cope, finding out she had been used to help raise Lucifer? On the same day Dean Winchester implied that her brother had tried to rape and kill someone? What was she supposed to do? What very little was left of her world was crashing down. The guilt and existential dread was staggering. She was so tired of trying to soldier through and being left with nothing but loneliness and pain for her efforts. She was just trying to make a few things right in the world before the curtain call. That's the entire reason she loved hunting: saving people. With or without credit, making the world a safer place healed Jamie and gave her a reason to exist. No one had saved the loveless little girl who lived like a ghost in that mansion under Caroline's tyrannical rule. Jamie's heart ached to think of herself at that age. She never wanted anyone to feel that sense of abandonment or despair. She acted tough and fought hard and people thought she was some shrewd, wisecracking hunter but underneath it all... no matter how much she tried not to, Jamie felt deeply.

She and her brother had never been close or friends. She hadn't liked him even half the time. Loved, yes, she guessed. But it was guilt and duty and the fact that she didn't have anyone else but him that had kept their little family unit limping along. Her eyes went sidelong and saw Glen's discarded phone. Hesitating, afraid of the truth, Jamie took a beat then steeled herself and reached out to pick it up. She refused to live in a lie. She had to know the truth. The phone came on and asked for the password. She tried a few different significant dates and numbers and none worked. And then she tried the one she should have tried first: Mother's birth year. The phone unlocked. And Jamie's worst fears were quickly confirmed in awful detail. The texts, emails, photos, and videos on the phone were of a man who lived a double, triple life—and much of it was too graphic, violent, and sexually deviant to handle. Unable to see any more at a certain point, Jamie threw the phone away from herself as if it were a poisonous snake, almost so sick she could vomit.

With a churning stomach and a cry of emotional agony from a broken spirit, Jamie slammed her hands into her face. Great gasping sobs tore her asunder, and she was forever broken by what she had seen. I hunt monsters. And my brother was one. Alex got hurt because of me. How many others did I endanger? How did I never know this?

As the storm of unbearable grief roared, Jamie thought of the handgun she had in the back of her car. Of how easy it would be to end this cursed Ward bloodline once and for all.

---

Easter, Pennsylvania

Several stories up from street level in an unremarkable hotel, the two of them held onto each other tightly in the nearly-silent room—him: quiet and tense, head bent down over hers—her: shaking with tears, her arms circled around his middle inside of the trench coat. Castiel had forgotten what she felt like, how the sensation of being in an embrace with her was like something out of the Heaven he used to know. But her soft crying sounds were heartbreaking. And whatever gladness he felt at the reunion, he felt a hundred times more pain and guilt. There was dread, too, because he knew this was only temporary. He would have to leave soon and the camouflaging ward he'd set over her would only last so long. But how could he leave, especially after what he had learned today? Could he undo the damage caused by his ignorance and his false assumptions?

He had thought Alex knew where he was—fighting a war in Heaven. She hadn't.

He had thought she'd been with Dean, safe and relatively protected. She hadn't. Off on her own for reasons he didn't even know, she'd apparently spent the entire year alone. Retroactively, he was afraid for her safety and he cursed himself for not knowing.

The things that could have happened to her. The things that did happen to her. And there could be more he didn't even know of yet.

It was devastating because he thought she had been safe and patiently awaiting his return, aware of what he was doing and the fact that he planned to come back. That's what Rachel had said… he darkened. No, not said. Lied. He would deal with her soon, and harshly too.

But right now, he held onto the moment they had been given and drifted in dispair. This was his fault. All of it. Was it not enough to discover that he had damned her soul by being with her sexually? Was it not enough that he'd been the cause of her mute condition? Misery abounded wherever he touched her life, and it was too late. Too late. Not just for those things… but for the horrors that had befallen her today. His arms tightened around her as if perhaps he could protect her from what had already happened.

Cas had removed the bruises and physical hurts from her, but Alex was right. He couldn't erase what had happened to her. He couldn't take that away. He didn't even fully know what had happened to her and couldn't bring himself to ask. Castiel thought of a man putting his hands on his Alex… kiss-biting her neck and forcing himself onto her, striking her across the face and making her hurt, making her do something she didn't want. His blood ran molten with fury as he envisioned her frightened and struggling underneath that giant blond man who he had seen a few months ago. Somehow, he knew that man was the one who had committed atrocities against Alex. The mental image made him feel physically sick, a feeling he hadn't experienced in quite some time.

The last time Castiel had cried was about a year ago, when Alex had been dying at Lucifer's hands. He felt the same way now, as if his grief was so much it wanted to spill out of him. She hadn't even thought to call him and had told him as much. She'd given up on him, and he was so, so sorry. His stroked his palm down over the back of her head once, cradling the nape of her neck with his hand, realizing with guilt-ridden self loathing how in his quest to save Alex, he had lost sight of her completely. Maybe had lost more than just sight. Even though they were in each others arms, he couldn't explain it… he felt very far away from her. His eyes closed and his eyebrows knotted together tensely.

He was a fool for assuming he could pause everything here on earth to fight the war in Heaven. He'd been so ready to believe what Rachel had told him. He should have checked, he should have found a way to see Alex and tell her himself all the things she had been unaware of for the entire past year. But he'd been so crippled with fear of endangering her. And so he'd handed her over to the cruel wiles of fate. And now look what had happened.

He could sense by proximity that her blood ran thick with demon's blood. Another thing that weighed his heart like stone. Cas was torn between both wanting to remove himself as far from her as humanly possible to end the pain he seemed to cause her, and the need to take her hand and never let her leave his side again. How would she be all right after this? He had failed her in every way possible, and he had been so negligent. He'd done it all for her… but had he lost her in the process? Their bond, so strong and profound before, seemed unsure and flimsy to him now.

Alex drew back, her eyes red and watery, cheeks shining with tears. Looking up at him with what looked like guilt as his hand moved from the back of her hair to the side of her face, she shook her head faintly, struggling. Like she were resisting his touch, almost. "Cas… I really thought you were never coming back." Her words, her quietly breaking voice, the confirmation she had truly believed he would leave her forever without a word… it was all the most gut-wrenching thing. How could she think that? How had he let this happen? She sniffed, looking down, another tear rolling down her cheek as her expression crumpled again. "I'm so sorry," she said in a soft, pained rasp.

He felt how his face was twisted. Sorry for what? He didn't understand—she had nothing to be sorry for, if anyone had things to be sorry for, it was him. The hotel room door abruptly opened back up with a loud bang, startling the two of them. Dean came into the room like a dark cloud, a suspicious glare on his face. Behind him, Sam looked bored with his arms crossed as he peered in lazily.

"You two set, or what?" Dean asked gruffly.

Alex pulled away from Cas, trying to hide her teary face from her brothers. She mumbled something about needing a minute and disappeared quickly into the bathroom—and Cas had to stop himself from following her like a magnet. He watched her, then stared at the closed door.

---

Alex shut the bathroom door and leaned her back against it, looking upward. Too many eyes on her, too many eyes. She was reeling—her emotions were so intense that they'd begun to affect her physically. Or maybe it was because she needed more demon blood. She moved away from the door and braced herself against the stained ceramic sink to stare into her reflection with a strained expression. The bathroom was dark and lit only with a single overhead light, making her face look long and shadowed. She looked like what she was: an addict. Jumpy, on edge, not normal. How had this happened to her? All too well, she remembered when Sam had been the one with this problem. She'd been so quick to judge him for it. So callous, so ready to side with Dean.

Funny… she and Sam were more alike than she'd ever thought. She'd followed in his footsteps almost exactly. Drawing the comparisons was almost laughable. When Dean died, Alex and Sam had fought and separated and Sam had subsequently given in to a demon blood addiction. And now, almost blow-for-blow, Alex had done what he had. Fought with Dean and ran away when Sam 'died.' Lived on her own and gotten addicted to the substance just like Sam had. She understood now. The blood got under your skin, it made you feel good when everything else in the world felt bad. What she didn't understand was why her twin was being so cold and unfeeling right now towards her and Dean. He was almost unrecognizable, and it scared her. What had happened to him? It didn't make sense.

Alex ran some water, hearing Dean and Cas's voices indistinctly in the other room. He was really here, and her heart gave a small jump. Everything that had just happened—his appearance, their few minutes alone… that had all really happened.

Suddenly overwhelmed by an abrupt downpour of shame and guilt, Alex gripped the sink tight and sobbed once, attempting to hide the sound and breathe steadily. She felt low and dirty, not just for the demon blood. The word rape, ugly and uncomfortable and shameful bounced around in her mind and she gripped the sink even tighter, pressing her lips in together, trying to stay calm.

Come on, baby, just relax. That voice haunted her. Hold still, bitch, you're making it really hard for me to enjoy this.

A gunshot. His look of shock and pain. The sound of her blood hammering in her ears painfully.

Alex had killed humans before—two of them—but neither of them had been a person who she'd thought to be a friend. Glen made it three; three people she'd killed. And he deserved it, the fucking asshole. She realized that her whole body was shaking with sickened adrenaline and her head hurt, her veins begged for demon blood because it would help her forget this awful feeling. She suddenly remembered the running water and looked at it blankly, recalling a callous voice in her ear and hands that didn't belong on her body touching her painfully. She could somehow still feel those touches and without realizing it, she wrapped an arm around herself stomach protectively, as if she could shield herself from those memories and horrors.

Alex didn't want to admit even to herself how deeply Glen's actions had shaken her. So, true to the Winchester family name, she pushed her thoughts and emotions concerning the matter down and away, angrily refusing to think about it. Instead, she cupped her hands under the water and splashed her face, washing away the evidence of tears that had been there. She finished and cleared her throat, then patted her face with the little towel hanging beside the sink.

Standing to her full height, she drew her shoulders up and took in a deep breath. She couldn't let them see how bad off she was. Having them worry over her and treat her like she was a fragile vase wasn't gonna happen. She hated that shit, because it implied that she was weak and stupid, and that's exactly how she felt… so, she'd act like she was okay. Alex didn't need anyone else confirming the horrible suspicion she carried that she was beyond help and messed up for good. I'm fine, she told herself in ever-increasing doubt, I'm fine.

She heard Cas saying something as she turned the water off, that deep, unmistakable tenor carrying through the closed door. She looked at the door silently toward where he was, her heart flip flopping at the sound of that low voice. Finally, she had some answers, enough for now anyway. She understood that there was a war in Heaven and that Raphael opposed Cas and had sworn to hurt her and find her. That fact alone spoke of how important she was to Castiel and she squeezed her eyes shut at the sudden onset of more overwhelming guilt that threatened to turn to tears. She thought of all the times she'd decided he didn't love her—she still struggled to understand in her heart of hearts even if her mind understood better now.

Her palm moved from her mouth to scrub her forehead as she breathed out shakily. What now? He said he couldn't stay, that him being around her endangered her. How long would the war last, though? How was she supposed to just keep waiting around? This was so hard. She thought you were supposed to find the love of your life and then things were neatly wrapped up, the sad times would be over. That's what all those stupid books she used to love had implied. That's what she'd wanted to believe. But reality was that she loved Castiel painfully and the circumstances around them were pulling them apart. It felt hopeless.

That, and… it wasn't like she remembered. All this time she'd been longing for not only him, but them—the way they'd been there at the end. Even though she hated to admit it to herself, he seemed strange to her again, unfamiliar, and she was disillusioned with herself. Was it supposed to be like that? Or maybe he felt distant because of the demon blood. She remembered how much he had detested Sam's addiction to it. Would he detest her now, too? Change his mind about loving her? He wasn't a human like she was. He was an angel. And she was filling herself with the blood of freaking demons. She knew he hated demons and all they stood for and dammit, so did she! She hunched over the sink again, propping an elbow onto the ledge there. This was scary and she felt alone. She put her face in her hand miserably.

She hated that they all knew now, that Cas had just blurted it out for Dean and Sam to know. Dean's look of utter disbelief and heartbreak had been worse than a fiery tirade. And Sam's apathy had been another unexpected low blow. What were they going to do with her? She couldn't just stop. Starting had been accidental but now it was impossible to escape the clawing, itching desire to drink. She'd had a flask of it in her car and she thought of it anxiously… she needed more soon or she'd start to get sick. In fact, the headache she had was probably the first symptom. Alex resolved to explain it to them and tell them she'd wean herself off of it. If she'd gotten on it, she could get off of it too. Maybe she could turn this around. No, not maybe. She had to.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror again. And didn't like who she saw there. Her eyes fell away from the mirror and she was disappointed with herself on every level. Looking at the closed bathroom door, she almost didn't want to go out again and face them. Face him. There was this creeping fear that the longer the angel saw her now, the more he'd see how low she had sunk. And when he saw that, he really would leave her.

And the worst part, she couldn't blame him even for a second. Who would want this disaster she'd become?

---

Dean watched as Alex disappeared into the bathroom after mumbling something about needing a minute. Behind him, Sam came in and shut the door. What was going on here? When Dean had walked in a couple seconds ago, it looked like the two of them were in the middle of something upsetting. Alex had clearly been crying.

Five minutes. That's what he'd given them. Not that he'd wanted to—letting his sister out of his sight felt wrong given everything that had happened. But she'd wanted it, and as hard as it had been, he had. A year ago he would have been a prick about it and probably not have allowed it. But… his time with Lisa had changed some things about him.

There wasn't really a way for Dean to deny that Cas still really, really cared about Alex. It was obvious. He was gentle with her in a way that he wasn't with anyone else, just like Dean remembered… but something was different. Something had changed. Dean felt guarded and suspicious of this entire thing. The war Cas had mentioned however briefly... the way Cas had flipped out and done some angel blood thing to Alex the moment he laid eyes on her… the shocking gut-punch when Cas had asked her if she'd been drinking demon blood. In a million years, Dean had never expected to hear that. What had happened to her this year? Why had Cas let that happen and just ditched without a word?

Stressed to the max, Dean set his sights on the angel, wanting some damn answers. "What'd you say to her?" he asked in a low, warning tone.

Because if Cas made her cry, if he'd hurt her feelings or broken her heart, it didn't matter if the guy was an angel. Dean would find a way to beat his face in.

"That's between myself and Alex," Castiel replied, matching Dean's rough tone and not meeting his gaze. Dean's eyebrows shot up at the reply. The angel looked out the window he stood beside instead of meeting Dean's expectant gaze. He was jaded. Not sure what to make of the angel's statement, just not liking it, Dean did what he was best at: glared. Cas seemed to sense it and turned halfway, looking at Dean sidelong. He spoke in a low, rueful tone. "Dean—we have to get her away from the demon blood." He paused heavily and dipped his chin down. "Like we did with Sam."

Dean's expression softened from foul to oh god. What, put her into lockdown? Let the demon blood tear its way out of her system? Watch her hallucinate and go nuts like Sam had when he came off of it? It had been bad enough watching Sam go through that, now her? Castiel seemed to share Dean's disturbed and pained feelings on the matter, only Cas was more resigned about it. Like he'd already thought it through. "By my best guess, she drank some a day or two ago. She'll crave more, and soon. If she isn't already." He took in a weary breath then let it out and turned from the window to face Dean better. The angel looked as defeated as Dean felt. "I suggest you check her things, she may have some with her."

This was… unthinkable. Horrible. The worst. All of it. Everything. "She… she doesn't have anything, man," Dean said, his voice strained with emotion. His shoulders slumped a little and he crossed the room, needing to sit down because everything weighed too much and gravity was defeating him. And he'd thrown the last thing she owned down onto the street without a thought. Maybe that's why she was so upset… because her phone was the last possession left. "It… it all got impounded by the cops. Whatever she had's all in her car a state away." Dean sank down onto the little couch pushed up against the wall. Shaking his head, he said nothing more, just stared vapidly into middle distance. What had happened to her? She'd been so reckless this year, she'd endangered herself and cut herself off from everyone who she'd ever supposedly loved and needed. Dean wondered if maybe she wanted to die. He knew he had some nights. He rubbed his face with the palm of his hand, silent and tense. Across the room, still near the window, Cas was stone-faced and deep in distressed thought.

"Dean. You flipped your shit when you found out I was on demon blood," Sam said, looking back at Dean from over his shoulder—he'd sat down at the table again. His tone was cool and accusatory. "And you're just… down in the dumps when she gets hooked?"

"Shut up, Sam, I don't wanna hear any of your crap right now," Dean muttered heavily. He didn't even conjure up a dirty look or glare for Sam.

"You know, the more you drink, the more you want," Sam said. "And the less you have, the crazier you feel." He shrugged. "At least, that's how I remember it. So if she had some a couple days ago… she'll start jonesin' soon. Real soon." He seemed so unaffected by the thought that even Castiel paused to look at Sam strangely for a moment. Dean felt disgusted with his brother and his blasé attitude. But no words came to mind, no tirades or rants. He just wanted things to be how they had been. He wanted his brother and sister back how they used to be. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to gather himself.

Standing off to the side, Castiel saw how Dean looked at Sam with so much questioning confusion, and Cas, too, was unsure. Sam was not himself. He glanced at Dean and Sam guiltily. Another thing he had done wrong: raising Sam from the dead wrong somehow. He couldn't tell them—any of them—that he'd been the one who raised Alex's twin. Not until he knew how to fix it. There were other things he couldn't tell them. Like how Alex's soul was damned because of him, how he'd claimed the right to her soul and hidden it away like a dark secret. And with that in mind, at the reminder of how much sin he had accumulated against the Winchester family, he grew angry with himself. The anger translated into helplessness, which only made him more anxious to act.

"We should do this now, Dean," Cas said in a low, urgent tone as he approached the hunter.

Dean stood up at Cas's insistent suggestion, an adamant expression on his face. "No, no," he whispered furiously, glancing at the bathroom door as he came to meet Cas in the middle of the room. "After what happened to her today?" He made a face. "I'm not throwing her in lockdown. At least not yet, Cas."

The two men stared at each other with similarly loaded expressions, and Castiel felt another pang of emotional pain. Strange. He saw how the way he felt was reflected in Dean's eyes and face, he saw clearly how much this man loved Alex too. And if Dean loved her, he should agree with Cas to do what was best for her. Trying to convince him, Cas appealed. "Dean, I don't like it either," he started, intending to tell Dean that he would personally take her to Bobby's and find a way to stay with her as she detoxed from the demon blood addiction. But he got cut off.

Dean made an ugly face and threw his hands out sarcastically, losing his whisper in favor of his regular rumbling voice. "Yeah well congratulations, Cas, on being such a sweet, caring guy!"

"...Why are you directing your anger toward me?" Cas asked in quiet, troubled confusion.

"Well who else should I direct it toward?!" Dean demanded, aghast. "You were supposed to be her guardian angel and look what happened to her! I mean, where the hell were you, man?" Dean's disappointment and emotional turmoil only furthered Castiel's. "I thought… I thought you were looking out for her." That was even worse than his thunderous accusations. That quiet, wounded statement.

"I... thought I was," Castiel said guiltily, staring at the ground. If only he had known. What could he do now? This was temporary. Raphael was still out there. The war wasn't over. And his allegiances were torn. Cas met Dean's gaze and the two of them looked at each other with similarly agonized expressions.

The bathroom door opened at that moment and both of the men turned. Alex hesitated in the doorway, looking from Dean to Cas. She'd splashed her face off and it looked like she'd run her fingers through her hair. She looked like she'd recovered from her emotional distress for the moment. With eyes narrowed, she frowned suspiciously, obviously sensing the tension in the room. "What's... going on?" she asked slowly.

Cas and Dean glanced at each other silently, both coming to the wordless agreement to say nothing of what they'd been discussing. Alex's frown deepened. Dean wet his lips and put on a disarming smile with a shrug. "We, uh… Cas was just telling us about how he thinks he can help with the case," Dean said, looking at Cas pointedly.

"Uh… yes," Castiel faltered, catching on and realizing he was expected to lie. "Yes, uh…" Cas began to walk over to the table where all of Sam's research was piled up. He actually did have a few things to add to this investigation. Had come to Dean for that specific reason. However he was not in the frame of mind to do much but worry over Alex after everything that had happened since their reunion. However, he forced himself to try and put it from his mind in the meantime. Sitting at the table, Sam glanced up at Cas, who picked up one of the printouts. It featured a Renaissance depiction of the angel of death.

"First it should be known that your theory is incorrect, Sam," Cas said distractedly, not looking the man in the eye. "Angels are not the ones behind these killings. But, they were committed with one of our weapons." He paused heavily and glanced at Alex, who was quiet and unreadable, arms folded as she leaned against the bathroom doorframe. Cas was finding it extremely hard to think about the case. He only wanted to take care of what was most important to him: her. But he supposed Dean was right. To just suddenly sweep Alex away without notice to the panic room for demon blood detox would be jarring and add to her trauma. So Cas went along with the deception and couldn't look at her anymore as he thought of how she'd needed him and he'd been far away. "There's... only one thing that could have brought these specific deaths into existence," he murmured, setting the paper down somberly. "You call it the staff of Moses."

"The staff?" Sam asked incredulously. "Huh."

Cas picked up the jar of locusts on the table and looked at it grimly. "It was used in a dominance display against the Egyptians."

Dean scoffed, trying for amused sarcasm as he stood off to the side of the table. "Yeah, uh, that one made the papers."

"...Didn't the staff turn a river to blood?" Alex asked, onto the fact that something was amiss. "Not one guy?"

Cas glanced at her briefly, his guilt gnawing at him. "The weapon isn't being used at full capacity." He saw how her eyes took on a note of questioning at his demeanor. Again, he looked away.

"Okay, but... what is—what is Chuck Heston's disco stick doing down here, anyway?" Dean asked. Cas saw that he was trying to act light-hearted and how his tone was joking. Cas didn't understand the reference and didn't know how that was helpful. "I mean, don't you guys put away your toys?"

Always with the jokes. Cas didn't have time for jest. How could he explain all of what had happened to the weapons, to Heaven? Cas took a moment, staring at the jar of locusts before he walked off a few steps into the middle of the room, effectively hiding his face from them all for a moment. He felt so burdened by everything. He turned the jar over in his hands, focusing on it briefly. "Before the apocalypse, Heaven may have been corrupt, but it was stable. The staff was safely contained." He sighed heavily, thinking of how utterly decimated Paradise was. He turned and then looked from the brothers to Alex, who still watched from the bathroom doorway. "It's been chaos up there," he said. "The war, it…" he looked away. He felt distant from all of three of them, he felt out of place, he felt to blame for so much, including what had happened to Heaven's weapons and for these deaths too in a way. "In the confusion, a number of... powerful weapons were stolen." He glanced sidelong at Alex, who looked at him with a certain degree of sadness. He wondered if he looked sad, too. As close as they'd been a moment ago, he felt worlds apart. Was it too much to ask for a reprieve from all of the circumstances that were determined to sever them apart? He felt certain that what they needed was more time together so that he could explain more, so that he could understand what had happened to her.

"Wait, you—you're saying your nukes are loose?" Dean asked in dawning realization, forcing Cas to remain present in the moment.

He took a moment to reply. "I'm... afraid so," Cas confirmed, realizing that his desires, as usual, would have to wait. "But you've stumbled onto one of them. We must find the weapon that did this." He indicated the jar of locusts that he still held, growing deeply somber, realizing that he could use some support in this matter. He looked at Dean, the one in charge. "I need your help."

"You need our help," Sam repeated doubtfully, scoffing and standing up while crossing his arms.

"After all the help you gave us this year," Dean put in resentfully without missing a beat.

Castiel was immediately full of indignant defensiveness. He had come when Dean called, he had done what he could, he would have done more if he had known—but he hadn't. He'd been lied to, made endless mistakes, and nothing could undo the consequences. He felt himself bristling because it was true. He'd been needed and he hadn't responded because he hadn't known. His anger surged because he felt so helpless and stuck, unable to do anything at all. Cas reacted without thinking and tossed the jar of locusts at Dean, who caught it with a soft, surprised oof. Pouring all of his frustrations into his words, Castiel adopted a decidedly foul tone. "Sam, Dean, my 'people skills' are 'rusty,'" he ranted with a surprising amount of acid, using air quotes over the words he was emphasizing verbally. "Pardon me, but I have spent the last 'year' as a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, unaware of your individual plights here on earth," he snapped, then relented slightly, even though his tone was still forceful and louder than normal. "I'm sorry, I am, for failing to be here when you needed me." He glanced at Alex darkly, expression conflicted, and then he softened, pulling himself together. He looked at Dean again. "But I am here now and believe me, you do not want that weapon down here." He paused significantly. "Help me find it. Or more people will die."

Dean and Sam were surprised at the rant. And when Cas glanced sidelong again, he saw that Alex, too, was deeply confused at his reaction. Perhaps he had overreacted. But all he could think of was her being attacked, assaulted, and him being none the wiser. It made him want to utterly decimate something.

"All right," Dean said, visibly deciding to roll with it. "Okay. Well, if the angels didn't pull the trigger, then that brings us back to motive." He headed to the little table.

"Yeah." Sam agreed. "If angels didn't pop the kid, who did? Right now, we got three dead cops." He reached for what Dean had picked up off the table—a newspaper clipping. "Only thing linking them... is this." He read off of the clipping. 'Father of slain suspect calls for investigation.'"

"So you suspect this man of committing the murders?" Cas surmised, narrowing his eyes as he followed the logic.

Sam shrugged. "Seems like a good place to start, anyway."

"Maybe this guy got his hands on Moe's staff, huh?" Dean put in.

Cas frowned. The sooner he could help them solve this mystery, the better. He planned to take Alex to the panic room by the end of that day, whether Dean liked it or not. It just had to happen, one way or the other. He glanced at her and felt guilt over what he was planning. "Do you have this man's home address?" Cas asked, his focus divided down the middle between this case and Alex.

"Yeah, hold on a sec, I got it earlier… public records…" Sam leafed through the papers that were piled high.

Alex finally seemed to decide to leave where she'd been stationary in the bathroom doorway, tapping her fingers on her upper thigh as she walked into the kitchenette, distracted. Cas watched her sadly. What was she thinking? She had her other arm wrapped around herself as if she were cold. She winced, frowning at nothing like she had a headache. She'd begin to crave demon blood again soon if she hadn't already. Again, Cas wondered about her year alone. And to think, he'd spent all that time lamenting his own loneliness in Heaven. How selfish he was. How shortsighted.

Alex ran a hand through her hair, glancing at Cas, her expression hooded. He noticed that she looked so much more physically healthier than she'd been the last time he'd seen her. Her skin was tanned and she had gained weight, she looked strong and supple. He knew it was the demon blood's effects—it made the human body stronger for a time before it began to destroy it instead. Sadness spanned across his mind as their eyes held a gaze. Her eyes slid sidelong to her brothers and she paused, seemed to consider something. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips in thought, her eyebrows creased together slightly, then she seemed to give up on hesitance and she came to stand in front of him.

"I... thought you said you couldn't stay." It was a question just as much as it was a statement.

He met her tense gaze with one of his own. "I can't," he told her sadly. "Not for long. Only long enough to recover this weapon."

She nodded once, silent and conflicted, then winced a bit as she touched her fingertips to her forehead. When she saw Cas's concerned look, she tried to downplay it. "Headache," she mumbled.

Oh Alex. He remembered when Sam had been so abominable to him. The boy with the demon blood. That seemed a lifetime ago when he'd been so different of an angel. He felt no such feelings of disdain for Alex. The only thing he felt was horror that this had happened to her. And the need to fix it. Because if the addiction became too severe, it would kill her. And he was not going to let that happen.

Dean was watching them quietly, not looking his usual fire-and-brimstone. Just sort of troubled. Unsure.

"Here's the address, Cas," Sam said, reading off a sheet of paper and catching the angel's attention. "Twenty-two twenty-two, Sycamore Lane—"

---

One second, Sam was reading out the address for Darryl Birch, the next, all four of them were suddenly standing in a dim living room in front of a very surprised, middle-aged man who sat on his couch.

"Cas, a little warning next time," Dean complained, a little disoriented. This day just kept getting crazier and crazier. Beside him, Alex was confounded—beside her, Cas was stoic—and beside him, Sam frowned mildly.

"What the... how'd you get in here?!" the man on the couch exclaimed, shooting up to his feet. Dean recognized him from the newspaper article as the father of the boy who the police had killed.

Sam flashed his FBI badge, which apparently he kept in his jeans pocket at all times. "Mr. Birch, settle down," he said, then snapped the ID shut. "Federal agents."

"But... you can't just walk up in here!" Darryl protested, aghast.

Sam ignored him. "Quite a collection you've got there, huh?" He nodded toward the coffee table, which was littered with newspaper clippings.

Darryl's eyes widened. "What are you trying to—"

"Look, we know the truth, all right?" Sam cut in coldly. "Chris didn't have a gun on him when those cops shot him. They set him up."

Mild surprise showed on the man's face. "Yeah," Darryl said softly. "They're all getting theirs."

Accusatory, Sam stared at the man. "And who's giving it to them, Darryl?"

When the man frowned and said nothing, Dean spoke up, testing Sam's theory. "Darryl?" He paused meaningfully. "Did you kill Toby Gray and the others?"

"Me?!" Darryl asked, panicking. "I didn't kill anyone! Look at how they died!"

"You smote them with the staff of Moses," Castiel stated, deadpan, stern.

Darryl looked at him oddly, going still. "...The hell kind of Fed are you?"

"He's new," Alex excused casually, putting a wan smile across her face. Dean glanced at her sidelong, not for the first time that day wondering if she was really, actually okay or not.

Darryl looked at her oddly too. "I'm supposed to believe you're an agent? What are you, sixteen?" Alex looked thoroughly annoyed at the question. Darryl regarded the four of them suspiciously. "Who are you guys, really?"

Getting impatient, Cas shook his head. "We don't have time for this." He took a threatening step toward Darryl. "Where is it?"

"Leave my dad alone!" Came a young, scared voice. And everyone turned to see a skinny boy maybe thirteen or fourteen, holding a stick in his hand—he aimed it like a gun at them. The second Cas turned around and saw it, he transported through space to put himself in front of Alex, startling everyone in the room. The boy started at the sudden movement and being only an arm's length away, Cas took the stick away, surprising the boy completely. "Cas, take it easy—" Dean said even as Darryl flipped out.

"Hey, what are you—how did he—?!" Darryl cried, then suddenly found Cas in his face and he fell over, unconscious at the touch of two fingertips to his head.

"What did you do to him?" the boy asked in rising panic, stepping back in horror at what had just happened.

"It's all right," Dean said, holding a calming hand out to the kid. "He's just sleeping." Cas was looking at the stick in his hand, brow furrowed deeply and Dean glanced at him sidelong. "Is that...?" he asked.

"Yes," Cas confirmed.

"Why's it so short?" Alex asked, features screwed up in confusion.

Cas looked at the stick oddly. "It's—it's been sawed off."

"Who are you people?" The kid asked, voice rising in panic as he kept edging backwards. "It wasn't my dad who killed those cops, please, don't hurt us!"

"Listen, we're not here to hurt you, okay?" Alex said, following him slowly.

"But we need to know." Dean was right with her. "Where'd you get this thing?"

"Please don't kill my dad," the boy begged, still backing up as the four adults followed. "It was me. I did it."

"We're not here to kill anyone, okay?" Alex repeated more assertively. The kid stared at her with big brown, scared eyes.

"What's your name, kid?" Dean asked—the boy had physically backed himself into a corner and had no place else to go.

"Aaron," he replied nervously. "Aaron Birch." He must be the murder victim's younger brother. Alex and Dean exchanged a glance—behind them slightly, Sam was silent. Off to the side, Cas was looking at the boy with a predictable frown.

"Okay, Aaron, where'd you get that stick?" Dean asked.

The boy hesitated. "You won't believe me."

Dean raised his eyebrows, smiling cynically. What wouldn't he believe these days? "Try me."

The kid glanced at Alex, then Cas, then looked back at Dean. "It was an angel."

"An angel?" Dean repeated.

Alex looked at Cas questioningly even as Aaron explained. "Those liars, they killed my brother, and nothing bad even happened to them," he said, voice trembling. "It's not fair. So I prayed to God every night he would punish them. God didn't answer. But he did."

"His name—did he give you a name?" Castiel asked.

"No," Aaron said. "He just said I could have justice, but I was gonna have to take it myself. He... he gave me the stick."

"What, just… just handed it over?" Alex asked, eyebrows raised doubtfully.

"Ah, come on." Dean called the kid's bluff and walking a little closer, which clearly made Aaron even more nervous. "He didn't just give it to you now did he, Aaron?"

Considering his words carefully, the boy was cautious. Then swallowed. "Okay, fine. I bought it."

"You bought it?" Sam repeated then chuckled, leaning against the staircase casually. "With what?" He turned a shade more mocking. "What's your allowance?"

"What'd the angel want for it?" Dean asked, not giving Aaron a chance to reply to Sam's dumb question. "What did you give him for it?"

The boy was somber, trying to put on a tough face. "My soul."

"Your soul," Alex echoed, shock filling her voice.

"...You sold your soul to an angel?" Sam asked doubtfully.

"Can that even happen?" Dean asked Cas. Everyone looked at the angel, who looked confounded.

"It's... never happened before," Cas said uncertainly, then almost appeared to speak to himself instead of them. "An angel buying souls. That could explain why he cut the staff into pieces."

"What? Why?" Sam prompted.

Cas was grim. "More pieces, more product."

"More 'product'?" Dean asked. "Who is this guy?"

"I don't know. But we'll find him." Without warning, Cas stepped forward and smacked his hand to Aaron's forehead and the boy fell unconscious.

"Hey wh—" Alex started, even as her oldest brother stepped back in surprise.

"What'd you do that for?!" Dean demanded.

Suddenly, they were in their hotel room again and Cas was standing in front of them with Aaron slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The room was dimmer since the sun was setting. "Portability," Cas said, and turned and maneuvered the kid onto the bed roughly, laying him out there flat like a pancake.

"Cas…. you realize you just kidnapped a kid?" Dean asked, shocked at the angel's audacity.

Slightly behind him and beside him, Alex watched Cas and he turned around to face Dean with a stony, resigned expression on his face. She was noticing more and more how Cas was distracted, troubled, jaded, different. She thought about what he'd said about the war. She knew what fighting constantly did to a person. Her head pounded painfully and she ignored it angrily. I'm fine.

"If the angel we seek truly bought this boy's soul, when a claim is laid on a living soul, it leaves a mark, a brand," Cas explained gruffly.

"What, like a—like a shirt tag at camp?" Sam asked.

Cas looked at Sam uncertainly, faltering slightly. "I... have no idea. But I can read the mark and find the name of the angel that bought the soul."

"How can you read the mark?" Alex asked cautiously. She felt uncomfortable for a reason she couldn't name and walked to the opposite side of the bed so she could look over the kid closely. Was it like Dean's handprint he'd had when he first came back from Hell? She didn't see any marks on Aaron, but maybe it was on his back or chest or legs somewhere. She looked at Cas across Aaron's still body. "Where is it?"

Castiel's gaze flickered away. "It's... on his soul. And reading it… well, it'll be painful for him." Cas began to roll his sleeve up. "Excruciating." Alex stared, mouth dropping open slightly. She was taken aback. Was Cas gonna like stick his hand into the kid's head or chest or something?

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa." Dean held a hand up and came a couple steps closer. "Hold on."

"Dean." Cas seemed inconvenienced by Dean's protests, which startled Alex further.

"He's a kid, Cas," Dean insisted. "A ki—Sam?" he looked to his brother for support expectantly.

Sam just looked at Cas. "Any permanent damage?"

"What?!" Dean looked at Sam like he was nuts.

"Physically, minimal," Cas said.

He began to reach down for Aaron—and then Alex's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. The angel's eyes snapped to hers. It panicked her somehow and she pulled away abruptly, feeling stung for no reason she could name. Confused with herself and seeing how Cas's expression faltered, Alex tried to maintain her course and brush her reaction aside. "Cas… you, you can't just do that to him without him saying okay," she said, a strange sensation rising up in her, a horrifying feeling she didn't recognize. She felt bare and stupid, like there were too many eyes on her—Sam, Dean, Cas. Without warning, she was remembering Glen's vile voice in her ear, his knee pressed into her back, one of his hands pulling on her hair painfully. He had done that to her without consent, and the feeling of being violated resonated over her all again.

"I have to, Alex," Cas insisted, unaware of her inner thoughts. He looked conflicted about it, but not enough, and she was staggered, not even fully cognizant of the conversation anymore, just remembering what she wanted to forget. She heard Dean saying something but Alex was staring at the patterned bedspread unseeingly, becoming quickly short of breath. How could anyone do that to someone else?

"I mean, Jesus, Cas, let's just look at our options here!" Dean exclaimed, trying to be reasonable, but close to panic from the sounds of it.

"What options?" Cas asked, his voice rising, too—and he turned his head to look at Alex's older brother almost angrily. "Dean! If I get the name, I can work a ritual to track the angel down."

"And I'm all for that," Dean insisted loudly. "But come on, there's gotta be another way."

Cas stared at Dean stonily. "There is no other way."

A long silence. And then: "Uh… Al? You okay?"

She flinched, starting out of her waking nightmare. Dean was looking at her oddly and Cas was too. "What is it?" the angel asked, and she flipped out, hating being looked at.

"This isn't right!" She burst out, shaking, a little bit off kilter. "You shouldn't do this!" Dean picked up on the fact that she wasn't talking about Aaron and made to move toward her, but she held a hand out and shook her head adamantly, her expression caged. "I'm fine, don't touch me, I'm fine." The room fell silent and Alex stared at Cas, feeling sold short. This wasn't the Cas she'd known, the one who hated to hurt anyone, who was gentle and kind unless you gave him a real reason to be angry with you.

"Maybe it's not right, but it's the only choice I have," Castiel said in a deep, regretful voice.

"So… you're gonna torture a kid, just like that?" Dean asked appealingly, like he shared Alex's convictions, like he found it strange that Cas would do this.

"I can't care about that, Dean!" Cas insisted, then lost his fire. "I don't have the luxury of that kind of thing anymore." He glanced at Alex and turned to bend over Aaron. Dean seemed to give up, but Alex didn't, in fact, she got furious.

Maybe she was just hypersensitive but she felt protective of Aaron, she couldn't just let Cas stick his hand in him or whatever and hurt the kid without Aaron at least knowing about it. So she blocked Cas's attempt to bend over the kid with a rough hand against his shoulder. This was suddenly so important to her that she could scream and her head hurt and her body felt like it was dying without the blood it craved and she just wanted things to be like they had been before life turned to crap, she just wanted to know Cas wouldn't really do this to an innocent kid. That he would listen to her, give her a chance to try a different way. "Cas, please." Her mind spun weirdly. "Just, just think for a second," she appealed. "At least let Aaron have as say in what you're about to do to him. He's just a kid."

His bright blue eyes flickered between hers. Unlike his responses to Dean, Cas seemed to actually consider her words. "He won't agree to it," he insisted regretfully.

"You don't know that," Alex replied vehemently, her tensions running high. "Wake him back up. Let me talk to him, m-maybe I can get him to, to give us an okay." The room was too hot and her stomach was roiling.

Cas just looked at her sadly. "Alex, I realize this must seem very cruel of me, but—"

"No!" Alex shrieked, then was subsequently shocked at how loud she had been. Embarrassed, she swallowed, shook her head, and averted her eyes. I'm fine. She tried to calm herself and act like nothing was as wrong as it really was—for her own sake, too. "Just, just don't do this without his permission, please. Cas, for me. Do this for me. If I can't get him to agree, then you go ahead. But please, give me a couple minutes to talk to him. Come on, Cas. Just a couple minutes. You can do that, right?" Cas didn't appear sure, more concerned about her reaction and the way she was word-vomiting and pleading than the content of her question. But, he looked down at Aaron, hesitating, then back at her. And she knew he was going to grant her request.

He relented, nodding. "Yes. All right." And he touched two fingertips to Aaron's forehead, waking the child up.

Disoriented, Aaron shot up to sit breathlessly, almost hyperventilating as he looked around in a panic. "W-what did you guys do to me?!" he demanded, voice cracking pre-pubescently.

A little surprised and unprepared and feeling everyone in the room looking at her, Alex's mouth suddenly felt like cotton. What was she supposed to say? "Hey, uh, relax," she said, glancing at Cas nervously, then Aaron, who looked anything but relaxed. "It's okay."

"Where am I?" he asked fearfully, looking at her then Cas, then Sam and Dean. He was breathing hard and looked like he might try something. "What do you want with me?!"

Alex gingerly sat beside him on the bed with a leg folded underneath herself as did her best to appear nonthreatening. If this didn't work, she didn't know if she'd be able to let Cas go through with the soul reading so she gave it her best shot. "Aaron, right? I'm Alex. And uh, those are my brothers, Sam and Dean. And our angel friend, Castiel." He looked really scared and she wracked her brain, which felt incredibly muddled. "We just, we really, really need to know the name of the angel who sold that piece of the staff to you," she told him, trying to ignore the splitting headache. Son of a bitch, she needed something to help it go away.

There was a flicker of guilt across the kid's face again and he shook his head, slightly shamefaced. "I told you… I don't know his name." He looked at Cas fearfully. "W-what are you guys gonna do to me?"

"You're gonna be fine, I promise," she said automatically and repeated herself. "We need your help, that's it." He looked at her with that same fear, not believing her, and Alex opened her mouth to tell him what Cas needed to do, then suddenly realized she recognized that fear in the kid's eyes. She softened a little, empathizing with him, surprising herself a little because suddenly, she knew exactly what to say. For a minute, she felt better. "Aaron, I know what it's like to lose a brother," she told him honestly. "It hurts. Every day, all day, in every part of you." He listened to her intently but guardedly, glancing at Sam and Dean, then back at her. "You kinda feel like, I dunno, like you lost a piece of who you are, right?"

His face faltered. He was clearly trying to hide his true feelings of sadness. "Yeah, I guess."

Really, she identified with this kid more than she realized. She thought of when Sam had died—twice now. When Dean had died. How bad it hurt. How much she'd wanted to change it, do something, get justice somehow. "Yeah. So when you found out you could give those cops what they deserved, when you found out you could have revenge… you did what a lot of people would have done." She understood. She did. "But I don't think Chris wouldn't want you to be messed up in all this. Soul deal, murder? Aaron." She fixed him with a meaningful, heavy gaze. He was messing around with grown-up stuff, so she was gonna treat him like he was grown up and ask him a pretty hard question. "Those cops died at your hand. You get that, right?"

She saw how he didn't want to think about it. "They deserved it, though," he insisted with wavering confidence.

Alex shrugged mildly, realizing how sweaty she felt. "Maybe they did." She looked at him unflinchingly and forced herself to be mind-over-matter, to ignore the discomfort of her headache and dry mouth and sweaty palms. "Those cops were the guilty ones but… now you live with the guilt, don't you? It's not over. And the worst part is you're a murderer now, just like them." His mouth worked oddly, his dark brown eyes shone with tears that he was fighting, hard. Alex felt tired and almost lost her train of thought—where had she been going with this? She forced herself to focus. "You, you can't take it back, and I dunno if you want to or not. But right now—we need you to help us stop the angel who sold that weapon to you, okay? Soul deals aren't something to play around with. Trust me."

Aaron looked at her with flickering eyes—he looked back and forth at her knee and then her eyes about five times before he frowned deeply and got really quiet. A tear escaped his eye. "I wish I hadn't done it," he managed, his voice cracking with tears. "I thought it would be like the movies. I thought I'd feel better. But it feels bad." He looked at her with great amounts of pain. "You wouldn't understand. What it's like to kill someone and know you killed them."

Alex had to smile a little at that, a cynical and wan reaction. "Actually, I do understand. I've killed." Her expression faltered. "I have a lot of blood on my hands." The word blood made her mouth feel thirstier than ever and she was ashamed. She hid it, or tried to. "So trust me, Aaron… I know for a fact that you don't wanna keep going down this road." She looked at him silently for a second then ran one of her hands across her forehead. It was damp with perspiration. This wasn't good. "Listen. I need you to tell me that you're okay with this. My friend Cas here needs to read your soul. And it's gonna hurt, a lot. So, he'll knock you out so you feel less pain." He looked freaked out at the words 'hurt' and 'pain' and Alex scrambled for a way to convince him. She came up with: "I, uh, I can hold your hand, if you want." Didn't kids like to have their hands held?

He scowled sullenly, looked away grumpily. "I'm not a baby."

Alex glanced at Cas briefly. Aaron said nothing else. "Uh… so is that a yes or a no?" Alex prompted the kid.

Aaron's eyes came to hers cautiously. "Am I... in a lot of trouble?" he asked.

He definitely was. Mostly because he'd played around with things that would haunt him forever. Alex was sorry for him. "What do you think?"

Aaron was silent, then steeled himself, raising his chin up and putting on a brave, tough face. "Yeah. All right. He can do it. And…" he moved his hand so that it was palm up. "I guess you can hold my hand, if you have to." Alex smiled faintly and reached out, putting her sweaty hand in his. Aaron's brave front wavered and Alex squeezed, suddenly feeling like she was Dean and Aaron was her. She looked up at Cas and nodded a go ahead. He had watched the entire exchange closely, thoughtful but also worried—clearly, about her. She withered a little. I'm fine. Cas focused his attention onto the boy.

"I am going to render you unconscious now," he said. Aaron shrank back a little as Cas reached for his forehead. The boy looked at Alex with wide eyes.

"It's okay." She squeezed his hand again, stifling a grimace because another shooting pain wracked her head without warning. She felt an inward panic. What if she couldn't get more, soon? Would she die? Cas's fingers touched the boy's forehead. Aaron fell unconscious.

Watching silently, Dean was pretty damn impressed that, one, Cas had listened to Alex. Two, that Alex had exhibited so much thoughtfulness and maturity. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen her talk to anyone so much who wasn't either himself or Sam or Bobby or Cas. He watched the angel and his sister exchange a glance, and both were guarded, sad, unsure. He realized how different both of them seemed to him from what they'd been last year. Cas seemed like he'd grown up, somehow. Gotten colder, too. He'd been so human the last time Dean saw him. Dean looked at his sister again, noticed how she looked sort of… sweaty. When had that happened? Dean swallowed his worry. Maybe Cas was right. Maybe he should get her to the panic room before the shit really hit the fan.

Castiel stuck his hand into Aaron's chest and Aaron screamed in pain even though his eyes remained shut—and Alex hissed as his hand tightened like a vice on hers. Cas stared hard as light seared through Aaron's body, emanating from his chest. Strange red veins lit up in zigzags across his neck and face. Aaron's screams and cries were horrible. "Cas, hurry," Alex urged softly, unable to look away from the kid's pained features. And then it was suddenly over—Cas withdrew, Aaron went slack, his hand went limp in Alex's.

Cas stood and he looked more disturbed than ever, thinking deeply. "He'll rest now," he said, looking at Alex, who was checking his pulse. "You… really seemed to know how to speak with him."

She was emotionally drained and just heaved a heavy sigh as reply, returning Cas's gaze falteringly. She wanted to hide from everyone and everything because it was getting worse and she was struggling to keep up the I'm fine act. She checked Aaron's forehead, laying her palm tremulously across the hot skin. It felt like he had a fever, or maybe that was her. Everything felt generally unwell and her stomach churned. She suddenly wondered: When had she last eaten? She couldn't remember, and was pretty sure she hadn't slept in a couple of days. Across from her, Cas began to roll his sleeve down again.

"Did you get a name?" Sam asked, unbothered by what had just happened. "What is it?"

"Yes. And… I thought he died in the war," Cas said darkly, shaking his head, rounding the end of the bed and pacing toward the other wall.

"What, he—he was a friend or something?" Sam pressed.

"I thought he was," Cas said in deeply confused tones, as if he had been mistaken. "I'm... very bemused at this turn of events."

"Yeah, well, your frat buddy is now moonlighting as a crossroads demon, that's just great," Dean snarked.

Cas wasn't paying attention. "Balthazar," he muttered to himself, "I wonder—"

"So we can find him now, right?" Sam asked.

Suddenly, a new voice near the room doorway sounded. "Balthazar." Everyone whirled and Alex shot up to her feet between the beds. A dark haired man in a suit stood there, and in his hand, an angel's blade. "Thanks, Castiel. We'll make good use of the name." He lunged forward and attacked Cas, who sprung forward to meet the assault, his blade out from seemingly nowhere. The metal clanged together loudly as Castiel blocked the blow then ducked another one aimed for his head.

The two angels grappled, grabbing the others wrists in a temporary standstill. "And by the way, Raphael says hello…" the newcomer said and turned his head slowly, looking directly at Alex, who, weaponless and standing alone between the beds, was frozen. There was a creepy smile on the angel's face. "Oh, and he knows who you're hanging out with again, Cas..."

At that comment, Castiel snarled and threw the angel sideways—Sam and Dean had to practically dive to get out of the way. Recovering to his feet, the unnamed angel just chuckled as Castiel, standing between Alex and the attacker, stared him down murderously. The angel had obtained both blades and charged at Cas, who sidestepped him and grabbed his wrists then kneed the angel in the stomach as he simultaneously yanked the angel's wrists down so that both blades dropped to the floor with loud clatters. Vengeful, Cas grabbed the angel hard and shoved him hard then pursued, grabbing him again and charging them both into the window with a loud shatter—and they plummeted several stories down to the street below. There was a loud crash like glass and metal and then the sound of a blaring car alarm—and the Winchesters rushed to the busted window, shocked. On the street below in the dying light of day, Cas laid back-first in a huge dent his body had made in the top of Sam's douchey car—and the other angel had smashed the hood and windshield. Cas was pushing himself up like it was a mere inconvenience.

"Holy crap," Alex breathed, not sure if she were awed or horrified. The strange angel disappeared, leaving Cas who looked up at them.

"My car…" Sam said weakly.

"Silver lining," Dean retorted, clearly not too upset. In fact, he was kind of amused. Cas disappeared suddenly. What the—

"He's gone." The Winchesters turned in unison. Cas was behind them and had picked his blade back up. He went to Alex without warning and he put his hands on either of her arms and stared into her eyes intensely. Arms stiff at her sides and expression like what are you doing?, Alex stared back, obviously kind of surprised.

Dean looked at the angel weirdly—he really didn't know what was going on between these two anymore. "Uh… what're you doing, Cas?" He asked uncertainly. "Staring contest?"

"Checking the ritual I did," he said without missing a beat, still staring into her eyes. Satisfied, he nodded, and his eyes became less crazy. He glanced at Dean. "It's still intact." He let go of her and strode to the kitchen as he tucked his blade away. He began to open cabinets at random, leaving the Winchesters gaping for explanation.

"Alright Cas, so who was that guy?" Sam demanded, the first one to find his voice.

"A soldier of Raphael," Cas answered, slamming a cabinet shut then glancing back at them, his gaze resting on Alex briefly. "I told you—it's dangerous for me to be with you right now. I'm the most wanted angel and you're..." he trailed off.

The brothers exchanged a glance and Alex just stared, looking queasy. "She's what?" Dean asked.

Cas's jaw tightened. "Important to me. And they know it." He resumed banging around in the kitchen without explanation and the Winchesters hung back. Beside Dean, his sister suddenly reached for his arm as if she'd been about to stumble. He felt how she hung on and looked at her, silently asking if she was okay, trying to help her stand. She batted him away and stood on her own, glaring angrily. Cas slammed another cabinet shut, oblivious. "He must have followed me when I answered your call, I'm not sure." He found a bowl and set it down onto the little kitchen table.

"Sit down, will you?" Dean said quietly to Alex and jerked his head toward the bed. She wasn't doing too good, and he was beginning to realize how real this demon blood thing was.

She looked like she was going to argue, then changed her mind and gave up, and complied. Cas watched her with renewed concern. "I'm sorry... but what's going on here?" Sam asked loudly, obviously wanting an explanation and fast, forcing Castiel to refocus.

"I can explain later," Cas said shortly, and began to head for where Sam's weapons bag was, more urgent than before. "Right now we have to—"

Dean moved to block his way. "No, not later. Now. Stop, all right? Too many angels, Cas! I don't know who's on first, what's on second."

"What is 'second'?!" Cas asked in exasperation.

"Oh my god," Dean muttered. "Forget it. Just explain."

"It's simple," Cas said, his tone sharp again. "Raphael and his followers, they want him to rule Heaven. I—and many others—the last thing we want is to let him take over. It would be catastrophic."

Sam narrowed his eyes in thought. "You're talking... civil war."

Cas glanced at him. "Perhaps the term 'revolutionary war' is more fitting, but technically, yes." He turned, and strode around Dean. "Which is why we have to find Balthazar and his weapons before Raphael does. Whoever has the weapons wins the war." Cas opened Sam's weapons bag with a yank and began to sort through it, looking for something.

"Help yourself," Sam commented sarcastically.

"And what happens if Raphael wins?" Dean asked. "What—what does he want?" On the bed, Alex sat with her forehead in her hand, eyes screwed shut.

Cas took out a flask of holy water from the bag, looking at it hard, then Alex, then Dean. "What he's always wanted—to end the story the way it was written."

"You mean the apocalypse? The one that we derailed?" Dean asked in growing alarm.

"Yes," Cas said, taking out a box of chalk too. "That one. Raphael wants to put it back on the rails. Undo everything we did."

"...Why?" Dean asked.

"I need myrrh," Cas said, looking around and frowning.

"Myrrh?" Sam asked. Cas disappeared.

"Freakin' angels." Dean sighed.

Suddenly they heard sounds behind them. Cas had reappeared and was drawing on the little kitchen table with chalk.

"Cas… are you okay?" Alex asked slowly—she was hunched over and watching him, visibly doubtful that he was, in fact, okay. Dean was kind of wondering the same thing, actually.

"Yes, perfectly fine," he replied gruffly. Alex looked dubious of the fact.

Dean wet his lips, trying to get to the bottom of things. "Okay—so why does Raphael want to bring back all this crap?"

The reply was vague. "He's a traditionalist."

Dean scrutinized Cas, wondering why this was the first he'd heard of this. "Cas, why didn't you tell us this?" he asked, stepping closer, truly wanting to know the answer. They could've helped, maybe. Sure, they had their differences, but when it came to the important stuff, Dean wasn't gonna let those differences stop him from helping a guy who'd proved he was on their side several times over. This was, after all, the angel who had saved their lives many times, brought Alex and Bobby back from the dead, and helped them stop the freaking apocalypse. It had been a team effort, so… why had Cas not asked for help? Why had he avoided them like this? Something just wasn't adding up.

Cas stopped drawing at Dean's question, startled. "Many reasons," he answered after a pause, his tone reluctant and grudging. "I... was ashamed. I expected more from my brothers. I didn't want to weary your shoulders with more unnecessary burden. And… Raphael, he… he's holding something very precious over my head, attempting to control me." Dean watched Cas and Alex exchange a very tense glance. What the actual hell was going on between those two? Cas shook his head and bowed it. "I'm sorry," he said softly, deeply, genuinely. And then the brief moment was abruptly over when Cas suddenly grabbed Dean by the wrist and yanked him close. "I need your blood."

"Whoa, whoa! Hey!" Cas was too strong and Dean couldn't get away, and the angel sliced his palm open without warning. "Ahh!" Dean protested with a hiss. "Why don't you use your own?!"

"It wouldn't work," Cas said lowly, and his gaze flickered up toward Alex, he sounded deeply regretful. "I'm... not human." Cas roughly held Dean's hand over the bowl on the table and Dean squeezed his hand, letting blood drip into the bowl grudgingly. Not exactly thrilled, Dean glared when Cas let him go.

Cas proceeded to ignore Dean again and added the myrrh and the holy water into the bowl, and as it drizzled in, he chanted in Enochian. "Zod ah mah rah mah ee es loh voh pah." The contents of the bowl began to smoke and Cas closed his eyes as if listening closely. The Winchesters watched silently, all of them sort of befuddled by the display, then Cas's eyes snapped open. "Got him. Let's go."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. All of us?" Dean pointed to Aaron, unconscious on the bed. "What about him?"

Cas paused. "Don't you think the police will take him home?"

Dean's eyebrows rose up high. "Wow, yeah, sure Mother Theresa," he muttered, then gestured to Alex, who looked like she'd been sitting in a sauna—sweaty and uncomfortable. "And her? You're gonna bring her along to pow wow with your dick angel friend? Doesn't that seem kinda, I dunno, dangerous?"

"Can you stop talking about me like I'm not right here?" Alex asked, mildly perturbed. "I'm fine and I'm going." Dean looked at her in indignant innocence and shrugged. So-rry. For caring. For looking out for you. Geez. He noticed how on edge she was. Her hands were working oddly at her sides. Her forehead was practically shining with perspiration. He recognized the beginning signs of withdrawal… Sam had the exact same reaction in the past. This wasn't good, and he looked at Cas, wondering if maybe they should just go ahead and… get her safe. Put this case on hold. But they were so close to wrapping it up…

Cas seemed to understand the silent question. "She's safest with me for now. Until…" he narrowed his eyes conspiratorially, meaningfully. "Later."

"Right," Dean said, darkening. God. Alex frowned, catching the exchange and not understanding it. She stood up stiffly.

"What—" she began.

"Sam, the holy oil," Cas commanded, cutting her off purposefully and avoiding her gaze.

"Got it," Sam said, grabbing up the bottle from his weapon's bag.

"Wait, what are you two—" Alex started again.

And without warning, suddenly they were standing outside. It was early night and the sky was dark gray. They were on the edge of a beautifully manicured lawn in front of a very luxurious mansion. "—talking abou…" Alex trailed off, looking around in impressed surprise, forgetting her question. There was a huge swimming pool, a fountain, some stone statues.

"Huh," Dean commented. It was pretty damn extravagant. "I was expecting more Dr. No, less Liberace."

"He's inside," Cas said, all business, and looked at Sam and Dean. "You boys stay out here. I suggest you prepare some angel sigils, should Balthazar have friends here. Alex is with me."

"Whoa, no, Cas, I don't—" it was too late, and Dean sighed softly when his sister disappeared along with the angel. "Son of a bitch," he muttered in resignation, putting a hand through his hair.

Sam shot Dean an almost amused look. "Relax Dean, Cas has her."

Dean scowled, huffed, glowered at his idiot brother. "Exactly."

"Why'd he tell us to bring the holy oil?" Sam asked, looking at the jar in his hand and ignoring Dean's petulant attitude.

Dean looked at it and frowned. "Good question." He thought a minute, getting an idea. "Sure would be a shame to let it go to waste, wouldn't it?"

---

Alex and Cas were suddenly inside of a darkened mansion foyer—it had an incredibly high ceiling from which an ornate crystal chandelier hung. Polished marble floors reflected the rising moonlight outside, and several suits of armor lined the walls. Kind of creepy, honestly. Alex could hear the sound of muffled, upbeat music coming from someplace deeper inside the house. Okay… so, where was this rogue soul-buying angel? There was no movement, and besides the music, no indication that anyone at all was in the house.

"W-where is he?" she asked in a whisper. Her voice echoed in this large, stark room and the sound messed with her ears, which felt a little muffled.

"Close," Castiel said, squinting and seeming to see things she couldn't. Beside her, he seemed far away and they looked at each other at the exact same moment. He looked defeated in a way she didn't understand. And for a moment, she could only worry about him.

She forgot how afraid she was to be seen by him, really seen. "...Are you sure you're all right?" she asked, because he'd been acting so strangely and they'd barely been able to speak and she didn't know where they stood or what was happening, only that things were so unsure. She was still sweating profusely and now in the cold mansion, it felt bad—her shirt was damp and cold, her skin felt numb where sweat caught the cold air. But her head felt a little clearer, for now. Maybe she was gonna be okay after all.

He didn't reply to her question and it took a lot of courage to talk to him, because she knew how awful she looked and how shameful it was—the things she had done in the dark. "Cas. I know you." She faltered a little. "Or, I, I think I do. Something's wrong."

Cas's voice and expression both softened. "Yes. You do know me." His words made her heart skip a beat and affected her deeply, making her feel okay in a place that had been wrecked before. And wonder of wonders… a soft, cautious, genuine little smile briefly came to her face. Cas reached for a hand and looked at it sadly, held it gently, then sighed and relented, explaining himself. "This angel—Balthazar—is one of the ones who promised me that he would deliver a message to you. Now I find out he's alive, well, and… living here." She saw how his jaw tightened and how his eyes couldn't quite meet hers. "And you were hurt today and I knew nothing of it and…" he trailed off. Her chin lowered a little as the shame returned at the mention of that. "Your instincts are correct. I am not all right." He paused, his eyes raised to hers, and the effect was intense. "Are you?"

His question blindsided her and she felt like he could see everything wrong with her and she wanted to shrink away, hide forever. "Me?" Her skin was crawling with horrible physical sensations, her head pounded. She wanted to tell him, she wanted to tell him so badly how not fine she was. But she lied and kept up her crumbling act. "I'm fine."

Castiel looked heartbroken at the lie, obviously seeing it as such right away. "You're not fine," he said, and she let go of him and stepped back, because he was right and she was shamed. He only appeared to be sympathetic and grieved. "How could you be?" He asked gently, and she realized he understood it. That after the things that had happened, 'fine' wasn't really in the cards.

And so touched by his words, the horrible truth blurted right out of her mouth... because Cas always helped her when she asked and she needed help right now more than ever and she was getting too desperate to hold onto pride. She almost cried for shame because it was so horrible to admit: "If I don't have m-more demon blood soon, Cas, I… I'm gonna die." Overly dramatic, yes, but it felt true and her ability to reason well had really, really lessened. She looked down and fought tears realizing how pathetic she was, feeling how her cells screamed for the relief of the acidic, burning liquid. She hated herself. "I need it," she confessed, wanting to die from embarrassment. Her arms wrapped around herself.

Cas looked broken at her words but remained calm, his reaction comforting. "I'm going to help you, Alex," he told her, touching the side of her arm reassuringly, his expression emphatic and genuine if a little conflicted. Alex looked at him in breathless hopefulness. He was going to help her? "As soon as we finish here," he promised. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding—mortified at herself, struggling to hang onto function, but trusting him, so thankful, so relieved. She imagined him getting a demon for her after she explained everything, imagined him being proud of her when she weaned herself off it in time. She nodded her understanding and took in a shaking breath, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands. Her headache was becoming more intense again but she ignored it with a great amount of resolve. Cas was gonna help her. If she could just hold it together a little longer, she'd be okay. And the best part, he didn't seem to think she was an abomination. She wouldn't be able to take it if he did.

Castiel tore his tense gaze away from her and looked into the darkened mansion—there was a grand room with a staircase through the doorway of the foyer. "Let's get this over with," he said grimly, his eyes darting around warily. "This is not a safe place for you to be." He looked at her again. "Stay close to me." She nodded and the two of them went further into the house.

He led the way slightly, she was right beside him and behind him. As they entered the room with the staircase, they could see that halfway up on the ornate railing, a very fat frog sat inexplicably. Ribbit, ribbit. Alex shrank a little closer to Cas. "Why's there a frog?" she asked in a whisper, wishing she had a weapon. Not that she was scared of frogs, but… it seemed ominous.

"That's... unclear to me at the moment," he replied, staring at the amphibian hard. Alex was caught off guard when she felt his hand slip into hers—and suddenly they were standing at the top of the staircase, bypassing the croaking frog completely. Alex looked at Cas in surprise, he was looking back at her with an unreadable expression, then looking down at their hands. He let go of her hand before she'd even had a chance to really take in the feeling and he nodded toward where the music was coming from, indicating that they should go in there.

An ornate set of double doors seemed to be where the sound was originating from and Cas led the way by a step and pulled the doors open to reveal a darkened room with flashing strobe lights, a grand piano on a small stage, and several huge marble statues. Loud, annoying music played. Alex looked around cautiously, not able to see anyone. But it was too dark to see very well, anyway. Cas watchfully entered into the room and Alex stayed on his heels, casting glances around, trying to breathe deeply to calm her racing heartbeat. The doors suddenly shut of their own accord and clicked loudly, locking. Alex and Cas looked back in unison, realizing simultaneously something along the lines of oh crap. Cas's blade slid down into his hand and his other hand reached out slightly to remain in front of Alex protectively.

"Cas," came a friendly, smooth male voice, and the angel and hunter turned again.

Beside the grand piano a man now stood. He held a tumbler of some kind of alcohol in one hand. It was hard to see very well in the dim room, but the man was an average-height guy who looked to be in his mid forties. He was handsome with sandy blond hair and had an air of charming self-assurance. He spread his arms out welcomingly, swaggering down the stairs of the little stage slowly with a smile. "You're here," he said pleasantly in a mellow English accent, then looked at Alex and smiled a little bigger. "And you brought your ladyfriend—how nice! I didn't have time to clean up, hope you'll pardon the mess..."

"Balthazar," Castiel greeted lowly. As Balthazar reached Cas, without warning, Cas pulled back and smashed his fist into the other angel's face with incredible force—sending him crashing at least ten feet back into the piano, which shattered when Balthazar hit it.

Laughing leisurely, Balthazar picked himself up even as a furious Cas went a couple steps closer with fists still clenched. "Well," the angel said, dusting his hands off and straightening his blazer. "Showing off for the girlfriend, are we? 'Spose I deserved that," he chuckled. "It's good to see you, too, Cas."

"You have some explaining to do," Cas growled.

Balthazar just sighed comfortably, gesturing with a nod to the side of the room as he came back to stand in front of Cas. "He told me you might be coming to see me, but my goodness, didn't think it'd be so confrontational." Cas and Alex followed his gaze and suddenly the lights came on and the music stopped. On the floor, the angel who'd attacked Cas in the hotel room laid dead. "Oh, you know, the old frog in the throat," Balthazar said, and a frog suddenly jumped out of the angel's mouth, croaking. Seriously? Even in her semi-delirious state, Alex pulled a face.

"Even I know that that's a bad joke," Cas said with annoyance, sharing Alex's sentiments. "I grieved your death, Balthazar. I trusted that you had delivered the message I asked you to send. Today I found out you didn't."

"Yeah, yeah," Balthazar said, seeming to be earnestly regretful, to a point. "I'm sorry about that, you know. I wanted them to think—you know, so... they wouldn't come looking for me?" He shrugged helplessly. "Terribly sorry, Cas, I am." He turned his attention to Alex. "Well don't be rude, Cas, introduce me! This is her, isn't it?" He smiled charmingly at Alex, suddenly reaching out and taking her hand. "Enchanté, mademoiselle," he purred, letting his eyebrows wiggle up once roguishly. "Delighted." He kissed her clammy hand, smiled, and produced a rose from behind his back with a flourish. "For the little lady."

Alex pulled her hand away. This guy was weird. "Uh… I'm good," she said, declining the rose. Balthazar produced a fluffy white cloth object.

"A towel then?" He asked helpfully. "You look a bit shiny—Cas been giving you the workout, has he?" He winked coyly, not realizing why Alex was sweating so hard.

Cas grabbed the towel and threw it sideways. He seemed to have reached his limit. "Enough of your show, Balthazar. What is all of this? What are you doing?"

"Whatever I want!" Balthazar said breezily. "This morning I had a ménage à—what's French for twelve?" He cracked a grin. "You two tried it yet? Very enjoyable."

Castiel looked positively abhorred. "You shouldn't be so reckless."

Balthazar looked at Cas slyly. "Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black, my friend?"

Frowning and squinting, Cas grew suspicious. "What... does kitchenware have to do with it?"

Balthazar sighed as if he should have expected that. "Oh Cas. Always were a little slow on the uptake, weren't you." He chuckled then fixed Alex with an amused gaze. "How is it you put up with him, Alex? Is he always like this? You must have the patience of a saint." He spread his hands out briefly in a shrug then became a little more serious. "Listen you two, in all honesty I am sorry. I really didn't like having to let you down the way I did. It was a difficult decision. But..." He shrugged helplessly and tried a charming smile. "Here we are."

"You don't realize what your decision set into motion," Castiel said bitterly. "I trusted you."

"Let me make it up to you," Balthazar said, voice filled with earnestness.

"And how would you do that?" Castiel challenged.

"I'm sure we could figure something out," Balthazar said confidently, suddenly producing a little tub of some sort of food from behind his back—the label looked fancy. "Alex love, could I interest you in some pâté?" At the sight of food she wanted to puke. She could barely keep up with the conversation at this point—her veins felt sharp and pointed inside of her, she wanted to claw her way out of her own skin.

"Stop trying to distract from the issue," Castiel said angrily, and the pâté disappeared.

Balthazar dropped his pleasant attitude in favor of slightly irked reluctance. "Look. If I had it to do over, I would have delivered the message, all right?"

Cas looked at the other angel long and hard. He relented a little bit. "I'm not here to argue with you over what can't be reversed. I'll deal with you regarding that matter later. I'm here because you stole the staff of Moses."

"Sure, sure," Balthazar admitted readily, in fact perhaps a little proud. "I stole... a lot of things."

"You stole it then you decided to pimp it out and steal innocent little kid's souls?" Alex asked, unable to help it. She didn't like this guy and her agitated physical condition almost made her feel drunk or feverish. "Real dick move."

Balthazar appeared delighted. "Oh look, she does talk."

"Shut up, dollar store Richard Branson," Alex retorted.

The blond angel's eyes crinkled up in amusement. "Ha! That was funny!" He looked at Cas. "You didn't tell me she was funny, Cas." He looked at Alex again and she didn't like that coy, knowing smile. "I can see what he likes about you—you have a sparkle about you, don't you?" He looked at her closer, noticing how sweaty and sick she looked. "And possibly some kind of virus, eugh..."

As if Cas sensed Alex's unease, he stepped a little closer, blocking her a little bit more from Balthazar's uncomfortable glances and stupid comments. "Balthazar… you were a great and honorable soldier. We fought together. I'm struggling to understand this betrayal."

"Come on Cas… it's not betrayal," the other angel protested, then shrugged and smiled. "It's liberation."

"Liberation?" Cas asked, growing increasingly mystified. "I know you. You're not some common thief."

"Common? No. Thief?" He thought a second. "Eh. Hez and I, we pulled off the heist of a lifetime, Cas. I thought about including you in the plan but… well, I knew you wouldn't go for it." He spread his hands again. "It's a new world, Cas. I can be whoever I want to be, have whatever I want to have." He glanced at Alex briefly, then looked at Castiel meaningfully. "So can you."

"No," Cas said. "I'm leading a war in Heaven, or have you forgotten? I need your help, Balthazar."

"I know," the other angel said, surprisingly seriousness and seemingly caring. "I've been hearing all about you, and as far as I'm concerned, you and me, Cas, nothing's changed. We're brothers. Of course I want to help you. I'll make it up to you, I told you I would."

"Thank you," Cas said, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. He paused. "I need the weapons."

"Ah," Balthazar's expression soured a little. "Don't ask that."

"But you just said—" Cas huffed, frustrated all over again. He was starting to lose patience, and Alex could hear it. She stared at the arm of his trench coat unseeingly and listened to him talk, but sound was increasingly muffled. "Why take them? Why run away?"

"Because I could!" Balthazar was indignant. "What? You're the one who made it possible," he reasoned, gesturing to Cas. "The footsteps I'm following—they're yours. What you did—pursuing your own desires, stopping the big plan, erasing the prize fight from the timeline? You did more than rebel. You tore up the whole script and burned the pages for all of us." He laughed, well pleased with his lot in life. "It's a new era. No rules, no destiny. Just utter and complete freedom."

Cas had listened to all of that with silent denial written on his face. "And this is what you do with it?"

"Hey, screw it, right?" Balthazar said, brushing off Cas's question. The blond angel turned and slowly ambled back toward the destroyed grand piano. "I mean, Dad's not coming back. You might as well blow coke and jump on the bed." He turned around to look at them again, now standing a few feet away. He was smiling offhandedly. "You proved to me we could do anything, so I'm trying... everything. What difference does it make?"

Castiel was incensed. "Of course it makes a diff—it's... civil war up there!"

"I know," Balthazar said softly. "Why do you think I left?"

"If we can beat Raphael, we can end this!" Castiel insisted loudly, his voice trembling with fury. "I have to end this, Balthazar." He paused, looked at the other angel warningly. "Just give me the weapons."

The other angel laughed and shook his head. "Do you know what's funny about you? You actually believe that you can stop the fighting." His smile faded and in its place, ominous certainty. "It… will... never... stop." He looked at Alex expectantly. "Do you hear me, Miss Winchester? This war of your boyfriend's is the eternal kind. Get used to him being gone."

"Balthazar—" Castiel interjected.

"My advice to you, Cas—grab something valuable—" he looked at Alex pointedly. "Ahem—and fake your own death."

With a slight shake of the head, Cas looked down, disappointed. "You've gone insane," he said, then looked at the other angel grimly. "Your little holiday is over. Raphael knows you're alive by now."

"Oh, Raphael can try me anytime," Balthazar said casually. "I'm armed." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Cas. But I'm looking out for me now. And, all else aside, I really, really am happy to see you alive and well." He paused and squinted slightly. "Even though Alex still hasn't managed to pull that stick out of your ass."

Suddenly thunder crashed loudly, startling all three of them. "...Was that you?" Balthazar asked Cas, whose eyes were wide suddenly. Cas shook his head slowly, filled with dread, and Balthazar seemed to be getting ready to leave. "Oh, that's my cue then. Tell, uh, Raphael to bite me." He snapped his fingers and disappeared. The lights went off, and thunder crashed, and lightning flickered brightly.

And Cas, looking upward in dawning alarm. "He's here," he breathed out, realizing how foolish it had been to bring her here. Panicking, he whirled and grabbed hold of Alex by either shoulder to take her as far away from rhere as possible… then… nothing. "He's cutting me off, somehow," Cas said aloud, his voice rising in dismay. What could he do?

"Who? Who is?" Alex asked, and her words slurred. She looked so unwell.

"Raphael." Cas looked over his shoulder in fear. He shouldn't have brought her here, he should have realized…

"Hello, Castiel."

Letting go of Alex Cas whirled and saw his brother Magdiel ten feet away. His blade was out and his face promised murder. Fear filled Cas—if Magdiel was close, that meant Raphael was, too. Cas held out a hand, trying to stop Magdiel from doing this, trying to appeal to him one last time. "You're making a mistake. Please. There is another way." Magdiel only began to walk toward Castiel and Cas raised his own blade, not wanting to do this. "Brother, please. I don't want to hurt you!" The angel didn't listen, didn't stop, and Cas didn't have a choice. He threw his knife into the Magdiel's chest, killing him instantly. And when his brother fell to the floor dead, Cas stared down at the sight, defeated inside. "Why won't any of you listen?" he asked, and filled with heaviness, he looked behind himself… and suddenly saw that Alex was gone.

That's when he heard her—a soft little sound of pain—and he whirled, panicked, then suddenly came face to face with Raphael, who held Alex by the front of her shirt like a wet kitten. She looked barely conscious.

"Looking for this?" Raphael asked, baiting Castiel boldly, and the second Cas thoughtlessly lunged forward for Alex, she was sent flying at super-human speed into the double doors, shattering them off the hinges—she disappeared beyond where he could see, there was a horrible thud—and before Cas could react at all, he was hit in the face and knocked down by the powerful archangel who grabbed him by the collar. "They don't listen, Castiel," he hissed, "because their hearts are mine."

Raphael grabbed Cas up and then let go, kicking him in the chest with enough strength to break all of Cas's ribs. The force of the blow sent Cas skittering across the floor in the direction Raphael had thrown Alex. Rolling to a stop in a heap on the ground at the top of the stairs, Cas tried to get up, grunting in pain—and Raphael met him there, yanking him up and slamming his fist into Castiel's face, sending him reeling—then he grabbed him by the back of the neck and hit him again then let him fall down the staircase. Castiel rolled, fell, and came to a stop on the midway landing. He was panting and in pain, but trying to see where Alex was and if she was okay. He glimpsed her briefly laying in a broken heap on the ground level. She wasn't moving. No… Cas struggled to get up, even as tall, imposing, powerful Raphael came to stand over him and kicked him to the bottom of the stairs brutally.

The second Cas came to a stop at the bottom, he attempted to get up and when he did he found himself facing Raphael, who was unharmed and smiling cooly and suddenly striking his fist down like a hammer onto the top of Castiel's head. The blow confounded Cas, who collapsed down onto his knees. He could taste blood in his mouth and the world was spinning strangely. Raphael roughly grabbed him by the collar and raised his blade high. Just behind the archangel on the floor in a crumpled heap, Alex moaned in pain.

Raphael saw how Cas's horrified gaze went to her and he gloated menacingly. "First, you die," he said. "Then, I kill her with the blade still dripping with your profane blood." He leaned closer to Cas. "Somehow, I don't think God will be bringing you back this time." He drew back to make the kill and Castiel panicked.

"Hey!" Came a loud, ringing voice, and Raphael whirled. Balthazar was there and held a strange, glowing crystal. He smirked. "Look... at my... junk."

"No—" Raphael said, frozen in place, unable to look away. "No!" He began to crackle and crystalize, his skin turning white as snow. And in a matter of two seconds, his entire vessel turned to salt, which lost its form and clattered to the floor harmlessly. Cas stared in shock.

"Same thing happened to Lot's wife," Balthazar said cheekily. "Iodize the poor sucker, and your kitchen is stocked for life." He laughed, but Cas was already moving over to Alex in a half crawl, half drag.

"Christ, Cas, you look like an old man," Balthazar commented mildly, watching with folded arms. Cas ignored him, trying to get to Alex as fast as possible—and when he was beside her he realized that her back was broken and her head was bleeding and she was at the point of dying. With shaking fingers that couldn't move fast enough, he touched her forehead to heal her, then remembered he was injured, too, when the attempt to mend her only hurt him. "Ahh—!" he grimaced painfully, a hand going to his forehead automatically as the pain jolted him. Alex stared up at him, breathing shallowly, her face a mask of complete pain, and he forgot his own physical distress completely. He caught her hand when it weakly reached up toward him, horrified at himself.

"Oh enough of the dramatics," Balthazar said and rolled his eyes, uncrossed his arms, crouching down and touching Alex lazily on the forehead with two fingers, healing her. She seemed surprised and more cognizant again, beginning to sit up. Cas felt relief overtake him. Balthazar was looking at Alex oddly. "Has she… been drinking demon blood?" He asked, sounding intrigued. "My my, Cas, this is a twist. Explains the..." he trailed off and gestured vaguely. "Well, everything."

Cas only grew protective of Alex at Baltazar's comments, pulling her up silently to sit as he looked at the other angel somewhat mistrustfully.

"You two are positively sickening, anyone ever tell you that?" Balthazar asked, standing up and crossing his arms again, looking at how near Cas held the human girl to himself. "And by the way: you owe me."

"I don't deny it." Cas answered stiffly. He turned his attention to Alex. "Can you stand?"

"Yes, of course I can stand," she said grumpily, although Cas had to help her do it. Even though he was injured, he was still much stronger than the average human man.

Once they were standing, side by side, Cas looked at Balthazar, who appeared quite pleased. Cas didn't understand. "You came back. Why?"

Balthazar shrugged, his face pleasant. "Told you I'd make it up to you. Well. Now Raphael will have to go shopping for a new vessel. Should give you a nice long head-start on him." His smile widened, his eyes crinkled. "Some, dare I say, quality time together? Don't say I never did anything for you two. In fact, I'd say you owe me twice over." There was a good-natured, friendly tone to angel's voice. He winked. "Well. Until next time."

Cas nodded. "Next time."

Baltazar smiled and took about three steps backwards, smiling knowingly… and a new voice suddenly sounded. "No time like the present."

A ring of fire suddenly blazed to life around Balthazar, who had just unwittingly stepped into it. Sam, who'd been hidden in the shadows, smirked, flicking a lighter. "Holy fire," Balthazar breathed, looking at it in disdain and slight panic. "You hairless ape! Release me!"

Sam turned slightly to the area behind himself, like he was talking to someone a room away. "Dean—looks like we caught ourselves a little cloud-hopper."

Dean appeared from another room, the jar of holy oil in hand like he'd been off setting up more rings of holy fire just in case.

"You fools—let me go!" Balthazar demanded.

Dean took control quickly. "First you're taking your marker off of Aaron Birch's soul!" He retorted, standing on the edge of the fire circle and staring at Balthazar aggressively.

Offended by the demand, Balthazar balked. "Am I?!"

Dean smirked. "I think you are. Unless you like your wings extra crispy." He indicated the jar of holy oil he held.

Balthazar turned back to Cas, who was supporting Alex at this point. "Castiel, I stood for you in Heaven," he said angrily. "Are you gonna let—"

This was what humans called 'just desserts,' he thought. Castiel merely narrowed his eyes at his brother who had betrayed him. "I believe... the 'hairless ape' has the floor," he replied sarcastically.

Balthazar was surprised then looked around and realized he was outgunned. With little else to do but laugh, he gave in. "Very well." He shook his head, inhaled, and touched his clasped hands to his forehead, exhaling. He lowered his hands. "The boy's debt is cleared. His soul is his own."

Dean looked at Cas questioningly across the circle of fire and Cas nodded just slightly. Dean refocused on the angel in the fire. "Why you buying up human souls, anyway?"

"In this economy? It's probably the only thing worth buying." Balthazar looked at Dean with total contempt. "Do you have any idea what souls are worth? What power they hold? Now... release me."

Predictably, Dean became belligerent. "Suck it, ass clown. Nobody said anything abou—" he started, even as Castiel raised his hand then lowered it. The flames flickered and then died out.

"Cas, what the hell?" Dean asked, aghast.

Castiel looked at Balthazar, who had saved Alex's life and destroyed Raphael's vessel—two things that were very difficult to repay. "My debt to you is cleared," Cas told him.

Balthazar smiled faintly, a slightly soured expression. "Fair enough." He disappeared.

"Cas, are you out of your mind?!" Dean demanded.

Cas looked at him almost angrily. "No," he said. "Enough Dean." His voice lowered, full of meaning. "It's time."

The other man's expression registered understanding and mild dread. "Yeah," he said, taking full notice of his sister's strained expression. "Yeah, okay."

"Time for what?" Alex asked, dazed. And then when they were no longer standing in the mansion, but in the familiar dark basement of Bobby Singer's home, just outside of the panic room… she realized and as dazed as she'd been, she had a burst of clarity. "No, guys, wait—wait!" she protested, trying to escape—but found that she couldn't with Dean holding one arm, Cas the other.

"This is for your own good, Al," Dean said even as she began to make sobbing sounds and repeated no no no over and over again. "Sam, the door, move it!" Dean commanded thunderously, urging his slow, unhurried brother along.

Sam pulled the door open with a loud, metallic creak, and as Dean and Cas manhandled a thrashing Alex in, Sam just watched, sort of removed or skeptical, it was hard to tell. "I'll, uh, go tell Bobby we're here," he said. "Before he decides that we're intruders and comes down here to shoot us." Sam had a point—they hadn't called to announce their coming arrival. Sam disappeared up the steps, leaving Dean and Cas alone with Alex, who was fighting and making it difficult for them.

"No… no!" She shouted, panicking. "Don't put me in here, I don't want—Dean! Cas! Stop! Don't do this! I can't live without it! Stop! Sto-ooop! You don't understand! Let me explain, let me explain you fucking assholes!" Her panic turned to fury, especially when they let her go and backed up to stand and block the way out.

Breathless and betrayed, she stared with wild eyes, her posture that of an animal that was about to attack. Dean stepped toward her a little and held both hands out slightly, as if he were silently telling her be cool, calm down. She did the opposite, abruptly lunging for him and punching him in the face, falling down with him when he grabbed at her blindly, trying to restrain her. She attempted to scramble away but he held her there in a bear-hug as she twisted and screamed. "Let go, let go-ooo!" Cas, surprised by her outburst and attack stood back—hesitating to step in.

"Cas!—ugh—" Dean protested as she elbowed him in the stomach. "Cas! A little help!" he managed as she pulled on his ear hard. "Ow, ow!" Her fingernails clawed at his face and he flailed, yelping when her knee smashed into a very sensitive area between his legs.

She suddenly went completely slack when Cas touched her and Dean let out a breath that was both relieved and pained. Damn—his jaw stung from where her fist had landed and he could feel the smarting lines across his cheek where she'd scratched him. And, of course, his precious family jewels… son of a bitch, ouch. And to think, he'd been the one who'd always told her "kick a dude in the nuts when you're in trouble." He'd meant other guys… not him.

A little stunned, Dean took a few seconds to sit up—then Cas helped him put Alex onto the little cot and they stood back wordlessly.

Laying there, she could have been sleeping and she looked harmless and sweet… but also extremely sweaty and a little gross, too, hair plastered to her sweat-damp face. Only Alex could look all those things at once. Dean's heart hurt, because he couldn't help her with this, not how he wanted. This was gonna be mostly her, getting through the withdrawals. And he was worried. How bad, exactly, was this gonna get for her? It had been hard enough with Sam going through this. Unable to stand the sight of her there and the way it reminded him of Sam's struggle with the same dilemma, Dean turned and limped out of the panic room, because he felt entirely lost, claustrophobic, and overwhelmed. He leaned his back against the cold metal wall of the room once he was out of there and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back. Dammit, Dean, man up. Don't cry about this. He'd already cried today in the hospital closet.

Dean slid down and sat on the floor there, resting his arms on his knees, hanging his head, putting his hand to his forehead. He wanted to escape this horrible reality. This was too much.

He heard Cas's soft footsteps beside him and immediately checked himself, putting forth his steely exterior. He glanced up at the angel, whose expression was rigid as usual. "How long will she be out?" Dean asked, putting on a hard to read tone.

"A few hours, at least," Cas said. He sounded pretty upset about it. Like… emotional. And then Dean was even more surprised when Castiel sat down, on the ground next to him, mimicking his positioning.

For a long couple of beats, they brooded in silence. And then Dean shook his head, unable to stop himself from asking. It was a desperate cry for help if there'd ever been one. "What am I supposed to do, Cas? My brother's acting like a freaking robot and my sister's a demon blood addict—I mean how the hell did this happen?"

Cas have any answers. "I don't know, Dean."

Dean had hoped for some kind of magical solution. He was disappointed when Cas had nothing to say. For a minute, they were both silent and terse. And then, Cas looked at Dean sidelong hesitantly. "Did she… tell you what happened to her?"

Dean's heart jumped unpleasantly. He knew what Cas was asking about. The… Glen thing. "No, not really." He paused, looking at Cas, filled with dread. "She… she tell you?"

Cas shook his head faintly, looking down. "No."

Dean felt hollow. When it rained, it poured, huh? She didn't deserve this crap. She wasn't like any other girl he'd ever known; she felt deeper than she let on, she took things to heart, she was just like him in the way she beat herself up about stuff. She over-analyzed the shit out of everything and what she'd been put through today and recently… what if she was never okay again?

"I should have been there to protect her," Cas said abruptly, and the guilt… the guilt. Dean identified completely.

"You and me both, buddy," he said, seeing no point in trying to make Cas feel worse. He obviously felt like shit. Join the club, man. A few more minutes of silence passed and Dean stood up, went to the open panic room door, and looked at his sister. Cas remained seated, far away in thoughts.

Sam came down the stairs, jogging almost, appearing to be just fine. Dean turned slightly at the sound of his approach. "Dean—Bobby's got a job for us," he said, and Dean looked at his brother like he had grown a pair of antlers.

"Come again?" He asked, thinking this had to be a joke. "A job?"

"Yeah," Sam said, then made a face. "What? Dean. She'll be fine. She's a strong girl." He scoffed at Dean's are you fucking serious right now expression. "Trust me: she's gonna just hallucinate shit for the next week or two, she won't know the difference if we're here or not."

Dean stared dumbly—maybe that was true but… come on. "You got to be kidding me."

Sam didn't seem to see the problem. "Uh… no. People are dying, Dean. Bobby can watch her. The job isn't far from here, and it'll only take a few days. Come on."

Growing indignant, Dean's voice rose. "Someone else can go, not us." Feeling betrayed, he threw his hands out. "I can't believe you're even suggesting this, man!"

Sam huffed, annoyed that he had to explain himself. "Okay, look Dean. I'm worried about her, I am. But I know she'll pull through."

"Sam, do you hear yourself?" Dean asked. "I mean, call me crazy, but I feel like you don't even care."

There was a frown on Sam's face. "Of course I care."

"Could have fooled me," Dean muttered.

Cas was looking at Sam from the corner of his eye, still seated on the floor, his back to the panic room wall.

"Listen," Sam said, taking on an explanatory tone. "I've been hunting non-stop for the past year, kind of on the wild, you know? I guess I'm a little rough around the edges. So sue me. These people need our help. Alex will be fine." Dean was conflicted, feeling guilt-tripped and torn. Sam was impatient. "Come on, Dean. If you won't, I'll go alone. You gonna let me go without backup?"

Dean stared at Sam, not recognizing him fully. Rough around the edges? Try freaking different guy. Hell really must have worked a number over on him or something. That was the only explanation he could come up with. And the ironic part was that he felt guilty about wanting to stay here with Alex—if Sam went by himself and got hurt—Dean clenched his jaw. Why the hell do you have to put me in this position, man? Don't make me choose like this.

Dean heard Cas standing—the trench coat rustled briefly. "I'll stay, Dean."

Turning with a frown Dean wondered if he'd misheard. "What?"

"I'll stay with her."

Dean hesitated, actually considering it. "Cas, I don't know…"

"Let me atone for what I've done," Cas said plainly. "What I've failed to do. In what small way I can. I owe this to her. To you." He paused, looked down briefly. "You know that I want nothing but her safety, Dean. And I'm not like you. I don't eat, I don't sleep. She can't harm me. I won't leave her side for a minute."

Dean looked at the angel reluctantly, then at Sam, who waited in impatient expectation. You know that I want nothing but her safety, Dean. Yeah. He got that, as much as it still weirded him out. But the biggest thing was the point Cas had made about not needing to eat or sleep. Cas could watch her better than Dean ever could. Dean reluctantly glanced into the panic room. This was the selfish part… he didn't know if he could stand to see her hallucinating and having fits like Sam had. Was that horrible? And letting Sam go off on a hunt alone couldn't happen. So, Dean caved despite some misgivings and despite not feeling a hundred-percent about the decision. "All right," he agreed ruefully, unable to believe himself. "All right." He got intense. "But only if you promise to stay here, not go anywhere else, for anything, even for a second. And if something jacked up happens, you'll come get me immediately."

Cas nodded, both surprised and humbled that Dean had agreed. He straightened. "Yes. You have my word." He looked at Sam briefly. "But before you two leave… I have two things I need to accomplish." He paused. "I'll be back in a few moments."

And the angel disappeared from Dean's sight.