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.

68. Soul Searching

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 68 / Soul Searching

"Desperate times require desperate measures."
- Horatio Nelson

---

It was nine in the morning and Alex still slept deeply while nestled against Cas. His arms circled around her and he hadn't let go since she first fell asleep there beside him.

Sunlight warmed the attic and a clock could be heard ticking somewhere nearby, however, the sound Castiel was most transfixed upon and attentive to was the soft whisper of Alex's inhales and exhales. She was warm and soft in his arms, a summation of all the most beautiful textures and sights he knew in existence. His eyes journeyed her for the thousandth time to take her in. Her hair was evidence of the previous night's passion, knotted in places and tangled. Cas attempted to smooth it for her but he didn't know how exactly. He abandoned the attempt and instead looked at his fingers set against the dark brown of her hair. It was a color that seemed so like the rich earth when tilled for its bounty. His gaze went to her eyelashes fanning against creamy skin, skin that made him think of the subjects in Rembrandt paintings. His eyes drifted lower to her softly open pink lips and unbidden, he felt a gentle flush of heat at the memories stirred. She had done things to him with that mouth last night he never imagined possible or decent.

The fact that she had wanted to do that and had sought his pleasure over her own astounded and enraptured him. How wondrous that love could transcend into physical expression the way it did between the two of them.

It seemed both a mystery and a miracle how he was here with her right now—how she had come to love him and how he had fallen in love with her, how fate had brought them together in the way that it had. She was a comfort and an assurance, she was the best thing he could conceive of. His gaze fondly wandered her sleeping face and then traveled down the swoop of her neck and across the freckles scattering the slopes of her shoulders then down further to the soft pink rosebud peaks crowning the swells of her breasts. He knew the gentle slope of her hips, the tawny muscles of her thighs, the bend of her knees, the high arch of her feet, the spaces between her fingers, the curve of her spine. He knew the way she felt from the inside out. Never had he been so worshipful of the human form until he had encountered hers. She was so exquisite. And she counted herself as his. Between her humble breasts the shining penny rested on its chain, drawing his eye. Cas's heart seemed to grow larger and more tender and aching in his chest as he contemplated the coin and everything it signified. And then after that burst of affection and gratitude, a slow and lurching feeling of guilt and trepidation began to darken him.

The humans had a saying: playing with fire. Was that what he was doing? The creeping suspicions he tried not to feel about himself were forever on the edge of his mind, taunting him and shaking his confidence in himself. Perhaps the most difficult thing in all of this was waging the war alone and having no true confidant or supporter. Rachel was the closest thing he possessed to a confidant but she didn't understand him or even fully grasp the reason for the war—she was merely following his leadership, not fighting tooth and nail for free will and choice like he was. Castiel didn't even want her to be the one he confided in. His sister angel looked down her nose at him and barely tolerated the love he had for Alex and as such, Castiel actively disliked Rachel. Especially because of all she'd done to thwart his relationship with Alex. But alas he had no other choice but to continue to employ Rachel as his lieutenant—there was no one else to replace her, not with in his dwindling forces who lacked experience and ability.

'No other choice.' This was a phrase and a reality that continued to define his existence.

The pressure he had put onto himself was only increasing as time passed. He only went further and further into dark waters as he continued to pursue victory in this war. The partnership with Crowley, the search for Purgatory using the unwitting Winchester brothers… those things were bad enough, but the way Castiel had so brassily tricked the Winchester family into believing Crowley was dead and gone was the worst. It was lying, it was deceit, and last night as Castiel had made love to Alex he had known that and remembered it and absolutely hated himself for it. As such he had obsessed with giving the one he loved repeated pleasure and bliss… this seemed to be the only thing he knew how to do right these days. But he'd gone to the point of excess he now realized—he'd exhausted her and even when he'd known it was too much for her that last time, he'd done it anyway out of the lunacy of desperation. He'd needed to forget himself in her, he'd used her to feel marginally better about himself. He had been pathetically attempting to prove even to himself that he loved her. And did he? Was he fooling himself…? He sometimes thought that if he truly loved her, he wouldn't keep so much from her or lie. And yet the dishonesty only kept coming.

Last night she had saved him from himself for a brief interlude where his entire world had been her soft gasps and trusting eyes, her warm depth and her sweat-kissed skin. In the fever of the moment and in total dependence on each other, Castiel could have almost believed himself to be who she believed he was: trustworthy and good. But the moments had come and gone and nothing had changed. He was the same deceiver he had been the day before.

This is necessary. This is required. This has to be done.

He told himself these things over and over in an attempt to lessen the guilt. She would understand and forgive him, sympathize with him, thank him for all the pain he endured to keep her safe. Someday. He hoped someday soon.

His eyes swept down to her left hand where it rested loosely on the middle of his chest. He gently took it in his own and contemplated the sight. Hers was smaller than his and his convictions of protecting her forever swelled in him anew. If she were to die now, where would her soul go? The claim had been removed from the book of Hell but he hadn't been able to put it into Heaven's roster either. Not yet, not with Raphael and his supporters still in control. Castiel wouldn't risk an enemy laying a hand onto her eternal fate and thus it rested with him until Raphael's defeat. This was all for her, everything. All of the questionable things he was doing would pay off in the end. They had to. What a crushing responsibility and overwhelming reality he endured.

Cas's eyes went skyward. He could hear his dwindling forces in Heaven discussing a siege they were planning to exact upon Daniel and his troops. There were whispers that Raphael would return soon, that the archangel was close to getting a new vessel. Cas hoped that wasn't true. If Raphael returned to full power before Castiel had obtained all the heavenly weapons… this would be impossible. Time with her. Castiel studied his Alex's sleeping face again, tenderness and worry alike filling his heart. Could they survive another separation if they had to? He could soldier through if he had to (he thought), but could she? He didn't want that for them. There was already so little time that they had together. There was already so much distance dividing them.

As he heard Rachel and Ezekiel discussing more of the impending siege in Heaven, Cas realized he would probably be called away from earth soon. He felt familiar sadness and reluctance come over him but brushed it aside and turned his full attention to the woman in his arms. He leaned close to Alex and softly kissed the place where her eyebrow ended near her temple, letting his lips linger there for a moment as he breathed in her scent. His eyes shut of their own accord. He was very unwilling to leave her but knew the time was approaching. He should wake her to say goodbye. It would be difficult to disturb her from her blissful rest… she seemed so peaceful. But he couldn't bear the thought of not bidding her farewell.

He opened his eyes and let his thumb rub across her hand. He then drew her hand to his mouth and gave a kiss to the knuckles there, hoping to ease her into waking. She began to stir when he touched the side of her face and said her name softly—she gave a little sound of confusion and protest and her relaxed body gained some tension as she began to wake. He felt himself smiling despite everything as she stirred. "Good morning," he greeted quietly as her eyes focused and her head lifted.

When she became more cognizant and less lost in the fog of sleepiness, when her eyes found his, a drowsy smile crossed her features. "You're still here," she commented softly, her hazel gaze studying him with pleased surprise. Her voice was rough from sleep. "Thought you'd be gone." He felt a pang of sorrow because she said that.

"I do have to leave very soon," he confirmed grimly. His reluctance at the prospect was impossible to fully disguise. "But I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to you."

With those words, he broke the moment. Her smile faded and the optimism he'd seen so briefly written in her features was lost. She nodded that she understood but he saw that she was upset—before he could say anything, she shifted and hugged his neck very tightly as he laid there. She turned her face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Cas let his arms envelope her gingerly. He felt how her breathing became uneven, how her body shook a little… and then against his neck he felt something hot and wet. He was instantly dismayed. Was she crying? He pulled back and pushed her away enough that he could see her face. She was crying and trying very hard not to.

"Please, don't cry," Cas entreated her urgently, panicking a little bit because he never knew how to help her when she cried. She shook her head and her already crumpled face pinched up further. She tried to turn her head away from him and hide her face. "What is it?" Cas asked, getting more and more worried. "Have I done this to you?" He took hold of her face and one of the rolling hot tears hit his thumb as her eyes finally looked into his. Was it last night? Was she upset with him?

"I'm just gonna miss you," she confessed miserably. "Like I always do." She ducked her face down and away again and it hurt him to see her like that. Her voice was a strained whisper and she tried to dash away some tears. She was starting to sound frustrated as her tears ebbed. "It sucks so bad when you leave."

He understood the sentiment so fully that it hurt him to think about the impending separation. "I know," he replied heavily, touching the side of her head uselessly.

"And I don't wanna stay here, Cas," she continued in mounting exasperation. She wasn't crying now, she was just agitated. "Not while Dean needs help, not while Sam…" she let her voice trail off and her frustration gave way to a quiet and helpless sort of confused anger. "I miss my brothers—they need me. And I hate being stuck in a corner. It's bullshit."

"Just a little longer," Cas reminded gently, hoping his words would prove true.

She was not happy with his reminder and her glance darted to his sullenly. "That's what everyone keeps saying," she mumbled and then sat up, holding the blankets to herself modestly in front. She turned and sat with her legs hanging off the side of the bed and Cas could see her bare back. He felt a horrifying jolt as he saw the bruises that had begun to form there.

He sat up slowly while staring with his breath stuck mid-throat. There was a long blotchy dark shape from where he'd slammed her up into the bookshelf and there were other bruises that appeared to have been left by his own hands. He touched a hand against one of those bruises and the shape and size matched perfectly. He had hurt her in his mindless passion. Horrified with himself, he brushed his fingers down to the biggest bruise and healed her even as pain gathered in his chest.

Cas struggled for something to say, a way to apologize or atone, to explain. "Last night…" he began then trailed off, unsure of what to say. Alex turned her head slightly his way and he could see her profile as well as her far-off expression. "Was it too much?" he asked, swallowing his dread. "If I was too extreme with you… I didn't mean…" he was beginning to feel fully ashamed of himself because he was starting to believe he had been too intense. She wasn't answering his question and that seemed to confirm the worst for him. He looked down to the blankets bunched across his lap, deeply upset. He could do nothing right. "Please forgive me."

His deeply dismayed tone brought her out of her stillness. "No, no," she said, present again. Whatever thoughts had been distracting her were forgotten. She turned back to him, tucked her legs beside herself on the bed, then touched his hand where it rested in his lap and curled her fingers around the edge of his palm. She became a little bashful underneath his worried gaze. "It was… Cas, the things you did…" she cleared her throat and touched her neck then her eyes met his furtively. Was that a blush creeping across her cheeks? Cas's worry faded in favor of curiosity. "All I can say is damn," she said in a voice that seemed both admiring and mildly disbelieving. "I uh, I didn't know you could make me do what you made me do last night." Her eyes were shying away from his again. She was blushing, her cheeks and neck were flushed soft pink and Cas felt relieved—she was displaying signs of approval. "But…"

His momentary relief froze internally. But?

She paused and her eyes peeked up into his with worried curiosity. "You've never been like that before," she said, looking at him closely, questioningly. "Why'd you go so crazy on me?"

Cas faltered. He didn't know how to answer her. He tried to be honest even though he avoided saying the total truth. His eyes dropped away from hers. "I was in a strange mindset."

He felt her curious gaze on him. "What mindset was that?"

He hesitated. "I feel afraid to lose you." And he was. "I wanted you to know that I love you." And he did. But that wasn't all of it. That wasn't even half of the truth.

Alex's eyes were piercing and seemed to see him more fully than he would have liked—for a moment, he wondered if she would call his bluff and ask what he was really keeping from her. But instead she contemplated him a moment longer then tried to explain something to him. He could see even before she opened her mouth to speak that she was going to try and make him understand something. "Sex isn't the only way I know you love me, Cas. You don't have to get me in bed to prove your feelings or screw me until I'm almost dead to show me you love me." When she said it like that (even though he understood it was a joking comment), he felt very stupid and embarrassed. She didn't know that and a mildly rueful smile hinted at the edge of her mouth. Her eyes were no longer shy on his at all. Instead they looked at him with great emotion. "I see how you feel every time you look at me." She sounded like she loved him greatly. Cas wished he could feel comforted, but instead he felt worse and more guilty. Alex's smile faded as she looked him over with concern. "Why do you keep coming back to this, Cas?" she asked, voice softening with apprehension. Her close, worried gaze made him uncomfortable—she was reading him now, searching for answers. "Why are you so afraid? Why do you think I don't know that you love me?" Her question demanded an answer and he felt himself become afraid very quickly.

Because I'm doing things I shouldn't be. Because I'm lying to your face. Because I'm willingly keeping important things from you. Because when you find out, what if you despise me?

In a moment of cowardice, Cas hid behind the first excuse he could think of. "What the cupid said about your doubts concerning me," he lied. "I cannot get it out of my mind."

Her face fell and immediately Castiel regretted his words. How low of him to bring that up after they had put it behind them. Alex's face was slack—she believed him. "Oh." She nodded, trying very hard to swallow it bravely and accept his words. "That makes sense." She looked so hurt and Cas cursed himself but knew he couldn't take back what he'd said.

"You're not the only one with doubts, Alex," he said, trying to tell her without telling her how he was struggling so much worse than she could possibly fathom. "All I feel anymore is doubt and fear." He thought maybe that would comfort her just a little.

Instead, she looked very pained. "About us, too?"

How could three words from her mouth invoke such a horrible feeling into his chest? Realizing his mistake in phrasing himself so vaguely, Cas let out a slightly frustrated breath and let his head hang as his eyes shut. What was he doing? He was not adept at comforting with words or conveying himself in any language much less English—he was digging himself into a deeper proverbial hole, he was making everything worse and worse. He began to let some of his true fears and feelings spill out of him. If he didn't release some worries, if he didn't share some honesty with her, he felt he would perish.

"Alex… if I do not win this war, you will be destroyed," he began, thus speaking aloud his cruelest fear and most harrowing thought, the thing that haunted him and terrified him without ceasing. "Hurled into Hell or tortured in Heaven for the rest of time." She listened, but he saw her trepidation. It was because of that expression etched into her face that he couldn't look at her anymore and he turned away, shifting himself so that his feet rested on the floor as his legs hung over the edge of the bed. He had a hand on his head and he was slumped, arms propped onto his knees. Everything was wrong. She had been no one before he had taken interest in her and fallen in love with her. She had been safe before him… now, her name was known to all of Heaven and probably Hell; who she was to him and what she meant was common knowledge. As such, Castiel was a curse on her life.

"The responsibility of your eternal fate rests with me and me alone," he continued, voice tight with dismay. "I've made you a target and I've endangered you in every way possible." He felt misery searing in his chest. He loved her more than ever and the thought of doing all this only to possibly lose her in the end… it made him want to shrivel into nothing and die. "If what I've done damns you all over again…" he continued, "if everything I've done to try and correct my mistakes backfires…" he paused long and hard, gravely imagining himself in a world where she no longer existed. He saw himself in his mind's eye taking his blade and ending his own existence. "I won't be able to live with myself."

Behind him, her voice was soft with shock, almost as if she'd seen his thoughts of taking his own life. "Cas."

He lifted his head up and stared straight ahead of himself, every muscle in his face tense with distress. Didn't she understand how deeply he felt? It was too much. He didn't know what to do with all the emotions she made him feel and the worst part was how alone he was with his doubts, fears, and struggles. "I am supposed to take care of you," he said, miserable. He heard her shifting around behind him, felt the bed moving like she was coming across it to him. "That's all I've ever wanted to do. I don't want to fail you."

She circled her arms around his middle from behind, pressing her warm bare body against his back, kissing the top of his shoulder and letting her face rest there. He shut his eyes, reveling in her touch and presence. "You never have and you never will," she said in that quiet, fierce way she had.

Oh he wanted to believe her. "But what if I do?" he asked, voice barely audible.

He felt her eyelashes blink and brush against his skin. "Then we'll figure it out."

Five words that washed comfort over his rigid nerves. Her hands pressed to his chest and slid downward, hugging him close and creating warm tingles that he associated with her alone. He relaxed into her touch then let himself be comforted by her—he would snap from the tension of stress otherwise. She seemed to know exactly how to soothe his ragged nerves, pressing whispery kisses to the top of his shoulder. "I love you, you know," she murmured, then nuzzled her nose down into the top of his shoulder, kissing him there again softly and slowly. His eyes were shut again and all of his bad feelings began to melt. She loved him. He clung to that and to the affection she showed even though he felt undeserving. Her mouth was kissing a little higher up, on the side of his neck, then the hinge of his jaw. Every touch of her lips made him feel alive all over again.

Her hands skimmed his sides and his arms then hugged him securely again, making him feel anchored. The softest and most contented sigh escaped him as he leaned back to her, relishing the feeling of her skin against his. Her nose grazed his cheek and a kiss pressed there afterward. She stood onto her knees and moved her arms to circle loosely around his neck from behind. Her breasts brushed against his back and her hair trailed across his shoulders as she nuzzled one of his ears—she was stirring him and warming him and when she leaned forward over his shoulder, Cas twisted a little, meeting her in a soft kiss. One of her hands caressed the side of his face as she deepened the kiss with burning slowness and tenderness. Things fluttered in the bottom of Cas's stomach with quickening heat. He was inclined toward her in every way possible and he didn't feel alone or as fearful when she showed him her love this way. How could kisses alone give him such feelings of security and confidence?

At the same moment they got the same idea and she began to move around from behind him to in front of him and he helped her, pulling her into his lap and kissing her deeply—he was aroused of course but he only wanted to kiss. He could kiss her for all eternity and wished he could. The sensation of her mouth and tongue melding with his caused his blood to thicken and his pulse to speed up further, made him dizzy and light and free.

Because they were both still naked, he brushed against the inside of her leg unintentionally. He pulled his hips back, trying to be modest and undemanding while still kissing her—he ached for her again (would he ever stop?) but didn't want to further push her physically—he wouldn't make that mistake again. So it quite shocked him when she shifted forward over him to let herself press over the tip of him enticingly. He softly protested and shut his eyes. She was teasing him.

And then he realized she didn't tease. She abruptly slid downward and took him fully, making his body shiver in sudden tremors of incomparable, hot pleasure. He gasped the second it happened and his eyes snapped wide open in shock—Alex was looking down at him as she held his face in her hands. She began to slowly and languidly move on him in a way that was meant to render him into a fool. He choked her name out dumbly, gazing up at her in awe, one of his hands grasping her wrist in his daze. What was she doing?

"Shh," she whispered shakily, leaning close and leaving a kiss on his forehead as she moved a hand behind his head to grab him by the hair gently. Cas obeyed and went silent as he looked up at her in a dumbstruck, slack-jawed rapture. She took him to a state of nirvana, exercising complete control over him. All the worries and fears he'd been consumed in fled his mind and he felt good, wonderful, amazing, loved. His entire body tightened up and hummed with rising pleasure as he very quickly hurtled to unmistakable heights under her spell. Becoming distressed and one-track in mind, Cas suddenly crushed her close, his face buried in her chest to muffle a soft cry. Her arms embraced his head, her fingers curled into his hair, the rhythm of her hips was beyond exquisite. "Oh…" he heard himself groan out.

His eyes shut and he felt his body ramping up for release… the way she was stimulating him left no other conceivable option. He lifted his head when he felt its approach, desperate to see her face in his moment of ecstasy. He caught her eyes—she was breathing erratically and she saw how he was close and as such increased her speed. Without meaning to, the Enochian words for oh help escaped his mouth and he felt the unmistakable terrifying wonder of release begin to take him. "Uh!" He heard himself grunt in alarm and awe alike as it crashed onto him like a tempest. He clung onto her and she helped him survive the blinding pleasure, she drew out the shuddering ecstasy, she took him to paradise and beyond, she stole every last ounce of him. When it was over, she had ruined him and rebuilt him alike. Castiel went slack against her, stunned by the beauty making his pulse throb to the echoing song of ecstasy. He would never become accustomed to this. He would never ever stop feeling so amazed by her and this.

Alex held him to her bosom gently as he regained composure and when he had recovered a little, he looked up at her questioningly, breathless. "… Did you not—?" he asked, seeing no signs of her having reached apex. He was confused because that had never happened before.

She looked at him with utter fondness. "You can owe me," she said teasingly, brushing her nose against his and kissing him lightly. She saw the uncertain look on his face and became a little more earnest. "I wanted that to be for you."

"For me?" he asked, beginning to understand what she meant but feeling very surprised by it.

She looked very content despite not having reached the same heights he had. "For you," she repeated, touching his face with the backs of her soft fingers. He loved her more and more every day. He opened his mouth and told her that.

---

Castiel was dressed again and Alex was wrapped in a sheet, watching him. He shrugged his trench coat on and he turned back to her, straightening it. "Promise that you'll call to me if you need me," he said, then waited for her to nod. Here came the goodbye. There was a long pause between them both. Neither wanted it to be farewell. "I've had Samandriel bring your car back from Michigan and he is outside watching over you as before," Cas finally said, then approached her again.

The saddest smile came across her lips. "I'd rather you do that."

His face mirrored hers and he reached out, taking her hands in his, brushing his thumbs across the backs her her fingers. "Soon." He hesitated and then leaned in, giving her a kiss. She protested when he tried to pull away, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him in a way that begged him not to go. They both knew he had to though. When their mouths came apart, he didn't let go of her. "You make it very difficult for me to leave you," he said softly.

Alex searched his eyes deeply. She had a million questions and didn't like how each time he disappeared then reappeared he seemed more and more stressed, more and more unstable. But she had no other choice but to accept this. "Be safe up there," she told him in a voice that didn't give away how conflicted she felt.

He gave a barely perceptible single nod, his eyes telling her how sad he was to leave And then he let go of her hands and disappeared. A slight wind rustled against her from his flight and she shut her eyes. This was the hardest part… goodbye. Always the goodbye.

When she opened her eyes again to heart-breakingly empty space, she surveyed the very trashed attic… her discarded and ripped up clothes, the bookshelf where most of the books had toppled out onto the floor, the crooked bed with the sheets torn half off and blankets thrown helter-skelter. Wincing, she sat down onto the bed and just processed and rested for a minute. She was very sore. She hadn't mentioned it to Cas and had been careful not to let him see because he'd seemed pretty upset already about it.

Well, he was upset about everything and she hadn't known a way to really comfort him this morning except kiss him, hug him, then give him satisfaction again. Last night flooded her mind and insatiable, unstoppable Castiel made her both blushingly smile and scratch her head with vague worry. It had gotten to the point where he had almost freaked her out last night. She'd wondered if he was going to just fuck her into oblivion or what. She'd wondered if he'd lost his mind or was really that horny. Then to hear him say this morning he'd only wanted to show her he loved her… it helped her understand. Cas was sweet like that and associated sex with love but maybe didn't understand that sex wasn't the same thing as love. Last night would definitely stand out in her mind as one of the best nights of her life, even if it had been sort of crazy too. She let her mind revel in memories for a moment before she hit a sour note.

His words to her this morning about how he kept thinking of her doubts bothered her. Alex was guilt-stricken again. The cupid had said that a month ago or more—they'd put that behind them, she thought. If Cas had been so worried and worked up about it, why had he kept it inside and not told her it was bothering him? He let it build up inside then went insane on her in the bedroom instead? The war must really be getting to him was all she could figure. She saw it in his stressed-out eyes, his tired shoulders, the grim way he held his mouth. Not being able to help him was the most frustrating thing in the world. She couldn't help Dean, or Sam, or Cas… and she stood up, getting irritated. She was trying hard not to explode from the frustration of doing nothing.

After a much needed shower Alex donned her only good pair of jeans remaining and threw on a t-shirt, then wandered downstairs in a distracted state. She was back to thinking about Dean and that dick move of sending her away without a choice. Jerk. When Dean did stuff like that to her (and Cas for that matter), it made so much frustrated anger build inside. They were telling her without words, in effect, that she was useless. Being protected was okay with her, but being locked away in a tower of safety? Being excluded continuously from the things her family was struggling with? That wasn't life. Not hers, anyway.

In the kitchen at the table, Bobby had a newspaper up over his face and he peered over it as Alex drifted in there in search of food. "Hey Bobby," she greeted offhandedly, still deep in thought. He seemed unsurprised to see her. "I'm back."

"So I gathered," he said, eyes on her from over the top of the paper. "You get any sleep last night?"

Alex picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and rubbed it clean on the leg of her jean, wondering who Granny Smith even was and why she had a fruit named after her. "Yeah, wh—" she stopped mid-sentence, apple hovering mid-air as she held it there. Oh… my… god… she hadn't even thought about how loud they'd been last night or if Bobby were home or not or… shit. She turned around to face him even as she felt herself turning red. She was remembering exactly how loud Cas had gotten her last night and abruptly wanting to disappear from sight.

Bobby had this little smile making his whiskers twitch as he scanned the paper. "Thought someone was in a fight at first," he said, casually turning a page in the newspaper. "Ran up there with my gun." Alex was mortified, but Bobby seemed to have made peace with it and was almost teasing. "Just gimme a heads up next time 'fore you and Cas decide to throw down? Had to turn the TV all the way up to try and unhear what I was hearin'."

You didn't really want your family to know what you sounded like having sex—or at least Alex didn't—and her cheeks felt like they were about to burst into flame. "Sorry," she mumbled. Geez. Although… it was sort of funny too… she pictured her uncle blasting the ridiculous reality shows he secretly loved while he covered his ears and looked utterly traumatized. She smashed her lips together to try not to smile or laugh at the mental images conjured.

Bobby's mustache twitched. "I need to repair any furniture?"

She made herself look him in the eye, and when she did, they both had the same reaction: they laughed. He chuckled richly (Bobby Singer was a reserved man and didn't cut loose much). She, on the other hand, let out a stifled snort which turned into a very boisterous laugh. Like a kid caught with her hand in the candy jar, she was abruptly realizing how hilarious it was and covering her mouth. Thank god for Bobby who wasn't making it any weirder than it could have been. "No," she finally said after she managed to compose herself and quit grinning like an idiot. "Not this time."

"Hm." Bobby remained mildly amused. The look and head shake he was giving her seemed to say oh you. He relieved them both from the subject by glancing over at a big box he had open on the desk. "Got a new stack in from UPS today. You up for some readin'?"

Alex hesitated, letting her gaze drop to the apple in her hand. Her amusement faded into more serious thoughts. She had been thinking about something since Cas left. "I've actually got my own little project to work on today…" she explained offhandedly, feigning nonchalance.

Bobby flipped to another page in the newspaper. "Mysterious," he commented gruffly. His eyes flickered up to her briefly from underneath his ball cap. "Care to share with the class?"

"Ah, nothing exciting," Alex said, putting an easygoing smile on. "Don't wanna bore you." She took a crunching bite of her apple and turned to head out.

Bobby's voice stopped her. "Hey," he said, lowering the paper a little and giving her a meaningful look. "You tell that boyfriend a'yours if he ever messes up, he's gonna have me to talk to." He sounded threatening but civil, something Bobby was good at. "And I don't got nice things to say to people who upset my girl."

Alex smiled, heart warming. Bobby was like the dad she'd never had. Always in her corner and ready to help whatever the need may have been. They'd been through a lot together and had such a simple, straightforward relationship. She appreciated him a lot more than she let on. "Okay, Uncle Bobby," she said, using the term she and her brothers had given him years and years ago. He smiled a little when she said that and she took another bite of her apple, pointing at the door with her other hand, indicating that she was about to leave.

"You gone?" he asked, shaking the paper out a little in front of himself.

"Yeah, I'll be back later," she said through a mouthful of apple, then kissed her hand and tossed the kiss his way—she used to do that a lot as a little kid.

Watchful as always, Bobby saw what she did and finished their tradition: he caught the kiss deftly and tucked it into the front of his pocket with a flourish, hiding a smile underneath his beard. Alex gave a little wave and headed out.

As Alex walked away and got to where Bobby could no longer see her face, her smile gave way to a very tense, focused expression. Her project was probably not one Bobby (or Dean or Cas… or maybe anyone) would approve of. But too bad. She was going to take matters into her own damn hands.

She had something very serious and pressing on her mind… Death.

---

Lansing, Michigan

Samuel Campbell metaphorically limped back to his compound from Crowley's prison with his tail between his legs. I did what had to be done. He didn't want to think about his grandchildren anymore. They were probably all dead and he couldn't take any of it back. He was now a step closer to having his daughter back. That was what mattered. That was what had to matter.

His broken nose was killing him—thanks to his bitch of a granddaughter, every heartbeat made the entire area shoot with pain. Dried blood caked the space under his nostrils. It sucked. Most guys who got a broken nose had to wait the old fashioned way for it to heal. But Samuel had something most hunters didn't have. He pulled his van into the compound as he first got back and then kept driving to pull around the main building to the very back end of the jumble of structures.

A little shed you'd blink and miss was padlocked there and Samuel pulled to a stop beside it then got out and put in the combination to unlock the door. He went in to the dim space, slow and cautious.

Laying on a little cot shoved up against the wall, she was turned the opposite way. As he'd predicted, she was asleep. She slept most days because of all the repair work he'd made her do recently. Her long blonde hair was illuminated by the mid-morning morning sun coming in from the tiny square window in the wall above. She looked so much like Mary when he couldn't see her face. He pulled a chair up beside the bed and shook her shoulder. "Marie. Wake up." Sometimes he had to remind himself not to slip up and call her by her real name. Making her think her name was Marie had been Crowley's idea of a funny joke. Because it sounded like Mary. Samuel was still irked about that.

She woke up and raised herself up a little, turning her head to squint up at him in confusion. She was perhaps thirty years old but was currently haggard and pale. It made her look ten years older. Her watery ice-blue eyes flickered over his face and then spotted his injury. Mild dread passed over her face because she obviously knew what he was going to ask of her.

"Got a busted nose," he said.

"…I just healed you three days ago," she said hoarsely, sounding feeble and close to panic. "I, I don't know if I have it in me."

Samuel wasn't in the mood to coax but attempted it anyway. "Come on, for me? Your favorite uncle?"

She didn't want to do it and he could see that. But he'd promised she could leave the shed and start staying in the actual compound if she was a good girl. So without protest, she sat up slowly like an old woman would and braced herself as she faced him, nodding apprehensively. "I'll try." She then began her exhausting spellwork, chanting quiet Latin words from memory and holding a shaking hand at his face, channeling the spell to his broken nose.

Samuel watched her and wondered if she would ever remember. He was cautious around her just in case. He knew she would become a very dangerous enemy given the right motivation. That's why he was very careful to contain her and keep the ruse going. This was a tricky line he was walking with "Marie"… better known as Jamie Ward.

It had started when Jamie had been gravely injured from reversing Alex's vampiric condition. Impressed with her abilities, Samuel had decided to do something quite underhanded that he knew Dean, Alex, and even Sam would not approve of. He had taken the still coma-ridden girl right out of her hospital room and lied to the Winchesters, telling them she disappeared. He intended to let her recover in secret at his compound. When she woke up, he planned to convince her to join him on the road, hunting and helping out. He didn't care if she were a witch—she was resourceful, especially being able to heal people like she could. Not many witches were gifted in healing.

She'd been in a coma for a full two weeks before she finally came out of it. When she became lucid, Samuel attempted to talk her into joining him the old fashioned way. He'd managed to find out she had no family left to speak of. So, he'd tried to spin it like the Campbells would be her new family, like they'd give her a place to belong. She'd been too reserved to read and said to give her a couple days and that she'd think about it. Still too weak to go anywhere, mostly because Samuel was keeping the food he gave her drugged, she had no choice but to stay close. And then, proving herself too clever for her own good, she'd poked around when he wasn't watching and she'd figured out that her food was being drugged. Samuel only survived that showdown thanks to Crowley who had "out of the goodness of his own heart" given Samuel an "in the meantime" gift of a doting blonde daughter-figure who would heal him and hunt with him. Crowley had put some sort of spell on Jamie that made her forget who she was and made her think she was someone named Marie Campbell, Samuel's distant niece. Crowley had made her docile and sort of dumb in comparison to who she'd been before which worked in Samuel's favor—but warned that Samuel needed to be careful not to trigger her memory, because the spell wasn't foolproof. That's why Samuel kept her locked up alone just in case.

He told Jamie that she was suffering from memory loss after a car crash to explain her seeming condition of amnesia. Samuel let the other Campbells on the compound think she was crazy. He claimed she was a wayward hunter he had found on his own somewhere, that a monster attack had done something to her brain, that she thought he was his uncle and he didn't know why. Leave her alone and just go along with whatever she says, he'd advised.

Thus he was able to keep the gambit going. Jamie healed him on demand when he got sick or hurt, therefore keeping him on the road and hunting monsters for Crowley faster than before. He was in a hurry to get his daughter back and Jamie was a means to an end. Just like everything else. When he looked at it that way, Samuel didn't feel guilty at all. Mary was worth everything. And it was sort of nice that he had this girl who looked similar to his daughter looking at him as an authority.

Jamie before had been a spitfire and too independent. She was better this way. As she finished healing his nose that day, she shuddered and hissed in pain and he had to catch her to keep her from collapsing forward. Some blood ran out of her nose, but his nose felt fine again. She grimaced. Every time she healed his injuries, it hurt her and drained her for a little while. That was too bad, Samuel thought. "That's my good girl," he said, smoothing her hair down affectionately at the side of her head and letting his eyes linger on the buttery length of hair she possessed. It was very remarkable how her shade of blonde so perfectly matched his Mary's.

Oblivious to him, she looked at her hands as if drugged. "How did I even get these powers?" she asked, voice slurring a little. "Why can't I remember?"

"The accident messed your mind up, sweetheart," Samuel said, standing up. She had to catch herself on a weak hand to stay supported. He was heading out of the shed without a backwards glance. "You'll remember someday."

She blinked, blank-faced. She appeared close to the point of passing out. "I can't even remember the accident," she said, and there was a question in her weak, sandpapery voice. It was like she knew she was being lied to but doubted her instincts. She looked at her bare feet (he didn't let her wear shoes… it was hard to run away with no shoes). "Why do I have these scars?" she asked, confused all over again. Samuel looked at her pale feet. Her toes were misshapen and scarred over and she had sharp bunions from displaced sesamoid bones. Samuel didn't know why and even if he did, he wouldn't have told her—Crowley had been very insistent that Samuel not jog her memory too much.

So Samuel stood at the door, looked back at her, and ignored the question. "Get some rest, Marie."

"Get some rest," she repeated, drone-like. Her face showed confusion and illness and fear. But Samuel shut the door on her. He'd have Gwen check on her in a couple hours.

---

Two Days Later
Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Alex stared unhappily. This was what she was reduced to: Shopping for clothes and trying to decide which jean wash she liked best—dark or less dark. It didn't matter. None of this crap mattered. She grabbed four pairs in her size and headed up to the front of the store like a storm cloud. She stood in line to buy the jeans and her bad attitude made everyone around her eye her with nervousness and skepticism but she didn't bother to hide her sour disposition.

She'd spent the past two days trying to summon Death—yeah, the horsemen—and had encountered zero luck. None of the summons worked or maybe the guy was flat out ignoring her. Could he do that under direct summons? She didn't know. All she had thought was that Death—the Reaper of Reapers—could either tell her how to spring Sam's soul out of the cage or even take care of the task himself. And not just Sam. Adam, too.

The last three months of being sidelined were really starting to get to her. Resentments and dissatisfaction were at an all time high, and the past two days of coming up against walls had her severely on edge.

Alex stalked through the parking lot with her jeans in a plastic bag and as she walked, she pulled out her car keys. On the keyring was the little cupcake keychain Sam had given her right before everything went to shit. Like always, her chest tightened at the sight of that stupid, sweet little gift. She unlocked her car and threw the bags in almost angrily, contemplating throwing that keychain out completely because of how fucking sad it made her.

She lamented and cursed her life at the same time—because she had spent a whole year mourning her twin's loss only to discover he was alive, but then she'd discovered he wasn't him and now she mourned him every day. Seeing Sam in person these days was like standing at his grave. A physical symbol of him stood there, but he was gone. For all intents and purposes, dead.

As Alex drove back toward Bobby's her hand tightened on the wheel and her gaze grew dogged. The more days that passed the more desperate she felt. She had hid it away for the most part and brushed it aside over and over again, hoping just one more day of this—for endless amounts of days.

Dean was screening her calls, Cas was away, Bobby's research was accomplishing nothing, and Jamie was probably dead. Sam was in Hell and so was Adam—how could she just sit around and content herself to wait this situation out? Especially when it was her fault? Sam needed help. And Adam too, dammit. Something had to be done, and call her crazy but monster-catching for Crowley might last for months more. Hearing that Sam's soul might be past salvation secondhand was eating at her in a major way, more than she'd thought at first. Stewing day and night over an increasing urgency to save the one she'd come into the world with had her contemplating all kinds of wild solutions.

Sam didn't deserve what he'd been dealt, and it hurt her heart so much. She just wished so bad that her fucking stupid brothers had just let her die and take Lucifer with her last year. Why did Sam have to step in like he did? She carried such guilt over it and her stupid, stupid decision to say yes. Since she'd found out that even if they could get Sam's soul back, it might destroy him... she hadn't been able to stop obsessing privately over urgency to get him back. She hadn't been able to shed the guilt she felt at her role in his demise. She had reached her limit, she guessed, and like an animal in a cage, she'd grown tired of laying around. Now she was pacing back and forth mentally without stopping, more and more wildly all the time.

She'd spent so much of her life missing Sam. When he left for Stanford the divide had been made and her heart had been broken and she'd missed him but tried to pretend she didn't care. After the four years of separation and the reunification to find Dad, she and Sam had slowly mended the broken bridge between them, slowly rediscovering the trust and love they'd shared as kids. The memories of Sam that she had from childhood were rich and vast, everything from funny to touching to heartbreaking…

She remembered being really sick one time when they were four—Dean had gone to the store to steal medicine and Sam, worried over his wheezy and lethargic twin, had heated up some chicken noodle soup. He'd splashed half of it over the motel rug and not heated it up long enough but he had been so very determined about her having it. When he brought it over sloshing around in a bowl he'd been so deadly serious. "Al-ly-gator, I maded you soup. And I tooked out the sell-ree and care-its 'cause we dun like them."

It always used to be 'we.' We like this, we don't like that, we think that TV show is good, we wish you could give us some of your Funyuns please Dean, we want more blankets 'cause we're cold. For years, Sammy spoke up for her and told Dean and Dad how she felt, what she thought (he was sometimes right, but was sometimes just projecting his own thoughts onto her). It had been like that until he was ten or eleven maybe.

Alex remembered how Sam used to really like playing pirates and always insisted she had to be the mermaid he was saving and she would get really frustrated and push him down, steal his sword-stick from him and run away laughing silently at his whines—because didn't he know she wanted to be the pirate captain?! Those were the guys who got to slash swords and drive the boats. Mermaids just swam around like fish. They had no weapons! Where was the fun in that?

"Waah-hhhahahahaaaaa," Sam wailed one time to Dean after the mermaid-pirate debacle happened again. "Alex isn't letting me be the pirate!"

"Why can't you both be pirates?!" Dean asked from over the top of a comic book. He got very invested in his comics and didn't like it when he got interrupted.

"'Cause she's a girl and she's supposed to be the mermaid princess," Sam answered matter-of-fact.

"If that's what girls are supposed to be, where's your tail, Samantha?" Dean retorted. He got tackled for that one.

Oh, those two brothers of hers. Always fighting, always trying to outdo each other. Always making her smile… or want to pull her hair out. It tended to go to one extreme or the other.

Because the three of them had grown up depending on each other so closely, because Dad had been so absent emotionally and often physically too in their childhood, the Winchester kids had some stories and experiences other siblings didn't. Like that awkward day when Alex started her first-ever period and not known what the hell it even was. Eleven years old, she'd tried to hold back her tears as she walked quick down the hallway after exiting the school bathroom. Trying to keep her wits around her and not sob (she was dying, after all, bleeding to death and not long for the world…) when she saw Sam at his locker, she'd lost it and run to him, sobbing. Who will help him when his bad left shoulder gets stiff? Who will massage it out for him? Dean doesn't like to and Dad never would! That had been her worry as she ran up to him and tugged on his arm, panicking and crying like the world was ending. She couldn't die, not yet. She needed to be kissed first and fall in love with a cute boy at least!

When Alex ran up to her twin in a tizzy he'd seen her face and dropped papers everywhere and gotten panicked right away, too (they used to do that a lot… resonate off each other) and asked what was wrong. I'm dying! She had told him by squeezing his hand in morse code. Bleeding and it won't stop! He'd asked where from and when she pointed in complete mortification. Sam had looked absolutely horrified. Neither of them knew, at the time, what it meant. To them, it seemed like death was coming early for her.

Sam hadn't done what most kids would. He didn't get an adult—at eleven, Dean was, on most days, still his hero. As such, Sam dragged an inconsolable Alex to the older kid's lockers. By the time it was all said and done and Dean set them straight about what was happening, Sam had cried harder than Alex had and freaked out more than she did. They ditched school with Dean leading the way to the closest drug store to get 'women's supplies'—a term that had the twins mystified and scared.

Dean explained it to them, enjoying being the smart one, and they gaped. Sam had asked all the questions Alex wanted to know. What if she doesn't want this period thing? And this Aunt Flow you're telling us about happens every single month? You can't just shut it off? All women get them? Are you kidding us, Dean? Stunned silence had spanned after all the questions and then Sam had put his arm around Alex reassuringly. She was dazed by this revelation and the body horror of it all. She wasn't ready to be a woman or have periods—she hadn't even known they were a thing until that day. Sam's voice was still messed up from crying so much and his eyes were watery and red, but he sounded brave. "You're gonna be okay, Alex," he'd told her in a comforting and brotherly tone. "I'll still love you even if you do turn into a woman." He said the word woman like it was a horrible condition.

Dean, walking on the other side of her, ruffled her hair and smiled at them, letting his arm drape over Sam's so they all walked together arm in arm. Sometimes Dean looked like a proud parent. After Sam comforted Alex like that, that had been one of those times.

Alex blinked and sniffed present day as she drove down the road—she couldn't stop remembering and thinking about her twin throughout the years. Even when Sam started to get distant—starting to dislike the Winchester lifestyle in earnest and rebel against the idea of being part of it forever—even when he started to become ashamed of his siblings and began to ignore them at school, even when he so clearly wanted out of his family… he'd had his moments.

Alex remembered being an angry teenager and letting her rage out in acts of passive aggressive defiance. One time she'd been setting textbooks on fire in the bathroom and she caused a fire alarm to go off when she set a plastic trashcan on fire by mistake—panicking, she'd tried to put it out and set her own sleeve on fire instead.

Sam had been waiting however unhappily outside of the bathroom for her (new school and Dean insisted they stick together when he wasn't there). When the alarm sounded Sam rushed in smelling smoke… she was running around trying to put her flaming sleeve out. Sam slammed her to the ground and used his own jacket to save her from the flames, then beat the trash can out, too—then wordlessly took her burned flannel shirt from her and stuffed it into his backpack, hiding the evidence. She'd been so embarrassed of herself. He yanked his own t-shirt over his head for her to put on over her school-inappropriate tank top—all of this within thirty seconds or so, like he was on a mission. He zipped his jacket up all the way to hide that he was shirtless underneath and they got the hell out of there before the principle or teachers could discover them.

Sam didn't tell a soul and said nothing to her, just gave her this look like he was glad she was alive but she'd been hearing about it later. He'd walked around school all day in his zipped up jacket and had gotten teased about it but he said nothing, just berated the hell out of Alex later like his glance promised. Stuff like: what were you thinking? You could have burned the whole place down! You could have been hurt! Don't look at me like that… ugh. Fine. I won't tell Dean. But those sad eyes won't always work on me, Alex. Now quit setting fire to stuff, you hear me?

Alex nodded agreement but had been burning stuff not even a week later much to Sam's chagrin.

Sam didn't love the things his family did, he was pretty judgmental about the choices his siblings made sometimes, but he would always help them and save them when he could.

Like last year. When he'd sacrificed his own life for hers.

Alex was crying now, tears sliding down her cheeks and blurring her vision as she tried not to think about Sammy anymore. But instead, she remembered him holding her tightly as they both sobbed over Dean's dead, Hellhound shredded body. She remembered him saying "we're gonna be okay, it's gonna be okay," to her as she cried so hard she wanted to vomit. Not even he had believed what he said to her and they had both known that.

A sobbing noise came out of Alex's mouth and she swerved slightly, trying to keep the car on the road. Her tears were getting more and more pronounced. The memories kept coming.

Three years old they were huddled in a twin bed together as a storm carried on outside in the dead of night. Dad snored loudly one bed over. Sammy jumped with fright when thunder crashed. "I'm scary," he'd whispered. He meant he was scared. He curled into his silent twin who was sucking her thumb, wide-eyed awake and just as scared as he was.

At their feet, Dean's sleepy voice drifted up. "It's just angels bowling in the sky," he told them, then patted their legs comfortingly.

Twenty-four years old, Sam had broken down in private before Dean's death day. "What if we can't save him?" he'd asked and broken her heart because he looked three again. "I'm scared." She'd been just as scared as he was, especially because he didn't do that… he didn't say that kind of stuff anymore.

Alex pictured that same brother in Hell, scared, alone, tortured, and she pulled the car over to the side of the road overcome with grief and terror. At last, after months of only allowing herself small moments of sadness over her brother, she grieved and wept loudly and miserably, hands clenched to the wheel and head hung slackly there to hit against her arms. I have to do something. I have to do something!

Everything she'd buried was coming out in an avalanche.

Focusing on breathing in and out, Alex screwed her eyes shut, huffing and puffing in an attempt to get herself to stop. Control yourself. It's okay.

But it wasn't okay.

"Let's make a promise," Sammy said to her once. He had been maybe twelve at the time and in a deeply thoughtful mood. They were flopped on their stomachs in the grass and while she tied grass into knots, he stared out into distance with his face in his hand. "No matter what, we'll always save each other, okay?" He looked at her then and she had liked how that sounded and nodded. They sealed the deal with their secret handshake: a fist bump with a pinky promise integrated, then a single handshake afterward to seal the deal. It meant serious business, that handshake.

She and Sam had not always kept that promise they made that day. In small ways and in big ways they had failed each other. And now...

Alex wept fully and her heart ached. The only thing she could think was I wish I saved you, Sam. I'm so sorry I didn't. Her face streamed with tears and the silence of the car filled with her hopeless sobs that did nothing. Growing angry with herself, Alex got out of the car, shaking from nerves. She slammed the door and glared around at the empty fields she was adjacent to. As a distraction or maybe in desperation, she went to the back of her car and rummaged through her trunk, not even sure what she was looking for. It was a mess back there. Weapons, bags, odds and ends were strewn all around without organization or neatness and Alex choked back another sob when she imagined Sam chiding her for it with good-natured exasperation. He had always been the neat freak while she and Dean lived like zoo animals.

When Alex found an oversized syringe she kept on hand for demon interrogation, she froze and then slowly drew it out, staring at the cylinder with caught breath. A saying came to mind: Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Well, this was a desperate time. And she was left no other options but desperate ones. With a very controversial idea springing into her mind and this syringe inspiring it, her heart skipped a beat. If it worked, it was actually kind of genius. If it didn't work, she was screwed. But you know, she was a make-it-work kind of person… and this was her brother on the line and nothing else was working and every day that passed was another he was in Hell and she refused to accept it any longer. Desperation made her a little crazy.

She heard her twin's voice in her mind again. "Let's make a promise. No matter what, we'll always save each other, okay?"

He'd kept that promise to her when he took Lucifer out of her like he had. And now she needed to save him, too. With his words in mind, Alex got back in the car and headed back to town for the nearest pharmacy. It was time to stop listening to everyone telling her to be safe and stay out of the game. It was time to act. Dean and Cas could kiss her ass… and she meant that as lovingly as possible.

She wasn't gonna let Death keep ignoring her calls.

---

Thirty Minutes Later

The Mustang was parked behind the pharmacy she'd just stolen medicine from and pacing beside her car, Alex was losing her nerve. Her stomach was churning and she steeled herself. This required total commitment and unflinching dedication. In her experience, the longer she waited, the less likely she would be to do it. She pictured Sam in her mind and told herself to just bite the bullet. This was for him and if she didn't do this, she'd always hate herself for it. This would work, could work, had to work.

It was on the questionable side—but she'd made up her mind. She wet her lips and looked upward as her heart raced sickeningly. He was going to really hate her for this but… she couldn't think about that yet. "Cas? Cas I need to tal—"

In front of here where there'd been nothing, he appeared suddenly about ten feet away. "Alex." He looked around in stern curiosity, took in her expression, then became suspicious and concerned. "Is… everything all right?" His brows pushed together.

"No," she said, and when he took a step closer to her, she took a step back. "Stay back," she warned a little louder than necessary. He stopped, his concern doubling. "Look, if I died right here and now, could you bring me back to life?" Alex asked. "You still have that ability?"

He hesitated, clearly confounded. "Yes… what's wrong? You look—"

"You're sure you could?" she pressed, urgent.

"Yes, but—" he stopped mid-sentence. Understanding washed over his features, then alarm and disbelief.

"Give me five minutes," she commanded, backing up as she saw how he was about to try and stop her. "You hear me? Five minutes." This wasn't her proudest moment but she had made up her mind. "I'm sorry you have to see this Cas."

Even as he was rushing forward to stop her and saying, "Alex, no!" she plunged the syringe she'd had in hand behind her back straight into her own chest, injecting herself with a lethally concentrated dose of potassium chloride—immediately her muscles tensed and cramped agonizingly and she heard herself crying out in pain. Her veins went blazing hot and she was staggering forward blindly as she suffered severe, immediate cardiac arrest. Cas caught her and she heard him saying things in a panic, she felt his strong hands holding her but they weren't strong enough. Her vision went black and her lungs seized up, her heart felt like it was exploding and imploding all at once. And then it was over.

---

Alex was outside of herself suddenly and watched Cas standing there with her limp body in his arms. She heard him asking her name in shock and fear, saw how he looked at her in staggered disbelief, in total devastation. Guilt crossed her again. She had to turn away because she couldn't watch him holding her corpse like that. She would make her sincere apologies later, but right now, she had to do what she'd come to do.

Everything looked the same as it had a moment ago but she realized she couldn't feel temperature or breeze at all. Was she a ghost now? Was she a spirit? And where was the Reaper that was supposed to be here?

She saw no one and turned around in a small circle. There wasn't anyone there except Cas. And then behind her she heard an unfamiliar voice.

"I was in the middle of sampling the most tasty falafel just now."

Alex turned around quickly to see a stranger: a gaunt, pale older man with dark, thinning hair and a receding hairline. He wore a suit and he leaned his back against her car and patted primly at the corner of his mouth with a fast-food napkin. Beside him rested a walking cane. "You couldn't have picked a better time to kill yourself?" he asked leisurely, not even looking at her.

He wasn't a regular old Reaper and she knew it right away. A little awed for reasons she didn't even grasp, she faltered. "Are you… Death?"

"No, I'm a roadside assistance worker," he answered, deadpan. His eyes came to hers and challenged her, making her feel small and mortal. Her confidence faltered.

"I… thought I'd have to ask to speak to you," she said, taken aback and unsettled.

He was crumpling up the napkin with both hands, slow and measured. "Surprise," he retorted without passion then took his cane in a hand and stood straight, tossing the napkin down and crushing it with his shoe as he strolled forward slowly, vaguely inconvenienced. "First your brute brother has the gall to try and kill me and now you kill yourself to speak with me. This had better be good, Miss Winchester." He had a soft accent and a very bland way about him but he commanded respect and made Alex nervous.

Right. She braced herself and swallowed, trying to concentrate. Near to Death, Cas was holding her dead body and looked positively ill. He was unaware of Death and Alex's exchange. "I've got two brothers stuck down in Lucifer's cage," Alex said, doubting herself now. "Sam's body isn't down there, just his soul. All of Adam is down there. I need to know if you can get them out. And what your price would be."

Death's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Price? You think that you could ever possess something which I would want?" His head tilted forward slightly and his dark, hollow eyes were stilling. "My dear girl, your reputation for being clever is nothing short of a sham." He paced off two steps, his cane swinging out before each step in a precise way. "I'm not interested in your family dramatics and I'll thank you to leave me out of them," he said, contemplating the distance thoughtfully. He paused then and rested two hands onto the top of his cane, looking toward Castiel with interest then inexplicably began to count down. "Three, two, one…"

Alex followed his gaze, looking at Cas in confusion and dread. Without explanation, the angel lurched and made a sound of pained surprise, clutched a hand at his chest. A brilliant, blazing light abruptly began to beam out from the vicinity of his heart even as he stumbled back and fell down onto his back—he seized in pain, eyes screwed shut and teeth gritted. Despite his pain, he was holding Alex's dead body to his chest with an arm. Even as he fell, Alex rushed to him, trying to touch him. "Oh my god! Cas!" Her hands went right through him and he didn't see her or respond at all. What was happening?! Why was he hurt?!

"Don't bother," Death said, sounding bored. "He can't hear you."

"What's happening to him?!" Alex asked, standing back in a panic. Did angels have heart attacks or something? He had a hand pressed against his heart and it looked like he was having trouble breathing. Was he somehow channeling her wound?!

"Didn't you pause to wonder why I am here?" Death asked. "Why I didn't send a Johnny-on-the-spot Reaper in my stead? I had to see this in person. Your so-called husband has caused himself quite the conundrum." Alex was shell-shocked at his knowledge of her and Castiel and whipped her head to look at the horsemen. He contemplated her mildly. "What, did you think that you could fool Death, Alexandra?"

"W-what's wrong with him?" she asked, not caring about anything else. Why did I do this? He needs me oh my god!

"Many would argue everything is wrong with him," Death replied casually, then dropped a bombshell on her: "However. You're doing that to him."

Alex felt even more alarm overtake her. "What?! I'm not doing anything!" she protested.

"Ah but you are," Death said and came two steps closer, his cane clicking against the concrete as he did. "People's souls belong to them; the claims to their souls are written in either the book of Heaven or the book of Hell. You, child, are not in either book. Because of him."

What? Oh Cas, what did you do…?!

Beside Cas a young man appeared who Alex did not recognize—he wore a white-and-red striped shirt and a goofy red baseball cap. He looked like he couldn't have been more than twenty years old. He crouched at Cas's side, speaking to him urgently, trying to help him—Cas was shaking his head no in agony. Another person appeared too shortly after the boy did—a woman in her thirties with dark blonde hair and a business suit. She bent over Castiel too and Alex was helpless to do anything but watch Cas seemingly die in front of her eyes.

"He laid claim to your soul in a rather indecent way I'm afraid," Death continued in utter apathy, unaffected by the scene. "And now it's inside of him, tearing him apart. I doubt he knew this would happen."

"…Inside of him?" Alex repeated, feeling sick and shocked and lost. Cas, what have you done? The claim to my soul? What does that even mean? Why did you never tell me? Oh god…

"Yes. Dreadful business." Death was contemplating Cas's glowing chest with the mildest of interest. "It appears that the claim on your soul was transferred to an inanimate object. Dangerous idea… soul claims aren't supposed to be made tangible. Souls are supposed to go either up or down. Not to the inside of an angel's chest."

Alex remembered Cas telling her he'd removed her name from the book of Hell. But he didn't say he took ownership of the soul claim and stuck it inside of himself! In his freaking literal heart! She was furious and terrified because he was dying by all appearances now and she couldn't do a damn thing.

"God knows how long whatever little trinket has been in there but it would seem that it's fused into the vessel," Death continued. He seemed fascinated by it. "Now that your mortal soul has left your body and has attached itself to the claim he carries, I think it's safe to say he's realized what a bad idea it was."

Alex wanted to smash Death over the head for his apathy. "Why is it hurting him?!" she demanded, because it made no sense at all.

The two angels with Cas were trying to get Cas to speak to them, trying to help him, but Cas was groaning in greater and greater pain, his hand like a claw over his heart.

"Angels don't have souls," Death said. "They have spirits and they have Graces but they don't have souls and they're not supposed to either. Carrying your claim around like that in his heart organ no less was harmless enough with you alive. But with your soul wiggling around in there now I daresay it's killing him for one reason or another."

"But it's just a soul!" Alex protested in stark panic.

"An indistinguishable ball of pure energy and light shoved into an already over-taxed vessel and then concentrated into a very small object he's stuck inside his chest," Death corrected, blasé. "He's not a human. Your soul is trying to get out of him because it knows it doesn't belong in there. And when you die, when you cease to hover in the void as you are right now, I suspect when your soul rips its way out he'll die too."

Oh no. No, no, no. This had been a mistake, a stupid decision, the worst thing she'd ever done. And Cas was left to pay the price. Why hadn't Cas told her this? "…What have I done?" she asked in a whisper. In trying to save her brother she'd killed Castiel and herself too. Regret and horror weren't big enough words.

"Made a very foolish mistake, I'm afraid," Death answered. He leveled her with a lecturing stare. "Life and death isn't a light switch. You can't just kill yourself because the mood strikes and expect to be back topside in time for tea." It was over, Alex realized with growing dismay. Done. Who knows where her soul would go when it had torn itself out of Cas and left him dead. And then Death surprised her. "However."

…However?

"You should count today as your lucky day, Miss Winchester," he said, and she felt the thrill of hope. "I don't feel like putting up with the ruckus your brick-headed brother would cause so I'm sending you back." Relief and disbelief alike flooded her and she could barely believe her luck. "However. It won't happen again," he warned. Death raised a hand and paused, glanced at Cas's writhing form. "Tell your angel to get that thing out of him." And then Death's fingers touched her forehead and they were ice cold. He left her with one last comment: "Don't bother me like this again."

---

Alex gasped and rocketed upwards, stunned and alive and underneath her hands, Cas's solid chest heaved breathlessly… he looked as surprised as she was and he was fine again, no longer in pain or convulsing. They stared at each other for a moment and then Alex remembered the other angels, looking up at them with wide, wild eyes.

The woman looked cold and withdrawn, her eyes sharply taking Alex in without much mercy. The boy, whose shirt turned out to be a uniform for Wiener Hut, well he looked at her much differently. Like he was relieved to see she was okay almost. Wait… did she know him? He looked really familiar. Never mind. She didn't care at the moment. Alex looked down at Cas, concerned and mad and relieved and just everything.

"Cas, are you okay?" she begged urgently.

He looked very gruff and he began to move to stand, helping her do the same. Once they were on their feet, Castiel looked at the other two angels with a terse expression. "Leave us, Rachel and Samandriel."

"But, Castiel—" Rachel protested.

His voice left no room for argument. "I said leave." Samandriel complied right away. Rachel waited a beat longer, glancing at Alex with clear apprehension, then left. The second the female angel disappeared, Castiel turned on Alex harshly, his expression startling. "…Have you lost your mind?" His intensity was quite shocking.

Still, Alex help her own. "Have I lost my mind?" She gestured at his chest. "You have claim to my soul stuck inside your freakin' chest and you never thought to even once mention it?" She wasn't exactly happy about that—it seemed like he'd claimed her like an object or a possession and she didn't like that at all.

Cas was angry. No, he was furious. "You just killed yourself in front of my eyes and you want to discuss that?" he asked, and his voice raised a little. "Alex, death is not a game!"

She had been set to apologize to him tearfully, beg his forgiveness, but the unexpected verbal attack from him made her catty and defensive and her hackles were up instead. "You know what? Neither is Sam's soul! I've stood by for three months while Dean and you and whoever else tried to find a way—" she threw her hands wide, getting more and more upset under his death glare. "That's my brother. I had to do something, Cas!"

"So you chose to end your own life for a mere chance to speak with Death?" Cas asked, indignant and fired up to the point that it shocked her. "You chanced everything on a whim? Alex, do you realize how mindless your actions were just now? How foolish?" He looked mad enough to spit and it was so disconcerting. Yes, she did realize how foolish and she was mortified, but she didn't admit that because of pride and how he was berating her. "You could have sought my help in arranging a meeting with him, you could have—"

"I could have done a lot of crap but I did what I did," she said rudely, cutting him off in an attempt not to hear it any more about how bad she'd fucked up. "End of story, can't take it back, sorry." Trying to excuse her actions, she played the blame game. "Look, all you and Dean do is tell me to sit things out—I can't do that anymore!"

"So you do this?" He demanded instantly and came into her space more almost intimidatingly. "Alex, you killed yourself, you ended your own life!" He was practically yelling at her and she withered. She wasn't used to being the object of his anger and she knew she deserved it but she couldn't handle any more guilt right now. "Did you not consider what that would do to me?" he asked, earnest and harrowed and wounded, growing less angry and more genuinely just dismayed. She couldn't look at him. "Did you give no thought to how that would make me feel? You were dead!"

He didn't have to keep reminding her. "Well I'm not now," she muttered, dodging his eyes and looking down.

"But you still could be."

"Well I'm not!" she snapped, turning red out of embarrassment as she glared at him. Just stop, Cas! I get it!

"By some miracle," he reminded her needlessly and she wanted to scream. He took a moment and calmed himself a little. "I did not know that would happen. That the claim would do that. I should have realized." Alex darkened at the mention of that and he forced himself to be patient as he asked her the next question. "What happened? What did you learn from your very brainless decision to speak with Death by dying?"

"Nothing," she said, upset and withdrawing. "It was stupid, okay? Happy? I want my soul claim back, Cas. Take it out."

His reply was immediate and firm. "No."

Her mouth dropped open. Excuse me? He did not just say that. "'No'?"

"I have to put it into the book of Heaven and until Raphael is defeated, I can't do that." He didn't sound anything but businesslike—he was talking to her like she was a stranger, almost. "I have to keep it here with me."

Whatever calm she'd had was gone. "The soul claim is supposed to be mine—you have no right to keep it Cas! You're trying to control me again!" She exploded, "if I'm supposed to be in Hell, whatever!"

Shocked and indignant, Cas looked at her almost like he didn't know her. "How can you show so little regard for your future?"

"Me?" she asked. "What about you? You'll die if I die, Cas! And who knows where you'd end up! So take it out!"

His jaw tightened and he was inscrutable, stoic. "I'm afraid I still have to refuse."

Alex grabbed a fistful of his lapel and shoved a little, trying to shake reason into him. "You were just rolling around on the ground dying because it's in there!" She pointed out in a high, uncontrolled voice as she let go of him with a jerk. She was getting ridiculously incensed. "It's not supposed to be in you—it'll kill you! Do you have a death wish or something?!"

Castiel's eyes narrowed and he was very measured. "So you are permitted to express concern over me living or dying but when I do the same you tell me that I am attempting to control you?"

Mouth going into a thin, annoyed line, Alex crossed her arms. "Stop trying to be reasonable, dammit," she grumbled, hating how right he was. She huffed. "How long have you had it?"

He contemplated her for a moment then shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"Excuse me?" she asked, shocked at his refusal.

"Whatever answer I give, you'll flay me," he said in a hard voice. She didn't recognize him at all and felt betrayed. "I did what I had to do to save your soul from Hell and I will not apologize for it," he continued, and his lack of warmth made her see red.

"Stop trying to run my life!" She shouted, arms flailing around herself in animated fury—he was trying to shut her away and keep her under his thumb and she was sick of it.

Again he looked mystified and angry. "'Run your life'? Alex Winchester I am attempting to protect you, I have given everything for your sake and you hold me in contempt for it—why?" Silence. Guilt. Alex's fire faded as Cas's conviction grew. It made his voice emotional. "I have done everything I can do to keep you safe and yet you throw away your life as if it's worthless," he said, gesturing at the discarded syringe a few feet away. "As if you consider everything I have worked for to be meaningless!" He was deeply hurt, shaken, and she saw it and shrank inside. She was so, so stupid. "You say that you trust me," he continued, voice tight and tense, hard to read. "So trust me. I am not attempting to run your life, I am attempting to save it."

Out of things to say, Alex looked down, hurting inside and feeling like utter shit. Why was this so confusing? She wanted to smack him and tell him to stop being a prick but also wanted to hug him and beg him to still love her, to tell her it was going to be okay and they'd get through it. But before anything else could be said, Cas looked upward, his surly expression bleeding into his voice. "I'm being summoned, I have to go."

What? She looked up and opened her mouth up to say something but it was too late. He was already gone—just like that, with no gentle look or touch, no reassurance of his affection. Her stomach dropped to her feet when she realized he'd just left like that.

Terrible doubt and fear clenched her heart. What just happened?

Cas had never, ever raised his voice at her like that. And he hadn't told her about the soul claim even once. It bothered her. It should bother her, right? She didn't want him to die because of her and she didn't like how he had taken ownership of something that was hers without talking to her about it at least. She trusted him—of course she trusted him. Or she had. Now she just felt knocked over and unsettled, confused. She didn't know what she knew anymore about anything. Alex sank to a crouch and put her face into a hand, unable to think straight. She wanted to cry about Sam, Cas, everything. No matter what she did she ran into walls and got nowhere.

After a moment she reached over to the syringe and grabbed it, throwing it in anger. It hit a dumpster with a little sound that didn't make her feel any better at all.

Congratulations, Alex. All you do is ruin everything and fuck things up worse than before.