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.

69. My Brother's Keeper

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 69 / My Brother's Keeper

"What is the point of having free will if one cannot occasionally spit in the eye of destiny?"
- Jim Butcher

---

The Next Day

"I mean of all the screw-headed, crazy, brainless stunts you've ever pulled, this has to be the most certifiable!" Dean raged at full volume. Unhappy about the third degree, Alex held her phone a good five inches away from her ear—that's how loudly her oldest brother was berating her through the phone. "I do all this crazy stuff to make sure you're safe then you waltz out one day and decide to commit suicide for kicks?!"

Alex basically shouted her indignant response at the phone. "It wasn't for kicks Dean, I told you!"

"Well then what was it for, huh?!" Dean demanded, matching her ire blow for blow. Even though she couldn't see his face she could conjure it in her mind's eye and in that mental image he looked like he wanted to kill her all over again. Bitter, Alex gritted her teeth, shut her eyes, and inhaled sharply through her nose in an attempt to not explode. Thanks, Cas, for going out of your way to tell Dean what I did. Alex hadn't seen the angel since he'd disappeared after so harshly verbally blasting her yesterday. So, what, he could find time to look Dean up and tattle on her but not come back and apologize or explain himself? Alex was hurt and annoyed and confused because he'd never been so mean to her, ever, and now it seemed like he was avoiding her. She felt both guilty and mad as hell and was unsure about which one she was more justified in feeling. What a mess… and Dean's tirade on the other end of the line wasn't helping either.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack or something?!" he continued harshly, refusing to let it go (they'd be on the phone for a couple minutes already and all of the conversation had been Dean shredding his sister and Alex getting more and more frustrated as he refused to listen to her). "I mean Jesus Christ, Alex, do you even realize how much is on me right now?! Apparently not or you wouldn't have done that shit!" He was getting even angrier and louder. "I just gotta wonder if you've lost your freaking mind or what, I mean who does that? You're such a friggin' idiot, you know that?!"

That comment did it and she was snapping back in an attempt to defend herself in some small way. "What, trying to do something to save our brother?!" Her rising blood pressure approached outer space. "You're the one who sold your soul for him a few years ago, all I did was—"

"Forget what I did!" he cut her off in a shout. "That doesn't matter anymore and you're sure as hell not gonna make what you did okay bringing that shit up—life and death isn't a game! You killed yourself and Cas didn't think he could bring you back! Do you get that? Do you realize how friggin' lucky you are to be above ground right now?!"

Yeah, so lucky, Dean, so freaking lucky. I have everyone in my life pissed to high hell at me and telling me how much of a dumbass I am and refusing to see why I did what I did. You're right. Yay. Lucky me!

Dean was still ranting at her and it was becoming an angry rumbling blur she tuned out. "Do you realize blah blah blah!? You blah blah blah, I can't believe blah blah blah—it takes some special kind of blah blah blah to blah blah blah—you could have died for real, you could have blah blah!"

"Look, I know it was the dumbass move of the year, all right?" Alex answered in a tight, harsh voice that threatened him to stop talking to her that way, now. "Cas already raked me over the coals about it and you're pissing me off, I don't wanna hear it anymore."

"You don't wanna hear it anymore?" It sounded like he was thinking how dare you. As a result his rumbling voice raised again. "That's rich Al—you offed yourself! Without so much as a word to me! And you don't wanna 'hear it'? Princess, you're lucky I don't—"

Done with sitting there and getting pummeled verbally, about to say things she would really regret, Alex promptly hit the end call button with a great amount of force. "Frickin' hate you sometimes!" she seethed vehemently at the phone, then to avoid the angry calls that would start again soon she yanked the back cover off her phone and violently pulled the battery out. Alex hurled it far out into the yard. Maturity points, zero. But it felt satisfying for a small moment anyway. Take that, Dean. I pulled out a battery at you, what now? Then as she stared out into the yard where she'd thrown it, she got sullen. She'd have to go find the battery now.

The front door to the Singer house squeaked open behind her. "What'd the phone ever do to you?" Bobby ventured out onto the front porch with a mug of coffee and a vaguely skeptical look on his face. So he'd seen her very mature moment just then… great.

Quickly chastened in his paternal presence, Alex lost her fiery anger in favor of contrition. Bobby would find out sooner or later about what had happened yesterday. She should be the one to tell him… even though she didn't want to tell him. Mostly because she was humiliated and had been humiliated from the second she'd been resurrected. Her crackpot idea to talk to Death and get Sam and Adam back hadn't worked and to top it off, she'd almost gotten Cas killed in the process. It had been stupid as fuck and Bobby would probably tell her as such (just like Cas had, just like Dean had). Honestly she wanted to crawl into a hole where no one would ever see her again. The thought of explaining what she'd done yesterday to her uncle was making her stomach churn sickeningly. But she'd rather tell him herself than him find out about it from someone else.

Remorseful and steeling herself for another storm of rage (but hoping for a listening ear and mercy), Alex reluctantly looked Bobby in the eye. "I need to tell you what I did yesterday."

---

Two Days Later

Wham. Wham, wham! The punching bag shuddered underneath the relentless and rhythmic slams of her fists. Even though it was an exercise in releasing some very huge frustrations, she channeled her angers and fears into deadly focus and didn't lose control. The swinging bag represented every confusion she didn't understand, every rude thing that had been said to her, every doubt she had in herself. Wham! Wham! Out of breath and drenched in sweat, Alex caught and steadied the hanging punchbag with her wrapped hands. She bowed her head and shut her eyes, focused on regulating her sharp, short breaths. The basement was quiet. Overhead she could hear the dim drone of Bobby's TV. Her ears were pounding with blood. She shrugged up on one side, letting her sweat-trickled cheek wipe against her shoulder. It felt like the room was a thousand degrees. But it wasn't hot enough to sear away the thoughts that were burning her alive.

Three days since hearing from Cas. Two days since talking with Dean. T-minus one day to insanity for Alex.

Alex straightened with a snap and shoved the punching bag away hard, waited for it to swing back. What was frustrating—wham!—was how she'd only been trying to do something useful—wham!—and instead had only created more disaster—wham! Wham! It seemed like this was her forte in life: Caring a lot and fucking things up further. Damned if she did, damned if she didn't. Wham! She was mad at Cas and Dean for being angry at her, hurt that they didn't seem to understand the motivation and heart behind her dumb actions, confused about Cas's absence (he'd found time to talk to Dean but not her… why?). Wham! Wham! Whamwhamwham! Alex hit the bag hard and fast, getting worked up and emotional as she continued to break herself down physically. She thought about everything she hated: Cas's dick behavior and abrupt disappearance. Sam as soulless as ever. Dean treating her like a child. The thought that maybe she was a child. She slammed the bag with her fists a few times more in an effort to exhaust herself.

Barely able to breathe from the amount of exertion she was giving, Alex had to stop whaling on the bag and wait as she heaved gasping loud breaths. She steadied the bag again with both hands (or maybe she was steadying herself at that point). Her muscles screamed protests against her. Before coming down here to beat up the bag she'd run several miles out in the sweltering heat then done a hundred pushups and her body was worn out as hell but it didn't work… the pain and fatigue wasn't distracting her well enough from the questions that ate her alive: Should she have stood up for herself more with Cas? Or should she have backed down and agreed with what he said to avoid a bigger fight?

Was she really so wrong to be so upset about him taking her soul claim like he had? It was hers, not his, and as she had seen, it would kill him to keep it in him—if she died again he'd die too and that was terrifying. It made no sense that he would keep it knowing that. Why did he think it was okay to keep what he'd done from her, just take the soul claim and never even tell her about it? She had every right to be pissed about that—she knew she did. But the kicker was that what he'd done wouldn't have been so bad if he'd just handed her the soul claim back when she'd asked instead of acting like he was king of the universe.

His cold and almost unfeeling responses to her had been disturbing, out of character, and shocking for her to be on the receiving end of. That's what scared her, worried her, and made her have more trouble sleeping than usual. Her mind was wracked with worry every waking hour over what had happened. Why won't he give me what's mine? It consumed her and backed her into a terrifying corner. It wasn't okay with her. It was a deal breaker. Just thinking that single thought shook her to her core. A deal breaker? As in it's over if you can't change this? She didn't want to even have to think that, but she was. A lot. And maybe he was thinking something similar, maybe what she'd done was unforgivable to him—it had been hard to see any love in his eyes three days ago. In fact, all she'd seen was cold fury.

She replayed their argument and the biggest question she faced was this: Is he going to leave me? It sort of felt like he already had.

After being left in huge ways by men who claimed to love her (Sam, Dad, even Dean), it was something she struggled with, it was something that defined her life… this terror of being alone and unwanted. She didn't want to feel that way… she wanted to be independent but at the same time lived in utter fear of being abandoned and left without anyone beside her. Thinking back to her year alone she had hated that feeling so much. Hated the silent motel rooms and the lack of familiar faces and the always being by herself no matter where she went. When Jamie had shown up it had been just in time to save her from flat-out despair. Rueful, Alex thought maybe she didn't want to be as independent as she thought she did. Maybe after a lifetime of emotional co-dependence she'd never know how to get there… maybe Cas and Dean were bad for her when it came down to it. That was a gut-wrenching thought that made her stomach twist. She had a single thought she didn't want to admit: I can't live without them. Not them, and not Sam either. But maybe she would have to.

It would be easier not to love at all, she thought wretchedly. Love caused so much pain and confusion and complication… to the extent that her chest ached currently. Her penny was sticking to her sweaty chest on its chain and the feeling of it set her at even deeper stormy, sickening unease. Not knowing what was going on with Cas killed her.

She wanted to be able to trust Cas and had always thought she could, but his behavior made her question everything she'd ever felt about him—he must have just been upset at her death and not sure how to react, right? Why had he been so stony and unrecognizable? Her heart felt like it was cracking in two and she tried to remind herself of everything he'd ever done for her before, she tried to hope for the best and believe in him. Please god let it just be the war getting to him, let it have been an off day for him, please let there be an explanation or an apology. Otherwise, I just don't know…

Overhead she heard heavy footsteps. It sounded like they were coming toward the door. Sure enough, the basement door at the top of the stairs creaked open and Bobby's heavy, slow footfalls clomped down the stairs. Alex waited several beats then tiredly lifted her sagging head from where it had been resting against the punching bag. She squinted over at the foot of the stairs where he'd just stopped and then she had to stifle a shocked reaction.

Dean crossed his arms and shifted his weight. "Hey."

What was he doing here?! Alex snapped to stand fully straight. She regarded her brother apprehensively as she covered up her surprise at his unexpected appearance. "…What are you doing here?"

His eyebrows rose faintly. "I need a reason to be at Bobby's now?" His expression was cool and aloof.

So it was going to be like that. Alex stifled the urge to give an eye roll and her mouth pressed into a wan line as she turned away pointedly. She began to spiral off the boxing wraps from her hands with a little more gusto than necessary then slapped them down onto the cluttered workbench against the wall. When she turned around, she folded her arms and looked at him expectantly, refusing to speak first.

There was a short silence in which they both looked at each other with matching crossed arms and relatively antagonistic stares. Finally, Dean broke the silence. "So. Had a pretty interesting conversation with Death yesterday." His expression was cool.

"...What, that supposed to be some kind of joke?"

"No," he said, swaggering forward slowly while keeping his brawny arms crossed. "Unlike some people in this room, I know how to think things through—and got myself a round-trip visit to Death."

So he was gonna rub her stupidity in her face. "Oh well good for you," she retorted in a voice dripping with cynicism. She didn't even care what he was telling her—it was the way he was going about it that had her pissed.

"What'd you talk to him for?" came a tenor voice from the top of the staircase. Sam was standing in the doorway. He leaned with a shoulder into the door frame.

Dean contemplated their brother with hooded eyes and Alex saw how Dean had apparently not told Sam about whatever he was going on about. "I wanted to find out about your soul."

Sam's eyes narrowed darkly. "You what?"

A realization hit Alex and her temper jumped up ten notches. Dean wasn't joking and her jaw dropped open indignantly. "You stole my idea after giving me so much shit for it?!" she demanded. Incensed, she let her arms fly wide out on either side as she invited him to go screw himself. "Kiss my ass, Dean!" she shouted.

His face twisted up. "You kiss my ass!"

Sam scoffed. "Quit flirting you two."

In unplanned unison Alex and Dean shot dirty looks at their brother and chorused, "Shut up, Sam!"

Bobby appeared next to Sam and he looked mildly irritated. "Kids, do I need to send you to your rooms?" He was grumpy but trying to cover it over with sarcasm. "Be civil." He gestured vaguely at Alex and Dean. "Ya'll come to the study, will ya?"

Dean and Alex cut dark glances at each other before Alex stalked ahead of him up the stairs, ignoring the pain and exhaustion her muscles complained of. Sam skulked around at the edge of the study while Bobby took a seat on the little couch at the window. Even before Dean had finished coming into the room he was throwing an accusing arm at his sister as he looked at Bobby closely. "She tell you how she fucking killed herself?"

Bobby was unruffled. "Yeah. She did."

Dean looked like he had not expected that and fumbled for a second, confused at his uncle's lack of reaction. "And what, you're, you're just okay with that?"

"Look, we're all going through it right now Dean," Bobby said wearily. His tone was matter-of-fact but managed to be correcting in nature, too. "Way I see it, none'a us need to be diggin' claws in on each other. She and I spoke our peace on it and it's behind us. Suggest you let it go, too." He glanced at Alex, who was giving her brother a smug look, like see? He's on my side. Bobby's gruff voice cut into the sibling rivalry: "Both of you." The smile fell and Alex pursed her lips to the side as she looked down in chagrin. Bobby looked at Dean carefully, wanting to move past the squabble. "So how'd this little talking to go with Death?"

Dean wet his lips and shrugged tensely, strolled into the room. He wasn't good at holding still and fidgeted a lot as he answered. "He's a sly son of a bitch, I'll tell you that," he started ruefully. "I tried using his ring as leverage to get him to do what I wanted but uh, said he knew where I hid it and basically turned it all around on me… anyway, point is, he can get Sam's soul back."

What? Alex's mouth dropped open and her heart jammed into her throat in hopeful disbelief. Sam stood up straighter and he did not look happy about what Dean had just said. "…And we want that?" He got increasingly animated as he approached his brother. "I heard Cas and Crowley when they said that thing would either kill me or turn me to Jello, Dean!"

"I know, and I asked him about that," Dean said, trying to be patient in the face of Sam's outburst. "He said he can put up a wall."

A wall? What did that even mean? "What, he's a construction worker now?" Alex asked, getting suspicious.

"Ha ha very funny," Dean commented flatly, glancing at her before addressing Sam emphatically. "A wall—that, that, basically, you wouldn't remember Hell, so you'd be okay."

"Really?" Sam asked sharply, his tone suggesting he found that unbelievable.

"Really!" Dean insisted. It was obvious he wanted Sam to go for it.

"For good?" Sam asked. "Like, a cure?"

"No, it's not a cure. It…" Dean was getting a little flustered. "He said the Hell stuff could last a lifetime. But—"

"Playing pretty fast and loose with my life here, don't you think, Dean?" Sam asked insolently, walking off a few steps in agitation.

"I'm trying to save your life!" Dean said angrily.

Sam whirled to face his brother and his expression was pinched and aggressive. "Please," he scoffed. "I'm alive right now! I'm fine right now! Why tempt fate? This is my life, my soul. And it sure as hell isn't your head that's gonna explode when this whole scheme of yours goes sideways!"

Dean was quiet for a minute, contemplating Sam in surprise and Alex had a very cynical thought… it hadn't been too long ago that she'd been arguing with someone about her soul like that. Ironic.

"No one's head is gonna explode, all right?" Dean said, calmer now, firm. "I won't let that happen, Sam."

"Sure you won't," Sam muttered with an eye roll.

"I won't!" Dean insisted in righteous anger.

"Just curious," Bobby said, standing slowly and cutting into the argument, drawing everyone's attention. "I presume Death's not doing this out of the goodness of his heart. So what's your half of the deal?" In response to the question Dean got evasive and said nothing, casting around mentally for some sort of response. Bobby's eyes squinted up. "Sorry, I didn't get that."

"I have to wear the ring for a day," Dean said in a voice filled with resignation. "Twenty four hours without taking it off."

Alex immediately frowned at the statement… that sounded really, really fishy. She'd been silent and sullen and sitting on the edge of the desk with folded arms as she watched her family go at it. "What for?"

Dean sent a guarded glance her way. "Get his rocks off, I don't know. Doesn't matter. If it can get Sam's soul back, I'm doing it."

"And Adam?" Alex asked. "What about him?"

The room was quiet and Dean's answer wasn't going to be good. That much was clear from the look on his face. "He's… Death made me pick," Dean said, and again, he was evasive. Guilt made him look about ten years older. "Sam or Adam. I picked Sam."

Damn. What a choice to have to make. Momentarily softening toward her oldest brother and the obvious weight on his shoulders, Alex met his defeated eyes for a brief second. She saw that he knew how jacked up it was but that he stuck by his decision.

"What, and that's just it?" Bobby asked, voice colored by concern and disbelief.

"Unfortunately yeah," Dean said, and his tone suggested that was the end of it and he couldn't talk about it anymore. Alex could see that her brother was still halfway doubtful that Death would even make good on his end. But times were getting desperate, she guessed.

Sam didn't look touched or grateful or positive in the least. In fact, he was making a face like he was sick of his life and annoyed with everything. He made to leave the room and Dean spoke up. "Where you going?"

"I just need a minute to wrap my head around this," Sam answered, not bothering to turn and say that to them. Instead he said it while walking away.

When Sam was out of earshot Alex shook her head in deep thought as she stared into middle distance unseeingly. Why would Death make that offer? Why would he play ball with Dean and not with her? The whole thing felt shady, foreboding. "This doesn't seem smart, Dean."

"Oh, you wanna talk about smart decisions?" He asked sarcastically. "I'm all ears."

That comment caused her to whip her head sideways and give him a sharp look. "There's always strings attached, that's all I'm saying," she pretty much snapped. "You don't have to be such an asshole about it." She stood then and uncrossed her arms, approaching him with a lot of bad attitude. "See, the difference between me and you is even when I don't like the decisions you make, I don't beat the shit out of you for doing something I don't agree with. They're your decisions. So go ahead, wear the damn ring and see what the catch is, I don't give a crap!"

She did give a crap. She hoped to the god who'd left Heaven that this would work. She feared for Dean's life and for Sam's eternal fate. But she wasn't gonna say any of that at the moment.

Dean's mouth tightened and he said nothing to her, just pulled Death's ring out of his pocket and waggled it for emphasis. "I'll be back later," he said, then curled the ring into his palm and headed out after Sam. Maybe to talk to him… who knew. He paused and turned back to Bobby. Dean was authoritative and meaningful. "Bobby, don't let the twins be alone together," he commanded, earning a glare from his sister. He was already heading out after Sam, apparently not caring about how Alex was glaring at him.

"Who died and made him king of the world?" she grumbled. The door shut out of eyesight, signaling his departure from the house.

Bobby sighed and pushed his cap back a little, crossed his arms, then shrugged. "Like I told you before, he's just freaked out at the thought'a you dyin'. Never seen a guy who loved or needed his family as much as he needs his. He's actin' a fool 'cause he's terrified to lose ya."

Bobby's words that were intended to encourage went right through her. "Yeah well he's a piece of work, that's all I can say," she muttered, then proceeded to rub her ragged, bitten fingernails against the insides of her palms in anxious energy. Bobby saw.

"Hang in there, sweetheart," he appealed wearily. "I know you're worried about him. And hey, maybe today's our lucky day, huh?" That faint optimism caught Alex's attention and she looked at her uncle in reluctant hopefulness. Bobby's beard hid a tiny, bittersweet smile. "That soulless Sasquatch brother of yours is lucky to have a brother and sister who care as much as you and Dean do," he said, then gave her shoulder a little squeeze. "He's not in the shape to tell ya that but I am." As much as she was trying not to feel better about anything (she wanted to stay mad, dammit), Alex felt her uncle's kindness getting to her and she smiled a little at the compliment. He smiled tiredly, squeezed again, then let go of her and headed for the kitchen. "I'll make us some coffee."

Bobby had been mad as hell when she told him about her little flirtation with death and suicide. And then after he said the predictable things like what were you thinking and have you lost your mind, he'd actually heard her out and listened to her. He'd been merciful on her when all was said and done, said he got it, said Sam was lucky to have a sister who'd chance Death for a chance to get him back. He did tell her she was awful dumb too, but he'd said that with a certain note of loving kindness only Bobby would be able to pull off. He'd hugged her sidelong (Bobby was always so awkward about affection) and then that had been that. If only Dean and Cas could take a page from him, life would be a lot better.

Alex's eyes drifted after Bobby who was fiddling with the coffeepot in the kitchen. Caffeine sounded good. And food too. Her blood sugar was low from all the physical insanity she'd put herself through that day. Her stomach grumbled quietly in hunger she hadn't really noticed. She sat back down against the desk, idly looking out at the waning daylight outside. There were some stacks sitting nearby that she'd promised to sort for Bobby but she was too tired now and didn't really want to. Maybe tomorrow. She really, really needed to speak with Cas. That was weighing on her mind so fully but she was almost afraid to have this conversation with him. She dreaded where it would go and where it would leave them.

Heavy approaching footsteps alerted her that Sam was back and she peered up intently at him. He looked very unhappy. "Well, Dean put the ring on," he announced blandly as he came into the study.

Alex noticed how Bobby was watchful from the kitchen. "Don't sound so excited about it," she told Sam.

"I'm trusting him with this," he said tensely. "Barely. If he messes up…"

"He won't," Bobby said, hovering close at the study entrance and watching Sam like a hawk.

Sam's eyes narrowed and he gave a soft little scoffing laugh as he glanced between Alex and Bobby. "So, this the part where you pull a gun on me and lock me in the panic room?"

"Do I have to?" Bobby returned evenly.

Sam's jaw flickered as it clenched. "No." He looked like he resented every single thing in existence at the moment.

Tension filled the air and awkward silence strained their ears.

Well, this was awesome. In the kitchen, the coffee maker was groaning as it laboriously began to brew. Alex slapped her hands down onto her knees and made a face. "So. Anyone want PB and J?" she asked, heading for the kitchen.

"I'll take one," Bobby said, sitting at his desk and turning a page in the book he'd been studying.

"Sam?" Alex asked and he sighed with great inconvenienced airs, following her into the kitchen.

"Yeah, why not," he said, then reached up for the bread on top of the fridge as Alex was pulling the peanut butter out of a cabinet. He got the jelly out of the refrigerator and handed the items over with disinterest. He seemed distracted. Looking at his familiar face, his regal profile, his forever-floppy hair, Alex felt a wave of sadness come over her. How could you miss someone so much who was standing right beside you? When she wasn't looking straight into his eyes, she almost could have forgotten that he was soulless.

Currently, her twin brother was getting plates without being told. His expression seemed tense and deeply thoughtful. He might be rude and blunt, but he's not as bad as Dean says he is. She felt that so strongly in that moment. "You okay?" she asked him in the same genuine gentleness that he'd shown her in times past. Sam looked at her sidelong sharply, in what looked like confusion. "…What?" Alex asked, getting confused too.

Sam shrugged his mouth downward, resumed what he'd been doing and pulled out a third plate. "Dean doesn't ask me that anymore," he replied offhandedly. "Who cares how the soulless guy feels, ya know?" He handed over the plates and wordlessly went to the kitchen table to sit down. Even the way he sat seemed hurried and impatient. His face was unreadable.

"So… how are you, then?" Alex asked, waiting for his answer.

He gave a cynical, sarcastic smile. "Oh I'm great."

"Same," Alex said, unsure how really to take him. He seemed like himself in some small glimpses, enough that she thought maybe he was still in there somewhere. However, his eyes weren't right. They were cold and lifeless, a testament to how lost Sam was to them all. Alex turned back to the counter, saddened and confused at how Sam was right there but missing. She thought of tenderhearted, sensitive Sam in Hell and shivered in horrified dismay. I hope you can get him back, Dean… please, please. As Alex slathered peanut butter thickly onto bread, her thoughts came out of her mouth into the air. "I miss you, Sam." Sad, pathetically sad words that she almost choked on.

"You mean the guy I used to be," was Sam's unaffected reply. "Seems like I'm the only one who could care less if we ever see him again or not."

Alex threw a little glance back over her shoulder. "Well. I'd like to see him again, personally," she said, voice sad and earnest. What she said had no visible effect on him and she returned to her peanut buttering after a beat. "I need someone to talk to right now," she said, wishing so badly that Sam was Sam. "You used to be the one I'd go to when Dean was being a shithead." She said that last part under her breath, to herself. But Sam heard.

"What, so you want like advice or something?" he asked. "Shoot. Why not."

With an uncaring invitation like that, she didn't feel like spilling her heart exactly, but… she needed a listening ear and Sam had always been good at that with her before. Bobby was listening and watching them close from the study but she didn't really care. She started rambling flatly to her twin as she opened the jelly jar. "Cas and I are in a fight. I think. I'm not totally sure, actually." She shook her head, grim when she thought about everything. "It sucks," she muttered, all of her stresses making her feel rigid physically and emotionally too. "He's being so weird lately. Doing stuff I never thought he'd do. Last time I saw him, he was mad at me. And I get why, but why'd he have to be such a dick about it, you know?" She smeared jelly unseeingly onto white bread squares. "I wish I hadn't done what I did," she mumbled, then sighed gustily, realizing the irony. I wish I hadn't done what I did. "That seems to be a running theme in my life." She glanced back at Sam, half expecting him to be looking at her in rapt, concerned attention. Instead, he was staring off out of the window with a listless expression. Was he even listening? "Sorry, am I boring you?" Alex asked a little sarcastically.

He came back from whatever little world he'd been in, seemed to remember her. "A little, yeah," he said, then when she got a slightly dismayed look on her face he shrugged. "Just being honest. Got other things on my mind."

Disappointed and hurt and telling herself she was an idiot for hoping he would respond to her, Alex smacked all the pieces of bread together into three sandwiches and then shoved a plate at him, avoiding looking at his eyes which probably weren't even looking into hers anyway. "Here," she said gruffly, then took Bobby's to him and went upstairs without even eating hers at all.

---

Two Hours Later

Sam Winchester knew he was several things: resourceful, smart, and most of all? Better off without the soul Dean and everyone else was obsessed with shoving back into him.

If there was a way to make sure that wimpy little touchy-feely soul never got in his way or held him back ever again, Sam was determined to find out. He didn't want the thing. Not now and not ever.

He completed the summoning ritual on the floor of an old warehouse not far from the Singer house. He'd left the house and said he was going for a drive to clear his head. Instead he'd come straight here and set up shop. He was short on time.

Chalk designs of Enochian values were drawn onto the old concrete floor, candles were lit in the correct pattern. All he had to do now was light the herbs in the bowl he had prepared and the angel he wanted an audience with would be forced to come. Sam struck a match and dropped it into the bowl as the final step. He stood to his full height from where he'd been crouched as flames leapt high then died out. No one appeared in the drafty building.

And then above his head, a voice sounded. "Sam… Winchester," Balthazar said in mild disdain. He stood up on a metal catwalk twenty feet high and looked very unhappy. He disappeared and Sam felt wind rush against the back of his neck. Turning around, he found himself face to face with a very suspicious looking angel. "This had better be good," Balthazar said, his tone distinctly warning, then the ghost of a cynical smile spread on his weathered face. "Here's one for the list of dumbest things ever: Summon the angel who wants to kill you."

"Desperate times," Sam replied, brushing past the idle threat. "I need your help, Balthazar."

The sandy-haired angel's eyebrows rose in consideration. "Interesting…" he commented, strolling forward and past Sam leisurely as he gestured with a lazy hand. "Since last time we met, you wanted to—what was it? Oh, yes, yes—fry my wings 'extra crispy'?" He turned around and looked at Sam pointedly.

"Well, that was a misunderstanding," Sam said, trying to cover it up and brush it off somehow. He hadn't figured this guy would remember all that or care about it much.

"Some misunderstanding!" Balthazar snapped, looking at Sam with severe disapproval.

"I need some advice," Sam said, trying to get them off that topic. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

Balthazar looked put out. "Advice."

"Angel advice," Sam clarified.

"Well then, go ask your sister's boyfriend you ridiculous goon," Balthazar said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and turning as if to leave.

"Cas wouldn't help with this, trust me," Sam said loudly, trying to state his case before the angel could ditch. "I need to know if there's a spell or a weapon, anything that can keep a soul out—forever."

Piqued, Balthazar paused. "Ohh…" He was clearly intrigued, came a step or two closer with interest. "What's going on, Sam?"

Sam laid his cards out on the table. "It's for me."

"Well. The plot thickens," Balthazar was smiling a little, seeming to enjoy himself for a brief moment. "Where's your soul, Sam?" It was easy to see when the angel realized the answer to his own question. His smile fell in favor of a surprised look. "Good God, no. It's not still… it is."

"My brother found a way to put it back in me," Sam said. "I don't want it."

"No, you don't," Balthazar said with great certainty and again he paced forward past Sam as he thought aloud. "No, no, 'cause Michael and Lucy are hate-banging it as we speak."

"Can you help me?" Sam asked, turning to follow the angel with his gaze.

Balthazar turned around, a smile plastered across his face. He shrugged helplessly, shook his head, let his hands clasp together in front of his torso after he'd shrugged. "Sorry. I'm not in the business of crossing Heaven's most unstable angel," he said.

Sam's eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what that comment implied. "…So you're telling me the way to keep my soul out of my body has something to do with Cas?"

The angel's smile faltered slightly and then resumed with more cool falseness than before. "Ah. I've said enough already. If we're done, I've got things to do." He winked, smiled cheekily. "Good luck… you're going to need it, Sam." He disappeared without another word.

Dammit. Sam clenched his fists uselessly. Alone and angry at being no closer to a solution than before, Sam wracked his brain for another person to help him or give him answers. And then, an idea came to him. A very annoying, stupid, desperate idea. And, well, like he'd said to Balthazar a minute ago, desperate times. This was about to get real desperate. Sam moved his stuff over to another corner of the warehouse and started working on a summoning ritual for someone from downstairs now. He didn't have the demon blade with him but sure as hell wished he did. It might have been nice to have a threat to hold over the head of the demon who he planned to summon.

About twenty minutes later he dropped another match into the bowl to complete the demon summons. In front of him, a familiar person appeared. She was short, clad in black leather and high heels with dark hair and an impish face. Meg looked shocked to see him and took a slow, drifting step back, clearly wondering where the hidden attackers were and what was going on. Her dark eyes looked at Sam in suspicious interest when she saw that they were apparently alone.

"Relax," Sam said, showing her his hands. It was irritating to have to go to this bitch for help but he had little other choice. "I don't wanna kill you," he told her. "I need your help."

Her dark eyebrows tensed in toward each other just slightly. "…My help?" she repeated, a slow devious smile creeping across her face after the confusion dissipated. Her twinkling eyes narrowed. "Ooh… some one's desperate… color me fascinated."

Her personality had always grated him and today was no different. He ignored her stupid comments and slow, irritating drawl. "You were right," he said, referring to when he'd seen her last and she'd insisted that he wouldn't want his mangled soul back from the cage. Her eyebrows rose as a coy smile played on her face. "My soul's a bad bet. Dean found a way to put it back in but I don't want it. Ever."

"Aw shucks, so you need my help keeping it out for good huh?" she asked, putting a hand onto her own chest and then letting herself chuckle throatily as she approached him. She let shoulder brush his arm as she looked up at him with glittering eyes. "This must really burn your soulless balls," she murmured in a voice that was probably supposed to be seductive. She walked past him, head cocked to the side as she smiled vapidly around the warehouse.

Sam's patience was thin. "Can you help or not."

The demon turned around and looked at him with what could only be described as voracious, sultry glee. "Oh, I can help. I know just the trick to keep that tortured little soul out of that muscular meatsuit of yours. But if you want my help, it'll cost you." Her voice went sing song on the words 'cost you'.

Sam's jaw clenched. "Name it."

She sauntered closer, really closer, almost hips to hips. She languidly walked two fingers up from his navel to his chest, giggling lowly to herself as she did. Her eyes ate his toned physique up then slid up to meet his. Her voice was a low, honey purr and she nodded her head toward the wall they were a few feet away from then looked him in the eye. "You… me… that wall… nothing else," she said, wrinkling her nose up as she bit a grin.

Sam scoffed down at her. Was she serious? "You want me to have sex with you," he surmised. Was that a joke? She knew how much he despised her, maybe that was the point.

She shrugged a shoulder up toward her face, eyeing his chest and running a hand up one of his pectorals. "Seems like a good way to pass a Tuesday evening," she drawled. Her eyes flirted with his relentlessly and her voice deepened. "And besides, don't tell me you really never thought about it."

No… he hadn't. Sam narrowed his eyes. He had lost count of the number of women he'd slept with this past year and it didn't really matter to him about adding another, demon or not. But, Meg didn't exactly do it for him. The idea of screwing her was as appealing as running his face across a cheese grater. Maybe he could trick her. "Tell me what I want to know first," he said. It was worth a try.

Meg just grinned really wide, seeing exactly what Sam was trying to do. "Please," she murmured, then grabbed him and below the belt without any tact. "You gotta spill before I do, big boy." She laughed in a silky, throaty murmur, enjoying the annoyance on his face. "Those are my terms, now whaddya say we get down and dirty?"

Sam looked down at her unhappily and she continued to smile stupidly up at him. "Fine," he snapped, then started yanking his jacket off by the sleeves with insolent and jerky movements.

"Oh don't act like you hate it so much, Sammykins," she baby-talked then suddenly found herself grabbed roughly and slammed up against the wall with enough force to knock out a normal woman. Sam stared down at the demon with dark dislike and flared nostrils as he pinned her against the metal wall with iron-like hands—one hand was at her neck, half choking her. Meg seemed to like the abuse and an eyebrow arched up. "Ooh la la… mama like." She yanked him to her hard by the belt. And so it began.

After Sam made good on his end of the deal and left Meg a battered, bruised, bleeding, and happy mess (he had a fair amount of scratches and bruises, too from the encounter), he walked off, zipped his pants up, and yanked his t-shirt back on. It hadn't been as bad as he thought it would be.

"I'll tell you one thing," Meg said, smiling in salacious pleasure from where she slouched against the wall. Her skin was glowing with sweat, the smile stretched across her face was embarrassingly beaming. "They should call you horse, not moose…" Sam shot her an eye roll and her grin grew. She sauntered over toward him, expression teasing. "How was it for you?"

Sam looked at her dead on, shrugged in an unimpressed way. "I've had better."

"Oh that's right," she said, ever the coy one. "I forgot Lucifer's been inside of you…"

"Shut up and keep your end," Sam said, then tossed her jacket at her from where it had been thrown. "And put some clothes on, I don't wanna see that anymore." She seemed to think that was funny and pointedly dropped the jacket, leaving her pale nudity on display. Sam was irked. "Tell me how to keep my soul out forever, now," he demanded.

"All business no pleasure makes Sam a dull boy…" she said coyly. At his threatening look she sighed, rolled her eyes, then snapped her fingers. She was clothed once more and annoyed that he had spoiled her fun. "If you wanna be soul-repellent on two legs, you gotta scar your vessel."

"How?"

She smirked flirtatiously. "You gotta do something so wrong and filthy and twisted that a soul would never live in there ever again."

Sam smirked too. "I just fucked you, isn't that enough?"

Meg grinned, seeming to find the insult as a compliment. "Oh you… always sweet talking me," she said, coming up to him and pressing into his chest as she gazed up into his eyes with dark, playful eyes. "I'm kinda starting to like you, Gigantor," she said, running a finger up his chest. Her lip was swollen and split from where Sam had backhanded her during sex, she had a black eye and scratches all over. Sam smirked again and poked a finger into her shoulder to push her away from himself, not interested in her closeness.

Meg sighed dramatically when he did that. "No," she said, returning to business. "Making sweet demonic love to the likes of lil ole me isn't enough to scar a vessel… you should know that, does the name Ruby ring any bells?" She winked before getting a little more serious. "What I'm talking about is a spell and it'll make aaaall your problems disappear. Trouble is, it's pretty specific." She made a thoughtful sound, canted her head to the side, and smiled at him roguishly. "Normally patricide would do the trick but your daddy's been dead for years… so, how's fratricide sound, Sammy?"

Sam frowned, trying to remember the specific meaning of that word. "Fratricide? You're saying I have to kill my brother or sister?"

Meg shrugged humbly, faking a very thoughtful, concerned look. "Eenie meanie miney moe… which pretty Winchester sibling has to go?" At Sam's thoughtful silence, she looked at him like she was judging him and it was funny for her. "Don't tell me you're feeling sentimental."

Sam let loose a soft huffing laugh. "Don't be ridiculous." He hadn't been feeling anything… just contemplating which of his siblings would be easier to kill. The answer was pretty glaringly obvious. He looked at Meg in complete focus. "Tell me what to do."

---

Alex pulled another box out of the little crawlspace in the attic with a grunt. Hunched over on her knees she gagged on dust as she dragged the last box out of the small space. She stood back and observed the dented old boxes. This was all junk she'd been meaning to go through for awhile now. Bobby didn't throw much out, ever, just stuck it in boxes and hoped for the best. Ever since taking up residence in the attic, sorting those boxes and getting rid of useless junk had been on her mental to-do list.

After making peanut butter sandwiches and being privy to Sam's jackass behavior she'd showered, tried to go to take a nap (tried for at least an hour, if not more), then had no luck falling asleep… mostly because she was worrying over her brothers and chewing her nails as she thought of Cas. So instead of laying there and torturing herself over stuff she couldn't control, she got up and tackled the crawlspace junk slowly. She'd gone through the front boxes for awhile then dragged the rest out just now to see what was in those.

Alex pulled open the boxes she'd just dragged out, finding old shoes, trinkets, broken knickknacks, Sam's army jacket from when he was eleven, some half burned candles that smelled like cinnamon, some really old house and gardening magazines from the eighties, a manual to a blender, a broken spatula. What the hell? Some of this stuff was worth keeping, but a broken spatula? Alex threw it into the junk box she was definitely tossing come morning. She threw in the candles, too. She didn't like the smell of fake cinnamon at all.

Alex crouched down and pulled the last unopened box over. It was pretty light. She unfolded the flaps and peered down into it. Inside there was a duffel bag wadded up and Alex pulled it out slowly, recognizing it as one of hers from the past. She'd forgotten about it until now. Below the duffel bag was something else she recognized and she froze, heart jolting in surprise at the sight of it. Folded nicely in the bottom of the box, right where she'd left it and forgotten about it more than a year ago was a cream-colored lace dress. The one she'd smuggled into the house over a year ago after wearing it. She had totally forgot sticking it up here and the sight of it brought back a rush of memories and love and then pain at the thought of how up in the air stuff was.

She pulled out the dress slowly, remembering a time when she knew that she was loved beyond a shadow of a doubt.

---

Outside the Singer home as Alex rediscovered her wedding dress in the attic, Sam Winchester was creeping up to the house under the cover of darkness. He'd pulled up with the headlights off to conceal his arrival. He had a very specific plan he'd crafted and the first part involved blood. His own blood. Sam cut himself open then drew the angel banishing sigil in blood on the back of Bobby's house. He pressed his hand down onto it and heard a faint blast of screeching wind somewhere nearby.

Sam smirked at his own cleverness. He'd figured Cas would be nearby or have another winged mook stationed close in his absence. Step one, done. He shrugged his bag of supplies off and plunked it down then fished out his crowbar, tested the weight, and looked into the lit window into the study.

Next step, incapacitate Bobby Singer.

---

Maybe it was sentimental of her, but Alex put her dress on, zipped it up awkwardly, and looked at herself in the dusty, full-length mirror in the attic. The looking glass was then cracked and her image was fragmented near the top. She turned and studied herself from several angles, currently looking over her own shoulder at the back of the dress. Barefoot with her hair loose and long around her shoulders and back, she looked carefree and younger, prettier. Alex smiled a little despite the bittersweet feelings.

Wearing the long-lost dress she remembered feeling like a teenager in love. She remembered feeling hope for the future despite believing the world was about to end. She remembered Cas being gentle and loving and so kind. She remembered being so scared of marrying him but feeling like if he was with her, they'd figure it out in the end. Well… her optimism had been cute but foolhardy.

She'd had her closeted, circling doubts for a year now in Cas's absence. The feelings of doubt had come and gone and wavered and waned and were at full cylinder right now after the fight they'd had three days ago. All she could do was picture his cold expression and his flat-out refusal to give her the soul claim. He'd seemed heartless as when she'd first met him. He'd been unrecognizable. As she stared at herself in that dress, her expression became tense and conflicted. What happened to you, Cas? How do you just one-eighty like that?

Downstairs there was a sound like furniture shifting and Alex frowned slightly. Huh. Was Bobby rearranging the study? She listened a minute longer but heard nothing else, then contemplated herself in the mirror again, searching herself for understanding she couldn't quite find. This piece of clothing represented a very fleeting time in her life when she'd been happy... and maybe—no, probably—delusional. There was too much uncertainty these days for her, too much waiting around. Too much being alone.

She sighed softly, reaching her arms up and over to start unzipping the dress. And then she paused, hearing a creak on the staircase. She froze and whirled, staring daggers at the dark doorway where the staircase was. Creaks had always set her fight-or-flight instinct to red alert and she listened intently. Another ominous creak sounded and Alex took a step back. There was definitely someone or something creeping up the stairs. Her gun was beside the bed and she darted over to it. The second she got it in her hand and turned around, she saw who it was creaking up the stairs.

Sam slunk in through the attic door. In his hand was a crowbar and in his eyes there was a wild, feral glint that froze her blood ice cold. Blood dripped out of one edge of his mouth, he had faint bruising on his cheek and a long scratch down the side of his face and neck. It looked like he'd been in a bad fight. Bobby. Her heart clenched in terror.

"Sam…?" she asked cautiously, trying not to give away her sudden spike in fear. He looked malevolent, dangerous, bent on something sinister.

His eyes swept over her dress and he smirked. "You look nice," he said softly, and the tone in his voice sent terror up her spine. His fingers clenched and re-clenched on the crowbar and he took a step closer for her.

The gun went up and cocked with a sharp click even as Alex took a step back. "What'd you do to Bobby?" she demanded tremulously, fearful of the worst.

"You don't need to worry about him," Sam said, shifting another step closer. He was eyeing her up like he was seeing how much of a fight she'd put up, how easily he could take her down.

"Stay back!" she warned in a breathy shout, backing up against the window, trapping herself. The crowbar, the terrifying look in his eye, all of it spoke of something terrible about to happen and she still couldn't quite believe it. She realized much too late that she should have listened to Dean and Cas about Sam. "What are you doing?!" she exclaimed in a tight, high voice, trying to find a sign of her brother in there.

Sam's lips curled up wickedly. His voice was the softest and most treacherous murmur and it was like he was reading her mind. "Dean and Cas were right." He was coming closer still, his hulking figure towering over her. "I'm not safe for you to be around."

Kill him, shoot him! Her instincts screamed. If it had been anyone else, she already would have. But that was her twin brother and she couldn't. "Stop Sam, stop right there or I'll kill you!" she threatened in a frantic voice, trying to get him to back up from her.

He was undeterred. In fact, he seemed mildly amused. "You won't shoot me," he said lowly, letting his chest hit up at the end of the shaking gun. He was looking at her with eyes that were cold and heartless, triumphant. "You wouldn't hurt your precious Sam."

She tried to make herself pull the trigger but couldn't move a muscle, couldn't even summon the ability to hit him in the head or kick him. Panic incapacitated her. The frantic hope that Sam would remember himself had her frozen. And then Sam grabbed the gun, his steely fingers crushing hers and she fought him too late. He yanked the gun from her grasp easily and pistol-whipped her in the side of the head, rendering her into an unconscious heap.

She crumpled at his feet and Sam scoffed, throwing the pistol aside. "You should have shot me while you had the chance."

---

Heaven

Samandriel limped through the dimensions and to Heaven after being blasted away from the Singer house. Confused, hurt, jangled, he sought his older brother. He found Castiel with Ezekiel in the inner sanctum of Heaven, a place that looked like great open grassy plains. Samandriel could sense that many angels had just died at Castiel's hand. Death and destruction filled the air tangibly and the fields of grass was no longer lush, waist-high green. It was burnt black blades that dissolved into dust when Samandriel hurried through it.

"Castiel!" he called out even as he ran up behind his older brothers.

The angel in the trench coat turned, a confused frown on his face at Samandriel's unexpected appearance. Ezekiel, dressed in a fitted suit, turned too. "Samandriel, what it is?" Ezekiel asked urgently. He was proud and ebony, youthful in stature but wise in the eyes. Measured, calm, and had always been deeply thoughtful and kind. Ezekiel's shrewd dark brown eyes observed how Samandriel had obviously been banished recently. Castiel looked depleted and harrowed, as if he had fought for a thousand years without end. When he saw what Ezekiel had (that Samandriel had been banished from his post by force and that he'd left Alex's side), Castiel's face fell in what looked like great fear. And without a single question or word, he evaporated out of thin air to go to earth.

Samandriel and Ezekiel made to follow their brother. But without warning, Daniel abruptly appeared before them, presenting a unique opportunity. Raphael's powerful right-hand angel was bloody and woozy, breathing heavily—one of his arms hung off oddly, torn at the socket. The vessel would need repair soon. In fact, he was vulnerable to attack or even defeat at the moment. Ezekiel saw that and tore his angel blade out to kill Castiel's current greatest opponent, but Daniel was too fast.

"You treacherous leeches," he seethed, furious over whatever had just happened in these fields. He raised his good hand and painfully sent Samandriel and Ezekiel tearing across Heaven.

---

Alex came to with a splitting headache tied roughly to a chair in Bobby's big, dark garage—the one adjacent to the house. What the hell…? As soon as she thought that, she remembered what had happened and her pulse rocketed in alarm. She strained at the ropes wildly and looked around as she began to breathe shallowly.

"Don't bother," Sam said, lackadaisical, pacing into sight from where he'd been standing behind her. "You'll never get out of them." He had a lighter and he was flicking it constantly like he was waiting for something and bored doing so. He paced in front of her and sent a chilling glance her way. What was he doing?

"Sam, this isn't you," she said. Her voice shook humiliatingly. He just scoffed and continued flicking the lighter. Alex looked down. Below her feet there was some kind of spell work drawn in bright white chalk. Off tied to another chair about ten feet away, Bobby was unconscious and slumped over. Alex's breaths were increasingly uneven and scared. She couldn't get out of the ties binding her. "Sam, what the hell are you doing?" She asked, trying to control her voice's trembling gait. Her twin said nothing, just let his sharp eyes come to hers with foreboding. Call Cas, Alex. Call him now or something bad is gonna happen here.

Even as she thought that, there was the soft whisper of angel's wings behind Sam, who turned around to look. When he did, Alex could see Cas was there—her heart leapt at the sight of him. His face was a mask of disbelief and fury directed at Sam. He seemed poised to attack.

Sam gave the softest little laugh. "Cas. Thought you might show up…"

The angel said nothing, just strode forward for Sam with murderous intent in his eyes. That's when Alex realized it was a trap. Her eyes shot wide and she opened her mouth to tell Cas to stop. But it was too late. Sam struck his lighter and dropped it, setting alight a ring of holy fire Castiel had just walked into unwittingly. The angel stopped with a lurch, horrified realization washing away his anger as he looked down at his feet which were an inch from blazing fire. "Had some magic angel oil left," Sam explained coldly, then turned away, strolling over to the tool table where a huge knife glinted.

Stuck and useless a mere five feet from Alex, Cas looked up slowly. Their eyes met and staunch horror flickered in his dark eyes. He took in her dress, her bare feet, the ropes around her. "Sam… what are you doing?" Cas asked, voice gone soft with terror.

"What I have to," Sam replied casually, examining the knife by holding it up to dim moonlight filtering in.

Cas's eyes drifted down to the spellwork on the floor underneath the chair and alarmed understanding crossed his features. He looked at Sam in shock. "You're going to scar your vessel."

"Yeah. I am," Sam said, slowly sauntering back over toward Cas and Alex.

"No!" Castiel shouted, startlingly forceful, his eyes hard and expression intense. The alarm in his voice alarmed Alex, too. "Sam, do not do this…!" Castiel insisted in a thundering exclamation.

Sam glanced at him briefly. "If Dean shoves that soul back in me, there's no telling what would happen to me. I can't risk my ass on my sentimental brother's mission to put my soul back in. Sorry, Cas."

"Sam, what are you gonna do?" Alex asked in slow, quiet dread. What did he need her blood for?

"He is going to kill you," Castiel told her in a trembling voice as he glared scathingly at Sam. Kill? Alex's mouth dropped open and she looked at Sam in thunderstruck horror. Cas raised his voice to a deafening shout that made the entire room shake and rumble. "Let me out of here!"

Sam merely glanced his way, unimpressed as he came to stand beside his sister. "You wish," he muttered.

"Sam, no, please—" Alex said as he grabbed her by the back of the head and made her look up at him. Holy shit, he was actually going to do it—Sam's eyes were lifeless and cold, bent on murder. "Cas!" she cried helplessly as she fully realized what was about to happen.

Sam leaned close, his eyes flickering between hers curiously, like he was seeing something for the first time. "Have you ever noticed? Our eyes are the exact same color. Huh," he smiled then, almost rueful. "I mean, it's not like I want to kill you, I remember really loving you before my soul got yanked out of me. I would have done anything for you before I was this way. But now, it's me or it's you. And it has to be me."

Castiel was at the edge of the circle of fire, seething, panicking, losing his mind. "Sam, I will obliterate you for this!" he roared, but he sounded more afraid than anything else.

Sam smirked and loosened his hold on Alex's hair for just a second as he let his gaze go to the table where Alex's angel blade was. "I don't think so. Trust me, I thought this through, Cas." He shrugged, like to say too bad I'm gonna have to kill you. "Your mistake, falling in love with a human. Feelings and emotions are weakness."

Alex and Cas's eyes met for a terrifying second and the utter despairing panic in his face made her realize that it was over. It was over. They were both about to die. As such, the only thing Alex could do was let a choked whisper out. "Cas. I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" For everything, but mostly that they were dying on a sour note, that the last time they'd been together they'd been fighting. Cas's eyebrows were screwed up together, his mouth was parted open in dismay like he was searching for something to say to her but could find nothing in his distress. Tell him you love him! Her heart begged.

And then her head was yanked back, she saw the glinting knife rise up high, she heard Castiel pleading in a rushed, higher voice that didn't even seem to belong to him: "Sam, please—don't do this, I'm begging you!"

Sam held Alex's head back so that the entire front of her neck was exposed, he drew back with the knife held high to strike. Her throat was lodged with sickening adrenaline and she heard Castiel begging Sam for her life in the background buzz. My Sam would never do this, she thought woodenly, in shock over what was happening. And then out of thin air, where nothing and no one had been a second ago, Dean appeared—Death's ring clattered to the floor even as he grabbed Sam's forearm brutally. "Hey!"

Shocked, Sam turned his face toward Dean just in time to get sucker-punched across the face, hard enough for a knock out. The knife clattered down even as Sam's heavy body hit the ground. Breathless and staring at Alex in horror, Dean grabbed her by both shoulders. "You okay? Did he hurt you? Christ, oh my god—" he bent and crushed her, chair and all, to himself. She felt how his heart was beating like panicked thunder in his chest.

Alex blinked a few times, totally dumbfounded. It had been seconds from being over. Everything. Stunned at what had just happened, barely able to process, Alex stared over Dean's shoulder at Cas, whose shocked, worried face was cast over with flickering orange in the light of the holy fire. Relief had flooded his gaunt face but he still looked just like she felt: horrified about what had just happened, astounded. He also looked more than ready to be the one holding her instead of Dean.

"Dean, get me out of these," Alex said urgently, finding her wits again. Dean let her go and complied, using the knife that had been supposed to kill her to cut her free. The second she was out, she jumped out of the chair, brushed past her brother and grabbed the fire extinguisher, putting out the holy fire—before she could even drop the canister, Cas was crossing the distance separating them and crushing her to himself in a relieved, emotional hug. Alex clamped her arms around him and dug her fingers in wherever she could catch hold of, relief making her sob out into the shoulder of his coat.

Dean stared a bit dumbly at the display. Cas looked up from where his head was bent over Alex and the men's tense gazes met, silently communicated their realization of how close that had just been. Neither said anything. Dean looked away. Against Cas, Alex shook from heavy, distressed breathing as she attempted to calm down. The angel returned his attention to her and held her more closely, cradling her head in a hand.

At the edge of the garage, about ten feet away, there was a groan. "…The hell?" Bobby asked, stirring woozily. Dean went over and helped the older hunter out of the ropes binding him. "What happened?" Bobby asked, looking at Dean in wounded confusion. "It hasn't been twenty-four hours—why're you back?"

Dean's terse expression held steady. "I'll explain later." He glanced at his sister, then the horsemen's ring on the floor. "But safe to say, I lost the wager." Everyone looked at the middle Winchester's unconscious form in realization. Dean said it out loud, grim as he stooped to snatch up the ring. "No soul for Sam." His eyes traveled over to Cas and Alex—he had his arms around her loosely as she leaned into him for support with a tear-streaked face. He noticed how Cas had healed the cut down the side of her face. He took in the dress she wore with a mild curious look that quickly turned dark. "Sam didn't make you wear that or something creepy, did he?" Dean questioned—Alex basically never wore dresses, and the white-ish color of that one seemed sort of ritualistic.

Alex looked a shade paler at his comment. "No, it's… I was just…" she shook her head, glancing at Cas who met her eyes with a similarly strange look on his face. Underneath Cas's intent gaze she got even more flustered and upset. "I just need a few minutes," she said, shaking her head and stepping back from Cas, running a hand up and down her forearm like she was cold or self-conscious.

Barefoot, she picked her way out of the garage. "Hey, be careful! Watch out for glass," Dean called after her. She went out of the garage without acknowledging him, heading out into the salvage yard. He couldn't blame her for being shaken up—Sam had killed her as Lucifer then tried to kill her again just now as himself (sorta). That was enough to shake anyone to their core. He'd need to go make sure she was okay in a few minutes, but in the meantime… he turned and looked at Bobby. "You wanna help me get Menendez locked down in the panic room?" he asked gruffly. Bobby was looking worse for the wear after getting knocked in the head—until Cas reached over and touched a hand to the man's forehead.

"Whoa…" Bobby commented, impressed and healed. Then as all of them suddenly found themselves in the panic room, Bobby balked again, eyes wide. "Whoa!" He put his hands out slightly like he felt a little unsteady. He looked at Cas in grumpy awe. "Warn me next time, will ya?"

Cas didn't seem to hear Bobby. "I'm going to go check on her," he said, his deep voice rough with worry. It was almost like he was talking to himself.

"Yeah, fine. I'll be out in a few minutes," Dean said, vaguely suspicious of the angel but too preoccupied with other things at the moment to give it too much attention. Cas had evaporated even before Dean had finished speaking.

---

Frogs sang distantly in the humid late-summer night air and the midnight sky was clear, allowing the full moon to wash the salvage yard white-hot silver. Outside of the garage, not even twenty seconds after she'd walked out claiming to need a minute, Alex heard the whisper of his wings a few feet off beside her. Her heart caught in her throat and she looked up and over at where the sound had come from. She'd hoped he'd come to her.

Under moonlight he seemed to glow… and the effect was truly angelic. Everything about him was the Castiel she loved and knew: the vast worry in his eyes, the intense and soulful gaze he held her under, the sag of his shoulders, the way his arms hung forgotten at his sides. He looked apologetic, desperate, agonized. Her heart overflowed with aching longing for his arms around her. She could think of no reason to hold herself back. Even as she made to go toward him, he was moving too and met her halfway, pulling her into his arms tightly. Relief washed over her again at staggering levels. "Oh my god, I thought I lost you," she managed in a strained whisper, squeezing her eyes shut against mental images of him in holy fire with Sam about to kill them both. Cas's hand was against the back of her head protectively and gently. His distressed, heightened breathing and the emphatic beating of his heart were her anchor.

"No," he said, voice just as soft and tight as hers was. It was easy to hear how his thoughts were the same as hers—disbelief at what had happened, gratitude to be alive, shock at how close it had been to flat out disaster. She opened her eyes against the shoulder of his trench coat and sniffed loudly from distress. His arms held her even closer. "You haven't lost me." Hearing him say that was exactly what she'd needed to hear and she shut her eyes again, stifling the urge to break down and cry. He pulled back and he almost looked like he could have been crying from the mournful look on his face. "But have I lost you?" he asked, stunning her with the quiet fear in his eyes.

"…W-what do you mean?" She was worried all over again and confused at his meaning.

Her answer seemed to comfort him slightly, like he was glad she didn't know what he meant. Still, he seemed pretty bent out of shape. "I am so sorry, Alex," he said with deep, earnest regret. "About what happened when we were last together." The immediacy he spoke with made stunned amazement ripple through her. "I know that my thoughtless behavior was inappropriate. I owe you many apologies for what I said to you, the way I treated you."

Tears pricked her eyes in earnest because that was what she'd been dying to hear since their fight and she couldn't believe he was ready to apologize already without any prompting. Maybe he'd been thinking of it and torturing himself over it just like she had. He must have—his face said it all. That realization combined with the heartfelt way he looked at her was the greatest relief she could feel. She searched the depths of his sky-blue eyes, transfixed by him as she became furiously covetous. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. At her teary-eyed short-of-breath silence, Castiel faltered as he filled with greater contrition and worry. He traced his hand against the curve of her cheek. His expression became tighter with regret. "I can't even begin to apologize correctly for what—"

She interrupted him. Words had to wait. "Apologize later," she was saying in a husky whisper as she tilted her face up to his and wrapped her arms around his neck, needing his kiss more than anything ever.

He made the softest mmff sound when their lips met—a sound that seemed distinctly surprised, relieved, and also yearning. Their kiss was tender and soft at first, then when Cas realized she wanted him, he let go of restraint. The kiss abruptly became desperate and passionate, bold and assertive. Alex grabbed Cas by a handful of shirt as his arms circled her closely—she pulled him with her as she clumsily walked backwards around the edge of the garage, out of view of the house. The kiss deepened openly and he turned her, crowded her forward until her back found the tin siding of the building. Blind to their surroundings, they kissed each other with wretched hunger and conviction put there by the fact that they'd almost just died. Cas held her closely, touched her urgently, pulling her against himself by the back, then the butt, then the head—he didn't need to as she kept pushing against him, pulling herself to him, grabbing him wherever she could.

Currents of soothing warmth raced through her body, making her half crazy with need. She needed him in the most basic way there was. He seemed to feel the same. He was already straining at his pants and making soft mm-ing masculine sounds as his tongue sent jolts of electricity surging downward. She clutched his body against hers anxiously and couldn't remember any bad feelings she'd had toward him at all.

One of his hands skimmed down the side of her hip, then the side of her thigh, brushing a little at the hem of her dress. The ghostlike touch sent delicious shivers along her spine. His mouth moved to speak against hers. "You're just as beautiful as the day you first wore this," he whispered. Their secret lit her on even greater fire, the deep emotion in his husky voice was making her feverish. She reached for his belt buckle, needing him even more urgently.

He understood and his hands went down to the hem of her dress, fingers peeked in underneath as his hands dragged up her bare legs. The touch of his warm digits had her breathing raggedly against his mouth with labored concentration. Her dress began to ride up far as his hands went higher. Brazen, she was unzipping him and shoving his pants and boxers down haphazardly, he was lifting her up so that her back bumped up against the tin wall behind her—her dress was bunched up around her hips, he held her up against the metal wall easily and they both grabbed a hand simultaneously at the underwear blocking the way and shoved, pulled, yanking the fabric aside in tandem right before Cas pushed himself in deeply. Two breathy groans escaped at the exact same moment and their frenzied mood fell away for a breathless moment. They looked each other in the eye in stunned amazement, never seeming to be over how the other felt in that first moment of consummation.

Alex's fingers curled into his thick head of hair as her body reveled in how he felt to her. His full, vulnerable gaze made her weak. Don't leave me, she wanted to beg him out of desperation and fear. "I love you," she whispered instead, almost crying at herself when she faintly thought of how easily he swayed her, what a hold he had on her, how she was helpless putty in his hands.

At her proclamation his pleasure-anxious eyes grew incomparably tender. "There isn't a word vast enough in all existence to tell you what I feel for you," he murmured in a warm voice made out of honey and myrrh. He melted her. He ruined her. She made a soft sobbing sound from anxiety and need alike.

His weight held her against the wall and his hands came to cradle either side of her face and he leaned close, his hot, humid open mouth against hers—her hands slid to grip his wrists in anticipation, she tightened her grip, desperate for him to start. They both shuddered when he began to move. Cas swallowed her cries and panting gasps with another deep kiss. She whined and whimpered in dissatisfaction and pleasure, throwing a hand out behind herself to get better purchase against the rusted tin behind them. She pushed against him harder, creating more friction and pressure, causing them to both get even more frantic. The uncertainties and fears they both held propelled them into deeply passionate, messy, vehement loving making. Alex hooked her other arm around his neck and grabbing his head with a tight hand, frustrated and sated with every push and pull. The heavenly torment was agonizing and she needed more. "Cas, harder, please—" she begged into his mouth. Promptly his hands slid down and around her, holding her to him in passionate affection as he pushed her fully against the tin wall which shivered loudly in response. He did as she asked and gave it to her harder.

At that point, they weren't kissing anymore, just panting into each others mouths as the erotic intensity grew more unbearable. Alex looked at Cas in the eye at the exact instant his gaze snapped upward—and when their eyes silently communicated wretched desire and deep thankfulness, one of his hands moved to grab the side of her face out of desperation and she clamped her hand down onto his wrist, lost forever under the spell he put on her. Deep, reckless pleasure was humming down low, he was thrusting molten bliss into her body and frantic euphoria began to gather and fill her to the point of bursting. "Cas, oh—" she breathed out in an almost frightened whisper as she realized how she was about to be flung into the utter end of herself.

Recognizing the signs of what was happening, his movements became erratic and he let out a hard groan, pushing inside of her harder and deeper and more urgently. His hands crushed her against his body and Alex hung on, meeting him as best as she could in every furiously urgent movement. Her legs tightened around his middle and her mouth hung open in a silent gasp as he soared her to unmistakable, irreversible heights. A soft gasp of ah sounded first, then a louder exclamation of ah and then a loud raspy cry of ah! as what Cas did tumbled her into a sea of ecstasy. She seized him hard with both arms, forgetting her efforts to push against him—all she could do was ride the wave and pray she would survive the thunderous pleasure. Cas rocked hard against her with a whimper, carrying her further into apex. He joined her, crumbling at the feet of utter euphoric bliss. He said her name anxiously, made an unintelligible noise, said "oh", and then cried her name out in a soft and frantic voice as he powerlessly spasmed against and deeply within her. They held onto one another for dear life as they surrendered everything to each other and to that moment between them. And then, as quickly and surprisingly at it had begun, it was finished.

Against the side of a garage, the angel and the human clung to each other tightly and breathed each others ragged breaths. Love and confusion and panic had caused them to seek comfort from each other like that and even though their physical need had now been satisfied, they still clutched to each other out of the remaining fear of loss.

Trembling from exertion, Cas and Alex struggled to regain composure. Their eyes met when Cas lifted his head off of her shoulder. Fear rested in his eyes as they scanned back and forth between hers. "What would I do without you?" he questioned wretchedly, seeming to genuinely fear the answer.

At a loss for words and still reeling from unspeakable ecstasy, Alex just shook her head and hugged his neck, burying her face in the top of his shoulder. She shut her eyes, exhausted and bereft and pleasure-addled. For a minute, he just held her, turning his head down and burying his nose in the side of her neck, pressing a soft kiss into her hair. Warmth and comfort drenched her all over again and she tightened her arms around him. When her heart rate had returned to a more normal pace and her mind was more cohesive, she lifted her head up slowly. Now came talking. And to be completely honest, she was terrified of having another fight.

When she loosened her legs from around his waist to signal the time for separation, he pulled himself out of her with a soft shudder and helped her stand again. When he carefully and delicately pulled her underwear back to where it had been and shifted her dress down modestly, she felt even more loved if it were possible. Her apprehension faded a little. As he straightened the hem of her dress, she returned the favor and with a suddenly sly, timid smile, she grabbed the waist of his pants in both hands and hoisted them to where they'd been before. She zipped him back up, buttoned the button, buckled the belt, and left him as she'd found him. When she finished, she looked up into his face—he was watching her with a touched expression. His lips were soft and pink from kissing, his eyes were very dilated. He caught her hand in his and for a minute, neither said anything.

The afterglow had her feeling pleasantly buzzed and she saw he too felt very relieved. He'd needed it too. But she also saw how he was clearly waiting for the inevitable discussion he knew she wanted to have… his face seemed a little anxious and timid. How did she even start this conversation? The one she'd been thinking about for the past three days. A thousand thoughts were competing to be said first. One thought won out over the rest though. "I thought I was gonna die, Cas," she told him in a disconsolate murmur as she looked him in the eye, in pain over the thought she was about to share with him. "I thought that was my last moment in there and all I could think about was you would be dying right with me."

Because of the soul claim. Cas's expression rippled with guilt and he looked down, let go of her hand, and went into deep, tense thought. A junked truck was nearby and the rusted tailgate was down. Cas turned and went over to it with heavy footsteps. He sat down and clasped his hands between his knees, looking down at the ground between his dangling feet. Alex followed by two steps then waited, not sure why he was so silent. Just when she was about to open her mouth and prompt him to speak, he finally did. "I held your dead body in my arms and couldn't bring you back," he said quietly, taking her back to his mindset three days ago. "I was terrified, Alex." He hadn't been looking at her but he did then, peered up at her with a rigid, wrinkled forehead. His eyes cut her to her heart because he was so clearly telling the truth. "I spend all my hours these days living in terror of falling short. Of letting you down. Of losing this war. Of losing you."

His jaw clenched and he shook his head as he looked away from her, giving the appearance of great self-loathing. "I shouldn't have been so confrontational and brusque. So callous." As angry as she'd been in the days before she was the opposite now. Filled with empathy, hating to see him sad, she went to him and tried to comfort him. She stood between his knees and touched his face with her hand, trying to soothe wordlessly. He didn't look at her when she did that. Instead, he took the hand off his face and looked at it in dejection. There was a long pause and then his eyes flicked up to hers. "You are my world and I was thoughtless toward you," he said in faint and regretful tones. His confession made her heart pitter-patter. "Can you ever forgive me?"

She swallowed a painful, emotionally dense lump away. Her faith in him was restored a hundred times over even though she had no clue if he'd give her what was hers or not. She almost wanted to just brush the entire thing aside to keep them both from pain. Almost. One thing at a time. She didn't bring the soul claim up yet. "I get it, Cas," she said—after all, she'd definitely flown off the handle at her brothers and even at Cas before in the heat of the moment. "I shouldn't have done what I did. It was stupid. I was stupid. Killing myself on a gamble, I mean… yeah. You're right. So, so stupid." Just thinking about it again made her shake her head and growl faintly in self-frustration as she looked down and shut her eyes in an effort not to get angry with herself.

Cas's hand tightened on hers a little. "You were trying to help your brother."

Her eyes opened up again in surprise to look into his. He sounded understanding and rueful at the same time. His attempt to support and reassure was touching and surprising. "Yeah. I was," she agreed grimly. But that didn't make it okay. It had been brainless and selfish. She had been motivated by a lot of things, but largely by the need to prove herself and prove everyone else wrong. "But it wasn't smart. And I knew it would hurt you and I did it anyway. I'm sorry, too." Their eyes communicated quiet relief as they arrived at a small understanding. Cas forgave her. She saw it in his eyes and couldn't believe it. He obviously still didn't like it and he was still agonized over it, but she saw how he was setting it aside and choosing to move past it.

The angel shifted a little and patted the spot beside where he sat on the tailgate. She remembered teaching him that forever ago and smiled a little, taking the invitation and sitting beside him closely. Their shoulders brushed. For a minute, they listened to the frogs chorusing out in the night.

"Why'd you tell Dean, though?" Alex asked presently, turning to look at his profile.

Cas hesitated. "I thought maybe he could offer me advice. I was very worried about you." He breathed in deeply and let it out as his eyes scanned middle distance in thought. "And then before I had time to come see you and speak to you about it personally…" he shook his head with a faraway, troubled gaze. "The war."

Alex nodded understanding through her own conflicted, guilty thoughts. The war. The war she'd never seen any part of that haunted his life. Pain clenched her heart. It wasn't fair, all that weight on his shoulders. She could empathize. After all, she'd grown up in a life that had threatened to break her back from the load it put on her. The only way she'd survived was two brothers who'd stood beside her and taken some of the burden onto themselves with their strong shoulders. Glancing at Cas sidelong, she swallowed in mild dread. There was something they still needed to get on the table and hash out. Badly. "We gotta talk about this soul claim thing," she said quietly, a little nervous about his reaction. If he flipped out on her, if he refused to listen, there would be a major, major problem. She hoped for the best, she went out on a limb. "Number one, not telling me about it. That was wrong. Number two, refusing to let me have what's mine. Also wrong." She looked at him in gaunt reservation. "Do you get that?" Please say you do.

Cas's harrowed eyes held hers for a long moment and then he heaved a gust of air out of his nose and looked down between his knees. "Yes," he said in monotone. Thank god. "I've thought about it. I should have told you about the soul claim. I thought I was protecting you. I thought I knew best and I didn't want you to be frightened." He seemed reluctant to discuss it, anxious to drop the subject. He turned his worried gaze to her again. "Let me keep it for you, Alex. Until I can put it into the book of Heaven."

"No," she said immediately, firmly. "If I die, you'll die. And I won't let you die because of me." She swallowed in mild dread. "Will it hurt you to take it out?"

"The pain doesn't matter to me," he said gravely. Alex could see how he was upset at the thought of letting her soul claim out of his sight. Even as she thought that, his reluctant eyes flickered sidelong to hers. "I do not want to do this." He took a grudging, tense pause, then loosened his tie and began to unbutton his shirt. She studied his troubled profile. "But as you have said, it is yours."

Her heart skipped in disbelief. He was going to do what she'd asked. Cas pulled his shirt to the side, baring the left side of his chest. He looked down at himself and without any further ado he dug two fingers into his chest and into his heart, clenching his teeth and protesting in pain—Alex sat back, terrified at how he could tear into his own flesh so easily, alarmed to see and hear him in pain. Blood poured out of where his fingers had gone and he looked woozy for a beat. He worked his fingers around and then pulled out a small dark key. He laid his other hand over his heart, breathed out shudderingly, then when he pulled his hand away, the blood was gone and the skin was smooth. The blood was gone from the key, too. Like it had never been there at all.

"Are you okay?" Alex asked, staring in confounded disbelief, touching his arm and leaning in, trying to gauge his physical well-being.

"Fine," he answered, a little shaken up. He then held the key out to her with a very serious look on his face. "You'll need to hide it someplace safe and secret until I defeat Raphael and gain access to Heaven's throne room," he said. She reached up to take it and when her fingers grasped it, he didn't let go. He waited for her to look him in the eye. "Do not lose this," he said intently.

"I won't." He must have done a lot to get it and she sure as hell knew he'd done a lot to try and keep it safe. He let go of it and she turned it over in her palm in uncertainty. It looked like a regular old key. Nothing magical or special about it. "This is it?" she asked, underwhelmed.

"Yes," Cas answered, expression tense and pinched. She missed the flash of discomfort in his eyes.

Huh. Well, it seemed pretty unremarkable. After she studied the key again for a moment, she watched him button his shirt back up. Just like that, all the crap she'd been stressing herself over for the past three days was pretty much absolved. "Why'd you put it where you did?" she asked, finding it a little terrifying that he'd just stuck his fingers into his own heart.

Cas's face softened slightly and it made him look younger and boyish despite his age. He peered at her sidelong as he buttoned his last button, the softest hint of a rueful smile in his eyes. "It seemed somehow fitting, to carry part of you in my heart."

His comment made her seriousness crumble. She grinned stupidly, embarrassed and flattered all at once. "How can I stay mad at you when you say things like that?" she asked him a little teasingly.

His expression became mildly questioning, more serious. "Are you?" he asked. "Still angry with me, I mean?"

Alex shook her head, so thankful to have this behind her. "No," she said. Her voice softened meaningfully. "We're good." He looked as relieved as she felt and on impulse, she cuddled up into his side, looping an arm around his back and studying the key in her palm as she leaned her head to his shoulder. If Cas had refused to give her this, she didn't know what would happen. Thank god Cas had come to his senses after he had time to think about everything. She closed her fist around the key. She would bury it somewhere only she and Cas would know. Then when he won the war, he could transfer the claim to the book of Heaven like he kept saying.

A minute of quiet passed and they listened to the frogs singing. Then Cas shifted a little. "Why are you wearing… the dress?" he asked softly.

Shrugging a little self-consciously, Alex tucked some loose hair behind an ear. "Found it tonight, felt sentimental I guess." She thought back to a lifetime ago when she and Cas had been so unaware of the future ahead, so in love that it had hurt. "Seems like forever ago, doesn't it…" she ventured, thinking out loud. There was a short silence and her voice softened tellingly. "You still don't regret what we did?"

"How could I?" Cas asked, sounding surprised she would think he might. He took a thoughtful pause and sounded more dejected when he spoke again. "The only thing I have ever regretted is how I am not good enough for you."

If she had learned one thing about Cas, it was that he was deeply insecure about himself at the end of the day. Lifting her head up to look at him she caught his eyes. "You are good enough for me," she said in a firm tone.

"No," he said heavily, staring out into the salvage yard again. He spoke in a slow pace. "I'm not. I'm gone constantly, I leave you wondering every time, I never take you places or give you things or spend enough time with you. I'm not good with words and I'm not good with knowing right from wrong." She wanted to protest again, but the things he said did sound true for the most part. Mostly the being gone a lot and leaving her alone and with questions. But hearing him say those things, knowing he thought about them… it made her feel warmer. And then he turned his head, looking her in the eye with conviction and worry. "I want to be a better husband to you."

Her stomach jumped unpleasantly and she got nervous and flustered, looking around the salvage yard with darting eyes. "Cas, don't use that word," she reprimanded in a terse murmur.

Cas frowned a little, head tilting to the side a little. "Why not?"

"Someone might hear you," she whispered tensely.

His confusion faded in favor of hurt. "Would it truly be so terrible for them to know?" he asked, breaking her heart a little bit with his reaction to her paranoia.

"Well, no…" she said, trying to backpedal. Although, truthfully, she did feel like maybe it would be terrible for them to find out. "It's just, it's just bad timing," she said, making up excuses. "Maybe after the Sam thing is worked out, after the war… maybe then." She realized her mistake. "If the Sam thing gets worked out. Maybe it… maybe it won't." She got quiet for a second, deep in thought as her mind turned to her twin and how they had arrived at the deadest of ends. Despair flooded her at that thought and realization.

Cas's arm moved up a little behind her back, his hand grasped her arm in a half hug and he pulled her closer to his side. The gesture of reassurance didn't go unnoticed by her. It helped. Pushing thoughts of Sam away, Alex instead imagined her oldest brother's reaction to what she and Cas were keeping from everyone. "Dean isn't going to take it well, Cas," she murmured. "Us. He's just not." Getting distressed and not wanting to talk about it anymore, she forced a pinched little smile and pushed herself forward to stand up. "We should go inside before he comes looking."

---

Dean and Bobby stood back from where Sam was now securely tied down to the cot in the panic room. They'd taken their time to secure him. He was still unconscious and momentarily harmless. Dean shook his head grimly, fucking beside himself at what had just happened and what had been so narrowly avoided. He'd watched Sam kill Alex once as Lucifer and nothing, nothing would let him see her die again. Not on his watch.

"So, you gonna explain what I missed?" Bobby asked. "What happened with Death?"

Dean glanced his way dourly as more self-loathing and sadness rolled over him. "Well… I wore the ring," he said tiredly, crossing his arms and looking at Sam while he spoke. "I wore it awhile. At first it was easy. I just, you know, reaped people who had it comin'. A douchebag robber, then a heart attack waiting to happen." Dean paused, his stomach sinking a little. "And then there was a little girl. Twelve years old. So young. Couldn't let her die, Bobby. She reminded me of…" he trailed off, wetting his lips. "And the dad, I couldn't let him be alone. They were all each other had." Dean sighed in aggravation at himself. "So. I let a little girl live and set off a whole bunch of other deaths in the process. Got a nurse killed, then her husband got into a wreck I coulda stopped. I almost did stop it, but I thought about Sam and I kept that damn ring on my finger. So I went back and... and I killed the little girl to make it stop." He quit speaking. The guilt and burden of doing all that was too much. When he'd taken the girl's life with a single touch and she'd been able to see him, stand outside of herself and realize what had happened, the little girl had looked at him in heartbreak and asked who would be with her dad now.

Dean hadn't known the answer to that question.

That little brown-haired girl had made him think of his own sister. That lonely dad who had no other family at all had made him think of himself. And when Tessa the reaper had said she knew why Dean had saved the girl ("she reminds you of your sister and you can't bear the thought of her dying."), Dean had shaken his head. "You're wrong," he'd said quietly, looking at the father with his daughter. "Everyone thinks I'm so selfless. But I'm not. I'm the most selfish person on the planet. I can't stand the thought of being alone. Of losing my family." He'd looked at that father and gotten emotional. "And I don't want that man to lose the one damn thing left that's giving him a reason to live."

Bobby was waiting for more and Dean cleared his throat, refocusing. "So, I reap the little girl. Problem solved. I'm good as gold, haven't taken the ring off. Won't get sentimental again. Sammy's soul isn't far off. Then Tessa tells me there's suddenly another person I gotta reap, someone who just got added to the list. She acted real surprised and beams me to your garage... where I see my brother about to kill my sister."

Horrified understanding passed over Bobby's face. "I had to pick," Dean said, staring unseeingly into the panic room. "Sam or Alex. My brother's soul or my sister's life." He'd made his choice and would never take it back, but he wished it could be different. His heart was breaking. Sam was lost forever, his soul was stuck in hell, and Dean was defeated, dismayed, and agonized. "So, now what? Death's the only guy I can think of to help out short of a demon and I am not doing another soul deal. What's left?" He put his hand on his face and rubbed wretchedly, hopeless and needing help, needing an answer. "I can't keep doing this, Bobby. I mean, what am I gonna do, tie him up every time he tries to kill someone? And that's not gonna hold him. I mean, he's…"

A monster.

"Capable of anything," Bobby put in at Dean's silence.

Dean nodded grimly. That was also an appropriate descriptor. "Just… what am I supposed to do here?"

Bobby was as quiet and lost as Dean was. "I don't know."

Dean remembered how he and Cas had already talked about a final option and his heart shattered to think about actually going through with it. But Sam was dangerous. "Cas and I, we talked about, if the time came… if we had to…" Cold realization and heartbreak crossed Bobby's grizzled face. Dean was begging at this point for another option or some hope. "Say something, Bobby."

He didn't get any relief, only more confirmation that he had no options left. "What's there to say?" Bobby asked. "Can't let him keep doing this. Just can't."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. He wanted to cry. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. "Maybe Dad was right all those years ago," he managed in a strained voice.

"'Bout what?"

Dean shook his head, looked at his brother's sleeping face. "Said if I couldn't save Sam... I'd have to kill him." And Dean didn't know how to save Sammy. Not at all.

Overhead, footsteps sounded and the stairs creaked under two pairs of feet. Dean and Bobby turned to see Cas and Alex coming down the wooden staircase. Dean looked at her dress again curiously.

"Hey," she said as she reached the bottom floor. She looked at Dean anxiously, obviously wanting good news which he had none of.

"Hey," he replied gruffly, trying to hide his more hopeless thoughts and mindset. He was also pretty unhappy with himself about being so intentionally douchey to her earlier… she'd almost died and the last thing he'd done before that had been to try and pick a fight with her.

He glanced at Cas. A typical stern squint was on the angel's face. "Sorry, was just about to come find you," Dean said, refocusing on his intent sister. "Got distracted. You okay?"

He'd never forget seeing Sam about to slash her throat open. She probably wouldn't ever forget it, either. "Yeah. Just… kinda shaken up I guess," she said.

The siblings' eyes met and both looked very sorry about everything. The situation at hand dissolved the adversity that had been between them and Dean reached out and hugged her again. She hugged him, too, tight. He'd almost lost her. And now he'd definitely lost Sam. Their brother was gone. For good.

Dean pulled back, trying not to show his despair. He patted his sister on the shoulder and made a wan smile stretch across his face. How did he even begin to explain this to her? How it was over?

She peered past him into the panic room. From the look on her face, Dean thought maybe she already knew somehow. "Is he… is he ever gonna be okay?" she asked in a soft, stark voice.

Dean couldn't try and soften or sweeten the bitter truth even for her. "I don't think so, kiddo," he told her sadly. Her eyes, the same color as Sam's, came to his in vulnerable, hurt questioning. Why? Why couldn't I save him? Why couldn't I have saved them both? Dean was miserable.

Of all things, Alex then went past him and into the panic room. That's when he saw that the back of the white dress wasn't white like it had been whenever she walked out of the garage fifteen minutes ago—it now had rust or something smeared on the back. What the—oh. Oh my god. Dean looked at Cas in disbelief and mild embarrassment. Cas wasn't looking at him—he was watching Alex in close hawkishness. Well at least someone's getting laid around here, Dean thought cantankerously. He crossed his arms again and looked into the panic room.

Sam was too tied down to do anything even if he were awake, but even so, Dean didn't like her being so close to him. Alex hovered over the cot, looking over her twin brother's unconscious countenance. She broke Dean's heart completely when she took and held one of Sam's hands in hers then brushed some hair off of his bloody forehead. She looked sad enough to cry, but she didn't.

Dean was fighting a painful welling rock in his throat. He couldn't kill Sam. He couldn't. It would kill him and it would kill Alex to lose him. But hadn't they lost him already?

Cas came to stand beside him and his concerned gaze burned into the side of Dean's face. "You took off the ring to save her," he said quietly. The angel clearly understood what that implied and meant. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean glanced Cas's way barely, not totally able to meet the angel's eyes. "Yeah," he said in a gravel mutter. "Not the first time I've fucked things up to save her. Probably won't be the last. Worth it. But damn if it doesn't suck." Dean needed a minute to compose himself before he broke down completely. "Can you two watch her?" he asked, throwing a glance Bobby's way. "I need some air."

"Yes, of course," Cas answered even as Bobby nodded.

Dean went upstairs in search of alcohol and solitude. What he found instead was Death… and ironically enough, Death brought hope and an unexpected twist that Dean would be forever grateful for.

---

Alex looked down at Sam's peaceful face with a hurting heart. She didn't understand. He was cuffed to the cot so that when he woke, he couldn't attack them. Why did it always come back to this? Sam chained up somewhere and gone nuts? This time, there didn't seem to be a solution. Alex touched the side of his cheek, remembering better times. Happier times. Not happy times. Just, happier.

Dean had been upstairs for awhile now and Alex had just been observing her twin with Cas nearby, ever watchful and sympathetic. At that moment Sam stirred without warning and groaned, blinking hard as he began to regain himself. Alex moved back a little and let go of him even as Cas moved forward slightly from where he'd been hanging back at the edge of the panic room.

Sam tried to sit up and found that he couldn't thanks to his restraints. His eyes flickered over Alex, then Cas, then found Bobby too who slouched in a lean in the panic room doorway.

"So," Sam said, realizing he was a prisoner. "This is the part where you lock me in the panic room." He sounded frustrated.

"Well, I didn't know there would be an audience for this," came a bland voice from behind them. Everyone turned to see a plain, stooped man with a hook nose and receding hairline standing there. He carried a black satchel with him and leaned on a walking cane.

"Death," Alex breathed in shock, recognizing him immediately. Dean's footsteps were clattering down the stairs and they heard him shouting.

Sam went tense with terror and his handcuffs rattled against the cot as he desperately pitched around on the cot in an effort to get away. "I've got something you've been missing, Sam," Death said leisurely, setting his walking cane down beside Sam.

"Get away from me!" Sam shouted even as Dean and Bobby appeared in the doorway with shocked expressions. "Don't. Don't!"

Death sat beside Sam and pulled the satchel open. Brilliant white-blue light blazed out from the soul inside. "Now, Sam, I'm going to put up a barrier inside your mind," Death said in a matter of fact voice, his dark eyes holding Sam's levelly.

"No, don't touch me," Sam protested, and he sounded like the real Sam—scared shitless, freaked out, emotionally compromised. He even looked at his older brother and then his sister as if for help.

"It might feel a little… itchy." Death looked at Sam with grimness. "Do me a favor. Don't scratch the wall. Trust me—you're not gonna like what happens."

"Please," Sam said, looking straight at Dean with helplessness on his face. "Don't do this."

Death reached into his bag and grasped Sam's soul into his fist, raising it out slowly, eyes sliding to Sam who panicked even more. "No, no!" he protested, looking at Dean and then Alex with huge, alarmed eyes. "You don't know! You don't know what'll happen to me! Dean, please! No. No. No, Alex! Cas! Bobby! Don't let him do this! No!" None of them moved, only watched in frozen horror as Death reached into Sam whose eyes went wide in agony. "Aaaaaugh!" His mouth stayed open in scream after scream as the soul was seared back into him painfully.

And then he went limp and still, blacking out as the soul's light disappeared from view.

"Sam?" Dean rushed to his brother then, grabbing him by the shoulders in worry. "Sammy?" He looked at Death for explanation. "What's happened to him?"

Death snapped the satchel closed and stood, giving Dean a challenging glance. "His soul is where it's supposed to be. He rests now. The future remains to be seen."

Dean swallowed tremulously. "T-thank you," he managed.

Death regarded him with a grave look. "Remember what I said, Dean. Keep… digging." The horseman's eyes slid to Cas. And then he disappeared without explanation.

"I thought he wasn't gonna get Sam's soul for us!" Alex said, aghast and shocked. "How did you… what changed his mind?" She was beside Dean and looking at him with dread like she thought he'd made a crazy deal.

"I dunno, he kept blabbing about souls, said something about being a detective," Dean said, distracted and looking to the angel. "Cas, can you, can you check him? Make sure it's in there? See if he's okay?"

"Of course," Castiel said, and began to roll up his sleeve. He paused, looked at them meaningfully. "You two may want to wait outside."

Dean and Alex exchanged a look. They really didn't want to, but they took Cas's suggestion and did anyway. Bobby followed and they closed the heavy door behind them. "I need hunter's helper," Bobby commented, shaking his head in confounded shock. "I'll get us all some." He trudged up the stairs. In the panic room, Sam could be heard making pained noises as Castiel performed a soul touch. When the angel came out of the panic room a minute or two later, he left the door open. They saw Sam was still unconscious on the cot.

Alex went to him wordlessly, urgently.

Cas and Dean watched her from outside. "Well?" Dean asked, daring to hope.

"His soul is in place," Cas said.

Relief swamped Dean. Thank god. "Is he okay? Like, physically? Will he wake up?"

Cas seemed mildly upset. "I'm not a human doctor, Dean."

"Well could you take a guess?"

Cas became decidedly hard and gruff. "Okay. Probably not." He stepped closer and kept his voice low in an effort to hide the conversation from Alex, who was sitting at Sam's side, holding his hand again, worry etched onto her youthful face. "I'm sorry, Dean, but I warned you not to put that thing back inside him," Cas said, catching Dean off guard.

"Well what was I supposed to do?" Dean asked in genuine confusion. "You saw the crap he was doing, Cas."

"Yes, I did—but I don't know if this is going to be any better of a solution. Let me tell you what his soul felt like when I touched it." Cas's expression flickered in emphatic pain. "Like it had been skinned alive, Dean. If the wall doesn't hold, your brother will suffer agony of the worst kind and in turn, so will you. So will she." His jaw clenched and he shook his head in disapproval as he looked into the panic room again. "If you wanted to kill your brother, you should have done it outright."

Cas knew how to hit Dean right where it hurt, apparently. Stunned into silence, Dean could make no reply.

---

The Next Day
Early Afternoon

After Sam's soul was replaced and Cas told Dean what he did, the angel stuck around for maybe an hour more, sitting with Alex in the panic room for the entirety of the time. The two of them had a hushed conversation that Dean couldn't catch much of as he nervously came and went, praying for a sign or change in Sam's condition. Cas was called away in the middle of the night and Dean and Alex both fell asleep in the panic room near their brother. Dean sitting cross-armed in a chair on one side of Sam and Alex was on the other side, also in a chair. Instead of leaning back like Dean, she had her head on the bed beside Sam's waist. When Dean woke up in the morning, he saw how she was still holding his hand. How could she do that? Hold the hand that had tried to kill her?

All morning they watched Sam who showed no signs of waking. They un-cuffed him and set up a saline IV drip to keep him from getting dehydrated. Dean wandered restlessly, trying to find something, anything to do. Bobby had some newspapers spread out on the study desk and Dean looked over them curiously. He could hear, very faintly, the sound of the broom at work on the back porch. Alex had dusted everything and vacuumed out of frustrated, worried boredom. Now she was sweeping the back porch like it was her job. Bobby was off in the bathroom and the house was quiet.

Dean circled around to the back of the desk and stood behind it to read the printout Bobby had been reading last. He scanned it and saw why. Last week a couple went up in a light two-person plane and crashed. The wreckage was found in the woods… and the pilot was found seventeen miles away, torn to shreds. The girl was gone without a trace. No body found. Huh. Definitely a little weird. Could be a job.

This is where Sam found his brother. After waking up from what felt like the worst night of sleep in his life, Sam wandered in a daze up from the basement of the Singer house, wondering how he got there. Everything was jumbled in his mind, mixed up and in soft-focus, hard to catch hold of. He felt panicked and disoriented, a little sick. Something was off.

When he came to the main floor of the familiar house and peered into the study, seeing his brother reading a piece of paper, he felt a pure relief he couldn't explain. "Dean?" he asked softly. When he asked his brother's name, it came flooding back—the cemetery, jumping into the cage, leaving everything behind. Dying and knowing it. Sacrificing himself and knowing he would never see the light of day ever again or the faces of the family he loved.

Dean's head snapped up and he looked at Sam with wide, shocked eyes. Emotion surged up in Sam who was already moving toward his big brother. "Sam?" Dean asked in a softly stunned voice, circling the desk that separated them.

Sam slammed his arms around Dean hard into a crushing embrace. He was breathing hard and fast, barely able to believe either of them were alive at all. When Sam pulled back, an amazed, relieved grin was on his face, making his dimples show. "Dean, I—" he paused, faltering. He remembered more without warning. The memories dumped out over his head like water out of a bucket. He remembered his sister underneath him and choking, gasping for air, struggling, fighting to stay alive, her hands grabbing onto his uselessly. "Sam, please…!" she had rasped as his hands crushed the life out of her. Tears ran out of her eyes and down into her hair as she looked up at him in fear and pain. And then Sam remembered the worst moment of all. Sam looked at his hands in horror as he remembered the sickening feel and the crunching snap of her neck underneath those palms. He took her life—he'd ended it—he'd failed to save her even though he'd been fighting Satan tooth and nail. Sam was talking a staggering step back from Dean, horror making him half-blind. She's dead. I killed her. Oh no—oh god no please no.

"Sam?" Dean asked, trying to catch hold of him, whose fingers weakly clutched into the sleeves of his brother's shirt. He remembered killing Bobby and killing Cas, too, and his world spun, he thought he would pass out or die from the terror consuming him. Oh no. No, no. I killed them all!

Behind him, he heard the back door open and footsteps coming in. He turned around slowly in shell-shocked confusion even as he heard her familiar voice. "Hey, so we need to buy a new broom, this one's—" she froze the second she saw him. The broom clattered to the kitchen floor. The twins looked at each other in utter disbelief. "Oh my god. Sam?" she breathed out in heartbreaking hope.

He didn't know how she was there or if this were a cruel dream. It didn't matter. Emotion surged up in him like a tempest. He strode over to her and swept his twin into the tightest hug in existence, making her feet dangle off the ground from the way he crammed her to his chest. He made breathy noises of disbelief, almost crying. He felt her squeezing him so hard he thought he would pop. And then he was crying. "I thought… I thought you were dead," he choked out, one of his huge hands at the nape of her neck to hold her close to him. She felt real, she was breathing and shaking and digging fingers in so hard he'd have bruises. "I killed you," he said, not understanding, just pulling back to look at her through flooded eyes to confirm she was really her. A warm hazel gaze that matched his stared back. Tears drowned her eyes too and Sam's face crumpled again. "I'm so sorry," he said in a pitiful voice.

She had tears in her eyes and a broken, amazed smile on her face. "Sammy," she said softly, not seeming to believe he was there. "It's really you?"

Her question sounded strange to him. Who else would it be? He set her down carefully but still held onto her by the upper arms, not understanding how this was possible. "How are you alive?" he asked, getting afraid of the answer. "How, how are you here? I felt you die, I felt it. I felt me die. How am I here?" A horrible thought came to him and he looked at his older brother in dread. "Dean… you didn't…"

Dean had come closer and had shining eyes. "No, I didn't do anything," he said, swallowing away some emotion. He put a reassuring, comforting firm hand on Sam's shoulder. "It was Cas. He brought her back."

"Cas is alive too?!" Sam exclaimed, overjoyed by the miraculous revelation.

"We all are," came another familiar voice. Bobby came into view from the hallway and Sam felt another thrilling jolt in his heart.

"Bobby." He went to his uncle and pulled him into a clapping, tight hug. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, crying for joy, overwhelmed completely. I'm alive. We're all alive. Everything's gonna be fine now.