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.

73. Everybody Hates Kripke

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 73 / Everybody Hates Kripke

"No book worth its salt is meant to put you to sleep, it's meant to make you jump out of your bed in your underwear and run and beat the author's brains out."
- Bohumil Hrabal

---

Padalecki Residence
Canada

Misha Collins and Alex Winchester arrived to a mansion that was unspeakably lavish and elegant. A statue of a jaguar pawing at a marble orb stood in the immaculately landscaped front yard and a decorative water fountain babbled along the stone walkway to the front door. Padalecki was declared in a carefully trimmed, shaped shrub against the house. As Alex wandered up gawking, Misha approached the front door like he'd been there before a hundred times. He walked funny—bouncy and bright, dorky. Not like Cas did with a slow, steady, humble stride.

He rang the bell as Alex drifted up, disconcerted at everything she was seeing. As she looked at the huge door they waited in front of, she suddenly really doubted she was going to find her brothers at all. This was so fancy… they wouldn't know what to do with themselves in this kind of environment. She was probably about to find out she was all alone in this strange universe she'd found herself in…

After they waited for about twenty seconds, the hand-carved solid oak door swung open to reveal a familiar young woman with dark hair and pretty, distinct features. Alex's body went into sudden overdrive as horrified recognition came over her. Ruby! Adrenaline going nuts, Alex reacted on gut instinct and she launched into an attack on the demon who had almost gotten her brother killed two years ago. Ruby was unprepared for the assault; she squeaked when Alex rushed her and slammed her into the wall of the foyer—Alex was already whipping out her knife to finish the job even as Misha began to screech and freak out, pull on her with fluttering hands. "Hey hey hey, don't kill Gen!"

Alex hesitated right before she'd been about to kill Ruby—Gen? Wait… wait. Shit. If Cas wasn't Cas but was Misha Collins, Ruby might not be Ruby either. She backed off slightly, realizing the fatal mistake she'd just been about to make.

Gen was slumped against her own foyer wall, eyes wide with shock as she clutched onto the crown molding there for dear life. "Who the hell is this, Misha?" she demanded in a high-pitched, scared voice. Alex shrank away. Oops.

"Alex!? Oh my god!" a rich, tenor voice sounded nearby—one Alex knew—and she turned, flooded with relief. Sam. He was hurrying forward and crashing her into a tight, relieved, brief hug she accepted, knife and all. He pulled back to look at her with a huge grin on his face, which fell when he saw her scraped face and slashed cheek. Alex shook her head just slightly—I'm fine. Then Sam saw the knife she held and realized what was going on and became furtive and a little awkward. "It's okay, you don't need to stab anyone," he said, trying to joke around then indicating the very flabbergasted woman who still stood slack against the nearby wall. "This is my wife, the actress who played Ruby." He said all that very carefully, trying to tell Alex what was going on.

Alex did a double take. "Your wife?"

"Yeah, you know." Sam paused and gave her a meaningful look. "Because I'm Jared Padalecki."

Oh yeah. Understanding, Alex nodded slowly, conspiratorially. "…Right."

"Um, Jared?" Gen was looking at Alex with no shortage of distaste as she recovered from her shock and became unfriendly. "Who is this?"

Sam faltered, obviously not sure how to answer. "My… uh, friend. Alex."

That earned him a sassy look. "And do all your friends show up in the middle of the night trying to stab me?" Gen demanded snidely. "And are all your friends young females who seem surprised to find out you're married?"

Sam looked annoyed but tried to be cool. "Just, uh, calm down Gen, I can explain." That got him a you better! look from the Ruby lookalike.

Alex peered into the expensive-looking home, wondering where her other brother was—she saw no signs of anyone else. "Where's Dean?"

"On set waiting for you to show," Sam answered, then finally acknowledged Misha, who was standing off with a look of great confusion on his face. "See you met Misha."

"Yeah," Alex said, and after she gave Sam a certain look that communicated urgency, the twins began to move further into the house, trying to get some distance from their star-studded audience. "And long story, but guess what?" she said, speaking lowly. "Virgil's here."

"Oh, we know," Sam said, a grim little smile stretching his face as he and Alex came to a stop near the grand fireplace.

"You know?" Alex repeated, casting a furtive glance over at Misha and Gen, who were mystified near the doorway still.

"Yup." Sam suddenly frowned. "Wait, how do you?" He then put two and two together and made a questioning expression as he pointed to his own cheek while looking at hers (slashed by a knife).

"Yeah." Alex made a slightly disgusted grimace, then shrugged humbly. "He's a little worse off than me though. Poked him pretty good, might slow him down."

Sam nodded tensely, but wanted to know something else. "You okay?"

A sudden bleating animal noise startled Alex and she went into a slightly guarded stance. That came from somewhere nearby. "What was that? A donkey?"

Sam shrugged sort of abashedly, gestured at a framed picture of a ridiculous looking animal on the fireplace mantle. "An alpaca, apparently." Alex looked at the picture with a strange expression. This got weirder and weirder. Abruptly remembering that she had something pretty weird of her own to share, Alex pulled out the picture of herself as a mermaid flashing a peace sign with Johnny Depp. She waggled it at Sam and gave him a look that said top that.

Without missing a beat, Sam whipped out a photo of his own and gave her a trollish, wan smile. Alex craned her neck forward, making sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. The picture showed him in a suit with a hand on his hip as he made a kissy face at the camera—something Alex was pretty sure Sam would never do. She looked at her brother in dismay. "Dude, we have got to get out of here."

Gen was grouchy and stalking over with suspicion in her every glance. She had her arms folded and if looks could kill, Alex would be dead. "Okay, can someone please just tell me what is going on?"

"You and me both," Misha agreed, following her timidly.

Sam put on a really cajoling tone and flashed a disarming smile at his 'wife.' "Look, Gen, uh—sweetie… could you uh, go grab us some beers? Order a pizza or something?"

"Pizza, Jared?" Gen asked in incredulous contempt, her arms unfolding slowly. "You want pizza at a time like this?"

Sam put on the hopeful eyes. "Please?" He then gave her The Look. "Sweetie?"

Gen fell for it hook line and sinker—she softened, smiled a little, then looked at Alex and abruptly got suspicious again. "I got my eye on you," she said, pointing at Alex threateningly with a perfectly manicured fingernail. She whirled, hair bouncing as she marched off down a hallway toward the kitchen.

As her heels clicked off against the polished hardwood floor, Alex looked at her brother in severe disbelief that was hitting her all over again. "Ruby, Sam?" Of all the cast members, Ruby?

He shrugged sheepishly, not seeming to find as much issue with it as she did. "I mean, I could have done worse…"

"So you… actually know this girl?" Misha asked Sam, butting into the conversation incredulously.

"No, never met her a day before in my life," Sam wisecracked sarcastically.

At the rude reply and sassy glare, Misha looked wounded. "Geez, what's with everyone tonight?"

Appearing done with everything and close to throwing a hissy fit, Sam leveled with the actor brusquely. "Look—this song and dance is exhausting. I'm Sam Winchester, okay? And this is my sister, Alex."

Misha let out a sudden laugh, grinned oddly, and decided to give up on being reasonable. "Okay, whatever you and Jensen are on, I need some too."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You know what, man? You should probably go home now."

Misha crossed his arms. "No way! Your 'sister' here? Threw my phone out the window. I have no idea how to get home from here without the GPS… which just so happens to be on my phone." He looked at Alex sulkily. She wasn't paying attention.

She had wandered over to the huge Andy Warhol style canvas art print of Sam making a ridiculous model face. "Wow Sam. So inspired," she said. "Nothing says home-sweet-home like a massive repeating image of your own face." She cracked an amused grin his way and Sam was up for poking fun at himself, apparently.

"I know, right? Check out the tanning bed."

Alex noticed it and became even more mirthfully incredulous. "What do I set it to for extra crispy?" she joked, then suddenly put a hand on her hair, remembering how her oily scalp was driving her nuts. "Okay, but seriously—if I don't get a shower and some clean clothes soon, I'm actually gonna murder someone."

Misha shifted nervously, letting his glance dart to Sam. "She probably would, too."

"Uh, you might fit Gen's stuff," Sam said, then nodded toward the large, grandiose staircase. "Come on, I'll show you." When Misha began to follow them, Sam held out a commanding finger to him. "Stay here."

Annoyed, the actor did as he was told.

As Alex jogged up the stairs beside Sam, she dropped her voice to a low mutter only he could hear. "Okay. So—what the hell, right?" she asked. "What is all this?"

"Apparently Balthazar cast us into an alternate dimension where our lives are a TV show," Sam answered as they reached the top of the stairs. He cut to the left and she followed down a huge hallway with tons of doors.

"No—I got that. And I also got that I'm kinda missing from all of it," Alex said, then edited herself. "Except, ha, I found this one fan fiction that—"

Sam stopped abruptly to look at her in slight surprise. "Us too! Song Remains the Same?"

Alex's stomach turned. Oh no. Did they read it? "You found it too?" she asked, trying to sound as excited as he did. But all she could think about was all her private thoughts and feelings and holy crap the sex scenes…

"We went and talked with the girl who wrote it," Sam said, a funny little smile on his face. "Not a prophet. Just… knew about you somehow." He started off again, heading for the end of the hallway.

"How?" Alex asked, intrigued. How would someone know all those intimate details and personal thoughts without being a prophet? It was disturbing.

"Don't know," Sam said, seeming to think it was too bad and he wished he did know. "Probably won't know." He opened the door to what was the master bedroom and motioned for her to go in ahead of him. "I mean how's this Kripke guy know what he knows, right?"

"R…ight." Alex faltered when she agreed because the master bedroom suite was enormous and drenched in lavish decor… a bearskin rug with the head still on was sprawled across the floor at the end of the massive bed which was unmade. But the thing that had stopped her in her tracks was over the bed. Stretching over the entire head of the bed and up to the ceiling there was a ridiculously huge painting of Sam (well, Jared, she guessed) laying seductively on his side with nothing but sheets draped over his lower region (just barely). In the painting he smirked and stared straight into the viewers eyes.

Feeling violated, Alex held a hand out in front of her face, made a sound of protest, and looked away in utter grossed out surprise. "What is that?" Not the context she'd been prepared to see Sam shirtless in, that was for sure!

Sam looked abruptly embarrassed like he forgot that was there. "Oh—sorry. I know," he said, looking at it weirdly. "Who would want that over their bed, right?" He went to a closet and began to look through stuff as Alex gawked around carefully. She could handle Wincest and Destiel, but larger-than-life sexy paintings of brothers flashing bedroom eyes? No thanks. Mercifully, the only other pictures in the room were lots of glamour shots of that Ruby-looking chick pouting and mouth-breathing in heavy makeup at the camera. Wait—no—there was one of Jared and Gen embracing, completely naked, clinging to each other and making faces meant to be angelic as they peered at the camera. Oh my god, this is so not my day.

"So, you, um, you guys read that story?" Alex asked in an exaggerated casual voice, tearing her eyes away from the freakshow. Out of the corner of her eye, the Jared Padalecki painting smirked at her.

"Only had time for the first few chapters," Sam said, voice muffled from inside of the closet. "Why?"

Whew. "Nah, nothing. Heh."

Sam came back to her with an armful of clothes. "So here's some of her stuff, the jeans might be a little too short but everything else should fit. Shower's in there." He pointed at a far door. "Don't take long, we need to get back over Dean's way."

Suddenly forgetting everything, Alex hugged her brother instead of taking the clothes. He was familiar and safe to her in this world of weirdness. "God, Sam. I'm so glad I found you."

He chuckled softly. "Me too. We were pretty worried."

She took the pile of stuff from him slowly, worrying the inside of her mouth. "What if Cas isn't okay? What if—"

Sam cut her off comfortingly, catching her gaze. "Hey, don't think like that. He's fine, and we're gonna get you cleaned up, go find Dean, get our asses back home, okay?" He pointed at the bathroom and rushed her along in good nature, backing out of the room to leave her to it. "Now hurry it up, slowpoke!"

---

Fifteen minutes later Alex was clean and dressed in an outfit she usually wouldn't wear. The jeans were fine but the Save The Whales t-shirt and the noisy, creaking black leather jacket weren't really her style. But at least they were clean and not bloody or torn up. She transferred all her stuff (money, jump drive, keys) over to the leather jacket and its pockets, strapped her knife back onto her thigh, then headed downstairs.

Sam and Gen were nowhere to be seen. Misha was sitting in the massive, high-ceiling living room with a bored, lonely expression on his blank face. As Alex quietly descended the stairs, she was struck by how much he looked like Cas to her in that quiet, somber state. It was startling and sad—the presence of Cas's physical body was a reminder of his total absence. How could he be there and not be there at all?

Misha glanced her way as she approached at a drift and for a second, she thought he was Cas from that briefly serious, grim default expression on his face. Then she saw how his knee was bouncing up and down from nervous energy and he pursed his mouth oddly as if in discontent and she remembered who this guy was. She said the first thing that came to mind to keep a lofty, confident demeanor in the face of her inward emotions. "Lonely without your tweeter?"

He seemed depressed when he corrected her and looked back down at his shoes. "Twitter."

Alex hesitated as she approached him by a couple steps more. "Sorry about tossing your phone out the window."

"It's cool," Misha answered in a sad, resigned voice. "Thanks for saving my life." He looked up at her thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about it. The clothes, the similarity, the Dean-style phone-throwing, the knife fighting… you could be a Winchester if they were real. A sister might be an interesting addition, actually."

Alex didn't like being talked about like she wasn't real, like her whole life was just something a guy named Kripke had dreamed up for entertainment. "We are real," she said with great conviction. "All that TV crap is real. And I'm real." He was looking at her skeptically and she decided to just put it out there, was a little catty about it too. "Cas is real, too, and you know what? He's my…" she tried to think how to phrase it. "Romantic interest."

Misha immediately made a weird face, scoffing her off. "Cas? Romance? No." He said that then rethought it. "Cas?" He thought about it, face working hard. "Romance?"

"What's so crazy about that?" Alex asked, a little hurt because Castiel was one of the most passionate and romantic individuals in all of existence—how could anyone doubt that?

Misha looked inconvenienced by her. "Look, all I'll say is that if Cas had a love interest, it'd be Dean, obviously. There's no need to add in some sister figure." A sudden, flirty smile popped onto his face. "Although if they added her in and you played her, can't say I'd mind."

"Destiel?" Alex asked, deadpan. Apparently, people were super into it in this universe and others. "Really?"

"Hey, in fan fiction anything's possible," Misha said, amused now, covert as he gave her a meaningful, suggestive look. At the look on Alex's face, Misha sat back slightly. "What? I'm just playing around." He scoffed. "It's no big deal, they're just characters."

Tired, Alex shook her head and crossed her arms, looking away in irritable fatigue. "Bro... you're talking about my life like it's all some kind of joke."

The actor appeared to give up and tiredly rubbed his face with both hands, muttering something about fangirls. He then laughed easily, chuckling richly, shaking his head in chagrin. Oh, that sound. It did something to her, and she tried not to let it. Misha saw her face and his smile fell. He became intrigued and looked at her very carefully, trying to decide something. "Okay, prove it," he challenged. "If you're real and with Cas and the whole show is someone's real life somehow, prove it."

Alex looked at him, stumped. "How?"

He shrugged, made his eyes go wide as he looked at her like it was her problem, not his. "You tell me." He obviously didn't believe her for a second.

"Dude, did you not see me save you from that rogue angel?!" Alex demanded, motioning to her knife.

"Role play," he reasoned calmly. "Or ultimate fighting training."

Alex scrambled for another answer. "Sam knows who I am," she pointed out.

Misha seemed to think nice try. "Jared's gone coo-coo for cocoa puffs the past couple of days."

Alex huffed. There was no way to prove it. And it wasn't even that proving it would change anything, she just wanted someone to know and believe that she was real, dammit. She wasn't crazy, the show was screwed up and had somehow left her out for whatever reason.

Looking at Misha sitting there and waiting expectantly, she was yet again struck by his twin-like similarity to Cas. Same exact features, down to the little tiny scar above his lip. Wait. Alex looked at him straight in the eye. She knew Cas's body… which was apparently the same as this guy's. She pointed her finger into her own pelvic region, indicating him with a nod. "You have a freckle right here." He sat back with an expression of startled disbelief. She then pointed to the topmost part of her thigh. "And a birthmark shaped kinda like a dinosaur right here."

Misha blinked twice, suddenly extremely suspicious. "How would you…?" he stood up, looking at her closely. "Who told you that stuff?"

A scream sounded from nearby and they both turned in surprise as Gen, sobbing with mascara running down her face, came running into the room. Misha was the one who asked first. "What is it?!"

"Sebastian's been stabbed to death!" she exclaimed through sobs. Sam was right behind her, trying to get her to calm down. "Oh god!" she shrieked nonsensically, batting Sam's attempts away.

Alex squinted. "Sebastian? The… lobster off of Little Mermaid?"

Misha looked at her oddly. "Sebastian was a crab."

Irritated, she glanced at him sidelong. "Same thing."

Misha looked extremely dubious. "No… it's not."

"Okay, Gen, would you calm down?!" Sam took her by the shoulders, trying to get an answer. "Who is Sebastian?"

Gen stared at him like he'd lost his marbles. "What are you talking about? Sebastian Roché? He plays Balthazar on your stupid show?!" She shoved him away, wailing. "What is wrong with you, Jared!?"

"Where was he stabbed?" Alex asked, immediately remembering that Dean was waiting on set—did he do the stabbing? Or was he in danger, too?

The question seemed to insult Gen. "I dunno, like his neck or something?!" She noticed what Alex was wearing and gaped. "…Are those my clothes?"

"No, not where he was stabbed on his body, where as in like, physical location," Sam said intensely, demanding Gen's attention.

"O-on set," she replied, clearly lost.

"Come on," Sam said, motioning for Alex to come with him.

"You're going?" Gen asked, seeming to reach a breaking point. "And taking her with you?! You're freaks, you're freaks!" she screamed, then grabbed a decorative candle and lobbed it at Sam, who ducked. It hit the wall with a thud as Gen, absolutely beside herself with animated hysterics, began to berate him and back out of the house toward the front door. "Jared, that's it that's it! I don't know what's gotten into you—I'm going to my mother's! This weird chick tries to stab me and now she's wearing my clothes, you and Jensen are talking to each other, you're acting like you think you're actually Sam Winchester!? And, ha, the mind-blowing crazy sex we had last night—!" Her tirade abruptly turned into a confused monologue. "Well. That was so much better than normal that I don't know what to say," she got indignant again and screamed all the louder, "but don't you dare call me till you have your head on straight!" She whirled and yanked the door open, stormed out, and shut it behind her with a resounding slam.

Sam was turning red, clearly very uncomfortable. Alex shook her head ruefully then began contemplating Misha, who had a mode of transportation she needed to use. "So, Misha, feel like going for another drive?"

---

They arrived to the set of Supernatural about twenty minutes later and were given entrance thanks to Misha and 'Jared'—Alex got a skeptical look or two but no one said anything. Misha pulled his dinky car over to where the commotion seemed to be, near the hair and makeup trailer. Police lights flashed in the dark and there was a sheet-covered body on a stretcher. A few crew members and official looking people scattered the area, standing around in upset worry. When Alex saw among them a very familiar person being interviewed by an officer, she jumped out of the car the second the car stopped.

"All right, thanks Mr. Ackles, we'll be in touch," said an officer even as Alex barreled into her brother who was halfway through turning away from the policeman.

"Dean!"

"Hey, oof—hey!" She could hear the huge relieved grin on his face and he grabbed her so he could look at her. "Ah geez, about time!" He saw her face and scoffed in good humor. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, glad to see you too, kiddo. No need for tears."

She hugged him again, hanging onto the best oldest brother in the world. "It's just really good to see you," she mumbled in an unsteady, emotional voice. She hadn't meant to get teary eyed, but it was just such a relief that he was here and Sam was here and they were together. Now all that was left to do was get home.

"Hey you hold on too long we're gonna start to grow together like barnacles," he joked affectionately, taking her back to their childhood. He used to say that all the time to her and Sam. Alex pulled back, sniffed, and composed herself. "'Save the Whales'?" Dean asked, reading her shirt.

She laughed helplessly. "Long story."

That's when Dean spotted Sam and Misha. His expression dropped slightly. "Misha? Great." He looked less than enthused. "My favorite guy—dude never gets off his phone, always going on about some tweety something. I tell ya, Cas is starting to look good next to this dweeb."

Alex had to agree.

Sam strode over, hands in his jacket pockets as he cast a shrewd gaze around the scene. "Hey. So… what happened, Dean? Did you witness this murder or what?"

"Sorta, I—"

A loud, girly blubbering sound drew all the Winchesters' attention. Misha had his hands in front of his mouth and he was sobbing. "Hey! Stop crying," Alex said. It was embarrassing, the way he was standing there and sobbing. Have some self respect.

"It's a dead body!" Misha protested in a wail.

"You're about to be one too if you don't quit crying," she threatened in annoyance. This world didn't feel real to her and the dead body nearby affected her at about zero percent.

Misha made a pathetic, petulant face, attempting to gain control over his emotions. "You this mean to Cas?"

He got no answer. Dean rolled his eyes at the antics and started to explain to his brother and sister. "So the actual crime scene's onset—this poor chump didn't stand a chance. I, uh, kinda fell asleep in a motel set—heh, oops—but next thing I knew, woke up to sounds of a struggle—this dude's dead and Virgil's using his blood to do some kinda inter-dimensional walkie-talkie crap. So the voice on the other end's saying how Virgil's gotta 'return tomorrow' at the place where he crossed over. And Raphael would 'reach through the window and take him and the key home.'"

"Wait, he has the key?" Alex asked. "The one Balthazar gave Sam before we got thrown here?"

"Yeah, but not for long," Dean replied.

"Okay, so good news is he's still stuck here, bad news is we gotta stop him from crossing back," Sam said, then looked at his brother in utter grimness. "Dean, if Virgil gets back with that key, Cas is dead and our world is toast."

"Then he is not getting that key," Alex said firmly, protective hackles rearing their heads.

"Right. No. We stop him," Dean said. "It's three on one this time, right? And I mean how bad can an angel with no wings be?"

Alex pointed to the slash across her face. "This bad." Dean withered slightly and she batted him away. "Whatever, it'll be easy, three on one. Where was the place where he crossed over? Do we know?" She noticed at that moment how paparazzi and news crews were taking photographs from a distance and she immediately stepped back—what the hell? That was unsettling to just have a camera pointed at you when you didn't know it was.

"Probably where we got thrown in," Dean said, jerking his thumb at the huge building they stood near. "Inside." He indicated they follow. Misha followed then at a distance, chewing his fingernails and making pathetic sounds every time he noticed blood drops on the ground.

Dean led them to the set of the attic which had yellow crime scene tape all over it and large blood splatters near a chalk-outline of a body. Just across from it was the set of the Singer study and he pointed to the window—the place they'd crossed over through. "Hm." Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. So what, stay close, watch it?"

"Yeah, and work on the ritual so we can get our asses back on our own dime," Dean said, then grinned at Alex. "Got all the ingredients good to go."

Misha sat on a motel bed close by on a set of a crap motel. Alex wandered over as her brothers continued to discuss the ritual. "All right, Misha," she said, figuring he'd want to leave. "You wanna head out?"

"Uh, I still don't know how to get home without my GPS," he said, scratching his ear absently. "It's like all of three miles from here, too." He paused. "I'm bad with directions."

"So… you knew how to get to Jared Packadilli's how?" she asked, skeptical.

"Padalecki." Misha got a coy smile on his face and the paranoid, fearful demeanor fell away in favor of something like pride. "Uh… me and Jared and Genevieve sometimes… the three of us…" he looked at her with extreme suggestiveness.

"Oh... my god." That's all Alex could manage. She was also sort of possessively jealous—Cas in any shape or form only has sex with me...!

"Sorry." Misha shrugged mildly, getting his confidence back and with it a little bit of rakish swagger. "I'm all for sexual liberation and exploration." He paused, looked at her closely, that suggestiveness in his eyes again. "How about you?"

Was he really asking her what she thought he was? If so, which was worse: scared, jumpy Misha or sexually forward Misha? She was flustered and wished she hadn't tried to prove herself earlier by telling him about marks on his more private areas. "I'm monogamous. With Castiel."

"Who I sort of am," he pointed out much to her chagrin. At the look on her face, he held his hands up. "Just saying!" He appealed to her again with a certain note of sweet innocence. "You have to wonder, right? Same body, different man… what that'd be li—" he got scared at the darkening look on her face and he sat back further on the bed nervously. "Okay, okay… d-don't stab me." He seemed a little disappointed that she didn't immediately and eagerly accept his proposition but then nodded, smiled faintly to himself. "That's kinda sweet. He'd appreciate the fidelity, I bet. I always thought it'd have to be someone really unique to capture Cas's affections. He would be the monogamous type, huh? The kind of guy who would only love one person for all his life."

That thoughtful comment tugged at her heartstrings and made her ache for Cas. The real Cas. And as such, she got mad at Misha for looking like him and sounding (sort of) like him. "Shut up, you're just trying to get in my pants."

He looked at her questioningly. "…Is it working?"

Her expression fell. "What did we just go over?"

"Well I look like Cas…" he said, flashing a cheeky grin.

Alex challenged that notion. "Not if I break your nose."

"You're so violent," he observed with a confused air. "Can't decide if I like it or not."

At that point, Alex rolled her eyes and walked away, rejoining Dean who had moved into the Bobby's study set.

"This is so bizarre," she commented, touching one of the solid-wood door frame posts and finding it was cheap, painted plywood. "Where's Sam?"

"Bathroom," Dean answered, then leaned over the desk and looked over the stuff he had gathered there. "Bone of a saint, lamb's blood, dead sea salt…" he glanced out the window of the set at where Misha was peering their way from the motel room set across the way. Dean chuckled ruefully, glanced at Alex. "Think he likes you," he commented wryly. "Guess in any universe Cas is gonna like you, huh?"

"Yeah. Well he's weird." There was a lump in her throat as she thought of Castiel, who was so much more than the face of Misha Collins or Jimmy Novak. "I'm worried about the real Cas," she said in a voice tight with anxiety.

"I'm sure he's fine, Al," Dean said, picking up the salt container and squinting at one of the panels.

"I'm not," Alex said honestly. "The war's so hard on him right now and now with Raphael being back or whatever…"

Surprisingly, Dean was kind and looked her in the eye. "He's a good guy. He'll get through it."

Frowning slightly at the encouraging answer, Alex took a pause. "You think so?"

All business, Dean gave a singular nod as he returned attention to what he held. "Know so. Especially with you keepin' him honest." Dean set the salt down and turned around to put his back to her as he fiddled with a bowl distractedly. "So, uh, Sam said something to me a little while ago." He paused long and hard. "'Bout how you and Cas've been together for a couple years now. Got me thinking. You know me, relationships or whatever aren't my thing. They're too…" he said nothing, just gestured roughly with his hands. "It's easier to just, you know, play the field. Not get in too deep or whatever." Dean sounded embarrassed at himself and not sure what he was even trying to say. "So, I guess I'm trying to say good job or whatever for sticking with one guy. Even if it is Cas." He turned around but dodged her gaze. "Gotta say he's not as bad as I used to think."

Alex was fighting a smile, looking at him closely, not sure if she believed this continued softening Dean was showing where Cas was concerned. "Wow. Character development," she teased affectionately. "Not just for TV shows anymore."

"Shuddup," Dean replied, then pointed at her significantly. "Don't think I won't still kick his ass if he ever hurts you. And by the way the dude needs a serious lesson in cool. I mean, can you say nerd?"

"Takes one to know one," she suggested, then chuckled as she turned to sit against the desk and pick up a book. Dean scoffed audibly at the comment but said nothing else. Curiously, Alex flipped through the book she'd found only to find blank pages. It was a prop book. Twilight zone. This is the twilight zone.

Sam reappeared, glancing around the set. "Hey. I miss anything?"

Dean shook his head once, distracted with the lamb's blood. "Nope."

Sam took a seat across from Alex and leaned his arms over his wide-spread knees, jiggling a leg in nervous anxiety as he sat there. He yawned loudly at one point then rolled his massive shoulders to ease tension. Alex watched him then looked at Dean, who was obviously deep in thought over the ritual. These two. Her brothers. And yet she felt like an impostor somehow after seeing their lives unfold without her. It was very strange and left her confused. It was very sad. Or maybe that was just her.

"So, I saw the show," she ventured. Immediately, two gazes were on her. "So weird, right?" she asked, trying to be lighthearted, trying to give a little laugh. But her little smile fell and her little laugh failed hardcore. She looked at Dean in growing confusion and almost hurt. "I saw you go to Stanford to get Sam. And… I wasn't there." She looked at Sam. "I saw you guys find Dad." Alex shrugged, empty. "I wasn't there." She couldn't look at either of them now. It made no sense and it hurt. "I saw you all alone when Sam died, Dean." She looked at her twin brother through a pained, almost angry gaze. "I saw you and the demon blood, I wasn't there."

"You were there," Dean corrected. "For all that stuff. Who cares about this damn show? We know what's real, right?"

She didn't answer his question, just looked at him with all the agony she she said next shocked both of the boys. "I saw you on the rack, Dean."

Sam sat back slightly, stunned, looking to Dean to know how to react. "Oh my god."

Dean appeared to be shell-shocked. "…Why would you watch that?" he asked in a soft, stark voice. He abruptly became very upset, maybe because he didn't want her to know what he'd been through or maybe because he just didn't want anyone to see. "You weren't supposed to see that!"

Alex was unaffected, deeply impacted by other things. "Well, I did."

"Jesus Christ," Dean muttered, putting a hand on his face.

"Sorry," she apologized, miserable. He looked at her broodingly, but she was very genuine and he obviously regretted his outburst. "I'm sorry," she repeated in a mutter.

She looked down, morose, and it was quiet for a long moment. "Guys, the show's the same." She stared at the ground hard, trying to understand, trying to process it. "Your lives both turned out the same. Nothing changed with me out of the picture—please, someone, help me understand." She threw her arms out in a sad little shrug as she started to get pitiful. "What's the point of me?"

"Hey." Sam's voice was surprisingly forceful, mad even. "Stop that." His curt command made her stare and he spoke to her with a lot of pointed, incensed emotion. "Maybe the stories are sorta the same but, I mean—Dean and I aren't even the same guys in this world. You're important. To us. To Cas, to Bobby…" he got mad and couldn't seem to think of anything else to say. "So screw this stupid show!"

Alex said nothing, just let her face work in deep thought as she considered what he said.

"I watched a few episodes, too," Dean added in after a second. He was still sort of grim but forcing it out of the way. "Couldn't stand to see those two chumps bitching and moaning at each other without the kick-ass baby sister to put them back in line. Forget the show. Who needs it." He was doing that thing where he put on a slight show in order to cheer his sister up. "The show sucks without you. Hear me? Sucks. Blows steaming chunks." He made a rumbling sound and used his hand for effect, making an explosion gesture from the vicinity of his mouth.

Alex tried to hide a smile, tried to roll her eyes. "You're so dumb."

"Hey, if the shoe fits." Dean came over and slung an arm around her, squeezed, ruffled her hair, and kissed the side of her head as she protested with an pleased 'aaawwgh.' He then handed her the bone that would need to be ground up to powder. "So you wanna start smashing up this dude's wrist bone or what?"

She accepted it, understanding that this was Dean trying to brush aside what she'd just admitted to seeing. "Love to." Dean abruptly picked up the demon blade off the desk and stabbed it into her stomach and she gasped, jumped back—then realized it was wobbly like Jello and rubber, fake. "Hey!" Dean was laughing at her reaction. "What the…" she exclaimed. He was jamming it into her side repeatedly now, trying to tickle her and she wiggled away, disgruntled. "Okay, could you stop stabbing me?" She got annoyed, fast, making a swipe for the knife he wouldn't stop jabbing at her. "Dean! Stop! Give—me—that!"

Sam was standing up and scoffing in slight amusement at them. "Hey you wanna quit stabbing your sister, Dean?"

"Not really," was the reply, because she was combusting in fits of ticklish laughter as he kept on poking. And then the tables turned; Alex seized the wobbling prop machete off the table and smacked Dean with it across the chest.

Misha Collins peered in from outside of the window with a perplexed look on his face as Dean and Alex got the same idea and attacked a reluctant and protesting Sam with their wobbly weapons. Lunatics. They were all stark raving lunatics. But he was kind of starting to believe they were who they said they were. Especially the pretty one.

---

Alex was outside of the Bobby's study set with a sawhorse and a hammer working on smashing up the wrist bone into powder. A few feet off, behind a window and some plywood walls out of earshot, Dean and Sam sat in Bobby's study talking together discreetly. "Like I said, Sam. Don't like this universe. Don't like how they screwed up the facts. Don't like how anything." Dean glared at the floor.

"Yeah, no, me either," Sam agreed lowly.

Wham, wham, wham. They could hear their sister hard at work nearby.

Dean rubbed his palms together slowly, deep in thought. "You know that if we drop Virgil, get the key… if this ritual doesn't work, then this might be it." Sam looked at him questioningly. "We might be stuck here. Forever."

Sam shook his head just slightly and was firm. "No, we'll figure out a way back."

"Would it be so bad if we didn't, though?" Dean asked. At the look he got from his younger brother Dean was slightly defensive. "I'm just saying. No hell below us, above us only sky? And together at least, right? The three of us and no more demons, no more nightmare freakshow monsters?"

Sam looked vaguely accusing. "Dean, our friends are back there. Cas is back there. Weren't you just chewing out the producer about how this was all meaningless and how our lives actually meant something back there?"

Dean seemed uncertain. "Yeah but… the… the shit we go through, the sacrifices we make… is it really worth it?"

"Yes!" Sam replied immediately.

Dean shook his head and looked down. "Back home the hits have been coming since you and Al were six months old. You got to admit, being a, a bazillionare married to Ruby, being this superstar hunk all the chicks are crazy for… it's the whole package. It's no contest."

Sam sat back, took a moment to reply. "That's where we disagree. Forget fame and money and stardom. I couldn't care less about all that, Dean. We're not even brothers here, man." Sam pointed his finger down to the ground. "What matters to me is us. Family. Me, you, Alex—Bobby and Cas too." Dean had a proud, affectionate little expression on his face. Sam looked at him long and hard, seeming to be speaking to himself just as much as he was speaking to Dean. "We have a job to do back there. And I say we do it."

Dean nodded, deeply emotionally touched. "All right then. Let's get our crazy show back home."

---

Alex pounded at the bone over and over with the hammer. Really a mallet would have been better, but she hadn't been able to find one on set. She heard Misha walk up quietly—he'd gone missing for a few minutes there. "Huh," he said softly, commenting on something in thoughtfulness. "So, they actually do that."

"What?" she asked, not sure what he meant and not looking up from her work.

"Those two. Having those sappy emotional heart-to-hearts," he said. It sounded like he was looking toward where Sam and Dean were.

"Uh, yeah, guess they do," Alex answered distractedly, standing back and finally looking at him. And then she did a double-take. He'd changed clothes and was now in costume. He now looked exactly like Cas. Well, Cas with a wedding ring on and hair gel spiking his hair a little higher than normal. "Why are you wearing that?" she asked, a little mad about it.

"Thought maybe you'd like it," he said, smiling with growing flirtation. She got even madder—she did like it. That damn trench coat and cheap suit and backwards blue tie… they did things to her. Misha put his hands into the trench coat pockets and took an easy stance near her, making it that much worse. "So, sorry about the weird stuff earlier," he said breezily, probably enjoying the way she was squirming.

She began to hammer the bone harder than before and made her face unreadable like stone. "Uh huh."

"But the offer still stands," he said coyly, getting a very strong look from Alex. Misha smiled, gestured at himself with both hands in false modesty. "I mean—I do look like this. And I am in an open marriage."

"Well I'm not," Alex retorted, then hefted the hammer for effect, gave him a pointed look. "In an open marriage or interested. So don't piss off the girl with the hammer."

"Duly noted," Misha said, enjoying her flustered demeanor. He then paused, getting a look of discovery on his face. "…Did you just imply that you're married?" He got an evil eye for that one and no reply. She hammered at the bone too hard. "You're having way too much fun with that, by the way." Misha observed, flinching backwards a little. "I know a better way to take out frustrations."

That comment made Alex toss the hammer down in exasperation. She walked off in pursuit of a damn mallet, there had to be one around this damn place somewhere…

"I meant meditation!" Misha protested innocently, following her at an un-Caslike trot.

Alex rolled her eyes, ducking down a narrow space between two shadowy sets. Misha followed, cajoling her and trying to get her to 'quit being madface' at him. As Alex rounded a corner, she abruptly ran straight into a handsome young man in a dashingly tailored suit. His hands grabbed her tight at the arms even as recognition and fear rocketed through her—she knew him immediately, remembering. His eyes were sharp and cunning, his smile was ominous. She had seen him in the days before the apocalypse—he'd held her captive along with Hezion and others the day Castiel nearly sacrificed his life for her. This was Daniel, one of Raphael's greatest allies and one of Cas's greatest enemies.

"Alex Winchester," Daniel said pleasantly, greeting her airily and with familiarity she despised. "Raphael is looking for you."

She frowned, resisting his hold, realizing that his grip was strong but not superhuman in strength. Behind Alex, Misha gaped, seeming to realize things had just gotten bad. "Is—is this another bad guy?" he asked, shrinking back.

Daniel smirked the actor's way. "I see you've found Castiel's doppelganger." His chilly eyes came to rest on Alex's again and his devastatingly handsome features produced a small, sympathetic smile. "But he won't protect you." He smirked. "I'm afraid you lose, Miss Winchester. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Why don't you come along quietly?"

Her eyebrows rose unwittingly. Come along quietly? She was genuinely amused at this guy's assumptions. "You obviously haven't heard much about me." The knife strapped to her thigh was on her mind and she was tensing up, getting ready for some serious ass kicking. "And coming to a mojo-free zone?" She gave him a falsely sympathetic smile. "Your last mistake." The second she said that last word she pulled the element of surprise out, cracking her head against his to stun him into letting go.

Daniel hadn't expected that and let go just like she knew he would—he stumbled back as she whipped the knife out up high and stabbed it down toward his chest—he caught her wrist just barely, stopping the knife with the point right between his eyes. Struggling—Daniel trying to force the blade away as she poured every ounce of strength into driving the blade down—they remained at an impasse. Alex abruptly took her other hand and slung her fist into his face repeatedly, bashing him relentlessly and badgering him backwards into a set wall which began to fall backwards and hit other ones, resulting in an effect like dominoes. His hold on her wrist yanked her forward to him where he tried to mimic what she'd done a second ago—crack his head on hers—but she ducked her head down and slammed her knee into his stomach hard. He yelped and let go of her wrist and the opportunity having arrived, Alex slammed her free hand into his throat, forcing him upward as she plummeted the blade straight into his chest. A shocked, silent gasp choked out of his mouth.

"You lose," Alex growled, then kicked him off the blade.

Misha stared with saucer-wide eyes at Daniel, who crumpled down onto the floor in a lifeless heap. "You just—you just—the knife and the stabbing and—" he balked anew as Alex re-holstered her knife roughly and grabbed a very dead Daniel by the ankles and started to drag him to the closest set. A morgue, fittingly enough. "What are you doing?!"

"I don't have time to get rid of the body," Alex said, grunting with effort. "Gotta hide it."

Sam and Dean suddenly burst in from between sets, looking ready for a fight. "Hey hey hey, what happened?!" Sam asked, gaping at the dead body.

Dean frowned intensely down at the dead guy then looked at Alex, in mild shock. "Who is this guy?"

"Daniel, one of Raphael's bitches."

Misha watched as the Winchesters wordlessly, of one mind, stuck the dead guy into a slide-out compartment built into the set and shut him away in there. "So there were two of them in here after us?!" Sam asked, confused.

Alex dusted off her hands while she made a face of high distaste. "One down, one to go." She kicked the sliding compartment closed even as a flurry of activity somewhere close by could be heard.

Sounded like some of the crew members were arriving and Dean checked his watch. "Six in the morning," he muttered. "If we have to do more acting, Sam, I swear to god…"

"Hey, hey, Misha! Jared, Jensen!" called a voice, causing them all to turn. A man in his mid-thirties with sandy blond hair and plain features jogged up. He was dressed in street clothes and looked exceedingly normal. "How's it going, Team Free Will?" he asked, enthusiastic and smiling widely, gesturing at the three of them. "So, got a call from the producers, thought I should come down and—" he trailed off abruptly when Alex walked out from behind her brothers. His smile fell and he suddenly looked like a man who knew his days were numbered. "Oh my god."

The Winchesters exchange a quick look. "What?" Dean asked.

Seeming speechless, the blond man looked at the three of them with great and terrified confusion. "…W-what are you doing in this universe?" he asked, getting three very sharp stares in return. The unnamed blond guy was shaking his head, looking at them in trepidation, holding a hand out as he thought out loud. "Okay. Okay, okay. Now it makes sense. The, the phone calls and them saying you two went off the deep end…"

"Who is this guy, Miska?" Dean asked impatiently.

He got an annoyed face from the actor, who was insulted about the name slip-up. "Misha."

Eye roll from Dean. "Yeah whatever."

The blond man seemed to resign himself to some kind of fate and he cautiously put his hand out for a handshake and introduce himself to the Winchesters. "Eric. Kripke."

Realization dawned at the exact same moment for the three of them—he was the damn show creator—they all reacted the same way: by grabbing at the guy by the collar furiously. "How do you know what you know about my family?!" Dean demanded, having the firmest grip.

"Are you insane?" Alex shouted.

Sam shook him. "Speak up, jackass!"

"Easy, easy, please!" Eric protested, trying to get away from the three angry siblings. They let go grudgingly but kept him under sharp, demanding gazes. Kripke shook his head, wet his lips, beside himself at what was happening. "I guess I should have known this was coming," he commented out loud, nodding vapidly. "I'm writing this episode called The French Mistake and, wow—uh, never mind." He shook himself like he was coming out of a mental daze. The Winchesters were giving him threatening looks, telling him if he didn't confess how he knew what he knew, he was gonna die. "Look. I used to live in your world, your universe," Kripke said, simpering slightly, trying to be likable and sympathetic. He spoke casually, glossing over everything like it was no big deal. "A, a couple things went wrong for me, I kinda 'sold my soul' a little bit in return for the ability to write really well, and uh… to get out of the whole 'paying up' thing, I called in a favor."

"A favor? To who?" Sam asked suspiciously.

Kripke dodged their eyes nervously. "Ah, it's not important." He grinned, casual again to cover his nerves. "Anyway he tossed me in here where there's no demons to collect on a soul deal. Smart, right?"

Dean was incensed. "No! Very very stupid!"

Kripke deflated a little. "Anyway, the point is, I was what you might call a prophet back then in that universe. A scribe, no, a mage—a soothsayer, if you will." He seemed unable to figure out what he'd been or how quite to explain it to them and waved a hand, dismissing it. "Ah, forget it. Anyway, I thought the Winchester story would make good TV."

Alex muttered something very rude under her breath, looking ready to hit Kripke in the face.

"Which you knew how?" Sam pressed.

"I told you!" Kripke answered earnestly. "I was a soothsayer. A prophet. A scribe. Whatever. I knew what I knew, and I knew a lot." He sighed, contrite. "So, yes, fine. I stole your life as my source material." He got more nervous and looked at Alex with mild dread. "But I… kinda, sorta left you out. I, I just thought you slowed down the plot lines, that's all." Her mouth dropped open as Sam and Dean both made faces at the rude comment. "And I mean, I wanted it to be male-driven, you know? A modern day cowboy gunslinger thing, and I mean, there's no room for a female in that, right?" Kripke said, looking to Sam and Dean stupidly for agreement. "Women, they just, just—"

"You wanna be real careful with how you phrase yourself right now, pal," Dean said lowly. Sam and Alex were giving him death glares.

Kripke swallowed, looked like he wanted to back out of saying any more. But he had backed himself into a corner. "I, I have problems with featuring consistent women characters, okay? I don't like to."

Sam scoffed in disgust. "That's just sexist, man."

"I left in the whistle!" Kripke protested like that made it better. "And I was gonna dedicate Jo as an Alex tribute by switching their names. Turned out to be too weird though." He made a face and looked at Alex with sympathy, then at Sam and Dean for support. "I'm sorry! I didn't want any of them in it! I wanted it to be, you know, guy stuff, man TV! There was too much female drama otherwise! So, sue me, I wrote them all out—Alex, Jamie, Molly—"

Dean paused, narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Wait, what about Jamie?"

Sam's brow scrunched. "Who's Molly?"

"...You'll find out eventually," Kripke muttered at Sam as he made a face that indicated he didn't even want to go there. He then turned his attention to Alex, who was smoldering angrily. "Look. If it's any consolation I do regret not including you... sometimes." That was the last straw. Alex hauled back and punched him in the face, subsequently knocking him down onto the ground where he moaned. Alex made a sound of pain as she shook her hand and winced—too much punching had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

On the ground, Kripke groaned in a fit of pain, clutching his nose.

"Good one," Sam said to his sister, staring down at the show creator balefully.

"I'm next," Dean said, voice promising an ass kicking as he glared down at the writer, who was basically groveling and trying to crawl away.

"Y-you guys can't just beat up the creator!" Misha exclaimed in dismay. Having forgotten about him, the Winchesters all turned and gave him looks that said oh yes we can. And then there were the distinct popping sounds of gunshots nearby.

"Crap, Virgil," Dean muttered, and they all took off running toward the sound of gunfire.

"You're supposed to run away from guns!" Misha protested uselessly.

Sam, Dean, and Alex found the source of shots quickly—in the middle of the sound stage, Virgil wielded two guns—a pistol in one hand and a sawed off shotgun in the other. He was gunning down running and screaming crew members without mercy.

"Go left," Dean commanded Sam in a terse whisper—Sam was already charging left to do what Dean said and as soon as he was out in the open, he made himself a target.

"Hey!"

Virgil whirled and raised his gun to fire on Sam, who was already lunging to the side to avoid being shot—glass shattered as a bullet hit the window Sam stood in front of not a second ago. Dean barreled into Virgil hard like a football lineman, taking him down with and running him straight into a plywood wall which gave weakly and fell into a motel room set. The guns Virgil had went skittering and the pistol slid into Alex's waiting hand as she lunged to scoop it up mid-motion. Dean was beating Virgil's face in and had the upper hand for a brief couple seconds until Virgil got a solid backhand in. Dean fell backwards from the force of the punch and into the motel room set, rolling over awkwardly against the sloping plywood as he tried to get up again and fight. Virgil stood up, took a step toward Dean, and the second he did, a cracking gunshot punched through the air.

Sam, who'd just burst through the motel set door, joined Dean in staring as Virgil fell over dead. Dean stood slowly, glancing at Alex and the smoking gun, saying nothing—he just turned Virgil's dead body over and dug around for the key as Alex picked her way into the set, watching anxiously to see if they found they key.

"Got it," Sam said, finding it inside of Virgil's jacket and palming it tightly.

"Did you guys just kill another one?" Misha asked incredulously, suddenly appearing to peer through the gap in the wall Dean had busted. Then the actor recognized Virgil as the guy who'd almost killed him. "Oh. Him. It's okay then, never mind, he can be dead." He then tilted his head in interest, looking at something behind them. "What's that?"

The three siblings turned to see what he meant—a familiar red symbol glowed red hot on the glass pane of the motel window and was getting bright and brighter. "Raphael—" Sam breathed. "Run!" Even as they made to escape they were yanked back into the window as if grabbed by an invisible hand. The glass shattered on impact.

Misha gaped as he heard them hit the ground on the other side of the window—he ran around the set exterior to the other side. There he found only Sam and Dean, groaning on the ground. "Sam! Dean! Alex?" Misha looked around for her and saw her nowhere.

"Whoa, whoa… ow—where's the mattress, man?" Dean asked in a groan.

"Ohh, owwww, my shoulder—" Sam complained, grabbing it and rubbing it with a face of pain. "Shiiiiit."

"W-where'd Alex go?" Misha asked, looking around wildly for the badass chick with the angelic face and the intriguing eyes. "Where'd she go?!"

"Uh who?" Sam asked, standing up to his full, freakish height. "Where'd who go?"

"Ah, Mish, always joking around," Dean chuckled, getting up too and looking at Sam. "Dude, I had the weirdest dream. Like, I was actually me in the Supernatural world, all the characters were real and Balthazar locked me in a room with you and some hysterical French chick for three days. So weird."

"Dude, I dreamed the exact same thing!" Sam exclaimed, then suddenly got annoyed. "Wow, can we even go two minutes without you stealing my ideas, Ackles?"

Dean made a sneering face right back at Sam. "Oh, Mr. Star-of-the-Show, I'm so sorry." He rubbed his stomach. "Dude… those craft services burritos we ate must have been old."

Misha realized oh—these guys aren't Sam and Dean. He deflated slightly as he realized they were J & J again.

Jared Padalecki scanned around, disoriented. "Man, what time is it? What is even happening right now?"

Jensen Ackles was staring into the motel set they'd just crashed out of. "Is that… a dead guy?"

"And is that Kripke?" Jared asked, spotting the bloody-nosed creator lurking nearby half crouched behind a set for protection. "Sweet!"

Misha looked back at the dead body and then at Kripke kind of doubtfully. "Um… yeah. So. Weird couple of days, guys. You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you." He made an enthusiastic face. "But could I interest you two in helping me hide this corpse?"

And so (after some convincing), Misha Collins, Eric Kripke, Jensen Ackles, and Jared Padalecki hid the body of the angel Virgil who had been shot dead by Alex Winchester.

Kripke continued to secretly and deeply regret his choice to write the sister character out, especially as the show progressed onward. He continued to struggle with realistic ways to seamlessly write Alex out in the further seasons, especially seven and eight. He elected to keep the characters Jamie and Molly out of his future seasons—having already written out one major female he decided what the hell, might as well axe the other two as well. He swore Misha to secrecy about the truth and about the Winchesters being real.

Misha agreed but from that point on began to take his role as Castiel a lot more seriously. He even snuck a coin on a necklace into season seven as a tribute to Alex and Cas after he stumbled onto a fan fiction called Song Remains the Same (after her visit and the Kripke reveal, he scoured the internet for anything about this mysterious Winchester sister). In his own words: "I ship it. I ship it so hard." In an odd twist of fate, he sought out Astrid a year or two later, unable to get that beautiful face out of his mind. Currently, rumors of their affair pepper the odd tabloid from time to time.

Jared and Jensen went on thinking the guys they were portraying were just characters. They never knew about the sister, although from time to time they would ask questions about the scripts and story lines where Alex's presence had been removed and left the story cluttered, clumsy, and inconsistent.

River kept writing the story of Cas and Alex until it was complete. And everyone else in that universe, for the most part, didn't ever know about Alex Winchester. Just a select, special few—and you, my friend, are one of them.

---

Back in the Real World

"Raphael—run!" Sam had commanded right before they were sucked back into the windowpane like dust bunnies into a vacuum.

The three Winchesters found themselves slamming face-down onto glass-littered pavement in the dark of night—in front of them, a tall, willowy, austere Black woman approached, her heels clicking evenly on the ground. She gazed down her nose at them as she sauntered forward.

"Well," she commented pleasantly. "Isn't this a surprise…"

They were all pushing up to stand, disconcerted by the sudden change in environments. They were in an empty motel parking lot—a flickering neon sign buzzed nearby and the air was thick was damp chill. "Raphael?" Dean asked apprehensively as the woman approached. "Nice meatsuit." He leaned toward Sam and Alex who were standing stiffly next to him. "Dude looks like a lady."

Apparently, Raphael didn't like that derogatory comment about his (her?) new look. She raised and squeezed her fist abruptly and with the motion came an explosion of cramping, hot pain in their stomachs. It was so painful that the three Winchesters fell right back down onto the ground again as excruciating pain crippled them and made them groan in anguish.

"Always with the sarcastic comments!" Alex complained through gritted teeth in Dean's direction.

"Sorry!" he moaned back, voice tight with pain.

Raphael looked at them coldly. "And where might Virgil be?" she asked, obviously expecting more than what she'd gotten. "Daniel?"

"Dead," Alex answered venomously, staring up at Raphael with nothing but hatred. This was the asshole angel who had kept herself and Cas apart for so long and was probably going to attempt to do so again.

Raphael raised a challenging eyebrow, understanding just who had killed her two allies. "Oh, you foolish child." She clenched her fist again then made a flinging motion. Alex jerked upwards, smashed up against the wall of the motel and then collapsed back down onto the ground with a cry of pain.

"Hey!" Dean thundered, scrambling up to unsteady feet and lurching toward Raphael stupidly, putting himself between his sister and the archangel.

Heaving with breathy exertion Sam grabbing his twin protectively, crouching with her on the ground.

"The key," Raphael said, then spotted it on the ground where Sam had dropped it. She stooped and picked it up, contemplating it with an expression of victory.

At that moment Balthazar appeared near the motel dumpster and walked forward casually. "And that will open you a locker at the Albany bus station," he said loftily, stopping about fifteen feet off and surprising everyone at his abrupt arrival.

Raphael's features tightened and she looked at the newcomer treacherously.

"You see, I needed a modest decoy to make it more convincing," Balthazar said airily.

In return, he got a deadly glower. "Give me the weapons."

"Sorry, darling," Balthazar said, obviously not feeling sorry at all. "They're gone. But the manners are a nice touch, appreciate that."

"They're gone?" Raphael repeated, voice soft with dangerous fury.

"Oh, I apologize, did I stutter?" Balthazar asked facetiously, then got downright rude. "I said, too—bloody—late. You see, they were so well-hidden and guarded that I needed to buy us some time to find them. So, I volunteered these two marmosets and their little fangirl for a game of fetch with Virgil." Balthazar looked at Sam and Dean pretentiously. "You three were such an adequate stick. Thank you."

Raphael looked ready to start a fight. "You've made your last mistake, Balthazar."

"Oh, I've got a few more up my sleeve… honey."

An insolent, superior eyebrow arched up on Raphael beautiful, cold face. "Such as hand-delivering the one Castiel esteems right into my hand?" she asked. "Yes, I'd say you do have more mistakes up your sleeve. This is one I have to commend, however."

She set her sights on Alex and began to approach, a glint in her eye that was unmistakably ominous—like bears, the brothers drew up in front of their sister, preparing to do anything to keep the archangel from touching her.

"You got that angel poker of yours?" Dean asked quietly out of the side of his mouth as Alex grabbed onto the back of his jacket and the arm of Sam's.

She shook her head, fearing that this was it for them all. "Negative."

Sam was breathing hard, chest heaving as Raphael approached. "Stay behind us."

Raphael's hand raised as she neared and the siblings tensed, stiffening as they prepared for more pain and probably death. And then a familiar, strong, deep voice stopped the archangel completely in her tracks.

"Step away from them, Raphael." Castiel stood a few paces off and his gaze was beyond deadly. "Now. I have the weapons. Their power is with me." He was fierce and hard, expression brutal. Behind him, massive coal-black wing silhouettes showed as lightning struck suddenly. The air crackled with absolute power, and the Winchesters all stepped back slightly, surprised.

Raphael immediately showed trepidation and she shrank away by a step or two. "Castiel."

He walked forward slowly with purpose, his furious gaze burning into Raphael. "If you don't want to die tonight, back off." The words carried promise of death should there be the slightest resistance, but Alex wondered if perhaps it was a bluff—wouldn't Cas kill the archangel if given the chance? She thought yes.

But Raphael, apparently, didn't want to take chances. She bought the bluff (it might have been the lethal venom resting in Cas's eyes that frightened her the most) and ran scared, disappearing into thin air. Cas finally looked at Alex in the eye and she was mildly taken aback at the stony, harsh way his gaze bored into her.

"Well, Cas…" Balthazar smiled at Cas easily, sauntering into his line of vision and blocking Cas from continuing to look at the Winchesters. "Now that you have your sword, try not to die by it." Balthazar turned and indicated the Winchesters with a jaunty little smile. "Like I said. Not a hair on her head." He paused, noticed how scraped up Alex was. Balthazar reconsidered. "Ah. Well. She'll be all right." He clapped a very stiff Cas on the shoulder and disappeared into thin air.

Immediately, stony-faced, Cas strode over to the Winchesters. There was no warmth in him at all and he almost looked like he was going to attack them from the way he approached. They were all at a loss for words. "Cas, what the hell—" Sam started. There was no greeting of any kind. Cas clapped the brothers hard on shoulders and still holding onto them, Alex was dragged along as they were instantaneously transported back to Bobby's with no explanation.

Outside of the study, the storm raged. The window was broken. No Bobby to be seen. Had any time passed at all here since they were thrown into the alternate universe? Alex realized all her injuries were suddenly gone. But Cas hadn't even touched her! Mystified, she looked at him, trying to catch his gaze.

Cas let go of the boys and stepped back, turned around, purposefully avoiding looking at Alex, who was quickly becoming confused. "Wait, wait, y-you were in on this, using us a diversion?" Sam asked, getting mad fast.

Cas hesitated, still turned away. "It was Balthazar's plan. I… didn't know the specifics."

"That's not comforting, Cas!" Dean said accusingly.

Cas turned back around, his expression pained and depressed. "When will I be able to make you understand?" he became uncharacteristically emotional. "If I lose against Raphael, we all lose." His voice trembled audibly and he gave the impression of carefully controlled despair. His crystal blue eyes locked onto Alex's. "Everything."

"Yeah, Cas," Dean said, drawing Cas's gaze. "We know the stakes. That's about all you've told us!"

Nothing was said for a long moment—Cas just stared at Dean sadly then his eyes slid back to Alex's with what appeared to be deep shame. "I'm sorry about all this." His depression increased exponentially. "I'll explain when I can."

Was he about to leave? Alex found her feet. "Wait, C—Cas!" He had already disappeared. Left shocked at the abrupt departure, she stared. What was going on?

Dean shook his head wearily, threw a hand out in aggravation. "Well that's rude."

Sam walked up to the door frame of the study slowly as Dean and Alex reeled from the past couple days and Cas's behavior just then. Inexplicably, Sam began to smack his hand against the door frame. Then, it made sense. "Solid." He breathed out in relief. "It's real."

"Yeah." Dean looked around the room and glanced at the open, destroyed window where cold rain fell outside. "Yeah, real, moldy, termite-eaten home sweet home." He smiled facetiously. "Chock full of monsters that wanna skin you. Oh, and, uh, we're broke again."

Sam cracked a derisive smile. "Yeah. But, hey… at least we're talking."

"And at least I'm an actual thing," Alex muttered, heading for the stairs, shrugging off Genevieve Padalecki's creaky leather jacket.

"Where you going?" Dean asked.

"To bed, you mind?"

"Yeah love you too," he muttered.

"Princess," she mumbled.

She could hear Dean say one more thing as she left. "I tell you what, Sammy. Krikpe's a dick."

Outside, the storm was raging on at full volume. Trudging up the stairs with tired legs, Alex tried to think away the knots in her stomach. Why would Cas ever be okay risking them like that, using them as a supposed diversion? Was he really that desperate? It didn't make much sense. And then how he'd looked a minute ago—so stressed out and emotionally agonized, so gone—it left Alex upset, too. Why did he just leave so suddenly?

She might not find out for weeks. Or months. It was hard to know and she wanted to cry or scream from frustration. A small voice in the furthest place of her mind suddenly whispered you shouldn't trust him. Horrified at that thought she hurled it away mentally—she only trusted four people in this world, and she only trusted two of them unfailingly. Dean and Sam. Cas and Bobby. And that was it. She had always been always hesitant to trust, it was in her character to mistrust, so when that little thought popped into her mind about Cas without warning it scared her. Why would she even think that? Cas was trustworthy. Of course he was trustworthy. It was the time apart making her doubt, she thought. It was the stress that was getting to him that was unsettling them both. It was his erratic behavior and the weird things he said sometimes and that crazy night he'd fucked her senseless—and all of those out of character things were because the war was eating at him and making him desperate, afraid. She understood desperate and afraid, had done some pretty weird things because of those emotions, too.

At least, that's what she told herself.

She turned down the hall and climbed the attic stairs, glad that she was at the very least back somewhere familiar and real. She reached the top of the stairs and sent a vague glance around the dark space of her attic, then froze in surprise. Standing near the bed with his arms hanging at his sides and his head downcast, Castiel.

She was already moving toward him. "Cas! Wh—"

"I am so sorry," he said in a miserable voice, cutting her off and looking her with stark, fearful eyes. She stood in front of him and held him by either arm but he remained stiff like a board. "I didn't—I had no idea of what would transpire." He sounded incredibly upset and began to ramble in mortified dismay, wouldn't look Alex in the eye. "I didn't want this, please, believe me—the plan was foolish, my hand was forced—and it was dangerous, more than dangerous. Raphael—he almost stole you away, he almost took you forever—everything was this close to being over completely, Alex, do you understand?" he looked at her with greatly increasing alarm. "Balthazar promised that you wouldn't come to harm and I was a fool to trust you with anyone but myself—even I can't seem to keep you safe! So how could anyone else?!" His outburst was uncharacteristically emotional and angry. Exhausted, seeing the shock in her eyes at his fury, he sat down on the bed and hung his head, letting a hand come up to his forehead, lost in the task of beating himself up.

Alex sank with him down onto her knees in front of him, taking his face in her hands, trying to get him to look at her. He wouldn't. In fact, he turned his head from her slightly. "I risked your life, your brothers' lives—I did it knowingly. Am I losing my mind?" He sounded broken, confused, miserable. He was more upset than she'd ever seen him, or at least on a level she'd never witnessed.

Upset too, she tried to get him to focus, tried to soothe him back to some semblance of calm. "Cas—Cas." He shut his eyes at her touches and soft pleas. "Everyone's okay," she insisted, gentle and worried. "And, and you got your weapons, right? That's a good thing." She stroked her thumbs against of his cheeks, trying to bring him around. Explaining how he had been wrong to use them that way would come later. "I'm fine. Everything's fine." He finally opened his eyes and his gaze slid up to meet hers.

Those eyes and the angel behind them made her heart jump. He was so alive and so real and she loved him so much she could break from the weight of it all. She wanted to help him oh god she wanted to help him. The pleading tone in his eyes killed her. "I truly hate the circumstances I find myself in," he confessed, something she already knew. What she heard him convey beyond the words he said was I don't know what to do.

Alex stood up wordlessly and wrapped her arms around his head tightly, kissed him against the forehead then held him there against herself. "I know."

For a minute, he did nothing, just sat there like a stone. And then her heart leapt all over again when his arms hesitantly moved and circled her, drawing her a little closer. He loosened in her arms and allowed himself to soften to her, he let her begin to comfort him. She stroked his hair and then kissed the top of his head slowly, sweetly. She smoothed fingers over the sides of his face as she drew back just enough to look at him. Cas looked uncertain about accepting the affection, perhaps thinking he didn't deserve it—but he looked hungry for it all the same. Outside, thunder rumbled loudly and lightning flickered. Rain pounded the roof loudly. But Alex was focused on the blue-eyed wonder in front of herself. Lighting lit his face for a moment, highlighting the strong features and familiar boyishly aged face. She found him beautiful in a way that transcended the physical. She wanted him to be all right, to know how loved he was. She took one of his hands and drew it to her mouth, letting his palm face her as she softly and slowly kissed the pad of his pointer finger, then his middle, then his ring, then his pinkie.

He watched her with an indescribable, vulnerable expression on his face and he seemed to be completely taken aback at her actions. "I love you more than I know what to do with," he told her quietly, as if it broke his heart. What she heard was I need you. Caught in a moment, hardly able to breathe at the intensity in his eyes, she just let her eyes rest on his. His hand moved to hover at the side of her face, fingertips just brushing the edge of her jawline. Those emotionally bare eyes flickered back and forth between hers and he fought some great inner batter with himself. "Let me kiss you," he entreated anxiously.

She leaned down to him, smiling ever so softly at his needless request. "Do you really have to ask?"

And then his hand was tangling in her hair, tugging her face toward him as his lips crushed to hers with surprising passion. It was a kiss that made the entire world crash at her feet, a kiss that launched her into sudden heights of heated desire—she was already opening her mouth to him and giving him access to do what he would. His readiness to claim her mouth with his made her give a soft whimper—he needed her and she answered that need readily. He pulled her closer and she sat to straddle his lap as he kissed her in a way that wasn't just with his mouth but with his body—and whatever he couldn't seem to speak aloud came through in this wretched, desperate embrace. Oh, Cas. She wished she could show him she was there for him. She supposed this would have to do.

She felt how he waved a hand up and out briefly—she heard the door lock at his gesture. As soon as he had safeguarded against unexpected intrusions, he broke the kiss, dipped his head down and trailed his lips against her collarbone as he pulled her shirt down and sideways, baring her shoulder. He grabbed that shoulder and pulled it into a fervent kiss from his mouth. "I can never seem to have enough of you," he murmured anxiously against the skin there. "I crave you so completely." He sounded upset about it too, and she didn't think he should be.

Driven mad at the words, identifying with the feeling of dissatisfaction, wanting to erase all his sadness, she kissed him again by dipping her head down and shoving her mouth to his, demanding he let her kiss him roughly, deeply. He groaned and she grabbed his hand, pulling it down to cup her chest through the t-shirt. There wasn't much she, one small human, could do for Castiel except show him how she felt—so show him she would. She pulled back from the kiss, already out of breath—she crossed her arms over herself and yanked her shirt over her head, bra and all, tossing them back haphazardly even as Cas's face registered surprised awe at the sight of her suddenly bared flesh. She leaned to him, pulling his head against her chest, silently telling him what to do. He complied with a soft sound, nuzzling a nipple as his mouth found the sensitive peak and his hot tongue nudged, tested, and sent sparks racing up her veins. A gentle hand at her back pulled her closer to him, making the swell of her breast smash against his face.

Watching him, she saw how his mind was turning from everything else in the world and how she was putting a spell of comfort and pleasure over him. His face shifted and he lavished her other breast with more erotic exploration. Her head fell back at the tickling, zinging sensations, she gasped out quietly. Outside, thunder cracked.

Without warning, Cas seized Alex and laid her down on the bed, put himself over her, kissing her deeply as she slid hands up and down his neck and jaw over and over again, pulling the heels of her feet against the bed to kick off her shoes. She felt his blazing hands everywhere, cupping and pressing at her breasts, skimming down her torso and ghosting over her crotch, grabbing at her thighs, curling into her hair, gripping her jaw, thumbing her cheek. He was lost and obedient to the call of desire, letting her consume him. She rolled sideways into him, laying on her side to face him as she pulled at his tie and made out with him heavily. He was wearing too many clothes. Between touches and petting and grinding, they fumbled with his layers uselessly, too focused on kissing to remove clothes with any efficiency. When he was finally naked from the waist up and shoeless, he pushed her down onto her back, crawling over her still wearing pants.

She was left to cling to him and blink in the lightning-peppered dark as he trailed wet, passionately messy kisses down her jawline and neck. A warm hand cradled the opposite side of her neck and as he descended lower and lower to love her bosom, stomach, the space between her hips, Alex protested. She wanted to make this about him and she knew he was about to make this all about her. "No, Cas, I want—"

"Let me," he begged in his dark, husky voice. His hands were curled around the waistband of her jeans and his eyes were looking up into hers. "Please." How could she say no? She acquiesced, unable to turn him away. He pulled her jeans down and off, underwear too, leaving her body naked before him. He gazed down at her for a moment, eyes soft with adoring things as he leaned over her and let his gaze burn into hers. "I have never seen anything as beautiful as you," he murmured, kissing her mouth softly, sweetly. "And I have existed for all of time." She shuddered. His hand descended down low, chancing a touch to see the extent of her arousal. When his fingers came into contact, his nostrils flared and his breathing quickened a little, she suppressed a whimper—she was a melted ice cube in his molten hands.

Castiel slid down her body, his torso brushing over hers. Her veins sang in anticipation of what he was going to do, her body throbbed in frustration for his touch. He spread her legs with whispering pressure from the backs of his hands and he settled there at the juncture of her legs, pressing a light kiss into the inside of her left thigh, his hand trailing fingers along the inside of her right thigh. She watched him in breathless adoration. He turned his head inward, letting his nose graze her thigh as he kissed again, less soft. Her body flushed with more and more desire as he continued to trail his kiss lightly up her thigh, inward and upward. His hand crept up her other thigh to touch the top of her thigh and she watched how he closed his eyes to savor every touch—her heart burst to see him focused on something other than his own self loathing. Her heart burst because he so clearly loved and adored her—and it was the most precious thing.

As his lips moved closer and closer to where she ached, she became flustered and agitated. When he finally covered her with his hot, wet mouth, she let out a loud sound of shocked, tortured amazement. Her hips involuntarily shot up off the bed toward the touch of his tongue and she rocked hard against his face, the luscious pressure created at the friction making her see stars. She tried to stifle her reaction as a satisfied and frustrated cry escaped her lips. When she went prone, he stopped, looked up the length of her body at her with innocent curiosity on her face. "Why did you stop moving against me?" he asked, clearly recognizing she had benefited from the actions. "If it feels good to you, do it."

His simple suggestion made her speechless. He waited for her to respond verbally. "O-okay," she managed, shy and awkward about her own desires.

Cas bent over her again, his tongue and mouth making her gasp and close her eyes briefly. He encouraged her, pulling slightly on one of her thighs, and he pushed his face hard against her—and that was it, she caved in. The most frustratingly beautiful pressure in all the universe drove her to grind her hips up into his mouth. He gave an appreciative sound, encouraging her, setting her free to pursue unbelievable pleasure. He suddenly seized her thigh and pulled it up, shifting his defined shoulder under it to give himself more access and her greater control.

He suddenly and delicately sucked on the sensitive little button he had been tonguing and she gave a startled, pleasure-soaked cry. His eyes snapped up to hers, dark with passion, and her body was overtaken by a rush of ecstasy. He was setting her off and taking her into the wild unknown. Half-whimpers and unintelligible sounds gasped up out of her mouth and responding to her, obviously getting off on the sight of her like that, Cas abruptly pushed two fingers inside of her, making her cry out in absolutely blinding bliss. She groaned out his name in disbelief and he quickened his pace, thrusting his fingers in and out faster and she cried out in satisfaction. His mouth pushed against her as he made a muffled, lurid sound and Alex thought she was about to lose her godforsaken mind. How the hell did he know how to do this to her?! She didn't know, but one of her own knees hit her own shoulder as she curled up into him, grabbed him by the back of the head, smashing him closer, moving fiercely against him. She didn't care anymore, neither did he, in fact, he just took it as a cue to be rougher.

When he smashed his face all the tighter against her, pleasure exploded in every part of her body, the epicenter underneath his mouth and around his fingers. Rendered deaf and blind to the world from the intensity, all she could think or feel was him as release made her cry out loudly for him, for more, for everything. He curled his fingers deeply inside of her so hard that her hips came up off the bed. Her fingernails dug crescents into his neck as the tempest surged through her and left aftershock after aftershock of mind-blowing ecstasy to shudder through her. His fingers, deep inside of her, beckoned her release to be as intense as it could be, coaxing every last bit of fierce pleasure of out her.

When she finally came down from her high in a fit of panting, noisy gasps, she lost all tension in her body and collapsed back to sprawl across the bed. She was trembling, drained, spent, thoroughly satisfied. "Holy fucking shit," she breathed, blinking away stars as she stared unseeingly at nothing, amazed. She thought she would never care about anything ever again. "Pardon my French, but that was… goddamn."

"None of what you just said was in French," Cas told her, voice dripping with dark honey. A soft mm sound, a chuckle, escaped Alex at what he said and she gazed down at him, touching the side of his face. His fingers slowly pulled out of her and he dropped a reverent, soulful kiss onto her between the legs, making her whimper and flinch slightly. His eyes looked up to hers and they were amazed, entranced, earnest. "I love seeing you orgasm," he told her in an honest, whispering tone. "I love being the one who makes that happen to you." If she hadn't been blushing before, she was now as Cas looked up at her from between her legs and told her that. He stroked thoughtful fingers through the dark curling thatch of hair there, holding her gaze unabashedly as he spoke easily and earnestly on the subject matter. "I am amazed by it, the sight of you like that." He hesitated. "I'm embarrassing you."

"No," she said, because even though it was a little awkward, it was also so damn hot and amazing to hear him say that to her. She knew he meant it. He was shifting back up to lay beside her and she turned to him, curling into his arms, seeking his gaze. "Tell me everything."

He traced fingers through the hair at the side of her head as those constant eyes searched hers. "To hear you crying out for me…" he said, making her blush further, making her flush with pleasure all over again. "You cannot imagine what that sound does to me."

"Oh, I think I can," she said, becoming coy and reaching down to brush her hand against him where he strained valiantly at his pants. She was tired, but after that, she was even more determined to get him off. At her touch, he was suddenly spellbound, eyes falling shut as his mouth fell open. Her fingers were light through the fabric of his pants but he responded to every little movement she made. Fascinated, she watched how his face worked as she touched him so minimally.

"I love how it feels when you touch me," he whispered anxiously, turning her on all over again.

She pressed her palm against his length, rubbed. "Like this?" she whispered in a murmur that was sultry without trying.

He was clinging to her now, hanging onto every little thing she did. "Yes—"

She bent her head, suckling hard on a nipple as she grabbed and squeezed him through his pants. He gasped at the erogenous combination. "Like this?" She received only a moan of her name from him in return as his hand came to cradle the back of her head. Moving to answer that severe need for satisfaction she heard in his voice, she pushed him down onto his back, hovered over him, then unbuttoned and yanked his pants down to mid-thigh, reducing him to a noisy mess as she used her mouth and hands to make him feel better than good. He writhed underneath her, watching her with an anxious expression as his breathing quickened more and more, as his body tightened more and more. Making him throb and shudder like that, feeling every twitch of his hips and quake that ran through his body as pleasure mounted was the most erotic thing to Alex. She sensed he was close and doubled her efforts to get him there.

Suddenly, he stopped her, startled her out of it, made her pull back. "No—Alex—not without you," he panted, his eyes begging her. "Please."

She drew back, touched at the request, wanting to give him everything. She hesitated, then said nothing, just pulled his pants the rest of the way off and then reached out for his hands. He took them and let her lead him up to sit on the bed, let her pull him forward so he stood on his knees to face her as she stood on her knees too. Their arms pulled each other close and their mouths found each other's, their torsos pressed flush against each others. His kiss made her ready all over again. Cas sat back down onto his heels even as Alex shifted forward, found him, and sank down slowly over him. The kiss broke as her mouth fell open in a gasp at the feeling of him inside of her. He, too, gave a soft, anxious sound of ha as their union became total.

Their eyes met briefly and his hand grasped the back of her neck as their foreheads bowed together and she started to move on him slowly and agonizingly. He became wretched and tortured, closing his eyes and clinging to her, letting her be the one who paced them and called the shots. Resonating with him, comforting him, she was attentive and focused, kissing the side of his face tenderly, his forehead, his cheek. Instead of trying wildly to get him off, she settled into a place of making him feel loved. She kissed his jawline, his neck, the top of his shoulder. To feel his strong body trembling against hers, to feel his thundering heartbeat echoing through her limbs, to be the one who had reduced him to this—she couldn't fathom it. Overwhelmed with what she felt, she took his face in both hands and his pleasure-glazed eyes rose to look into hers.

The things staring back at her humbled her completely. "You love me?" she asked in a whisper, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it a thousand times more.

His answer was immediate as his hands grabbed her more tightly, as his eyes became terrifyingly earnest. "More than anything, anything."

Castiel's whispered profession of love left a wildfire in the pit of his stomach that ignited an untamed, barbaric urge to claim her in every way possible. Every fear that lived in him and gnawed at him was unleashed and became desperation to prove himself, desperation to show her the extent of his ceaseless affections, desperation to reach out and hold her soul itself to him.

Alex was surprised when Cas held her tightly and flipped her over, taking control, briefly ending their bodily union only to reestablish it with a deep thrust that made her see white-hot stars. "Cas, ahhh, oh…!" she cried weakly, voice rasping in anxious bliss. The sudden outpouring of passion left her unable to breathe, scrambling her hands for some kind of purchase on his back as he settled over her and moved roughly inside of her. She arched her back up to smash her breasts against his chest and a wanton, begging sound fell from his mouth at the erotic contact. Her eyes clenched shut and her head arched back as her mouth fell wide open to take in panting breaths—the entirely of her thoughts focused on him pushing inside of her and making the desperate ache that much better and worse all at once. And then she felt him taking her by the back of the head firmly to forcibly turn her chin down and her face back toward him.

"Open your eyes," he begged, hot breath hitting against her cheek. "I need to see you." His request made her shudder with surprise and she let her eyes snap open. Tortured glacial aquamarine stared back at her and Cas thrust into her again and again deeply, watching her and holding her face firmly in an anxious, tight hand. She grabbed his wrist hard, staring him in the eye. This time it was him who cried out as she lifted her hips to match his movements. She clenched her legs around his strong waist, lessening both of their composure, increasing both of their pleasures.

Incredibly tender despite his breathless passion, Cas took her face in his hand, steadying her and holding onto her at once. He was in wonder and awe, thinking of how her body seemed created to cradle and consume his, how her heart and soul called to him, how inestimable her worth was. Words fell from his lips in hushed, mindless adoration as his hand cradled the side of her face. "Alex… beloved…"

A soft whimper almost like a laugh slipped out of her mouth as emotional pleasure peaked to hear him speak to her like that. Her hand softened on his wrist, her fingertips reached out to tenderly stroke his cheek in the midst of their blazing encounter. His eyes fluttered shut at the whispery touch and he turned his head, kissed the fingertips, took her hand and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm, then opened his eyes and looked into hers again. He let go of her hand and his hand abruptly snaked down between their bodies and she let out a shocked breath when he rubbed two fingers there. He pushed inside of her deeply, letting every stroke drive molten earth-shattering pleasure into her.

"Ah… oh, ssss, nngh," she grunted nonsensically in rising fever pitch, feeling like she would somehow die if he continued and die if he didn't. She was doomed and helpless, addicted to the erotic, soul-deep sensations he stirred in her. She moaned loudly, trying her hardest not to shut her eyes or look away as he brought her to the edge of that wild precipice. He pressed deep and hard and faster, relentless in his mission to ravish her and throw her to the wind. Just when she thought it was about to happen, he buried himself deeply and went still everywhere, leaving her to protest and writhe around underneath him. Their eyes locked and he was looking at her in a way she couldn't take, a way that was so open and bare that she wanted to cry. Thunder and lightning crashed outside and it was too much. "Please, I can't—" she begged, about to die from being left hanging.

At her plea he met her movements with his own again, furiously, desperately, creating a hungry rhythm that left them both in excruciating bliss and quickly had her approaching the edge again at even greater intensity. Her fingers dug into him bruisingly as she began to lose her mind. "Cas, ngh! I'm… ah—" her cry was so anxious and almost agonized that he rushed to soothe her.

His hands tightened on her, holding her steady. "I have you," he told her in a strained, breathless voice. She caught sight of those spellbinding blue eyes and she was doomed all over again—her body arced up into his with a spasm she couldn't control and she grabbed onto him as hard as she could, trying to not fall off the edge of the earth.

"Ah, oh!" Tumultuous pleasure began to rip through her like a thundering waterfall and Cas groaned out a wanton sound, followed her over the edge blindly, his hand suddenly moving to grab the back of her thigh as he ground his hips into hers even harder and faster, making her almost scream in pleasure at the shockwaves. He moaned and sobbed nonsensically against her neck, clinging to her for life itself as he came, as he cried out his defeat in her arms. How long did that mutual rapture last? It seemed an eternity. When it ended, they went slack together, every last instance of effort sapped away from powerful release. For a moment, they laid there in panting shock, holding on tight and recovering from what they had just done to each other. At the back of Alex's head, Cas's fingers tightened just a little as he continued to hold her close as his hot, sharp breaths hit the side of her head. Alex curled her forehead into the side of his neck, shaking and breathing hard. She was in a fog of contended, exhausted pleasure.

After a moment Cas collapsed into the sheets beside her. He held her closely to him, refusing to let them be any further apart than a few inches. He pressed a slow and steady kiss against her forehead, his fingers threading through the hair at the back of her head. She tilted her head back to look at him. Their hearts raced and her body was damp with sweat, some hair was plastered to her face. Yet he gazed at her like she was heart-stopping, like he had seen the light, like she was his salvation itself. "My beautiful one," he whispered, voice filled with vulnerable emotion as he looked upon her face fully and traced careful adoration with fingers along the side of her face, "there is nothing in all of creation I wouldn't do for you." His eyes were genuine, his presence was overwhelming, and she didn't know how to respond.

So instead she hugged herself to him, tucked her head under his chin and hung on, let herself be shaken and loved and overcome. "How are you real?" she whispered after a minute. Underneath her right hand, his heart pounded hard and fast. "How is any of this real?" Men like Castiel weren't real and love stories like this couldn't be possible—and no one loved anyone like Cas loved her—and yet here she was with a creature from Heaven who simultaneously made her feel like she was the only woman on the planet and like she was the queen of the entire universe. She drew back to look at him, making sure he was really there. He was, and she shook her head slightly, forever unsure of what she'd done to get him to look at her like that. "You're incredible."

The softest rueful smile tugged at his wide lips. His thumb and forefinger came to gently take her by the chin. "No. You."

She could find no words to say, no response. Her mind was blank, her body was drunk off of the effects of release. All that was left to do was press a simple, lingering kiss to his lips. "I love you so much," she confessed after, not sure why she felt afraid of what she felt.

His hand held hers, thumb gently rubbing her fingers over and over. His eyes were becoming tense again, tentative. "I hope you always do."

She searched his eyes, saw burdens and worries and she wished he would let her help. "What is it, Cas?"

He withdrew slightly. Not physically, but his expression and eyes became guarded somehow. "I need for this war to be over, Alex." He looked down unseeingly and his voice was soft, barren. "You don't understand how urgently I need for it to be over."

No, she didn't understand. He wouldn't tell her. So, she tried to encourage the only way she knew. "Just a little longer, right?" With the weapons he'd just gotten it just couldn't drag on much longer, right? Cas didn't say anything, just looked like he wanted to believe the idea of it being over soon. So, she tried to help him believe it because she needed to believe it, too. "Just a little longer." She tightened her fingers on his, dropping a little kiss onto the curve between his thumb and pointer finger. He seemed sad again and she hated it, deciding he should hear about the alternate universe out there. "So… you wanna hear a funny story?" she ventured.

He seemed to think that was an odd proposition but accepted, and Alex recounted the entire debacle—the actors, the pirates, Astrid, Alex not on Supernatural, Misha Collins, Virgil, Daniel… when Castiel learned she killed Daniel, he was all at once shocked, impressed, worried, and proud. He praised her once he digested the news and said she did what he had been trying to do for a long time now. That made her feel meaningful and important when she saw how it alleviated some stress for him—she could have jumped up and danced. She had taken down a major enemy of Cas's without entirely meaning to—! That had to count for something. Alex saved the whole Misha passively aggressively suggesting sex thing for last. Cas was understandably taken aback at the idea of a man who looked exactly like himself making suggestive comments to her.

After a short silence, he asked her about it, trying to make sure he'd understood correctly. "So this Misha Collins man. He expressed interest in you… sexually?"

"Pretty much."

Cas thought hard. "His body, his face, his voice were mine?"

"Yeah…" Alex trailed off, surprised. Did Cas wonder why she didn't accept the offer? Did he really think all that she cared about was his physical appearance? Yeah, Misha looked like Cas. "But the stuff that matters wasn't yours."

Cas's eyebrows moved in together slightly. "And what is 'the stuff that matters'?"

She laid her hand down onto his chest where his rhythmic heartbeat could be felt. "Heart. Soul." Those were what she loved about Castiel. His appearance could never hold a candle to the strength of his character.

Cas looked saddened. "Of which I have neither."

Alex disagreed and caught his face with her hand. She kept his gaze, a gentle smile making her face soft. "Nothing ever can or will convince me you don't have a heart and soul, Castiel." He seemed to think that was a nice, if incorrect thought and said nothing, just pulled her to himself, held her close. They remained together that night as the storm raged outside loudly. Safe with each other, they were content to exist inside their own little world.

…Neither knew it then, but that night was a last time for them. Castiel had stretched himself too thin, had made too many lapses in judgement. And soon, every lie told, every secret kept, every mistake made would prove too much to keep inside.

They would each remember this night in the times to come and wish they could go back to this place in their relationship where they were so completely in love with each other. This place of trusting and giving. This place of utter belonging.

But some places are very hard to find your way back to in the darkest hours of the night. And some places you can never get back to at all.