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.

84. The Resurrection and the Life

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 84 / The Resurrection and the Life

"Love is not a victory march… it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."
- Leonard Cohen

---

About A Week Ago…

The world spun around Sam. He didn't remember where he was or what had happened. He had no idea where his family was. All he knew was that the house (it was a house, right?) was burning down around him and maniacal laughter filled his ears so loudly that his vision swam.

Have to get away. Have to get away!

He staggered madly down a narrow hallway toward a far doorway where he could see daylight vaguely through tilting, blurring vision. His only thought was of escape. Now. One of his legs was dragging behind him uselessly—his thigh was gashed open for reasons he couldn't remember, his head was pounding, his left arm hung uselessly at his side, broken. He tasted blood in his mouth and he had this terrifying gut feeling that he was as good as dead. Behind him, he could hear pursuers and chains jingling, bones crunching.

Have to get AWAY!

He was breathing so hard and fast that he was almost hyperventilating at that point. He knew there was no escape, Lucifer was right behind him… it was over.

At that very moment, his right hand inexplicably caught fire and he screamed as he fell to his knees in a heavy tumble. He beat his hand against the floor to try and put out the flames. But he didn't have success. Excruciating pain seared his skin as the fire crawled up his arm. It began to consume him all over and he flailed, shouting and screaming unintelligible sounds of pain as he hurt his broken arm further with his clumsiness and floundering. The laughter continued and Sam sobbed out a cry for help that sounded very much like his older brother's name. But he knew no help would come.

And then, without warning, it all disappeared. Hell was jarringly replaced by a quiet, ramshackle cabin. Sam was sitting against a wall on the floor of a hallway with his legs bent awkwardly and his lungs racing to try and breathe air in. Nothing was on fire, but his injuries—those were real. His arm was broken at the elbow and hurt so bad, his upper leg was cut open in a huge gash—everything ached in severe pain. He felt a stinging sensation on his forehead and he touched fingers to the epicenter of the pain—blood came away on his fingertips. But… why? He looked around in a daze of fearful confusion, momentarily not even knowing where he was or what was real and what wasn't real—where was this? What was he doing here? Where had all these injuries come from?

And then he remembered—it all came crashing down—and he covered his face in a hand as a soft sob came out. He remembered all of it. And as such, he slowly looked down the hallway from where he'd just come. Oh god.

Cas had disappeared with his dead sister in his arms, leaving Sam alone with the bodies of his brother and uncle. He remembered that despite his breakdown of grief and panic, he had managed to wander a few miles away from Crowley's laboratory to find a car to steal. He remembered that he had managed to drive that car back to the lab through his hallucinations and despair. He remembered that he had dragged and carried Dean and Bobby out of the building and then tried to drive back to Bobby's but had barely made it even thirty minutes before the visions and grief got too much to handle. He had lost control of the car and crashed into a tree in the middle of nowhere, totaling the vehicle. He remembered thinking it was a wonder he wasn't dead after that accident. And finally, he remembered carrying and dragging Bobby and Dean despite his crippling injuries to this cabin that had just-so-happened to be a mile from where he crashed. He remembered laying them down onto the bed in the back of the house. And as he remembered everything, Sam felt himself wishing he had died in that car crash. Because if he had been killed, at least he would be like the rest of his family.

Dean was dead. Bobby was dead. Alex was dead, or she had been the last time he saw her and held her… and Sam's sorrow defeated him all over again. He wept freely. He was alone, he had lost everyone who had ever mattered. Dean, Alex, Bobby, Dad, Mom, Jess… they were all dead and gone and all he wanted to know was why am I still alive? Why can't one of them be here above ground instead of me?

But that wasn't how it had turned out.

He was the only one left.

What a horrifying thought. What a terrifying reality. He had no one left. No one.

He had two choices remaining:

Choice one, he could give up and succumb to insanity and grief. That would be easier by far.

Or… choice two: he could figure this out. He could fight it.

Sam Winchester was all in all a pretty reasonable guy. He knew when to give up and when to accept defeat. He knew when to put his hands up and walk away. This? This was not one of those times. Not for him. He refused to accept the hand fate had dealt him and his family. And this refusal gave him the strength to go with choice two and figure this the hell out. He was injured and out of his mind, but he pushed both of those facts away and he gathered himself. It took all of his willpower and inner strength to do so, but he had decided that he was not going to lay down and take any of this bullshit. He was going to fix it, he didn't know how, but he was not willing to let this be the end of everything. Mom and Dad were long gone and so was Jess, but Alex could be rescued and she would be if it was the last thing Sam ever did. Dean and Bobby could be saved somehow—again, if it was the last thing Sam ever did. A half-idea abruptly came to him at that moment. A slight chance. A possibility of a solution. And not really having a lot of choices, Sam decided to go for it. Shaking badly, he slowly got up to his feet, unsteady the entire time and having to bear all of his weight onto one leg. The thought of his brother and sister and uncle kept him going. He limped himself into the living room area of the small cabin where he'd dropped a supply bag. Dragging and carrying Dean and Bobby here separately had taken hours of painful labor and there had been visions and torment the whole way. His body protested his every movement, his cuts and scrapes stung as chilly winter air brushed him as he moved.

But he made himself keep going and doing. He tried not to think about how he could barely function at this point. He tried not to think about how he had literally no idea how long it had been since Cas disappeared with Alex. It could have been a day or it could have been three for all he knew.

With his one good hand and arm, Sam dug through the supplies, grimacing and hurting the entire time. He got out the things needed, then started drawing the familiar design that would summon a demon, but when he was halfway through he realized he lacked the ingredients for the spell part of the summons and he got overwhelmed by renewed amounts of despair. Everything was at Bobby's—the car, their supplies, everything. He couldn't do this on his own, not like this. He was wounded, mentally frayed, inwardly broken… and just when he was about to give up and break down completely at the thought of somehow getting himself and the bodies the hundreds of miles back to Sioux Falls, he heard footsteps on the porch outside. Fear made him sit up ramrod straight. Someone was climbing the stairs. He fumbled for a weapon, assuming the worst and ready to kill whatever enemy was about to walk through that door.

---

Jamie Ward cautiously climbed up the rickety old wooden stairs of the cabin, not sure if this were the right place or not. Sam had called her a few hours ago out of the blue, panicked and almost impossible to understand. None of her attempts to calm him down had worked and he'd spit out coordinates twice, begged her through an alarmed frantic voice to please come help him, then hung up on her and not answered when she tried to call him back. Dean and Alex hadn't picked up their phones either. Jamie had dropped what she was doing (things with her family estate), intuition telling her to travel quickly. Now that she was here though, she was wary. What was this place? There were no cars outside. Had Sam given her the right coordinates? This cabin was in the middle of nowhere and it didn't look like anyone was in it at all.

But, she had driven all the way here. So she was checking it out just to be on the safe side. Whatever she and the Winchesters had going on was kind of undefined and yes a little awkward, but it existed nonetheless. No matter what had happened with that fucker Samuel Campbell, the witch recognized an ally when she met one. Alex was one. And Dean surprisingly had turned into one as well. Sam remained an unknown. Jamie drifted onto the porch, wondering what the hell was going on here.

Last Jamie knew, that Cas guy had turned out to be working with Crowley, aka the King of Hell. She hadn't met Crowley personally but knew that he was the one who'd had her kidnapped and possessed, so she wasn't exactly thrilled to hear about the partnership and knew Alex had to have taken it hard. She wondered if the call she got from Sam had something to do with that situation. It'd make sense for that to be the case. Her heeled patent leather boots made the porch floorboards creak as she carefully moved toward the screen door of the cabin. She pushed open the rotting wood door and peered into the dimmer interior of the building. "…Sam?" she called carefully, letting her hand hover a little closer to where her gun was. Witch or not, she preferred real-world weapons since they didn't make her sick or weak like magic did. "Dean? Alex?"

She took a single step into the cabin and heard the creak behind her just in time. Whirling fast, she just managed to throw an arm up and block a wild knife attack from someone about a foot taller than her—she backpedaled fast and held her hands out defensively. "Sam Sam SAM!" she shouted, recognizing the guy who apparently didn't recognize her.

He faltered at the use of his name then stood there panting heavily, staring at her in something like disturbed horror. Recognition darted across his pale, clammy face. "… Jamie?" he asked, seeming totally shocked at her appearance and then quickly dismayed that he'd tried to kill her.

"Uh, yeah!" Breathless and shaken up, she looked at him with guarded, indignant confusion.

"What… what are you doing here?" Sam asked falteringly, that knife still out where it could do damage.

Eyeing the wicked sharp tip carefully, Jamie became even more cautious and suspicious. "What do you mean, what am I doing here? You told me to come."

Sam's eyebrows moved in further together. "I... I don't remember that." A statement that surprised him and Jamie both.

She looked him over thoroughly: He was sweaty, pale, and gaunt—gaunt in a way that seemed emotional more than physical. But physically he wasn't doing too well either. One of his arms was tied into a makeshift sling with a flannel shirt. His gray v-neck shirt was dirty and his hair looked unwashed. On his forehead there was a pretty good cut that was still bleeding in the center where the blood hadn't clotted—was it a head injury making him confused? "What's going on here, Sam?" Jamie asked softly. Her gut was telling her that something major was up, and despite herself, she felt a spike in fear at the unknown.

He looked at the knife in his hand with an ill expression and then he let it clatter to the floor. "S-sorry," he breathed weakly. He rubbed his forehead then protested softly in a quiet groan when he accidentally touched his forehead wound. He then squinted in confusion at the blood that came away on his hand, frowning at it like he really couldn't get a handle on himself mentally. "I… called you?" He sounded so flabbergasted. "I… I don't remember," he managed, swallowing down clear embarrassment and distraught feelings.

Jamie eyed the knife mistrustfully, then scrutinized Sam. Something here didn't feel right. "What happened?" she asked with a gentle firmness. And more importantly, why was he alone out here in some cabin with no one around? "Why'd you call me?" She wasn't a fool: she'd gotten definite vibes that Sam didn't really like her. "And where's your family?" Maybe this was some kind of trap.

His expression tightened in pain and he looked away with a strange expression on his face. "My family." His quiet voice sounded very pained. Inexplicably he laughed softly, brokenly, then shook his head and put his hand on his face, in sudden tears.

The way Sam broke down without warning made Jamie's expression go slack. For a minute she gaped. Then with renewed intense appeal, she pressed. "What happened?" Sam made no reply, just shook his head and hardened his face then looked off blankly, staring towards the back of the house without explanation. When he continued to say nothing, Jamie looked over his multiple injuries. How did he get here? Where was his brother, his sister? "Sam—why haven't you gone to a hospital?" she asked, drifting a little closer. Her boot made the wooden floor creak loudly. Sam jumped and flinched at the sound in a way that made him appear triggered and traumatized. Jamie's uncertainty doubled and she didn't go closer. She was beginning to almost wonder if substance was involved. Maybe Sam was on something…?

"I—I don't need a hospital," Sam replied faintly, lost in his own thoughts. "It, it doesn't matter." He abruptly got this crazed focused look on his face and turned around and crouched down, beginning to continue drawing a half-finished demon summons that was scrawled on the floor. His hand shook and some sweat dripped down off his forehead to splash down onto the dirty wood floor. It was cold in the cabin, but he looked like he was burning up with a fever.

He didn't need a hospital? "Right…" Jamie murmured warily, watching him for a few beats. Feeling like she should handle this situation very delicately, she slowly crouched down opposite of a pinch-faced Sam. After a minute of him drawing feverishly without acknowledging her, she tried again. "Sam… what are you doing?" she asked gently.

He didn't look at her. Just kept drawing. "Demon summons."

Well duh. Despite everything, Jamie smiled tightly a little to herself in irony because any hunter worth their salt knew what a demon summon looked like. "No, I know that, but why?"

"Cas has Alex," Sam replied in a clipped, dark tone.

Unsettled more and more, Jamie's expression melted. "'Has' her? …What do you mean?"

Sam was struggling emotionally. "He took her," he managed in a wavering voice. "He took everyone. I'm getting her back. I'm getting them all back."

Lost, Jamie tried to piece together why Sam was trying to summon a demon. "Back from where? And, what, with—with a soul deal?" She was trying to reserve judgement, but felt herself becoming aghast at the lack of answers and Sam's bizarre behavior.

Sam's eyes snapped up to hers in surprise. "No. No. Well. N-not unless I have no other option." He abruptly choked on a huge amount of emotion. "I don't even know if she's… if she's…" he trailed off and made a soft, distressed sound like he was suppressing a sob in the bottom of his throat.

Jamie was getting really anxious for some kind of solid idea of what was going on here. "Okay Sam… where's Dean?" He'd tell her what was going on. And then Sam's face went absolutely cold. He stopped drawing. His reaction immediately made Jamie feel something to the tune of oh no.

Sam's eyes gained some clarity and he looked back and forth over the floor with flickering eyes. "I… I remember now," he murmured faintly. "Calling you." He swallowed slowly, still not looking at her. "I guess I…" he faltered and his voice weakened substantially. "I kinda skipped over the details on the phone, huh?" he asked. His voice softened to barely audible. And then he said what she hadn't expected to hear at all, ever. "Dean's…" his mouth struggled and worked on his face. "Dean's dead."

Those two words made her entire world go colorless in shock. Jamie blinked once, her face expressionless and mind reeling in dumb slow motion. What? She'd just seen him a couple days ago. Dead? No, he couldn't be fucking dead...

But Sam was absolutely serious, and it got worse. "Bobby too," he said, making Jamie's horror rocket. "They're in the… the other room." He looked toward the back of the house again. And Jamie felt like she'd been struck by lightning.

"Dead?" she repeated stupidly, in a voice made soft by disbelief and abrupt emotion. Their bodies were in there? They were really dead?

Sam blew her mind again with his next words: "It was… it was Cas. He killed them." He shut his eyes as he tried to keep from crying. Jamie had never seen anyone so clearly distraught. "M-my sister too."

Air became difficult to take in as ice plunged through her veins. "Wait—what?!" Jamie managed in a whisper of horror. It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her. Her mind couldn't fathom what she was being told. "A-Alex is dead too?!"

Sam's voice was a soft, hollow whisper. "They're all dead."

They're all dead.

Three words that she understood but couldn't accept. She stood slowly as if in a dream. And the shock was abruptly replaced by some kind of wild rage. "No," the witch said in a hard, correcting voice that lost its strength after saying that single word. "I don't..." she trailed off, unable to speak. Her world had been rocked several times over in the past month or two or however long it had fucking been, now this?

Sam looked at her, agonized and destroyed. "They are," he said softly, as if he were speaking to himself. "I saw it. I saw everything." His blank expression abruptly began to work overtime to keep composure. "I watched them die. And then I let him take her." He let out a sob as his features crumpled. He hung his head and his huge shoulders shook as he tried to restrain himself. "I let him take her."

Heart hammering a sickening beat, Jamie felt herself get a little woozy from the sudden outpouring of mental shock. She put a hand on her head, walking a few errant thoughtless steps around as she tried to make sense of it all. "Are, are you sure?" she asked, stopping to stare at Sam with incredulous, dismayed eyes. "The angel killed them?" That was so out of left field. That was so crazy. She hadn't met Cas many times, but… this didn't compute.

Sam was nodding as tears gathered in his hazel eyes—eyes so much like his sister's. "He… he went nuts and he killed everyone." He began to weep again, his head in a hand as his other one hung limply in his makeshift cast. "My whole family and my brain, my mind, it's—!" He looked like he was going to fall over—he was still crouched over the demon summons, but his posture was slumped and weak. "I c-can't… do… this…! How am I s-supposed t-to do t-his?"

He was going to start hyperventilating if he didn't calm down. Jamie pushed her shock aside and went and crouched with him again, gently taking him by his good shoulder. "Don't do that," she encouraged intensely. "Don't give up. I'm with you. You're not alone." His pained eyes looked into hers and Jamie realized, shit, in for a penny, in for a pound. But this was why she was a hunter: helping people. "We're gonna figure this out somehow, all right?" She said that as much for his benefit as for hers. She wet her lips briefly—she had his attention and he was waiting in a grief-stricken silence for her to say more. "One thing at a time," she said, quickly trying to think of a way to diffuse him or distract him momentarily. It was tough because she was reeling too. But her years of practice at grace and calm under pressure kicked in. "Let's… let's stand you up first, okay?" She began to stand and guide him with her and he did as she said in a daze. She led him toward the nearby couch even as she made herself calm down too. After a lifetime of nightmares, she'd gotten good at disassociating from her own feelings so that she could focus on self-preservation. Her main focus became to fact find and see what they were up against. "Come on," she coaxed. "That's it. Sit down, nice and easy—good. I know you're upset, I am too—but it sounds like we don't have any choice but to face this. So you gotta tell me what happened. I need to know what we're up against."

Sam was very exhausted and she could tell that talking was the last thing he wanted to do, but he nodded, visibly bracing himself. "Yeah," he agreed in a tight voice laced by unshed tears. "O-okay." And it took him a long time, but he did what she asked. Through pain, through grief, through confusion, he told her everything.

How Cas had been working with Crowley and trying to open Purgatory. How Cas had taken Alex away against her will. How everything had quickly fallen apart from there. He told her how Cas had broken his mind and how Hell was flooding his brain and 'getting' to him. He explained how Cas was now some super powered demigod who could kill an archangel with the snap of his fingers. Jamie was absolutely confounded with every new detail he told her, and when he was finally finished, all he could do was shrug emptily. "So… that's… that's what happened." He clenched his jaw and looked down the hall toward the room where his brother and uncle were. He had a sort of crazy look in his eyes. "Them being dead is temporary. Temporary." Jamie wasn't so sure about that, but she didn't say anything to negate his declaration. Sam suddenly looked at her with a wild kind of hope in his eyes. "Do you have some kinda spell that can, I dunno… preserve them or…" he trailed off and lost his enthusiasm as what he said struck him. "Jesus," he commented in a choked voice, growing markedly hopeless.

Jamie said nothing for a minute and just considered him with great amounts of painful empathy. Everything he'd told her was draining and horrifying to just hear about—she couldn't imagine going through it. Sam had lost everything including his mind and been through Hell, literal and figurative. It was a wonder he was still functioning. Jamie thought what he needed now more than anything else was hope—a reason to keep going. As such, Jamie decided she should go along with his request and try to help him to believe Dean and Bobby could come back. Maybe they could and maybe they couldn't, she didn't know. But she wasn't gonna try to figure that one out yet. She stood up and gave him a thin smile. "Lemme get my spell book. I remember a freezing spell in there. Might work for now."

Sam watched her as she walked off a couple steps. "I'm really gonna owe you big time for this," he said, obviously feeling really bad about involving her.

She turned around halfway to consider him. He was miserable and guilty and her heart went out to him. "Don't worry about that right now," Jamie said, gracious in a sort of businesslike way. She got really uncomfortable when things got too emotional or deep. She made to turn around then paused, a thought coming to her. "Hey—when'd you eat last?"

Sam blinked a couple times, pulling a frown. "Uh… not… not in… I'm not sure." Jamie sucked a cheek in apprehensive thought. It really was a wonder he was alive at all right now. "I'm fine," he insisted, which he clearly wasn't. "I'm the least of my worries. I just want them t-to not… you know." Rot away and decompose while he tried to figure out how to bring them back.

"Yeah," she said quietly, understanding and making no comment. She glanced toward the back of the house, expression veiled, then she disappeared out the door to go get things from her car. When she came back in, she tossed a bag of beef jerky his way. "Eat some, will you?"

He caught the bag just barely and looked at her with obvious ashamed gratitude. Jamie pretended not to see. She left him in the living room and in a dogged stride went with her spell book toward the back of the cabin. She was resolved to do this and leave emotions out. But when she saw two pairs of booted feet on a bed through the doorway her stomach pitted itself in lead and her pace slowed to a halt. She hesitated before going in that room, the vulnerable and tender part of herself unsure if she could come face to face with this.

But there wasn't a choice. Some things, you just can't change. There was power in acceptance—she'd learned that over the years. She took a deep breath and steeled herself then went into that room.

They were laid side by side on their backs. Jamie gravitated to Dean, her heart burning painfully in her chest the second she saw his face. He laid there pale, drained of color, and absolutely lifeless. His normally healthy olive-toned skin was chalky. His lips were blueish. And his unforgettably green eyes were closed. Just a couple days ago he'd been at her side in the hospital after the demon had possessed her. Just a couple of days ago he'd somehow gotten her to talk about the thing she talked about no one with. Just a couple days ago he'd reached over and touched her hand with his and she'd seen real kindness looking back at her from a gaze that intrigued her no matter how much she tried to resist. And now... this.

Hesitating, Jamie reached out slowly and touched his hand with just the pads of her fingertips. The skin was cold and stiff and her throat suddenly ached. She abruptly pulled her hand away, cleared her throat, and blinked her stinging eyes. She untucked her spell book from under her arm and set it down beside Dean and opened the thick pages, flipping through pages shrewdly until she found the spell she remembered. It would keep an object or person frozen for a few days at least. First, Jamie froze Bobby. As she cast, a light layer of frost covered him head to toe—and the channeling of magic left her feeling weakened and very cold herself—so much so that she shivered and had to rub her hands together afterward. And then it was time for Dean. Jamie didn't have to touch him to do the spell. But her hand was compelled to gently cup to his face as she studied his features sadly. Her thumb lightly brushed his skin in something like a caress. Looking at him made her hurt. And made her wonder, no matter how much she tried not to... how things might have been in some other lifetime. She whispered the words to the spell and shivered as cold ice cut through her again.

Jamie was still touching Dean's frosty face and contemplating him sadly when she realized she wasn't alone. "Y-you okay?" She yanked her hand away from Dean. Sam was in the doorway and watching with a pained expression.

The witch ignored his question. She snapped her spell book shut crisply instead and kept her tone inscrutable. "That'll keep them frozen for a few days. And I can do the spell again if we haven't figured something out by then."

Sam was looking at her in veiled concern. "Are... are you okay?"

She brushed her fingers underneath her nose. Predictable blood came away. The headache from magic was pounding in her head and she felt sick as usual too. "It's nothing," she said, not wanting to talk about it. It made her embarrassed to call attention to her defect, and she knew it made her look weak. Sam stared at his frosty, dead brother and uncle. Jamie joined him. This felt too surreal to be real life. Staring at Dean, he could have just been sleeping (and frostbitten too, she guessed). Not for the first time, Jamie tried to understand. "When your buddy Cas did this—I mean—why? He seemed so… gentle. And awkward. And I thought he was your friend. I thought he was Alex's boyfriend."

The hunter's jaw flexed. "Yeah… so did we," he said darkly, staring at the corpses through agonized eyes. "He—he wasn't him. Like… he changed. It was like he was possessed maybe. I dunno."

Jamie mulled it over, disturbed at her deepest levels. "All those souls he swallowed that you told me about… they have to be affecting him somehow, right?"

Sam's face was a hard mask. "Yeah, probably."

Jamie studied his profile a second or two longer. He had a lot of anger in him. She understood. When your family was taken away, it did things to you. She tried to switch mental tracks because that line of thought was going to take her nowhere. She glanced at the windows. "It's gonna be dark soon. I'm gonna see if I can strip some wire." She headed off down the hall to do that and Sam followed, limp-dragging a leg like a zombie.

"I'll help," he said, grunting from the effort of just walking.

Jamie turned around and gave him a lecturing look while walking backward a couple steps. "I don't think so. Sit on your ass and eat that jerky. If you're dead too you're not much help to your family." She turned around and left no room for argument. And if she'd been looking, she would have seen the smallest thankful expression on the Winchester's face.

---

About thirty minutes later, things were going a lot better for Sam. Jamie got electricity (flickering and weak, but passable) going in the cabin. Sam's blood sugar was more stable thanks to the jerky and then the granola bars Jamie dug out of her glove compartment. Water had been consumed and also used on rags to wipe Sam's grimy, clammy skin off. Jamie helped Sam make his shirt-sling a little snugger and functional and after some arguing, talked him into letting her stitch him up—the gashes on his hand and leg needed major work. Sam had tried not to accept her offer, saying he would do it and she didn't need to go to the trouble. His protests didn't work and Jamie insisted.

The old TV was on and Sam changed the channel to try and distract himself as she finished up on his more ugly wounds. She'd gotten some channels to work, but the reception was pretty poor. Static buzzed loudly every time he pressed the up button. A soap opera—some sports recaps—a cooking show—news report—wait. Sam sat up a lot straighter and went rigid.

"…is currently mystifying authorities," a young female reporter said. Behind her there was a stained glass display in what looked like a church—and the design in the middle was Castiel. Sam gaped at it, his heart racing as he watched in horrified, rapt attention. "Witnesses say the man in the tan coat had a woman with him dressed in white." Sam went absolutely cold and Jamie stopped stitching, turning her attention to the TV too. They both watched the news in utter stillness and silence. A young woman was being interviewed. "The guy in the raincoat said he was God and that he was punishing liars or something, I mean… it was nuts! And, and the girl with him? She was real pretty, she seemed really scared of this guy, like super scared." Sam's stomach twisted and dropped. Was it Alex? She was alive? He hoped so much that she was but if she was, he was so scared for her. "I mean I don't blame her, like, the guy killed the pastor without even touching him then grabbed the pew I was sitting in and his hand burned it. Burned it! I don't know how it can be real. Is this real? Like is this some hoax? How'd he change the stained glass and put his picture in there instead of Christ? I mean… this is a prank, right?"

The interview cut off and went back to a serious-faced reporter. "Bystanders are theorizing that the woman in the white dress was not an accomplice, but a captive. Authorities are encouraging anyone who has any information on either of these two people to call now. For channel two action news, I'm Kelly Patterson."

A report started on 'an amazing new weight loss find!' and Sam turned the TV off blankly. It was hitting him all over again. The woman in white—that had to be Alex. He felt sick enough to puke. What are you doing to my sister, Cas? Dean, I need you alive to help me—I don't know what to do!

"So—she's… she's alive," Jamie surmised hesitantly.

"Yeah alive but captive," Sam said, getting more and more upset the more he thought about it. "With a deranged maniac who has God powers." It was literally the worst and most unimaginable scenario. Guilt and terror alike poured over him relentlessly. Good God, what is he going to do to her? I shouldn't have handed her over… how the hell am I supposed to save her?!

Jamie saw Sam's mounting horror. "Hey," she said firmly, drawing his gaze to hers. "Don't lose your head."

That only pissed him off more. "How can I not lose my head right now?" he asked heatedly. He stood up abruptly, tearing the thread from the needle that she was holding when he did. But Sam didn't notice—it was the least of his worries. "I'm losing my damn mind and my brother and uncle are both dead and my sister needs help, I don't know what to do!" He was shaking and breathing hard from the need to do something and the knowledge that he was all but helpless. All he could think about was his sister, who he had always wanted to keep safe, who he had always hated this dangerous life for, who he had always tried to defend to the best of his ability. She needed him, he was her one chance of rescue in the entire damn world. And he didn't know how. It made his throat close up in panic, it made words spew out of his mouth nonstop. "There's no figuring this out Jamie, he's all-powerful and thinks he's God—like, what the hell is he doing to her and putting her through?! Jesus!" He abruptly began to cry as his mind went to some dark places, assuming the utter worst. He had to do something! NOW! As Sam's mind and heart raced and his already-impossible amounts of panic increased, his vision began to turn tunnel-like, slowly blackening around the edges and his ears grew tinny and muffled, the ground felt uneven underneath his then suddenly without warning, the world around him was imploding, fire was bursting out of every surface and wall around him, blistering heat began to choke the life out of him.

Even as he gasped and stumbled back in an attempt to escape the sudden inferno, he valiantly tried to remember it wasn't real but it felt real and he panicked, forgot where he was, and went into an all-consuming terror. Unaware of his physical self, all Sam could see and feel was fire, death, and agony. His skin was tearing off, chains slithered up from the ground and bit into his ankles as they began to crawl up and around his body like snakes to choke and imprison him—soft, chilling laughter echoed all around and Sam was screaming.

There were hands like talons suddenly gripping his arms. "Sam—Sam—Sam—" his name was being said or shouted over and over again in a twisted, Satanic voice… and then he realized it wasn't that kind of voice at all. "Sam!" Jamie was in front of him, or maybe she'd been there all along—Sam didn't know and he was confused because everything was suddenly normal and the fire of hell was just gone. Jamie looked freaked out as she held him by the arms. "You here with me?"

Bare, stark cabin. No chains, no devil, no everlasting flames. Sam tried to swallow down his shaken up, scared feelings. It's not real. "Y-yeah," he managed, feeling very stupid and small and afraid of his own mind. What just happened? Sam felt so out of his element, but due to stubbornness and fear alike, he tried not to acknowledge his how bad off he was. "I'm here."

"What happened?"

Sam shook his head, avoiding her gaze. "N-nothing, I'm fine."

What a damn lie that was. "Look, I know it's hard, but you gotta stay calm, Sam," she insisted with urgency. His freakout had clearly disturbed her. "I mean you got yourself into a car wreck over this...! I can't stay calm for you, you have to do that."

She was right. Of course she was right. Unbidden, it hit Sam that he didn't even know why Jamie was there with him and willing to help at all. Who the hell was she anyway? Sam barely knew her from a hole in the wall and Sam was so emotionally frayed and jumpy that he suddenly wondered if he should withhold trust from her or send her away—he didn't know her, not like Alex and Dean had. In the past, trusting women who were helpful had turned out to be some of his greatest mistakes. Meg and Ruby, to name a couple. He felt so lost and he didn't want to accept help even though he needed it. He was so miserable he could have cried. He couldn't do this alone, and he knew it.

"I don't even know why you're helping me," he finally replied in a thick, soft voice. He felt so very lost and weak.

Jamie had this matter of fact way about her, this deeply calm and measured personality that he wasn't used to. He was used to tempers and yelling and passive aggressive jabs, he was used to impassioned, emotional antics. Jamie wasn't like that. Her answer was matter-of-fact. "Your sister's my friend. So's your brother." She looked down a minute, and he saw a lot of unspoken things in her eyes. "Friends are hard to come by these days, so… gotta try and keep the ones you have." She sounded cautious somehow even as she looked at him and gave him a tentative, truce of a smile. "Maybe make a new one along the way?"

Sam was too emotionally exhausted to say anything but, "yeah."

Jamie said nothing about his clear misgiving. Just looked at the demon summons on the floor and refocused on the job at hand. "What exactly are we gonna try and get from a demon, anyway? What's your plan here?"

Sam looked at the demon summons and the devil's trap, and determination gave him a sudden second wind. His somewhat hare-brained plan made him stand a little taller and feel a little more capable. "We're not calling any random demon," he said in a deadly serious voice as he kept his eyes on the devil's trap. "I need to talk to the King of Hell."

Jamie took an apprehensive, doubtful second. She sighed under her breath and then went along with it like she was thinking what the hell. "Right. Well... okay then."

---

About ten minutes later, it was time. "Ready?" Jamie asked, about to strike the match and complete the summons.

Sam nodded. He had his game face on despite his injuries and physical ailments. "Ready." He was more than ready to be honest. Crowley always knew everything. And Sam was determined to find a way to track and kill Castiel if that's what had to happen.

"All right." Jamie looked and sounded dubious at best. "Here goes." She struck the match and dropped it into the spell bowl, completing the ritual.

Where there had been no one a second before, Crowley appeared within the confines of the devil's trap Sam had drawn. The demon had his back to them and he was bent over a glass he was holding. It looked like he was pouring himself whiskey. The second he appeared, he looked up from his task in confusion. Caught off guard, he turned. When he saw Sam, immediately became pissed. "No no no! Come on!"

"Don't act so surprised," Sam said, sweating bullets literally and figuratively and trying to look like he was large and in charge.

Crowley hadn't noticed that yet—he was too caught up in his own problems. "My new boss is going to kill me for even talking to you two," he complained. He abruptly frowned at Jamie in confusion and squinted. "Hold on—have we met, darling?" He eyed her closely, then a certain coy flirtatious quality made him smile. "You have a name?"

Cool as rain, Jamie gave him a falsely pleasant smile. "You can call me Warden, cuz you're my prisoner until I say otherwise." Crowley and Sam were both slightly surprised at her ballsy sass, but Jamie was already switching topics. "Now by the new boss… you mean the angel?"

A little impressed at Jamie's approach, Sam's confidence grew. Mildly unhappy that the blonde wasn't visibly intimidated by him, Crowley got snippy. "Not an angel anymore, sweetheart." He paused, realization dawning. "Hold on… you're the witch." A pompous, superior smile began to play on his face. "Ah yes. Had you kidnapped a few days ago, didn't I?"

Jamie made no reply, and instead maintained an inscrutable, slightly threatening cool stare. Sam didn't care about that topic at the moment. "So you're saying Cas is your boss?" he asked, his stomach turning over and over again because he'd been counting on Crowley to maybe have a one-up on Castiel. Maybe there was no one-up. Was Cas all-powerful?

"He's everybody's boss because he has super powers out the wazoo," Crowley said, and he sounded almost angry about it. "And just what do you think he's going to do if he finds out we've been conspiring?" He paused and became less angry. His eyes squinted. "…You do you want to conspire, don't you?"

"No," Jamie replied, lifting an eyebrow ever so slightly. "We want you to do an Irish jig."

Crowley spread his arms slightly and smirked cheekily. "I've been told I'm good on the dance floor. And… other places." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Jamie again gave no reaction to his words. "Shut up, Crowley," Sam said brusquely. His head was pounding and his patience was threadbare. He was so antsy to get a solution going. "We—we need a spell or a weapon to kill Cas," he said, words spilling out in a hurried, breathless tone. "Or, or a way to lock him up and stop him. So spill."

Crowley gave Sam a challenging look. "Um… right. Keep dreaming, girl scout. Nothing can kill him. Nothing can stop him. Best bet is do what he wants and stay out of his way, unless you feel like losing your neck."

"No!" Sam shouted abruptly, losing his already-short temper and startling Jamie and Crowley in the process. "There has to be a way!"

A little perturbed at the volume, Crowley gave Sam a wan look. "Sorry, are your ears full of fluff or are you just that stupid? He's God. Cut your losses and hide." He looked between his two captors in complete impatience and huffed. "Can I go now, or—"

"I said no!" Sam snapped. He was standing at his fullest height and his eyes were sharp as daggers. Even though he was shaking from illness and felt like he was burning out of his skin with fever, he was of one furious, rage-driven mind. Crowley wasn't about to tell him there was no way to defeat or stop Cas. And Sam told him as much. "He has my sister, you aren't getting out of here until you give me something! And if I have to take it out of you, I will!"

Crowley's eyes narrowed and looked Sam over closely—the wounds, the sweaty skin, the general look of disheveled illness. "Not doing so good, are you Sam-bo?" Ever the arrogant one, the demon let a smug smile play on his face. "Lost your double-mint and what, playing Dean now with the torture threats?"

That comment set Sam off even further. With startling speed, he whipped out his demon blade and darted across the space separating himself from the demon and he grabbed Crowley by his scruff and held the knife into Crowley's neck hard enough to draw blood. Gone stiff and wide-eyed, the demon stared in shock. Sam was crazed and felt slightly insane. His voice was low and growling and he breathed hot breath into Crowley's startled face, letting his voice promise a bitter end if the demon tempted him that way. "Don't you ever fucking mention them to me again or I will take this knife and end your pathetic, miserable existence right here and now," he threatened in a shaky, lethal growl.

Crowley abruptly simpered and smiled simperingly, clearly very nervous for his life. "Forget I said anything," he said, putting on a very overly friendly and non-threatening tone. Sam let go with a hard shove and stepped out of the demon trap, leaving Crowley there to wrack his brain and come up with a way to save his own ass. Jamie glanced at Sam sidelong as Crowley cleared his throat delicately in thought. "Uh, so. Solution. Uh… an exorcism, perhaps?"

"…An exorcism for souls?" Jamie asked sharply, doubtful.

"I mean, why not?" Crowley asked, shrugging with an air of indifference. "Maybe that's a thing. I don't know. Would probably take some substantial muscle to pull off, though…"

"You're just trying to weasel your way out of here," Sam accused, his anger making him darker and darker.

Crowley didn't deny it and he shrugged then pulled a face. "Look. I'd love to help, I would. I don't like the guy calling the shots anymore than you do, all right? But… um… I'm not seeing any alternatives. Unless, of course, you wanted to make a trade…?" He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully, that suggestive smile playing on his face. "Maybe smooch on it for luck?"

Sam's face went cold even as Jamie replied with a hard, "No."

The King of Hell looked at her with a challenging glint. "And just who made you the boss, legs?"

Jamie was dangerous. "Shut up," she said, and if it were possible, something about her words sent a slight shudder over the cabin. Crowley lost his edge ever so slightly.

The King of Hell cleared his throat. "Then I'm afraid I can't help," he said, glib and masking his distaste with a false, wan smile. He indicated the demon trap around his feet. "Now… if you'll be so kind?"

"I don't think so," Sam muttered. He wasn't about to let Crowley leave, especially since he didn't believe the demon really had no tricks up his sleeve or answers to give. "Until you make yourself useful, you're gonna be hanging out with us."

Nervousness flared in Crowley's demeanor and his eyes skirted the devil's trap encircling him, but he still tried to act like he had a say in the matter. "Okay, look, I like the odd-trio pairing comedy as much as the next dingbat," he joked forcibly, "but really, think I'll pass."

Jamie folded her arms and eyed him toe-to-head insolently. "You don't get to pass, Men's Wearhouse."

At the mention of the cheap suit company, Crowley's jaw dropped. "This is Prada!" he fumed indignantly, then immediately pointed a threatening finger at Sam and glared at him. "I don't like her, Moose."

Rolling her eyes, the witch sighed. "This conversation's over." She made a little motion with her fingers in the demon's general direction. Crowley's eyes bulged as his suit went from beautiful velvety black to gaudy orange with huge red polka dots. Jamie shrugged at his gaping expression. "Abracadabra," she deadpanned, obviously enjoying the demon's silent flustered shock at his appearance.

Sam hadn't known he had it in him after everything that had happened recently, but he was abruptly grinning at the ridiculous sight. The best part was Crowley's feet were in huge clown shoes. "I never!" the demon shouted, appalled at his magical outfit change. "You change it now or—"

"Shhhhh," Jamie said, a finger against her lips then flicking out to point at him. And suddenly Crowley wasn't able to speak. His wide eyes bulged even wider and Jamie winked at him then turned away and discreetly wiped at her nose, anticipating a trickle of blood that was already creeping out of her left nostril. Sam's good spirits fell but Jamie's expression said not to worry and her sidelong glance said it was no big deal. "Totally worth it," she said just low enough for them to hear. "Now let's get our sharp-dressed friend into some restraints, shall we?"

---

Unfortunately, that moment with Crowley was the only bright spot that Sam had in the days that followed. He and Jamie set to work tracking Cas down with Crowley gagged, bound, and in the back seat of Jamie's Tahoe. Thanks to devil's trap handcuffs and a few spells, he was stuck in place and Sam continued to pressure him daily for assistance. Crowley continued to deny he had anything to give and Sam would gag him again and try again the next day.

Using the news, Sam and Jamie tried to anticipate where Cas would appear next or they tried to get to where he'd just been. Cas left a trail of devastation wherever he went. There were massacres of religious leaders, dead angels found all over the earth (the news outlets didn't know what to make of dead bodies found with wings burned into the ground beneath them), destroyed churches and religious headquarters. And then came an even odder occurrence: reports of people who had been mute their entire lives had suddenly found themselves with the ability to speak. Therapeutic programs saw a sudden rush of new patients who had never been able to make sounds who had suddenly gained normally functioning vocal chords. And then, seemingly not connected, the media began to report a mysterious disappearance of all spiders in the US. Worries were that if all the spiders had disappeared, insect population would increase and famine and diseases could become a deadly issue.

Sam knew it was all connected to Cas somehow and he and Jamie tried their damndest to get to him. But every time they got near to where Cas had been, he'd move halfway across the country or the world. There was no predicting where Cas would go or what he would do. Still, the two hunters tried their hardest and best to anticipate the angel-turned-God and kept trying without giving up. Slowly and grudgingly, Sam found himself coming to like and appreciate Jamie more and more. He had been dead set against her when he'd first met her in recent times because he knew who her brother was and what her brother had done. But after this, it didn't matter who she was related to anymore. Sam saw who she was, and she was a good person. He couldn't argue with that fact after her true character was revealed to him. She was long-suffering, smart, patient, and dependable. And Sam didn't think he could have made it without her. He was a lot more grateful than he let on.

But other than the camaraderie and help Jamie brought, life was bad. Sam barely slept. He hallucinated Hell continuously. Meat hooks, chains, physical agony, fire—it kept suddenly bleeding into real life and he'd forget that it wasn't real and panic, have a blind anxiety attack, and come to with Jamie shaking him out of it. It was humiliating and terrifying to not be able to tell what was real and what wasn't. After having recalled every horrible year spent in Hell with Lucifer torturing him continuously, Sam felt run over and emotionally agonized past capacity. Every part of his life was hell—the hallucinations, the reality that Dean and Bobby's frozen corpses were in Jamie's trunk, the fact that Alex was being dragged around by Cas in a white dress being made to do who-knows-what. Every time Sam saw her on the news or heard people talking about 'the woman in white' he wanted to break down and give up because nothing was working and he wasn't saving her and he didn't know if he'd be able to either. And that feeling of powerlessness combined with the desperate need to help her broke him. Tortured him. Defeated him. He began to drink like his brother did and he tried to escape his own mind to no avail. It was only a week or so that they had been hunting Cas, but it felt like an eternity.

And then, one night in a motel room while Jamie was out getting something from the car, it went to a whole new level of unthinkable.

Sam was scouring news articles online, trying to establish a pattern for Cas and figure out where he might appear next when he heard the door open. He looked up and over his laptop, expecting to see Jamie. And then he saw his sister and his heart dropped and he gasped out loud and ran to her, knocking his chair over in the process. "Alex?!"

How and why didn't matter. All he knew was she had just walked in the door and he was crushing her to himself in a huge bear hug as he shut his eyes tight, shaking hard from sudden adrenaline. "Alex! Oh my god!" He realized she didn't hug him back at all and quickly pulled back and held her by the arms, trying to see if she was okay. And then he realized something was really, really wrong about her. Her expression was sort of coy and triumphant and she was wearing a strange outfit—a revealing black sparkling corset and a leather mini skirt, fishnet stockings, deep red lipstick, thick black eyeliner, spiky black heels. Wait. This… this wasn't her. "What—" he started, suddenly fearing the worst. "No," he breathed, recognizing this version of his sister and feeling sick to see it again. She smiled at him like his protest was cute. He shrank back from her. "No," he said louder. Please not this. Remembering it had been bad enough, he didn't want to live it. "No. You're not here. Y-you're in Hell."

Lucifer smiled using Alex's appearance. "You sure about that?" she whispered, crowding close to him and making Sam cringe. "You look kinda uncertain about that, kiddo." She looked up at him and smiled suggestively. "You miss me?"

"Get away." He pushed her away and shook his head, squinted his eyes shut, tried to make it all go away. "It's, it's not real. It's just my brain leaking memories from the cage 'cause of the wall breaking down." He repeated it over and over in his head. This is just another hallucination. "I'm fine. You're not here."

Lucifer feigned patronizing thoughtfulness and it was insulting to see that on Alex's face. "Hmm. That's very good, your little theory, big brother." She grinned at the way he was visibly stricken at the brother dig. "But, it's wrong. Sam, this isn't you going guano." She winced as if in sympathy. "Everything else is. From the second you sprung out of that lock box." She paused, pretended to be thinking. "Which, um, by the way… you didn't."

Sam's heart clenched. "T-that's impossible," he stammered breathlessly, but he was wondering if it were true at the same time.

There was a chilling, soft little laugh. "No… escaping was impossible. I have to say, I think this is my best torture yet—make you believe that you're free and then yank the wool off of your eyes…? Make you lose your entire family? Watch you believe every second of it? Gold star for me." She sauntered closer as Sam backed up until the backs of his legs hit the bed. "You never left, Sam. You're still in the cage... with me." She indicated herself, then suddenly her appearance changed to that of Nick, the man who had played vessel to Lucifer first. "And me." And then, finally, his visage changed to none other than Sam. "And me."

Sam shrank back from himself, feeling his throat close up in panic. "No…"

Lucifer smiled easily using Sam's face, and dimples showed. "Say no all you want, doesn't change a thing, Sam."

And then his hand came and suddenly squeezed Sam by the front of the neck hard, cutting off his air supply. Fighting to stay mind over matter, Sam fought it tooth and nail. "You're not real!" he insisted, trying to pry strong fingers off his throat as he gasped for air. But it sure as hell felt real. Sam was getting woozy as those fingers tightened and tightened. He was bending backwards over the bed slowly, losing the fight.

"Right," Lucifer said, smirking leeringly. "You think this fruit-bat fever dream is reality?" Sam was now laying on the bed as Lucifer held him there easily and breathed down on him with snake-like hisses. "Sam, Sam, Sam. Some witch you don't know from a hole in the wall helps you out of the goodness of her own heart? You come back, I'm sorry, with no soul like some peppy American Psycho, till Saint Dean glues you back together again by buying you some magic amnesia? Sam. You're smarter than that. Come on." Sam's vision was going gray as Lucifer's hand clamped down harder still on his windpipe. He leaned closer still, whispering for chilling effect, his face right in Sam's. "You're real. I'm very real. Everything else… is what we call set dressing."

Barely audible, Sam managed to wheeze out a protest. "No, stop, stop—"

"Stop? I'm just getting started. You're still in my cell. You're my bunk mate, buddy. You're my little bi-iiiitch, in every sense of the term. And guess what?" Lucifer's appearance changed back to Alex and she let go of his throat, smoothed her hands over his shoulders instead in a touch that felt wrong. "I wanna go over those plans for the future with you again…" there was a cruel smirk playing on her face at his horror.

Sam scrambled backwards on the bed, trying to escape the touches. "No, no!"

Lucifer smiled, not seeming worried that Sam had gotten away by a few feet. Alex sauntered over slowly around the corner of the bed. "Aww, being coy. So cute when you try and play hard to get," her voice purred and she bent over him, yanked him up by the shirt and grabbed his chin in her other hand with superhuman strength. He was being forced to look at her and the look in those eyes terrified him. "Come on, Sammy," she said, petting the side of his face. "Stop being a stick in the mud."

"Get off me!" he shouted, thrashing in the iron grip. "You're not her! You're not real!"

Lucifer just laughed, a screaming, banshee kind of laugh that seemed to distort in Sam's ears. He tried to get away and smacked her in the face hard a couple times with flailing arms. He heard her saying his name. "Sam. Sam." And then he realized it wasn't Lucifer leaning over him. It was someone with pale blue eyes and blonde hair. "Sam!" she shouted, shaking him out of it.

Sam was out of breath and disoriented. "Jamie?!" His eyes darted around wildly in search of anything from his hallucinations, but they were gone. Is this real? He didn't know anymore. He couldn't differentiate. He heard Jamie ask him something and he looked at her dumbly. There was an indistinct red line across one of her cheeks and he realized he'd smacked her in the face during his hallucination and his stomach sank. Maybe she should be afraid. Maybe everyone should be afraid. He had felt Lucifer in him and seen the world destroyed through himself. Sam had seen terrible, unthinkable things done to his sister by him for all those years in Hell and he was so briefly out of his mind that all he could do was stutter: "I—I—I'm sorry—" then he abruptly pushed her aside and ran out of that motel room with no idea of where he was going except away. Where he couldn't hurt anyone else.

The next morning, he woke up in an alleyway with no memory of how he got there or what he had done the night before. He was several miles from where he'd been before and was left to feel afraid that what Lucifer said was true. That none of this was real. But wouldn't that be a good thing? That would mean that his brother and sister were alive and that the agony he felt at their deaths and captivity was falsified. But it would also mean he was still in the cage. He didn't know what to believe and he felt like nothing mattered anymore. In his heart of hearts, he believed that this hell where his family was dead was the real thing. He didn't even want to believe it. But somehow, he knew. This was the real thing. It had to be.

Sam found his way back to the motel and Jamie wasn't there—she must have been out on foot looking for him—and so Sam dragged Crowley into the motel room from her SUV and with renewed desperation and anger, demanded answers and help, a way to defeat Cas. When the demon insisted he had nothing even under very severe torture, Sam got a crazy dangerous idea. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and in a moment of lunacy, he did what he said he'd never do ever again because the only thought that he cared about anymore was save Alex. Kill Castiel.

---

Jamie returned to the motel room after a several-hour on-foot search of the local area. No Sam to be found and she was worried, worn out, frazzled. This was insane. She was exhausted from the past nine days. Sam was getting worse and worse and Jamie really felt like if he didn't get some kind of professional help soon, he might never be able to recover at all. It felt like fighting the tide, doing this with Sam—he wasn't in good enough shape to continue to rescue effort and he was going to destroy himself in the process. As much as Jamie wanted to help, she was out of her element here. She knew no spells to help Sam beyond how she'd helped already (speeding his broken arm up in the healing process, for one… he was almost all better now). She was out of ideas.

She shuffled up the sidewalk to the motel sourly, deciding that if Sam didn't show up that day she would have to cut and run. Guilt immediately settled onto her at that thought. She didn't leave comrades out in the dark. That wasn't her style. That was her exhaustion talking. No leaving was allowed until a solution. This mattered with Sam. It mattered. But that didn't make it any less difficult.

As a kid, Jamie never would have imagined her life winding up the way it had. She had dreamt of someday having something simple and happy for herself... which this wasn't. As a little girl, she'd hid in the attic of her childhood home, pretending she was someone else, singing sweet little songs to her dolls as her mother raged downstairs in yet another fight with her father. She'd gotten pretty good at pretending she couldn't hear the domestic disturbances… the screaming, the shouting, the breaking glass, the crying, the foul words. When Erin had been alive, Jamie had made it her life to make sure her little sister saw and heard as little of all that as possible—it really upset and scared little Erin's tender heart. Glen had never seemed affected either way by the fights—in fact, they almost interested him. Then Erin died and Jamie had been left to herself to hide from all the violent emotionally abusive things that went on in her home. A home with pristine shining marble floors, beautiful artwork, expensive and lavish decorations. It was picture perfect and it was hell on earth. Emotionless, empty, loveless. Jamie didn't miss it one fucking bit, ever.

As she unlocked the motel room door, she thought of how she was still good at pretending not to notice things that really, truly bothered her, even when they were right in her face screaming at full volume. Sometimes her ability to not react got her scared that she was fated to turn out like everyone else in her family: psychopathic, cruel, destructive, murderous. Sometimes, she was almost glad she was going to die soon so that she never lived long enough to find out if she was a villain deep down. But most days, she just wanted to live, and to live that life she'd pictured: a simple life at home with children and a husband who loved her—just a happy, useless life of domestic bliss and love and peace. It was such a joke to want that stuff. Jamie knew that. It was a fantasy. No one had a beautiful or happy life in reality. No one she'd ever met, anyway. She pushed it all out of her mind resentfully and walked into the dank, musty motel room, tired and downtrodden, discouraged in every way.

She shut the door behind her, then promptly started in surprise when she saw Sam sitting on the bed. His face was bloody and he was bent over his knees as if in thought or prayer. The room was thick with the heavy, metallic scent of blood. His hands were clasped together and he didn't acknowledge her when she came in. "W-what happened?!" Jamie asked, hurrying toward him for fear of injury then coming up short because her instincts suddenly raised red flags and told her to be careful. The blood was smeared mostly on his lower face, but she realized she couldn't see any wounds. And something about the way he sat so stonily was wrong.

"Crowley got away," Sam said quietly. Too quietly. Jamie stood back, cautious. How? How did Crowley get away? She saw lots of blood now that she was looking—dribbled onto the carpet, splattered on one end of the bed—and Jamie wondered—had Sam killed Crowley? Sometimes Sam appeared to be like a scared little boy. Other times, Jamie thought she should be scared of him because there was this dark, dangerous glint he got in his eyes. In this moment? She felt afraid of him. "She needs help," Sam continued evenly, not looking at Jamie. He sounded reflective, glazed over. "So I… I did what might help. Because I can't take this anymore. Gotta do something. Gotta try it."

"Try what?" Jamie asked in a strained voice, stuck in place where she stood a few paces off.

Sam shook his head, rueful and resigned. "I thought if… if souls could maybe be exorcised, I could do it. Maybe. If I can take away his power, if I can make him an angel again… I can kill him." Sam looked up at Jamie then, and his eyes seemed darker than usual. "I used to be able to kill demons," he said softly, his expression something between worried and determined. "Maybe I can kill more than that."

Jamie watched him carefully. "You need to explain to me exactly what you're implying right now, Sam."

His jaw clenched and his eyes fell from hers to stare blankly into middle distance. "I… I… the blood. Demon blood. It… it makes me stronger."

Jamie suddenly understood and her eyes bulged. "You drank the King of Hell?"

Sam shrugged just barely. "A little."

"A little," she echoed incredulously. Well, today had just gotten a lot more interesting.

Sam was still quiet. "This is my only shot. Nothing can kill this guy—Cas or not, I dunno who he is. All I know is nothing can touch him. But—but maybe my curse, the abilities Azazel put into me… maybe they can finally do something good." He looked up at her, and those eyes held determined, broken pain Jamie couldn't fathom. She didn't understand what he was talking about, the name Azazel was new to her. She almost thought Sam was talking to himself at this point. "I don't care what it takes. I'm saving her. I'm saving my brother, my uncle, my sister. If it's the last thing I do." He shook his head and looked away, becoming teary-eyed. "My life wasn't supposed to be like this." He was definitely talking to himself now. "I was supposed to be married to Jess and maybe I'd be a dad by now… m-my mom shouldn't have died, my dad was supposed to live… my brother, my sister…" his face crumpled and contorted and he looked down at his hands, which Jamie could see had more demon blood on them as he unclasped them and observed the palms through his tears. "I can't let it end like this. I won't. I'm n-not supposed to be the one who survives." Oh Sam. His words were killing her because she knew exactly how he felt and it was like he was saying exactly what she felt about her own life. He stood up slowly, then very dejectedly wiped his bloody palms on a towel he had beside him. For a minute, he was grim and hard and silent. Then he spoke to her without looking her way. "I'll understand if you don't wanna be around me after this. I'm… I'm a freak." He began to clean off his face.

That statement was an out. It was an invitation to go ahead and leave guilt-free. And Jamie barely considered it even though she was still pretty shaken up. After all, she knew about being a freak. About feeling guilty for surviving. About wanting to do something meaningful with a life that already felt over. About taking the curse put on you and trying to do something with it. In that moment, even though she was surprised, she felt passionately on Sam's side. Empathy was winning out. She didn't want him to feel alone—she knew what being alone was like and couldn't leave him out in the wind. The big heart she tried to hide and cram down inside her own chest wouldn't let her walk away. "We've all done some freaky shit to try and get a job done, Sam," she said, knowing that was true for her at least. "I'm not judging you."

Her words visibly shocked him and his eyes snapped to hers. "But I drank demon blood."

"And I like trashy reality TV," she half-joked. "We all have our dirty little secrets."

"…Seriously?" Sam asked, looking suddenly hopeful and relieved and so surprised she wasn't leaving and condemning him. That made it worth it for her. After the past week plus with Sam, they had definitely become something like friends and honestly, in some moments, she'd felt like he could have been the brother Glen had never been for her. She'd always wanted Glen to be all the things Sam had proven to be: caring, loyal, genuine. Even though Sam was going through hell, even though he was barely standing on one emotional leg, he'd proven to be ten times the man and person Glen had been. Sam was literally willing to do anything to save his family, and she saw that and could appreciate it, demon blood or not.

"I… I kinda get what you mean about being the survivor," she said, trying to help him understand she got the lengths Sam was willing to go to for his family and appreciated them even if they were unconventional and sort of iffy. In fact, she thought had their roles been reversed, she would do the same. Anything it took. "I'm the only one left of my family…" she murmured, thinking of Erin, the one she thought could have made it through and been okay, normal, and well-adjusted. "And I dunno… I always thought my little sister should have—that if I could have traded places with her with what happened, I would have. No questions asked. Because… she… she wasn't supposed to die." Jamie was the one talking to herself now, off in her own thoughts. Sam frowned slightly. He didn't know about Erin. Not many people did. That was a story for another time. With a self-conscious a-hem, Jamie refocused the conversation, a little embarrassed at herself. "So you uh, you really think this demon blood thing could work?" It sounded dangerous. Jamie had never heard of people drinking demon blood and living for very long. It was basically like meth—you felt really good for a little while then the substance started killing you and destroying your life after you were good and addicted.

Sam shook his head blankly. "I dunno what else could."

Hesitating, Jamie's voice softened cautiously. "What'll it do to you? Like, long run?"

Sam's handsome face was tense and grim. "I dunno," he said, seeming chagrined. "Haven't thought that far ahead."

Jamie was worried about him again. Wasn't it enough that he was losing his mind? He had to add possible drug-addiction to his plate? But she wasn't in a position to tell Sam what he could and couldn't put in his body. She resigned herself, for now, to just letting him do what he would. "Desperate times."

A humorless, sad little smile struggled on Sam's face. "That's… putting it lightly." He looked at her with very vulnerable, open eyes, and he didn't mask his deeply emotional tone. "Gotta say, I'm kind of shocked you're still here. I mean, most people would have cut and run a long time ago."

His expression made Jamie uncomfortable and awkward. She kept the mood light by shrugging and pulling a face, trying to brush it off as nothing. "Ah," she said in a tone of exaggerated mildness, "Had a few free days on the calendar."

Sam's expression hadn't changed—he was looking at her like he appreciated her and was thankful, and she could barely handle it. "You're a good person, Jamie," he said genuinely, and the way he said that made her chest clench up and emotions spike. "I, I mean it. Just… thank you. For everything. Don't think I could have made it without you, honestly." He looked a little embarrassed to admit that.

Jamie felt her neck burning hot. She wasn't a good person. His thank you was too much and she put a tight smile on her face to try and be polite. "Yeah. It's no problem. I uh, gotta get something out of the car, okay?" She turned around and went right out the door, got into her car, and sat in the front seat of the Tahoe and held the wheel with both hands, just trying to breathe and focus. Her emotions were close to the surface and threatening to break free. Would a good person have let her brother nearly rape the best friend she had? Would a good person deserve what Samuel Campbell did to her in the dark? Would a good person deserve to be tricked and schemed into losing her soul, going to Hell, and dying alone? Would a good person feel so dead and numb inside, so scared shitless, while acting like she had it together outwardly? Jamie knew what she was. She was a waste of space, not good enough. Her mother's words to her, said so many years ago, echoed in her mind and belittled her, shamed her, made her feel second, third, fourth best.

Jamie looked up and forced her emotions down, sniffed and dabbed at her eyes, refusing to let that woman have more say in how she felt. She'd spent long enough living underneath her mother's merciless fist. It was crazy how years after Caroline Ward's death, Jamie was still trying to escape that cruel voice. Forcing the thoughts away, Jamie's gaze accidentally went to the rear view mirror and she caught sight of Dean laid across the back seat, frosty and quiet and dead. She was surprised and saddened at the sight of him there, though she didn't know why. The frost was fading and she realized she needed to cast the spell again on him and Bobby both. Her chest twisted a little and the emotions she was trying to press down got stronger—she wished she knew a way to bring them back. But maybe there wasn't a way. The silence crushed her and she sat back in her seat, slumping slightly as she thought, thought, thought. "I'm way outta my element here Dean," she said softly, shaking her head as her eyes traveled the space in front of herself unseeingly. "I don't feel right, telling Sam to stop. But the demon blood… it's dangerous. Would you let him do that? Christ. What am I supposed to do, huh?" She suddenly laughed at herself, but it was devoid of any joy. "God," she muttered. "This is insane. And I'm in here talking to the dead guy." She stared out her window unseeingly, trying to dig deep and center herself, get mentally strong.

She thought about how she could have started up that car and driven away and never seen Sam ever again. That would be easier, not to care or worry about him and his family. But after a couple minutes, Jamie gathered herself and went back in. She'd been abandoned so many times that she couldn't stand to be the one who abandoned. Especially not Sam.

---

That same night, Sam and Jamie set to work trying to find a demon nest for Sam to get more demon blood from even as they tried to guess where Cas might show up next.

Sam tried every method that had ever worked in the past for establishing a pattern or a radius, but Cas's seemingly random reign of terror was appearing to be more and more certainly random… which meant there was little to no way of actually tracking him or predicting him. Either way, Sam was determined to find him somehow and he was determined to be ready for it too. He told Jamie that he needed to drain several demons and store their blood for drinking whenever they found Cas. He only hoped that the psychic powers the blood activated could do something, anything against Cas once they found him. Jamie was obviously uncomfortable and uncertain about the entire thing, but she didn't argue. Sam didn't know if he appreciated her being respectful of his decision or if he wished she could go Dean-style on him and punch him in the face and tell him he was being a moron. Without his big brother there, Sam didn't feel as sure of himself or his choices. Jamie put trust into him, however wary. And that was different for Sam. His dad had never fully trusted him, his siblings hadn't either, or it had never felt like that anyway.

After awhile of trying in vain to establish a pattern trace for Cas, Sam gave up and then Jamie told Sam she had to do the freezing spell on Bobby and Dean again because it was wearing out. To make the spell casting optimal, Sam hauled their bodies into the motel room under the cover of darkness and then unfortunately had another panic attack right after laying Bobby down beside Dean on the bed—but at this point, he almost preferred the flames and pain to seeing Lucifer possessing a twisted, over-sexualized version of his sister.

When Jamie shook Sam out of his torment, he was exhausted and emotionally bereft and shaking from low blood sugar. Jamie saw that and realized they were completely out of food. Almost as soon as she walked out of the motel room to go get some groceries, Sam's phone rang.

He was slumped in a cheap motel chair at the little kitchen table and his eyes slid to the phone. He didn't want to answer. He didn't care who it was. He just wanted rest, and sleep, and something good in this hellhole of a life. But some sixth sense, some intuition told him to answer the call even though he didn't want to. Grudgingly, he picked up the phone and squinted at the readout. The incoming call was from a number he didn't recognize. He answered tiredly. "Hello?"

"Sam!"

That voice. Sam sat up straight, his heart suddenly pumping a million miles an hour. "Alex!?"

He heard a shuddering breath on the other end, like she was almost crying. "Yeah."

Relief and terror alike ripped through Sam, who was on his feet and wasn't sure when he'd gotten there. "Oh my god, are you okay?! Did you get away? Where are you? Are you hurt?!"

He hung on anxiously for her answer, which was sort of forced. He could hear that she was suppressing a lot. "I'm—I'm okay," she said. Sam didn't buy it and felt like he could have jumped out of skin from the anxiousness he felt. "Cas is here with me, um, he's… he's not…" her voice weakened and Sam strained to hear her. "He's not doing good. But, he, he broke through and got control of himself again, so—I mean—I…"

She trailed off, leaving Sam confused and angry and scared. "Where are you?" he asked tersely. He imagined Cas hovering over her and Alex scared and small and Sam couldn't allow it for one second longer. The threat of tears in her unstable voice was making every big brother hackle raise up and every instinct clamber to lay his eyes on her and verify that she was all right. "I'm coming to get you right now."

"No, no," Alex said, and she sounded tired, distracted, so harrowed. "We're coming to where you are. I just wanted to tell you he's not—he's not dangerous anymore. He's… he's gonna fix Dean and Bobby and then put the souls back into Purgatory, Sam, he's promised. Just don't hurt him, Sam, please."

Bristling immediately at the request, Sam bit back an enraged 'like hell' and instead made himself sound calm. "Yeah. No. I won't." But he would. For every time Sam had caught sight of Alex, blurry and grainy on the news in the background looking afraid and sick. For every fucked up thing Cas had done to the Winchester family. For every day that Cas had dragged Sam's sister around and kept her prisoner. And then Sam suddenly had a twisted, sickening thought hit him. What if Alex had been willing? What if Cas had brainwashed her? What if she had Stockholm syndrome? Sam didn't have more time to really think about it. In front of him, in the motel room, Cas and Alex appeared out of nowhere, and Sam was taken aback momentarily, frozen in place. His phone slowly fell from his ear in his hand as he stared agape, unable to believe it.

Cas looked near death—his face had strange marks all over it, rashes almost, his clothes were bloody and he leaned heavily onto Alex who was supporting him as best she could with a pained, emotionally haggard face. She was no longer in a white dress. She was in street clothes. She looked physically fine but emotionally at a breaking point, and Sam's heart shot straight up out of him in relief and anxiety alike as his eyes flooded completely.

Cas reached out and supported himself against the wall next to himself as brother and sister rushed to each other and into a fierce, hard embrace. She had been dead the last time he saw her, and Sam sobbed loudly from relief as he held her so tight he could have hurt her. But she was grabbing him just as tight and crying too. Sam heard a muffled "Sammy" from where her face was buried in his chest—and his arms tightened even more, unwilling to let go of her at all ever again.

Cas watched, a guilty and pained expression on his face as the twins cried loudly and held onto each other for a very long moment with eyes shut tight and arms clamped hard around each other. Both had thought they might never see each other again and it was very obvious from the embrace. Abruptly, Sam opened his eyes and took her by the arms, pulled back far enough to look her in the eyes. "You're really okay?" he asked anxiously, eyes flickering all over her in an earnest search for anything even slightly wrong.

She looked just as worried about him as he was about her. "Yeah," she said, nodding a few tense times as she searched his eyes like he searched hers. "Yeah, are you?"

He almost laughed for joy at her question. "Forget me," he said, grinning through his tears and squishing her to his chest again tightly, so glad she was alive and here where he could keep her safe. Finally, finally. And with that single thought, he remembered Cas and looked up as he still held Alex. His smile fell and his happiness soured.

The beaten and disheveled angel (or whatever the hell he was) was sagging against a wall nearby and guiltily dodging Sam's gaze. Without warning, Sam suddenly felt that long-suppressed anger rush him internally—and every fury he had saved up suddenly burst out of him and he let go of Alex and abruptly rushed and attacked Cas, grabbing him by a fistful of shirt and cracking his fist into Castiel's face repeatedly, wildly, brutally, over and over and over again. His rage only grew more and more maniacal and Cas did nothing to fight him off. He accepted the blows and staggered underneath them woozily, falling back onto one of the beds as Sam hammered his fist into his face over and over, each blow payment for what had happened and what Cas had done. Sam felt someone pulling on him and in his fit of rage, he realized Alex was crying out protests, trying to pull him off of Cas. "Sam stop! Stop! Don't hurt him!" she screeched in panic.

Incredulous and angry, out of breath, Sam stopped to give his sister a riled up stare. "What, like he didn't hurt you? Hurt Dean?! Hurt Bobby?! Hurt hundreds of innocent people?!" He thought his words would remind her of reality but all Alex did was shake her head no and look at Cas like she was worried to death.

Sam couldn't believe her. She was defending him, she wedged herself between Sam and Cas and was carefully trying to help Cas sit back up. With labored and shallow breaths, Cas managed to speak feebly despite his failing state. "I'm… going to fix it Sam. As best I can." The guy looked sorry enough to move mountains, but it did nothing for Sam except piss him off more. "I know what I've done is unforgivable."

"You're damn right it's unforgivable!" Sam raged, so mad he could have killed Castiel right then and there. But he made himself take a deep breath then he did the only thing he could think of and grabbed Alex by the shoulder of her shirt, leaving the angel slumping on the bed.

Sam took his sister aside to the further part of the room and went from angry with her to desperate for answers and emotionally wretched. He could tell Alex was not okay, he could tell she'd been through hell, and he had to know how to protect her and how to make it better. "What did he do to you?" he asked in a low, urgent whisper. "Did he hurt you? Tell me." Was mind control involved? Brainwashing? What had Cas done?

Alex looked away toward Cas and shrugged her mouth downwards, trying to appear fine and looking like she was about to cry instead. "No. No, I'm—I'm fine."

Sam didn't believe that. "No you're not," he insisted. "You're not fine. What did he do? Alex, you can tell me," he pleaded.

She wouldn't look at him. "It… wasn't him," she said faintly, and Sam's skin crawled and went cold, his stomach turned. "It was… it was the others."

"The others?" Sam echoed, sick with alarm.

Alex watched Cas in what looked like worry. "Leviathan and Behemoth, I think." She sounded kind of automatic and robotic. "The souls from Purgatory." Her eyebrows were suddenly screwing up together and her expression indicated that she was trying not to lose composure. Her eyes were filling with tears. "Cas—Cas saved me, Sam. That's all you need to know."

Sam studied her in ill confusion. "Saved you from what?"

Alex's eyes met his and she was trying very hard to be strong. "Right now it's not important. Right now I can't."

Sam's heart ached in his chest and he didn't want to know while he desperately wanted to know at the same time. On the bed, Cas watched silently with pained features as Sam became tender with his sister and hugged her again, shaking from adrenaline and shock and every emotion he was feeling at the moment. At least she was alive. They could pick up the pieces later. "I was so worried about you," he said, his quiet voice trembling with the threat of tears. "I was so sick about where you were and if you were okay." He thought of Lucifer, of Hell, of the hundreds of appalling visions… and he felt guilt-stricken, dirty, low, miserable. He felt sudden revulsion for himself and couldn't hold her without feeling a creeping self-loathing and shame. His arms slackened around her and he thought maybe he shouldn't be anywhere near her. "You know I would never let anyone hurt you, right?" he asked, getting more and more upset. "I d-don't want you to get hurt, ever. Not by Cas, not by, by me—not by anyone."

Alex was mildly taken aback by the severity he used and the way he mentioned himself. She squinted at him then put a hand onto his forehead then cheek, frowning deeply. "Sam, you're… you're burning up," she said softly, very worried. "What's happening with you? Are you sick?"

Sam shook his head several times over. Now he was the one dodging clear answers. "It doesn't matter," he said, brushing it aside and not wanting to even admit to how bad off he was. "I'm… I'm just glad you're okay. Everything else is just details."

Alex opened her mouth to argue with him probably, but she didn't get to speak. Cas's soft, unsteady voice interrupted them. "I'm—I'm sorry but—if we don't do this soon, I may become unable." He was breathing heavily and looking at the twins with a labored expression.

He meant bring back Dean and Bobby. Sam's demeanor darkened predictably. "Then do it," he said stiffly, nodding at the bed where Dean and Bobby were laid. Alex hadn't noticed them there yet and when she did, she went still and her face showed absolute horror as her eyes went to Dean's dead body. A hand went to her mouth as her composure crumpled without anything further. Sam was so angry she had to see this and he put an arm around her tightly as she sobbed into her hand and ducked her face into his side to avoid looking at Dean and Bobby any longer. Cas was doing nothing and Sam's anger peaked. "Any day now Cas," he said in a hard, rude voice.

Cas hadn't moved toward the corpses. "I… I can't walk," he admitted, obviously ashamed.

Beside Sam, Alex wiped her face and in what in any other situation might have been bravery and strength she made to go to Cas and help him. Oh hell no. Sam immediately swiped his arm out, preventing his sister from going anywhere near Cas. "Stay back," he warned her.

Her eyes showed surprise and anxiety at his sudden brusque tone and demeanor. "Sam—" she protested.

He didn't let her speak. "No. I don't want you near him ever again." Sam gave her no chance to argue with him. He went and yanked Cas roughly to his feet and manhandled him over to where Dean and Bobby laid silent and dead. As they moved, Sam felt Cas's hand close around his wrist and when he did that, Sam's every ache and pain was suddenly gone—and surprised, Sam looked at Cas, whose slightly disfigured face showed contrition, regret, and pain. "I… I can't… do anything more for you," the angel said quietly, his eyes genuine and begging for forgiveness. "Sam, I'm so sorry."

Gruff, Sam tried not to look like he cared either way about the gesture. Cas had broken his mind—fixing a few cuts and scrapes didn't make it right. Cas frowned at him, picking up on something, his eyes squinting up just slightly. "Have… have you been drinking demon blood?" he questioned softly.

A few feet away, Alex's face went slack, her mouth gaped open, and Sam dodged her horrified stare. Caught, he swallowed and kept his face hard. "Yeah," he answered Cas, laying on the guilt trip. "To try and give me enough power to kill you."

Cas's features were crestfallen and his shoulders slumped. He looked at the dead bodies before him and grief made his face look jaded beyond compare. "Oh Sam," he said softly in a voice that was broken. "I… this is all my fault."

Sam felt a twinge of empathy without his own permission and squashed it down. Cas didn't deserve anything except to die at this point. It didn't matter how much he regretted it, dammit. This was Cas's fault. He should feel bad.

Cas bent and touched Bobby first, and the very faint layer of frost on him disappeared as his eyes snapped open and he gasped loudly and sat up with wide eyes, a hand flying to cover his heart as he looked around in confusion. "…Lord almighty, what'n tarnation just happened…?" he breathed, momentarily appearing to think he was dreaming.

"I'm so sorry, Bobby," Cas said somberly, then nodded at Sam, who roughly and rudely jerked Cas over to the other side of the bed where Dean laid.

Bobby tried to stand up and wobbled a little, then sat right back down. "Guess my sea legs need some work," he muttered, clearly very confused, especially when Alex barreled into him and hugged him tight. "This… this really happening?" he asked, obviously unsure if it was too good to be true or not. He hugged her briefly, looking at her then Sam for answers. Alex was silent and tearful, looking at her dead brother.

"Fill you in later," Sam said tersely from the other side of the bed. Bobby and Alex watched as Cas reached down and touched Dean and called him back to life.

At the touch of Cas's hand, Dean's still chest suddenly rose as his eyes opened and he blinked at the ceiling several times, his expression working oddly as he caught sight of Cas and Sam in disoriented confusion. "What… what happened?" he asked slowly, surprised to find himself alive and staring up at his brother and the angel. Sam said nothing—his face crumpled and he pulled Dean up into a sit and hugged the life out of him as Cas stumbled back and supported himself weakly against the bedside table.

"Whoa, whoa, ouch," Dean complained in good nature at Sam's vice-like embrace, patting him on the back mildly. "Ease up little brother." He chuckled slightly and Sam let go, leaving Dean sitting on the edge of the bed and obviously in momentary amnesia about the current situation. Dean had his back to Bobby and Alex as he sat on the edge of the bed facing Sam and Cas. He stood slowly, grunting. "Geez, what the hell?" he asked, discovering his very stiff and semi-atrophied limbs. And then he clearly remembered everything and his expression went cold and horrified and he looked at Cas with suddenly wide eyes. "Wait… wait. You—you killed me! You killed…" he trailed off, unable to finish, then he saw that Sam and Cas were both looking over his shoulder. Dean turned around and looked where their gazes were. On Alex, who'd stood up and was watching him in disbelief and relief alike, like she was afraid it wasn't real and if she moved she'd break the moment. Dean's face went slack at the sight of her. "Oh my god," he uttered softly, too shocked to move for a minute. His voice was just above a whisper. "You real?" he breathed, eyebrows moving inward and upward in an expression of severely despairing hope.

Alex nodded, barely able to hold her emotions back. Her voice cracked as she replied through tears. "I'm real."

Dean stumbled over to her and grabbed her into a tight hug—he was abruptly choking out shuddering sobs as his fingers tangled haphazardly into her hair. Her forehead was against his neck and Dean's eyes were screwed shut against strong emotion and freely flowing tears. She was crying too, arms circled around his middle like a vice. "Thought I lost you," he choked out in a whisper, opening his eyes and staring at the far wall as he tried to compose himself. Alex shook her head no vehemently in the crook of his neck and Dean shut his eyes again, letting out a long and shaky breath as he tried to calm down and center himself. He pulled back to look at her and verify she was real and alive—he took her tear-streaked face in both hands and studied her with an agonized expression. His face was tear-streaked too. He seemed to see what he was looking for and helplessly hugged her again, kissed the side of her head, said something about never letting her out of his sight ever again, and then gathered himself and turned on his hard, dominant, protective persona. He turned around, purposefully keeping Alex behind himself as he leveled Cas with a dangerous, sharp gaze. "Explain. Now."

The angel looked like he might fall over any moment. "We—we don't have time," he said, obviously having trouble just speaking. "We have to get the souls out, now. I don't… I don't think I can hold them much longer."

---

A few moments later, Cas had taken them all to the now-abandoned lab where Crowley and Cas's headquarters had been. Alex tried to explain what was happening while Cas struggled with basic functioning and ended up having to sit on the floor leaned against a heavy old metal filing cabinet. Cas said with his little remaining strength he would create the eclipse needed and the Winchesters would draw the necessary sigil—the designs were still there, right where Crowley had left them on a metal table. From there, he would return the souls to Purgatory and fix what he had done.

Dean immediately thereafter separated his sister from Castiel—refusing to even let them be in the same room together—he had Bobby take Alex down a hallway despite her many (many) protests. Cas on the other hand hadn't protested the separation, just mourned it. He was in the very room where he'd killed Alex a week ago after all, and the memories stirred at this place made him sick. Accident or not, he couldn't bear himself or what he'd done. All he could do was remember it—the fit of lunacy that overtook him, the anger that drove him to violence, the way he lost control over himself and created the biggest disaster and tragedy he could fathom. He loved her so much… so how could he ever have done what he did? Castiel didn't understand, he couldn't make sense of it. He hated himself.

He could hear Alex even now as Bobby walked her down the hallway and away—she was protesting, not wanting to be taken away from Cas in his last moments. The angel's chest ached for her. But the sooner he was gone from her life, the better. And yet, his heart hurt more and more the farther she got from him. He imagined holding her one last time, and breathing in his last breath with her face as the last thing he ever saw.

"Where's the blood for the ritual, Cas?" Sam asked in a clipped, unfriendly tone.

Coming out of his distractions, Cas tried to sit up a little more where he was sagging. "T-there's a jar on the bottom shelf, third over from the l-left," he said, nodding vaguely at a rickety metal shelving unit over at the edge of the room.

Sam nodded, already heading that way.

Dean was nearby and he looked down at Cas with a pinched expression that was hard to read. Castiel couldn't tell if he were angry, sad, or perhaps both. When Sam got the jar, Dean spoke to him without taking his eyes off of Cas. "Start drawing, Sam. I'll be there in a sec." Dean sauntered a little closer to Cas. "You know, if you weren't dying already, I'd be in the front of the line to kill you," he said in a hard, forced tone.

Castiel nodded, accepting the harsh words without protest. Dean would be even more eager to kill him if he knew the things Alex had been subjected to for the past nine days. "I deserve that, Dean. I know I do." The angel's throat closed up a little as emotion controlled him and made him feel worthless, miserable, and defeated. He remembered fighting the souls inside of him so hard but not being able to break through soon enough—and Alex had paid the price for that. Cas had been locked in a fever-dream inside of himself, not sure what direction was up or down, not sure what things were real or not. But in the end, he could only blame himself for what happened to her, the world, and so many of the people in it. "What I did was unforgivable," he said faintly, utterly miserable. "I'm sorry, Dean. For everything."

Dean smirked sarcastically, angrily. "'Sorry' doesn't help me, Cas. It doesn't fix a damn thing."

Cas nodded once, and even that action felt impossibly hard because of his physical weakness. "I understand that." He looked up into Dean's eyes and tried to make his earnestness known. "But I do feel regret. In every atom of who I am. I hope you know I'm sincere."

Surprisingly, Dean considered him and softened, growing saddened and choked up. "Yeah. I believe you." The oldest Winchester seemed rueful of himself, but said nothing else. "Why'd you do it, man? I don't… I don't understand."

Cas felt void. Empty. "Neither do I." He thought of what he'd done even before he'd been piloted by monsters. "I wish I could fix Sam," he said, regretting that cowardly and terrible action with every fiber of his being. "His mind and what I did to it. But I'm… I'm too weak." Castiel shut his eyes briefly to stop himself from crying. He felt so much, and it hurt. There was nothing but pain in his heart. How did human beings do this? The world was too much. The heart could feel things that were too large to contain. The ache never seemed to end.

Dean was again surprisingly not hostile toward Cas. "We'll figure it out," he said flatly, like he was just too tired to even fight anymore. "We always do."

Cas looked at Dean and saw a man he respected and admired. Life was impossible, and Dean had seen more hard times than many yet he survived, he took care of those who were his, and he never admitted defeat. He always seemed to do the right thing. He was truly the righteous man Heaven had seen him as. "Dean, when I'm gone…" Cas started, voice unsteady with emotion, "please. Promise me you'll… make sure she's all right."

Dean visibly soured at the request then shook his head and dragged a hand over his face. He took a few seconds to reply. "Got some nerve to say that to me, man." He was cynically amused and bitter at the same time, accusatory. "That's all I've ever done, Cas. What have you done to her?"

Cas's eyes fell away and his chest tightened impossibly with misery. "I know." He remembered her screaming underneath him as the souls inside of him had almost succeeded in doing the unthinkable. Castiel felt his eyes stinging but he made no effort to blink away the gathering tears. "You were right," he said softly, blankly, staring into space as the magnitude of what had happened to his Alex because of him washed over him anew. "All this time. I finally agree with you, Dean. I never should have pursued your sister. Not if it were going to end like this. I… I should have stayed away."

Maybe his genuine tone moved Dean. The hunter made no rude reply. He just sounded sad and took another couple seconds to reply. "Hindsight's twenty-twenty."

Cas looked at Dean in frustrated grief. "I don't understand that phrase."

Dean shrugged blandly. "Means looking back you can see things a whole lot clearer than when you were in the thick of it." He looked at Sam, who was partway finished with the large design drawn in blood.

Cas took a moment of silence and despite all of his convictions, despite how he had been so determined to step out of Alex's life with no grand fanfare, he realized he couldn't just do that. She needed closure, he needed closure. He needed to see her. Just once more. He needed to make amends or try to with the time he had left. Cas mustered his courage, because he felt unworthy to ask what he was about to ask. Still, he soldiered forward because he was all too aware of how fleeting his time remaining was. "Can I… can I see her?" he asked quietly. He got an immediate sharp frown and he could see Dean was already thinking no. Sam had paused mid-blood stroke and was looking back at Cas and Dean with a hard expression. Castiel swallowed, completely despairing at the thought of never seeing her again. "Please. I have to apologize. I—I have to say goodbye."

Dean looked at Cas long and hard while Sam watched hawkishly. And shockingly, Dean gave Cas a slight chance. "Gimme one good reason why I would ever let you see her again," he challenged, crossing his arms and waiting.

Cas's gaze fell slowly and the depth of his grief echoed through him as he thought about what he wanted to tell Alex and give back to her. He drew in a deep breath and then looked back at Dean. "I have to… to give back something I never should have accepted."

Dean's frown deepened questioningly. When Cas told Dean what it specifically was he had to give back to her, Dean agreed to it despite Sam's vehement protests.

---

Bobby had Alex at the end of the hallway, and she was pacing back and forth as he blocked the way back to the room where Cas and her brothers were. She was at her wit's end and couldn't believe what was happening. In a slight level of shock, Alex suddenly stopped pacing mid step and set her uncle with a desperate, appealing look. "Bobby, he's dying. Come on. This is crazy. Let me see him, please."

Bobby was watching her with sad eyes and crossed arms. "That really the best idea?"

"I love him!" Alex protested, not sure how the hell any of them could deny her the right to see Cas one more time—he was dying and they all knew how she felt about him, and none of them even knew the extent of the horror she'd been through and yet they were acting like this? Alex was furious, trembling, forever at the point of tears—and it hurt because Cas had just watched her with sad eyes and let her go without a word. "I have to see him one last time," she said, suddenly deciding she couldn't accept this. With a burst of speed, she made to dart past Bobby. He caught her, moving pretty quick and surprising her, stopping her by the arms and holding her in place while he set her with a warning look.

"Sorry, sweetheart." He was deeply sympathetic but not about to change his mind. "Your brothers were pretty clear about keepin' you away. Can't say I'm too crazy about you seein' him either."

Alex pulled out of his hands and she was so hurt and betrayed by this that she could have cried. "If you knew Karen had been about to die, wouldn't you have wanted to talk to her?" she asked, and Bobby's face changed. "Just one more time?"

"Don't ask me that," Bobby said, getting sad and distant. "'Course I would."

"Then you understand," Alex argued desperately. "Bobby, please. I can't. If he dies… I can't." Her voice broke and she didn't hide her severely vexed emotions from him. He was dying. But she couldn't accept it. Not Cas. Not her Castiel. Not after everything. She just couldn't take another blow like that.

Bobby gave her a lecturing look, like he wouldn't accept that from her. "You can. And you will. Ain't no man, angel, or demon gonna bring my girl down. You're strong. Stronger than strong. And you got me and the boys backin' you up. So don't do that. Don't give up."

Not what she wanted to hear. And not the truth at all. Alex shook her head, and every horrible thing that had happened to her in the past week plus threatened to destroy her. Her vision blurred through tears and she admitted that she was all but defeated. "I've been through too much, Bobby," she whispered, barely able to speak. "There's only so much a person can take. I'm—I'm not made out of metal. I'm glass. And I'm two seconds away from cracking into a million pieces. Don't tell me to be strong. I'm not okay. And I can't be strong anymore. I'm too tired, I've lost too much, I can't take anything else! And now he's… he's just gonna die?" She shut her eyes, miserable and alone and aching to hold Cas one more time despite everything. "I need to see him."

"I'm sorry darlin'," Bobby apologized genuinely, his eyes very sad on her. "I don't know what to—"

"Hey." Dean was marching down the hall and his face was both grim and guarded. Alex's heart leapt in fear and hope alike. What Dean said next sent her soaring. "He's asking for you." They didn't have to tell her twice—when Dean motioned for her to go ahead and go, Alex didn't question it. She brushed past her brother and uncle and rushed down the hall in a near run. She heard Dean mutter behind her to Bobby: "Trust me, if he so much as breathes wrong…"

Alex practically skidded into the main room, and Cas was exactly where he'd been when she had been removed. He was sitting and leaning heavily against the metal filing cabinet at one of the edges of the room. When Cas saw her, his already pained expression grew even more pained. Sam was nearby and his expression was disgruntled and pissy, his eyes were sharp and watching everything very closely.

But Alex only had eyes for Cas, who only had eyes for her. She went right to him, dropping to her knees and hugging him tight, trying to be gentle as to not hurt him. Relief filled her even though it was very temporary. His shape and form was so familiar, but his breathing was so weak and shallow. She pulled back enough to see his face and their hands held onto each other. Cas looked at her with eyes that held worlds of pain and regret and Alex was left yet again to realize that he really was nearing the end of his life. And as if he wanted to add insult to injury, he said as much. "Alex… I—I don't have long left," he began.

Those words did something immediate and strong to her. They made every part of her seize up and say no in terror, they made her want to grab onto him and command him to never say anything like that to her ever again. Trying desperately hard to be strong and not fall apart, Alex managed not to show the extent of her sadness. "Okay, you know what, don't give me the last day of your life speech," she said, trying to laugh softly at the end. It didn't quite work.

Castiel just looked sadder. "But it is the last day of my life," he replied quietly. Alex's hands tightened on his arms in a vain and childish attempt to hold onto composure. Cas soldiered on despite his emotional turmoil—he could see her quickly disintegrating condition and it made him all the more upset. "And before I go, I—I need you to know I wish more than anything that I could take back what I've done. What I let happen." The weight in his voice at those words. The guilt, the excruciating shame. Alex's despair was making her shrink. He had let awful things happen. There was no arguing with that. He touched one of her hands gently, rested his hand there on hers and his eyes pleaded with hers. "Promise me you'll survive this somehow," he said, and it was hitting Alex over and over again. He was telling her goodbye forever, and this really was the end. There was no do-over. This was it. "I need to know you'll be all right when I'm gone," he whispered. "That I haven't... haven't destroyed you."

What could she say to that? She didn't know how to be all right ever again point blank and all she could do was quietly choke out his name in a sob as the tears came. "Cas."

Cas's face crumpled as she broke down. "Don't cry, please," he besought, his hand coming to tremble against her cheek weakly. "Don't. Not because of me. Haven't I caused you enough sorrow?"

Yes, he had. She couldn't take anymore. But Alex helped him hold his hand up against her cheek by covering his with her own. "I was supposed to be the one who died first," she whispered, shaking her head no weaky. "Not you." Understanding and pain rippled across his face as she fought even harder not to break down. "W-where will you go?" Heaven? Hell? Purgatory? Nowhere?

Cas shook his head faintly. "No one knows where angels go when they die. Or if they go anywhere at all."

Choking on the emotion constricting her chest, Alex searched his eyes with hers. Castiel had allowed terrible things to happen. He had accidentally killed her in a fit of rage, he had broken her brother, he had murdered Dean and Bobby, he had probably been at fault for her mutism, he had lied to her for over a year and kept important things from her—but somehow, Alex thought none of it was truly his fault. She couldn't bear to believe he was a bad person. Misguided, yes. Mislead, yes. She believed that his goodness, his innocence, he naivety, his desire to protect her—that those things had been his undoing. And she couldn't bear to see how much he hated himself when she loved him so much. "I need you to know I forgive you," she said urgently through increasing tears, trying to give him what she knew he needed in his last moments, unwilling to let him die without knowing she loved him still and always would. "Everything. All of it."

Cas's face contorted in immediate protest even though he was clearly humbled and choked up. "No. Alex, I don't deserve forgiveness from anyone, least of all from you."

"That, that doesn't matter," she replied, touching his face and trying to hold onto him. He looked so sick, the red rashes and scabs profane across his handsome features. She wanted to take it all away, save him from this. "Cas. I just… I've lost enough. I can't lose you too." She begged him even though he couldn't do anything and they both knew it. "Don't go," she whispered, in tears at her pathetic, weak heart. "Don't leave me."

"Oh Alex," he said softly, wretchedly, and his eyes shone with tears too. "I can't control what's happening. This is the end for me. And even if I did survive… I see it now. I don't belong with you. I've done nothing but ruin your life and hurt you time and time again." Alex wanted to protest, but she could find no words for a minute. Castiel saw her inner denial about it and held her gaze in somber resignation. "You know it's true."

Maybe it was. And maybe she was a weak, stupid woman. But she only had one thing to say about it. "I wouldn't change it," she said, in a rasping, strained voice. "I love you."

The words only made Castiel's sadness greater. "You shouldn't," he said, seeming very guilt-ridden. "After everything I've done. After what I've put you through. You should despise me."

Alex shook her head. "I don't. I can't." She held one of his hands in both of hers tightly, and couldn't understand how it could end like this. What had once been so innocent and sweet was crashing and burning to a bitter end she had never predicted. She couldn't imagine going on without him. He had filled up a space in her heart that had been empty before. He was about to be torn out of her life, and she thought that the place in her heart that was his would destroy her when he was no longer there.

Crying softly, Alex looked at his rash-covered hand that limply rested in hers. His other hand came to gently touch the side of her face with caution and care and tenderness and she shut her eyes, leaning into the touch. "Being loved by you was the best thing I have ever known," Castiel said softly, his voice strained by emotion, regret, and pain. She cried even harder at his words, recognizing the goodbye speech. "I wish… I wish it could have ended differently. I wish I had never hurt you. I wish I could have been all you deserve." He took his hand away and slowly, stiffly reached into his coat pocket, mystifying a bereft Alex. And then when he drew out Dad's silver wedding band—the ring she'd given Castiel—she understood and she shrank back slightly, briefly out of tears for shock. No. He was not about to do what she thought he was about to do. Cas looked at her through somber misery. "I have to give this back to you," he said, making her feel like the world shattered into pieces all around her. "This should belong to someone else. Someone who won't fail you like I have. I should never have presumed to… to do what I did."

Cas held the ring out and Alex refused to take it. She shook her head, almost angry. She wouldn't take it back. "Maybe it was stupid," she said, because she had critiqued herself hundreds of times for marrying him. "But we did it. It was both of us. And I won't take it back. It's yours." Like me. I'm yours. And I don't want you to say otherwise.

Cas shook his head, seeming cowed and depressed. "I can't keep it, Alex," he said, holding it out with a shaking hand. She didn't take it. "I—I should never have even said hello," he murmured, looking into her eyes with a pained expression. "I blame myself for everything. Especially her." Alex's heart clenched, because she knew he meant the lost baby. "I'm so sorry." He took her hand and turned it palm-up, then put the ring into her hand and gently closed her fingers over the ring. Alex stared at her closer fist with a sick, crumpling face. She remembered the day she'd given this to him and didn't even recognize that silly, idealistic, lovesick girl she'd been. Everything she'd hoped for and believed in was crashing down and blowing up in her face. Yet again, she was realizing he really was about to be gone and she could do nothing about it.

Defeated and blank and feeling panic at the edges of her mind, Alex couldn't crouch in front of him anymore. She collapsed to sit beside him weakly and she stared off into space as she struggled to understand. They had been through so much together and she had just wanted him there a little longer. It wasn't fair that she was going to be left here to pick up pieces alone without him. "How am I supposed t-to…" she looked up and to the side at him where he sat beside her, "to do this? Without you?"

Cas looked so very regretful and at fault, like he was blaming himself for everything. "I don't know," he said, slipping weak fingers into hers. He had promised to be with her forever, and now he was about to go. "I'm sorry." Their hands held between them and Cas held her gaze. He was struggling to breathe, and Alex couldn't bear to see that. She held his hand tighter. "I loved you beyond reason or measure," he said in a thick, tearful voice. He sounded lost, confused, defeated. "But it wasn't enough."

"You loved me," she whispered back, not doubting that for a minute and momentarily unable to see or conceive of anything else. "That was enough, and always will be." And for then, words couldn't speak what she needed him to know. She leaned close and closed the distance between them and gave him a last gentle, agonized kiss, a kiss she could barely give through the grief wracking her body. She gently used her free hand to cradle the side of his face. He returned her kiss with a twisted, conflicted expression on his face and his fingers tightened in hers. They were both in tears and neither knew what to say when the kiss ended.

They remained a breath's distance apart and Cas's eyes searched hers urgently. "Promise me, Alex," he asked softly, brokenly, one of his hands tracing fingers down the side of her cheek. "That you'll find someone else, when the time is right. That you'll move on."

She was already shaking her head no, insulted. How could he even ask her that? "No," she said firmly even though her voice was failing her. "I won't promise that."

Through great sadness, a small and bittersweet smile broke on his face. "You are so stubborn," he said quietly, his eyes soft on hers. His smile wavered and emotion made his voice thick. He said it almost to himself, like he was realizing what a loss he was about to experience. "My Alex…"

Two words that defeated her. She was his. It felt like in every way, whether she wanted it or not, she was forever chained to him in good ways and bad. How could she ever escape it? How could anyone else ever mean what he meant? How could anyone else ever matter like he did? They couldn't and that thought made her feel hopeless and sickened by love all at once. "I'd rather be alone for the rest of my life," she choked out miserably, not even sure how she felt about what she was saying. The tears kept coming beyond her control, making it hard to talk. "No one else will ever—" her chin trembled violently and her mouth was doing its own thing, making speaking almost impossible. "You're everything." She leaned into him and hugged him closely around the neck, shutting her eyes tight. She had married him. She had unknowingly carried his offspring for however short a time. She loved him however wrong or right that was. And she didn't think she would ever, ever stop. Not even the past horrific however-many days could take what she felt away.

Cas was resonating off of her emotions and as such was disconsolate and trying his best to comfort her, but he was so ailed by sadness that all he could do was try not to break down himself. "I wish I'd told you," he said wretchedly through an unsteady voice as his arms tightened feebly around her. "I wish I hadn't kept it all from you."

They both wished that. The things that might have changed if he hadn't kept everything from her or if she hadn't been so blindly trusting… the outcome could have been so different. And that was why they both mourned this so deeply. "I know," she whispered into his shoulder.

Cas's pulse was so faint—she could feel how weak it was in his neck against her forehead. "Your name is in the book of Heaven now," Cas mused softly. "At the very least I did that. But I—I don't know if what I put you through made it worth it." His face turned to her a little more and his already deep grief seemed to double. "I can't bear what I've done to you. I deserve this death."

"Shh, no," Alex said, holding onto his neck even tighter. "It wasn't you who did those things." Cas would never do the things Destroyer and Leviathan had. Starving her, neglecting her, abusing her, abandoning her, assaulting her. Alex squeezed her eyes shut. "Remember our good times," she whispered, trying to do that herself.

"Our good times," he echoed faintly, sounding uncertain and so sad.

Footsteps were approaching, and Alex heard Dean speaking. "Come on, Al," he said softly, sensitive to the moment happening. "It's time."

Alex pulled away from Cas and looked up at Dean. "No, not yet—" she protested, panicking. She needed more time with him. He couldn't go, not yet.

Dean looked mildly regretful and sick and Alex realized he'd been watching them the entire time. She hadn't noticed anyone or anything else up until this point, but Sam had finished the symbol and was standing off with his arms crossed, Bobby was waiting with the spell in hand. All three men were watching them carefully, closely, with veiled and grim expressions. "We gotta do this now," Dean said, motioning for the angel. "Cas, you gotta stand up buddy." He reached down and hauled Cas to his feet as Alex stood slowly in a daze. She clutched the wedding ring in her hand hard enough that the metal would leave an impression later.

She tried to follow her brother and husband, but Sam cut her off and held her back by a few paces. Alex was too stunned to protest. She stared dumbly as Cas allowed Dean to guide him over to the sigil drawn in blood on the stark white wall nearby. "I'm so sorry, Dean," Cas apologized quietly. "So sorry."

Dean sighed heavily. "I know, Cas, I know." He patted Cas on the shoulder and backed off, nodded to the oldest hunter present. "Bobby, now." Dean joined his siblings, standing at Alex's side and putting a hand onto her shoulder—either to hold her in place or to comfort her. She didn't know. Her heart was hammering wildly, she wanted to vomit, she couldn't just stand here and watch Cas die. "It's gonna be okay, little sister," Dean's voice said softly somewhere nearby, "I promise." He didn't sound like he believed that fully and Alex definitely didn't. As Bobby began the incantation, Alex held onto one of her brothers by the jacket (she didn't even know which one) and watched Cas hawkishly, her entire body held stiff by tension she couldn't control. Dismay grew and grew, grief built and built. She had compared herself to glass a few moments ago and she felt like she was about to shatter into those thousand jagged pieces.

"Ianua magna purgatorii, clausa est ob nos lumine eius ab oculis nostris retento sed nunc stamus ad limen huius ianuae magnae et demisse fideliter perhonorifice paramus aperire eam."

Bobby's strong voice carried as he recited, and Cas swayed slightly, then his knees buckled and he abruptly sagged to the floor. Dean darted forward even as Sam held her back from helping. Dean caught Cas before he fell all of the way and he pulled him back to his feet, left him swaying unsteadily there again as Sam restrained Alex. Cas turned slightly, he looked over his shoulder at them, first at Dean, then at Sam, and finally at Alex. His mouth said nothing, but his eyes said everything. How sorry he was. How much he didn't want this as the ending. How deeply he loved her still.

"Creaturae terrificae quarum ungulae et dentes," Bobby continued. Alex couldn't. She couldn't let this happen. No coherent thought except no was in her mind and she suddenly began to fight Sam's grip. Dean put an arm out, trying to get her to stop, and Alex only fought harder.

"Let me go," she demanded in a breathless panicked whisper. "Let me go!" Her brothers didn't and she began to sob like a maniac, trying weakly to tear away from them and get to Cas, whose face twisted in misery as he remained rooted on the spot and the final words of the spell were spoken.

"Nunquam tetigerunt carnem eius ad mundum nostrum nunc ianua magna, aperta tandem!"

The wall with the sigil on it began to tear away in on itself as the blood became brilliant amber light. And suddenly Cas's back arched and his chest shot forward and light surged out of him and was sucked into that hole in the wall. It was blinding and the Winchesters ducked their faces away—Alex was sandwiched between her brothers and all she heard was wind, rumbling, and faint screams as the souls were pulled back to Purgatory. The entire room shook. And then, just like that, all noise ceased, the light was gone, and Cas fell to the floor in a heap.

Alex tore out from between her brothers, reaching Cas first and pulling him over to lay on his back. His eyes were closed, he was unresponsive, and when she pushed shaking, anxious fingers to a pulse point, his skin was cold. He was dead.

"No no no," she murmured softly as her world spun and her lungs refused to function. She shook him hard and he flailed limply. Alex heard herself screaming 'no, you son of a bitch, no you fucking bastard! Come back!' at him. Hands were pulling her away, she heard her brothers and Bobby saying things, but she didn't even understand what was being said. All she could see was Cas, dead on the floor. All she could hear was the lack of his heart beating. Her world was imploding.

And then without warning, Cas's eyes popped open, his rashes faded, he inhaled sharply and blinked in confusion. Everyone stared in disbelief. Alex was the first to speak. "Cas?!" she gasped, wild with hope and gone still from shock. Her brothers still held her back, but she wasn't fighting them anymore. She was too stunned.

Bobby dropped down and helped Cas sit, then stand. Very uncertainly, Cas looked around in confusion. "I'm… alive? I don't… I don't understand." He looked down at himself and looked at his hands—healthy, tan, rash and blemish free—and a small, hopeful smile began to break on his face. "I'm… I'm fine." He looked up and relieved, hopeful, he locked eyes with Alex. Another chance. It wasn't over. And then Cas's expression dropped and terror crossed his face. "Oh no," he breathed, making high hopes crash back down all over again.

"What?" Dean asked urgently.

Cas suddenly pushed Bobby hard away from himself, sending the older hunter stumbling toward the Winchesters. Cas was backing up fast, his features working so hard that his face became red. "You need to run now!" He abruptly doubled over and caught himself on the edge of a metal table. "I-I can't hold them back!" he shouted, then began to contort and groan as he strained. A vein popped out in his forehead and he looked at the hunters in sheer panicked, urgent terror. "They held on inside me. Dean, they're… so strong." His eyes darted to Alex and his panic increased. "Get her away from me, now!

Alex shrank back, understanding to some small degree and terrified. "Oh no no no," she whispered, clutching onto her brothers.

"Leviathan!" Cas shouted in warning, doubled over and thrashed as if he were having a seizure. "They—! I can't fight them. Run!"

Dean began to back up, his eyes locked on Cas in fear. "Run, run, run," he said, and just when they were about to make a break for it, Cas suddenly stood up straight and he was grinning maniacally.

"Too late!" he announced cheerfully.

"Cas?" Dean asked, and abruptly got grabbed and yanked forward.

Cas, who wasn't Cas at all, shrugged and his features worked in strange, sadistic animated glee. "Cas is—he's gone. He's dead. We run the show now!" He shoved Dean hard with super human strength and sent him flying painfully into a far wall. "Ah!" Cas exclaimed happily, grabbing Bobby without warning and tossing him aside like he was nothing. Even as Sam tried to pull Alex away and escape, he was grabbed and sent soaring through the air to crash into a table—and then Alex remained alone, all but cowering in front of him. Cas's eyes narrowed and he became mildly thoughtful. He did not make to grab her or hurt her. "The one we do not harm," he said softly, then reached out as he grinned and patted her cheek twice, hard.

Alex recoiled with a flinch at the touch. "Cas—?" she whispered, trying to see him in there, trying to get him to win control again over the monsters.

"Nope!" Cas replied, chortling. "It's all me, sweetcheeks!"

Dean was up again, hunched over and breathing hard, injured but already on his way to put himself between Cas and Alex. He barely got there before Cas—or whoever the hell it was—was anticipating his arrival and turning to meet him with another brutal shove. Dean knocked into a table of supplies and metal parts went clattering everywhere as Cas grinned at Dean's fall. Black veins crawled up his neck and crept across his face too like spiderwebs. Sam had grabbed Alex in the brief distraction and the twins hung onto each other nearby—Sam was backing them up to get away from Cas, who was momentarily distracted with his hand, which had the same black veins crawling all over it.

No one said anything for a long moment—it looked like Cas's body was giving out and the Leviathan possessing him were filling him past the breaking point. Black, thick liquid began to run down Cas's face, out of one of his eyes, out the corner of his mouth. He cast around a chilling gaze and seemed to decide to leave. "We'll be back," he said to Dean, but his voice was strange and it sounded like multiple voices were speaking. "For you." His eyes slid to Alex. "And for the girl."

Dean's face went cold. "Like hell you will," he said, standing shakily from where he'd been thrown. Cas made no reply, just began to limp out of the compound as he left dripping trail of black goo behind. Bobby groaned, getting up slowly.

"Wh-what do we do?" Dean asked breathlessly.

Held against Sam tightly, Alex stared after Cas, who was disappearing down a dark hallway. She heard Bobby and Sam and Dean talking and quickly putting together a plan of action but she wasn't listening at all. She stared after where he'd disappeared to with a sick, twisting stomach. Cas is gone. He's dead, the Leviathan said. She couldn't accept that. Not for one damn second.

"Can't just let him wander off, gotta make sure he don't attack any civs," Bobby was saying.

"Good point," Dean said. "All right, let's head out." He looked at Alex, who already saw that he was about to tell Sam stay here and keep her away—and in a moment of sheer insanity, Alex reacted at the gut-punch level and tore out of Sam's grip, elbowing him hard in the stomach so he couldn't grab her, and dashed after Cas. Her only clear thought was that she had to save Cas. How? No clue. With what means? She had nothing. But it didn't matter.

"Alex! Alex stop, stop!" Dean's voice shouted behind her, but she was running at a breakneck speed and following the trail of black drips, finding an open door where the trail led to the outside world—it was early in the morning and the sun was rising, coloring the world in a soft, dim light. The black goo trailed unevenly down a gravel road and Alex didn't stop for even a second—she tore through dew-wet grass, catching sight of Cas's limping form ahead of herself by about a tenth of a mile—he was breaking a chain in a fence that sectioned off some kind of lake.

She screamed for him to stop but he lurched down into the water beyond that fence. By the time she got to the water's edge, he was almost up to his chest, and her screams did nothing—he didn't acknowledge her in the least—his head was matted with black goo and his hands were outstretched on either side of him and Alex could only think the Leviathan are going to drown him!

Just as she began to run into the water, strong arms suddenly and roughly clamped around her and yanked her back—she tumbled down as Dean fell backwards to the shoreline. He was out of breath and wasn't letting go for anything. Alex screamed and fought, losing her godforsaken mind completely, bashing Dean in the chin with the back of her head as she tried to get away and help Cas like a wild animal. Sam was there suddenly too, and it took both of them to hold her down.

Cas's head sank underneath the water and dark black seeped out from where he'd been, filling the lake completely and Alex sobbed, wept, and thrashed, screaming like a banshee. "He's in there!" she shouted hoarsely, kicking Sam in the shin repeatedly as she fought brainlessly. "He's in there and he needs help, no, no!" She heard someone screaming at almost inhuman levels and didn't realize it was herself. "Let me go! Let me go you mother fuckers!"

It took the three men to carry and manhandle her away from there, especially when his coat floated to the surface and washed ashore. Neither Sam or Dean had ever seen their sister like that before, ever. She didn't calm down, she didn't stop raging, it's like Alex wasn't even in there. She actually got more and more unruly. She responded to nothing, she appeared to have had a complete mental break. As they tried to get her to a nearby parking lot where they could steal a car, she drew stares from a group of campers who they passed in the woods nearby—probably assuming she was being kidnapped. Dean brushed by one of them, a scrawny male college student who was wet from swimming. He gawked at Alex openly as his ringlets dripped with water from the reservoir.

"Keep walking, pal!" Dean thundered as Alex continued to carry on like a madwoman.

Far across the lake as Alex's screams echoed and grew fainter, the sounds could have been mistaken as sirens or maybe coyotes. There, walking the woods in a dreamlike state, a woman named Daphne Allen was on what she called a pilgrimage retreat, a spiritual reawakening she'd decided to go on all by herself. When she happened across a soaked, naked, confused man who had just hauled himself out of the lake and was clenching a single inexplicable object to himself, she knew her prayers had been answered. God had finally sent her husband to her. She'd dreamt of this moment—and here he was at last.

---

Author's Notes: About Alex forgiving Cas in this chapter: I know some readers in the past have been upset that Alex has been quick to give second chances. I understand that but I also encourage readers to remember Cas was dying and she probably would never have said "I forgive you" otherwise because honestly, there's so many issues and hurts there that she still has to work through… alone, now. And as you can see, she's sort of in terrible shape. I see her willingness to give chances as a strength and pitfall at the same time. She told Cas that for his benefit more than as absolute truth. It's definitely not over with by any means and even though she said she forgave him, the things he did are not just gone or forgotten. Oh no. No no.