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.

86. All Nightmare Long

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 86 / All Nightmare Long

"All these nights are catching up to me. I just can't put insomnia to sleep."
- Lifehouse

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*** CONTENT TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide Attempt ***

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Six Days After Castiel Walked Into The Lake…

Richard Roman: billionaire businessman, one of the fifty most powerful men in America, owner of his own enterprise. Successful, influential, and… well, dead. In his own corporate office, the wealthy CEO's body sprawled on the floor. His glassy eyes stared lifelessly in shock at the ceiling above.

"Dick, Dick, Dick…" said a soft, humored voice. Expensive polished Stefano Bemer brand dress shoes sauntered lazily around Richard 'Dick' Roman's dead body. "You were a real go-getter, weren't you?" the voice continued. "That's what I like about you. Well… about me." Standing over Dick Roman's corpse and chuckling was… Dick Roman.

This right here was the best part about being a Leviathan. The ability to copy and transform into anything you had DNA access to. A mere touch was all it took. The Leviathan who stood over Dick Roman and looked like Dick Roman chuckled. Masquerading as the illustrious and unfortunately-dead businessman had given him complete access to the CEO's personality, memories, abilities—everything. This successful human man's appearance was the perfect host and disguise for this specific Leviathan. Why? Because this Leviathan was Original. The first and primary, the one who had spawned his collective of all the others in ancient times. He was the king and ruler of his kind. The smartest, the fastest, the visionary, the one who was already planning domination over any and all other sentient beings in existence.

Original's species had finally escaped Purgatory after what seemed to be a million years. All thanks to that bumbling angel who was now very dead and at the bottom of a lake somewhere. Original smiled to himself, so pleased with the circumstances he had found himself and his Lessers in. There were millions of yummy humans just waiting to be gobbled up and subjugated, Behemoth had been sent back to Purgatory and wouldn't get in the way again, and maybe best of all, God seemed to be nowhere to be found. All signs pointed to yes. Leviathan could finally be what they were supposed to be: the ruling, superior species, free to hunt and feast upon humans, free to recreate the world as Original saw fit.

A professional-looking Asian woman entered the room at a brisk stride and Original turned to eye her slyly. "...Did you eat the personal assistant?" he asked as she approached, a playfully sinister smile on his lips.

She returned his coy smirk. "With hot sauce."

"Atta girl!" Original commended enthusiastically, chuckling easily. He looked down at his dead doppelganger and knelt down beside him. "Now, before we eat Dick…" there was a powerful ripping, squelching sound as Original tore one of the limbs off of the body he knelt over. He turned and smiled up at the woman. "Let's keep this arm of his. Just in case we need some of that delicious DNA again in the foreseeable future." He rose up to his feet and handed the arm over to his personal assistant, who took it with a gracious smile. The door to the office opened again and in came another Leviathan that Original recognized as part of the collective. "Well look who came out for buffet!" he commented, grinning widely. "Just in time, Lesser."

The other Leviathan—in the body of a beefy Latino man—was quieter and calmer than Original. "It's Edgar now," he corrected in a blasé tone. Original's eyes narrowed questioningly. 'Edgar' then explained. "With our consciousness scattered into different bodies and no longer connected as they once were, taking individual names will make this easier."

Original couldn't argue with that logic, but he also disliked the presumption this Lesser had used. However, he smiled and indicated himself as if he were making an introduction. "In that case… Dick." He looked at the other Leviathan present in the woman's body. "And what do we call you?"

"This one was called Susan."

Dick nodded, smiling as usual. "Uninspired," he commented pleasantly, his enthusiasm reaching false and irritating levels. "I like it!" He chuckled heartily, then indicated the body on the floor. "Well? Dig in, kids. And where's that hot sauce?" He grinned widely, and the smile didn't reach his eyes. It resulted in a creepy, inhuman quality.

After the Leviathan had consumed Dick Roman, they stood up and tidied themselves. Leviathan Dick Roman dabbed at the corner of his mouth delicately, wiping away some blood there. "Good stuff," he commented in that zany, forcefully enthusiastic voice. Dick could get used to this all-you-can-eat buffet way of life that he'd been enjoying since coming topside about a week ago. And, well, he had plans to.

Dick clapped Edgar hard on the shoulder, gripping hard enough to break human bone if, indeed, Edgar had been human. "Well, this sure is fun, isn't it Eddy?" he asked, grinning wide enough to crack his face in two. "Being above ground again is a real breath of fresh air, huh? The food supply is a lot bigger than it used to be, too, have you noticed? I think this is gonna be a profitable year, if you catch my drift." He chuckled again and winked, straightening the lapels of the suit he wore in a jaunty manner. Quite honestly, Dick could have eaten about five more humans right then and there to celebrate how everything was coming up roses at the moment. But, before he got carried away, there were some things to be done and Lesser—er, Edgar, had some tasks Dick needed taken care of, stat. Dick set Edgar with a smile that was pleasant but threatening. "Now, first things first. I want you to kill the Winchester boys. We all saw what they were capable of through that peppy little angel's memories, didn't we?" He gave Susan and Edgar pointedly playful looks and they obviously, silently agreed. "If the past is any prediction of the future, those jackasses in plaid are gonna be gunning for us," Dick continued. "And as pathetic and human as they are… better to be safe than sorry and wipe them off the board. Just can't have them causing problems for us, now can we?"

"No sir." Edgar answered automatically. And then he hesitated, appearing to become very tentative and cautious, even a little worried as he frowned slightly. "What about… about her?" he asked, and Dick's smile fell because he knew who 'her' was. All of the Leviathan knew. All of them had the same exact thoughts and feelings mixed into their own because of that damn angel and the living arrangements they had been forced into for the last few weeks. "We're supposed to keep her safe," Edgar said, sounding faintly confused. "Killing her is not allowed."

Dick mulled his dilemma over for a moment. "No, it's not, is it," he commented softly, smiling to himself again almost dreamily. Alex Winchester. His mind was filled with many fluffy, warm, deep thoughts about her… whether he wanted them there or not. Faintly, Dick despised those feelings and tried to shake them off. But they seemed to be inked in like a tattoo. There was no scrubbing them away. How the hell had the angel done that to Behemoth and Leviathan both? Dick wasn't sure. All he knew was that he felt a pull like no other toward this girl. That pull didn't belong to him, but it had been seared into him all the same. "Bring her to me," Dick said, starting to grin maniacally despite himself as he pictured the youngest Winchester. "I want her here with me. That perfect little hundred-and-twenty pound little drink of water… she's so precious I could just die!" He heard what he said and got irritated at himself, but he just kept grinning through his annoyance as a laugh harshly escaped out of his mouth. "Ah, dammit, there go the angel instincts again!"

That Castiel character really had it bad for that little scrap of meat. Dick did not like it. Humans were repulsive unless you put ranch dressing on them. And here he was thinking of this Alex Winchester and finding her perfect in every way and daydreaming about her…? No. Those thoughts were the angel's feelings for her. Dick decided he would have to either kill this Alex girl or eat her up to solve the problem. And the moment he thought about killing her, he immediately thought no! I protect her! She will never be hurt as long as I'm alive.

Dick blinked, frowning slightly in confusion. "Ho-ly hell," he chuckled, surprised and impressed and more than a little angry because he had no control over that strong impulse inside of himself. None. This Castiel fruitcake was real lucky he'd kicked the bucket. "If he were still alive I'd kick his little cloud-prancing ass for getting in our heads like that," Dick murmured mostly to himself. His mind was filled with thoughts about the girl—they fought inside—Leviathan instincts versus the ghost of the angel's. "I don't know if I wanna pet her and smother her in kisses or if I wanna gobble her up with fries on the side!" He couldn't get a handle on what he thought or felt, all he knew was Edgar immediately looked disapproving about the 'gobble her up' comment and even Susan looked vaguely unhappy about it too. Dick had to laugh, because it truly was a ridiculous and unforeseen circumstance to be in. He grinned all the wider and clapped Edgar on the shoulder. "I'll figure it out when you bring her to me," he said. "Well what are you waiting for, champ? Go get 'em tiger! Oh, and one more thing." He paused for effect, smiling the entire time but softening his voice to have a dangerous edge. "I'll kill you if you fail me." Edgar's face showed a ripple of fear. Dick winked facetiously. "Hugs and kisses." Edgar nodded and turned to leave. Dick stopped him before he got to far. "Oh, and keep an eye out for Least."

Edgar stopped and turned, then exchanged a brief, doubtful and slightly amused look with Susan before replying to Dick. "I doubt he made it through, sir."

Dick's good humored outward act gave way to a little of the fearful darkness and fury and murder he was made of on the inside. "That little defect always makes it through."

Edgar's smile faded in place of trepidation. All Leviathan knew not to cross or anger Original, or as he was known now, Dick. "Yes sir. Of course." And with that, Edgar left to go do what he had been told.

---

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

A very defeated and forlorn Dean Winchester pulled open the door to Bobby's kitchen… alone. Alex was still outside on the porch steps with the untouched sandwich sitting next to her where he'd left it. No sign that she would eat it, either. She just hadn't responded to him in any real way in days now—six of them. When she wasn't having a full-blown panic attack or fit of rage, she was numb and silent and absent and nothing seemed to really get through to her. It was impossibly painful and frightening for Dean to watch. She had been strong through so much of her life, why was she suddenly just giving out now? As he mulled it over, he got more and more depressed.

Maybe this break had been a long time coming. Maybe everything had piled up and multiplied and this final event had been the straw that broke the camel's back. Alex had been through a shitty childhood, a shitty young adulthood… just a really shitty life overall. There had been constant bullying, low self-esteem, no real relationships except her immediate family, no consistency except for mostly bad stuff, a dad who held her at arms' length emotionally and pushed her to points no kid should have been pushed to, a twin brother who had left her feeling abandoned and second best in the past, an oldest brother who had maybe done her more harm than good by keeping her in the life and believing that he could keep her safe from everything. There had been loss after loss after loss and more death and murder and pain than any one person was supposed to see or encounter… but before Cas, she'd been able to get through the nightmares somehow. This time was different. Cas had done something to her. Love was a bad idea. This entire scenario confirmed it all over again for Dean Winchester.

See, that was the thing. He really did believe Cas had loved Alex. Loved her to the point of insanity and madness and ruin. But loved her all the same. And there was no question that Alex had loved Cas. Too much and all-in, with every damn thing inside of herself she had. So now was it really any wonder she was destroyed?

Dean still wished he'd somehow found a way to keep Cas and Alex away from each other way back when it had just been starting. But the fact remained: Dean couldn't go back in time. All he had left to work with was what was left: one broken sibling. And the other one who was teetering on the same edge. To Dean, this was his worst case scenario and he felt so alone. He had his own wounds and fears and battles he was fighting inside of himself… who was there to catch his fall and help him through the nightmares? This feeling scared the shit out of him. What if he couldn't hold it together for his family? What if he couldn't be as strong as he needed to be?

Dean's boots clomped in a way that sounded morose against the kitchen floor as he entered the room. Bobby glanced up from his work drying some dishes at the sink; Sam's eyes jumped up to Dean anxiously. "How'd operation sandwich go?" Bobby asked when Dean drifted in aimlessly without saying anything.

Tired and worried in a way that transcended the physical, Dean shook his head, barely able to look either of them in the eye. He was wooden and withdrawn, lost in his thoughts about his limping, floundering family. "It didn't."

The men were silent for a few tense beats. She had barely eaten anything in days. And they couldn't exactly shove calories down her throat, could they? "Has to eat sometime..." Bobby said, but he was starting to sound as worried as Sam and Dean were. Sam stared out through the screen door at his sister's just-visible back. She didn't move. Sort of like a statue.

Dean was starting to think about some kind of nutrition IV-drip for her if she kept on eating like a freaking pigeon. As he wracked his harrowed mind for answers, he absently noticed how Sam had his phone held loosely in hand like he'd just been using it. "Someone call?" he asked, hoping the answer was no. Please, no more problems or emergencies right now. I'm too tired for that.

Coming out of anxious contemplation of his twin, Sam switched his focus to Dean. Clearly, Sam was feeling just about as great as Dean was feeling, but he answered his brother's question readily and evenly despite himself. "Uh, yeah, someone called… and…"—heavy sigh—"looks like we might have a Leviathan sighting. Stockville North Kansas, most of a high school swim team got mangled to death in their locker room."

Dean narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. Bobby, who Sam had apparently already filled in, volunteered more details. "Cops are saying it looks like some kind of wild animal attack, something the size of a linebacker."

Dean shrugged and made a bit of a face thanks to his deeply cynical mindset. "Well, sucks to be the swim team."

"It's a lead, Dean," Sam pointed out.

The oldest Winchester looked at his brother sharply, starting to get the general idea. "Okay, okay, slow down bucko." Dean's voice was very quickly turning dominant and authoritative. "If you think you're going out on a hunt—"

"No, I know," Sam cut in calmly. Too calmly. What happened to his jumpy Satan-is-my-copilot nerves? "I'm not. But you are, and Jamie's meeting you there." Dean's eyebrows rose fractionally then moved in together questioningly. Huh? Sam held his phone up, a wan smile stretching his face. "Who you think gave me the head's up? She's on her way there now. Needs backup." A little taken aback at the way Sam was calling the shots, Dean stared dumbly at his brother. "Look," Sam continued earnestly. "Bobby's running the hub, I'm—I'm mostly fifty-one-fiftied, Alex is down for the count… that leaves you to follow this thing up with Jamie."

Dean looked between Sam and Bobby almost indignantly because asking him to leave them in the thick of it was bitterly offensive… didn't they get that? Apparently not, because they were both looking at him expectantly. "Okay Sam, you and your mini-me are both in the middle of friggin' psychotic breaks," Dean reminded his brother in a sharp, argumentative tone. "James can handle some two-bit lead on her own."

"You sure about that?" Sam challenged. "She's just one person and witch or not, she could use a hand. It's only a couple hours' drive, Dean, and it could be a Leviathan thing. And Jamie hasn't seen what we did, that… that black goo crap." He paused and gave Dean the puppy dog eyes… the I'm-so-confused face that always guilted Dean into listening and reconsidering. "Weren't you just telling me this was priority one last night?"

Fumbling defensively because he had, Dean tried to backpedal. "Well, yeah—" sending those Leviathan things back to the hellhole they'd come from was most important but… this felt too soon. Alex was in shambles, Sam was falling apart at the seams (even though he was trying damn hard to prove otherwise), Bobby had enough on his plate too. And that was why Dean was adamant. "But if you think I'm leaving you and Al alone—"

"Hey, what am I, chopped brains on toast?" Bobby asked, forever sounding vaguely amused yet irritated at the same time. He was giving Dean a fatherly, lecturing look. "I can eyeball the kids. Go. Work off some of those nerves on something useful and get some space from this. Won't nobody get mad at you for takin' a breather. And you can tell Miss Ward thanks for the help. Again." Dean blinked twice. Sam and Bobby telling him to just take off?

Bobby sat down at the table with Sam who was pulling out his laptop. Dean stood there for a second and watched as the two of them proceeded to start to get to work and ignore him. Dean stared, waiting for someone to say something. When no one did, he threw his arms out shallowly. "I can't just leave—" he protested in rising confusion.

"Yes you can," Sam replied, his hazel eyes snapping up to look into Dean's pointedly. "We gotta start somewhere. Who knows if we'll get another lead like this again." There was a brief, tense silence where the brothers' eyes remained locked in silent argument—and Sam's voice wavered almost imperceptibly when he spoke again and that strong facade flickered. "We need you to do this for us."

'We' as in the family. 'We' as in me and Alex. Dean felt himself responding to that request so deeply and immediately that his chest hurt. Never mind what he thought, felt, knew, wanted… never mind his own inner demons and struggles and pains. His brother and sister needed him to be strong. So Dean made up his mind to be strong. Just one more time. For Sammy and Al, who he loved more than anyone or anything else. Pretending to be annoyed even though inside he was something like despairing and vulnerable, Dean made a face. "Fine." He pointed a finger at Sam warningly. "But if I come back and you try and pull a fast one, don't think I won't kick your Beautiful Mind ass."

Dean was talking about the loony bin and how Sam had sort of threatened to take Alex there if Dean wouldn't. Sam smiled ever so faintly, rueful of the way his brother had phrased himself and a little weary to reply. Still, he did. "It's a deal." Good. Because Dean meant it. If someone stuck her in one of those nuthouses, he would have a conniption.

He looked out the screen door one more time, his insides sinking again at the sight of an unmoved Alex. She still wore his old hand-me-down jacket from their teenage years, and it was still way too big on her. It still pulled at his heartstrings whenever she wore that damn thing. Like a magnet, Dean was slowly pulled to the screen door. If she didn't make it through this… if she didn't pull through… he would never stop blaming himself. "You two keep an eye on her," he said in a softer voice. "I mean it."

He heard a chair creak as Bobby got up. The older hunter came over and and grasped Dean reassuringly at the shoulder. "Don't you worry. We will."

Dean looked sidelong at the guy who'd been a father to him and his siblings and dropped his voice to the lowest volume he could without whispering. "And you keep an eye on him." He let his eyes flick back to Sam.

Bobby squeezed Dean's shoulder and smiled thinly. He obviously got it and didn't need reminding. "Trust me, I'm gonna be watchin' both of 'em."

---

A Few Hours Later
Sharky's Sports Bar - Stockville, Kansas

Already wearing his FBI blues, Dean walked into the dark bar and pulled his shades off, looking around for the person he was supposed to meet here. He spotted her right away—she was sitting facing away from him, leaned over something on a bar-height table. He recognized her right away even though he couldn't see her face. One, the long blonde hair. Two, she was wearing typical FBI getup, but without her suit jacket to cover her arms, the short-sleeve blouse she was wearing showed a very familiar sleeve tattoo.

Dean was struck by a very curious little desire and he basically snuck up, wanting to see how easy she was to spook. When he saw she had a basket of half-finished cheese-smothered nachos set beside one of her elbows, he decided to announce his presence by nabbing one of those chips. Revenge for the fries she'd nabbed of his some time ago. He reached out and the second his hand got close, the back of his hand suddenly stung thanks to a smart little slap. "Get your own," Jamie murmured, nonplussed and almost bored, glancing at him sidelong from whatever papers she was reading.

Dean was startled at her reflexes and her apparent ability to see behind herself—he held his hand to himself indignantly. He covered up his mild embarrassment at being caught with a sarcastic face. "You sprout eyes in the back of your head before or after you went all Hogwarts?" he asked rounding the table to stand in across from her.

Jamie suppressed a coy little smile, shuffling her papers with an air of professionalism. Her eyes flicked up to him very briefly, effectively keeping Dean from seeing how she felt about seeing him again. "Hard to say exactly when," she replied breezily, "but I think it was sometime around when you got that stick up your ass."

Her unexpected friendly insult made him chuckle briefly as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and settled himself in the chair across from her. "Well it is nice to see you too, James," he commented wryly as he clasped his hands and gave her a thin smile over the table top.

She paused and her eyes hesitated to look up into his. "It is, though," she said, sounding a little awkward and stilted as she tried to appear distracted and only half interested in what she was saying. "Nice to see you." She cleared her throat, looked down and to the side and raised her eyebrows. "'Cause last time I laid eyes on you… you were frosty and sorta dead."

Dean grimaced slightly. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

Her eyes darted back to his and her eyebrows rose as a smile grew on her face. "Are you… apologizing for being dead?"

Dean could see the dark humor in that one too. What a weird life they lived. "Guess I am."

Studying him quietly for a couple beats, Jamie kept the mood light. "Well then. Apology accepted." She gestured to the corner of the table, where several beers were clustered. Dean looked. A couple dark import beers (hers, obviously) sat there, and then he spotted a bottle of his personal favorite: Corona del Sol. She grabbed that one and handed it his way. Dean felt a surprised, confused little smile on his face. Was this a joke? It felt like a joke. She remembered his favorite and had it waiting for him? That was… kinda nice. Therefore, he was suspicious of why. Like she was reading his mind, she made a face at him. "Yes, I remembered." She took hold of her own brew of choice—Guinness Extra Stout—and cracked the top off using the table and a swift smack from her hand. She was judging him playfully on his drink of choice, and as her beer cap went rolling noisily onto the floor, she gave him a little grin. "That piss-poor excuse for beer is unforgettable in the worst way imaginable."

So there wasn't a catch. She was just being nice (in her own way, which involved making fun at him at every available opportunity). Dean was getting coaxed into sharing her good mood and he mimicked her by smacking the bottle top off using the table edge. "Come on James," he teased, momentarily forgetting his depression. He could tell it still annoyed her when he called her James. So, he would call her that until the end of time, because he liked the way her nostrils flared slightly and she clearly had to suppress irritation when he used his nickname for her. "This stuff is gold."

"Yeah maybe fool's gold," she returned without missing a beat. Their eyes held briefly across the table, and anyone passing would have definitely seen that moment for what it was: flirting. When Dean realized what was happening, he raised his bottle to his lips and looked away. He let out an crisp 'ahh' after a good long guzzle of his favorite pale ale then set the bottle down with a thunk.

"So, what we got?" he asked, gesturing to the neatly stacked papers she had in front of herself. He avoided looking her in the eye. His stupid little crush or whatever was getting in the way of his goal. They had work to do.

She became focused, rifling through the papers with a slow shrug that silently said she didn't have anything too solid yet. "911 calls and eyewitness accounts from the poor kids who found the bodies," she said, then quickly corrected herself. "Well—lack of bodies. Just a few pieces left, from the looks of it. Sounds monster-y for sure." She smacked the papers down and jerked a thumb toward the exit of the bar as she plucked a nacho out of the basket between red-painted fingertips. "I was gonna head to the morgue after this but since you're here, figure we should go check out the scene of the crime, Agent Starsky." She winked, chewing enthusiastically with loud crunches and lots of jaw movement.

Dean felt himself smiling a little because she looked like a lady and then you watched her eat and the ruse was blown. "You still got your badge, Agent Hutch?"

She gave him a look like his question for was ridiculous. "You made it for me," she teased through a mouthful, pretending to be sentimental. "I could never throw it away." Dean called her bluff with an eyebrow raise and Jamie chuckled. "Okay, fine, it's come in useful since then and I'm shit at forgery, so…"

Dean nodded, looking down to conceal his little smile. "Right, right."

Jamie took a couple seconds then pushed the basket of nachos toward him slightly and gave him a 'go ahead' thrust of the chin. "I know you want one," she said. He didn't wait around for her to change her mind. He grabbed a couple and ate those salty, cheesy crunchy pieces of goodness without hesitation. He was more of a french fry guy, but every now and again, nachos definitely didn't suck. Jamie sat back a little, folded her arms, and looked at him with keen eyes, like she was trying to figure something out. Just as Dean was about to ask through a mouthful of food what the problem was, she asked. "So… Sam said Alex isn't doing too good?" Dean's nacho enthusiasm faded. The food lost its flavor. And reality crashed back down on him as Jamie continued. "I know what happened, sort of. He said she had to go to the emergency room after what happened to the angel..."

Dean swallowed down his flavorless mouthful and avoided looking the witch straight in the eye. She looked concerned, and honestly, if James knew how bad it was, she'd look a lot more worried than she already did. Dean's gaze became wooden and fixed on the table unseeingly. "Yeah, she's… not good at all." He fiddled with his own fingers, hesitant to say much about it. "Barely talks, I don't think she's slept but maybe five hours in the past week, won't eat…" he trailed off and made no mention of her continued panic attacks or how Dean was worrying himself to a slow death over her and Sam. He dumbed it down. "I'm a little worried to be honest."

His companion seemed to intuitively sense some of the truth—she was sympathetic and careful when she replied. "Grief does things to people."

Dean scoffed through a forced smile as he looked off to his left. "Don't you and I know it," he muttered, then sat back in his seat with a frustrated sigh as he threw a complaining hand up. "Sam wants to lock her up in a loony bin," he complained, expecting her to side with him.

But… Jamie didn't react how Dean would have liked (with an immediate condemning scoff or with a look of insulted surprise). She just studied him with shrewd eyes and a pinched, thoughtful frown. "What do you think? Is she really that bad off?"

"I don't believe in that stuff," Dean replied insolently. "That, that… mentally ill personality disorder whatever mumbo jumbo crap."

James was dubious. "What's there to believe in?" she asked. "Do you not believe in it… or do you not understand it?"

Well. If that wasn't the most patronizing question he'd been asked all day. Dean didn't bother masking his irritation. "Great, so you're on Sam's side."

Those icy eyes scrutinized him thoughtfully. "I wouldn't think your sister's well-being comes down to sides."

Goddammit she was infuriatingly reasonable sometimes. "Yeah great, sure," Dean mumbled insolently, wishing she agreed with him and trying to get her to see his point. "Look, maybe that shit works for some people, but us? Hunters? Those quacks wouldn't know what to do with us."

There was a soft, knowing smile. "I think those quacks might be a little better equipped than you're saying." She looked at him with eyes that said listen to me. "People go through psychotic breaks can come out the other side, especially with professional help."

"Yeah?" Dean challenged, not wanting to hear it. "Like who?"

There was a hesitation. Then a bombshell. "Like me."

Dean's face fell—he hadn't expected to hear that. Jamie picked at a spot on the table, watching her fingers. Her face was tense and hard to read, but her voice was soft and sort of vulnerable. "I was in a lot—" she glanced at him for added emphasis, "A lot—of therapy after my sister died." Another bombshell for Dean. What sister? "On anxiety medication, antidepressants… for a couple years after the accident," Jamie continued. What accident? "I didn't know how to cope with the loss, especially right after it happened." She smiled ruefully, looking at him finally. "And the 'loony bin'? Saved my life. Honestly, that's the one good thing my mother ever did for me. Sending me there." Dean couldn't make a reply, he was too stunned by this information. And Jamie wasn't done making him uncomfortable. "If Alex isn't sleeping or eating, that's a big problem. Is she talking to you and Sam?"

Dean dodged that question hard because he didn't want Jamie to be right and he didn't want her to know the exact ins and outs of how robotic Alex was. He ended Jamie's prying right then and there. "She'll be fine," he said gruffly. "Trust me. She doesn't need that place."

Jamie wisely let it go, for the moment anyway. Her pale blue eyes were now examining him unnervingly. "And what about you?" she questioned. "You okay?" Her seemingly-caring question felt like a stinging slap to Dean. Like the worst thing he could imagine answering. Because the answer was hell no but he couldn't say it out loud or he might never be able to get control back. So he gave her a near glare in response. Jamie sat back in her seat, frustratingly observant. "You were murdered, your sister's boyfriend went serial-killer, Sam's a mess, those Leviathan things are out in the wind…" she trailed off, looking at him in actual concern. The unsaid part she left out: how could you be okay?

Dean turned his beer bottle around to use up some nervous energy. He was angry at Jamie for asking him, honestly, and didn't appreciate her trying to get him to open up or whatever. "I don't have time for how I feel," he muttered brusquely, wishing for something stronger than some beer. He avoided her gaze because he seriously just wanted her to stop looking at him like that. So he did the somewhat petty thing. He tried to turn it around on her. "How exactly are you keeping your marbles airtight, huh?" he asked. There was a slightly startled and then careful frown on her face. "You were babysitting my quack brother through what he says were the worst part of his Hallucifernations, not to mention the other crap you've been through recently, and, oh yeah, your friggin' soul deal." He threw that stuff in her face and yet there was barely a ripple in her demeanor. Only a cool blink which she used to look down at the table. Dean was stumped and actually began to wonder if maybe she did have everything together and he was the weak one in this equation. "Does anything get to you?" he asked with more incredulous confusion than he meant to use.

She smiled a tiny, wry smile, then she looked back up at him with steady eyes. "Not without my permission." But she didn't look proud of it. Just kind of sad.

Dean scoffed a little, maybe out of jealousy, maybe because he didn't really believe her. "Must be nice," he wisecracked. How could things not get to her? She wasn't a damn machine. She was a person just like him and he'd seen through her defenses a couple times.

Maybe they were just a couple of dumb hardheaded assholes, him and James. Trying to just get through life and not let the world know how bad it sucked to be them and know what they knew, feel what they felt. Seemed like the most likely scenario, the more he thought about it. Either way, the fact remained that Dean owed Jamie a lot and he was being disrespectful. She was just expressing concern. Dean knew that. James had been nothing but helpful. Sam had been very clear about how Jamie had saved his life several times over as she helped him through his hallucinations, as she stayed with him even when most people would turn tail and run for the hills, as she stitched him up after the car crash and helped to magically heal his broken arm. And for that, Dean had to reel himself in and let her know the depth of his gratitude. He let out a heavy sigh, sensing that he'd stung her slightly a minute ago even if she wasn't showing it outwardly. "I uh… thanks, though," he said, feeling awkward. His eyes dodged around the bar, looking everywhere but at her. "For doing what you did for my brother while I was gone. It uh, it means… it means a lot."

It meant more than 'a lot.' Sam was everything to Dean. And for Jamie to step in and help like she had… it meant the world. She wasn't even family. She was just a sort-of friend. An acquaintance. A big question mark in Dean's mind. He felt really guilty and angry with himself for not being there for Sam and he felt like Jamie had done his job for him. He wished she hadn't had to do that. He owed her and while he was thankful, he also felt weird about it too.

Across from him, Jamie had a bittersweet smile on her face and her body language told him she felt a little awkward, too. "Didn't have any other plans that week," she joked, deflecting him as usual. Dean finally was able to look her in the eye. Smiling ruefully at the way she responded, he had to shake his head slightly. She was transparent as a brick. He'd even told her as much once. But Dean was glad she was downplaying it. She was helping make it less awkward, and he could appreciate that. And just when he was thinking about how she avoided deep, serious topics for the most part and how he liked that, she brought something up he hadn't expected at all. "So, you were dead for, what. Nine days?" She looked hesitant to ask. "Where'd you go?"

Shock struck him at her question and for a minute, he sat there dumbly, feeling like he was all out in the open. Where'd he go? "You're, uh… you're the only person who's asked me that," he finally replied, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously and already forming a lie as his answer: I don't remember. And then, surprising even himself, he told the truth: "I went to Heaven."

Her lips parted open softly in surprise and Dean studied his hands, felt himself longing so hard it hurt for that place again. There had been no pain, no problems, no endless self-loathing. He stared at the table, feeling so guilty that he wanted to go back. Feeling sick with himself for thinking that for one damn second. But it had been everything he'd ever wanted. He'd been with his family, and everything had been okay. Dean's throat was tight with a lump he couldn't swallow away. He'd been trying not to think about it ever since coming back to life. "And honestly… I'd rather be there again because this down here is Hell all over again," he murmured starkly, lost in his own thoughts. While in Heaven, he hadn't worried about anything even once—not about Sammy, not about Al, not about Cas, not about Bobby. None of them. Nothing. And that was his greatest shame of all. Getting angry at himself and frustrated with the feelings he refused to talk about, Dean stood up abruptly and buttoned his suit jacket with more force than necessary. "So we gonna go see this crime scene or what?" He marched off like a dark storm cloud, not waiting for his companion, just throwing a curt comment back at her over his shoulder. "Get a doggie bag."

Eyes following him, Jamie considered for a second, then decided to go along with what he said. "Aye aye, captain," she muttered under her breath. She popped one last nacho into her mouth, grabbed her jacket, and wished she hadn't pried into Dean's obvious wound. But he'd started it back at the hospital, laying into her about her soul deal.

With a loaded sigh, she pushed her doubts aside, shrugged her jacket on, and followed Dean Winchester out of the bar.

---

That Night

Sam had been field stripping and reassembling his pistol repeatedly out of nervous energy for the past few hours in an attempt to distract himself and not snap in half mentally. Why? Because strolling back and forth in the study near to him and paging through a magazine leisurely was Lucifer. And he wouldn't stop talking. Like right now. He'd been going on and on about the most useless and banal things, and it was to the point that Sam was about to lose his freaking mind. "And I mean really, if you think about the way this economy is going, come on, who's to say the housing market doesn't crash again!" Lucifer rambled animatedly, making Sam want to take the weapon he was reassembling and use it to blow someone's brains out.

It's all in your head, he told himself. Calm down. It's not real. Just don't listen to him.

But what if it was real?

"Don't even get me started on global warming," Lucifer continued.

Sam struggled to ignore as the Nick version of Lucifer blabbed on and on in the background. It seemed like Sam's hallucinations usually happened when he was by himself, like right now. Bobby was with Alex somewhere upstairs and Dean of course was off investigating that lead with Jamie. However, the visions (if that's what they were) had begun to bleed more and more steadily into moments that included other people. For example, earlier that day Sam had gone out to the porch and sat with his sister awhile and tried to talk to her. And then Lucifer had shown up—the version who looked like Alex—and Sam had been so upset and riled up at what Lucifer said and did that he'd fled into the house shaken up and almost in tears. He'd hidden his state from Bobby and put himself back together in private, but he'd avoided his sister the rest of the day because of how traumatized he felt.

At that moment, his phone began to ring. Sam jumped at the loud sound then eyed the device warily. It sat on the kitchen table harmlessly and Sam glanced around quickly—Lucifer was nowhere to be seen. Whew. Sam got up and hurried over to his ringing phone, reached for it then shrank away slightly—Lucifer was suddenly sitting there at the kitchen table with his feet propped up on the tabletop. Satan smiled with a twinkle in his eyes and mouthed 'don't mind me' as he pointed to the magazine he still held. Sam scooped his phone up, eyeing his hallucination out of the side of his eyes. The phone screen said Dean was calling. Sam turned his back on the devil and tried to sound normal when he answered even though his heart was pounding hard and he was wondering if he had lost his godforsaken mind. "Yeah."

Sam could hear a lot of noise on the other end, which meant Dean was driving. "Well, we are positive for ick," his brother's voice said. "Same kind of stuff that came out of Cas, and, uh, two of the swim kids were missing—they stole one of their parents' cars."

"You know, I really think Prince William has found the right girl," Lucifer said in an overly-fond tone, distracting Sam. "What do you think?" When Sam glanced tensely at him sidelong, Lucifer feigned apologetic surprise. "Oh. I'm sorry. You're on the phone with Dean!" His face scrunched up into a wide, eerie grin. "Tell him I said hi. Oh hey, and make sure and ask about Jamie. Gosh, she is so, so sweet isn't she?" he chuckled as Sam stared with a sickened expression.

"…Sam?" Dean asked. "You hear me?"

Shaken out of his reverie, Sam shut his eyes tight and tried to focus everything he had on the phone conversation. "Yeah, uh—sorry—" he rubbed his forehead in an attempt to get himself straight and block out Lucifer. "So do you think these, um, these Leviathan things just jump into people? Like Eve did?"

"I dunno, makes sense, right? That's what James was betting on."

Lucifer was humming a happy little tune and flicking magazine pages noisily in the background. Sam gritted his teeth together. "She doing okay?" he asked. He hadn't seen Jamie since before Dean had been resurrected. "Since… I dunno, everything?"

"Think so," Dean replied vaguely. "I mean, kinda hard to say." He dropped the subject like it was hot. "Anyway, uh, state trooper's got surveillance cam on the kids about six hours old, of them gassing up just south of Dakota line, so I'm headed back your way. We'll track 'em from Bobby's."

Sam immediately felt nervous. With Satan messing up more and more moments for him, it was tough to feel up to a hunt of any kind. "Is Jamie coming with?"

There was a loud snap and Sam jumped and whirled to look at Lucifer, who was blowing huge, popping bubblegum bubbles. He shrugged innocently and plucked a huge wad of pink gum from his mouth. "Sorry—I have an oral fixation," he apologized in a theatrical whisper.

"Yeah, she's about twenty miles behind me give or take," Dean was saying even as Lucifer stuck his gum under the table with a gleefully deviant smile. Sam turned his back again, blocking out the devil completely as he walked out of the kitchen and into the study. He tried to pay attention to what his brother was saying. "She stopped by the morgue to eyeball the body parts that didn't get disappeared."

Distracted by Lucifer giggling over the 'worst dressed' part of his magazine ("can you believe what she wore?"), Sam struggled to sound less overwhelmed than he was. "Huh," he managed thinly. "Nice."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Dean replied sarcastically. "So, hey. How you doing?"

Sam pressed his mouth into a thin line briefly. He heard Lucifer following him with slow, sauntering footsteps and his skin crawled. He lied about how he was doing. "You know, uh, okay."

"Good." Sam heard Dean sigh softly. "And Mouse?"

Sam grew a little more somber. "She's… the same," he said, then caught himself. "Actually, I take that back. She ate half the sandwich you took her. So there's that."

Dean chuckled softly on the other end of the line. "Miracles do happen," he commented, sounding relieved despite some still-present worry. "All right Sam. I'll be there soon. Hang in there buddy."

Sam nodded. He would be glad when Dean was back. "All right." They hung up.

"Aw, Sammy," came the voice Sam despised. It sounded like Lucifer was pouting. "Are you and Dean-bear worried about your baby sister? You don't have to worry about her!" If there was one thing Sam could not handle, it was Satan talking about Alex, but that was exactly what was happening at the moment. "We have everything a-lllllll planned out." Sam's stomach churned and chills crawled up his spine and he shut his eyes tightly. Not real. None of those things he's shown me will happen to her. He's locked in the cage, I'm above ground. She's safe from him. This—is—NOT—real. "Gosh, where'd she get to, anyway?" Lucifer asked innocently. Sam clenched his jaw. It's in my head. It's all in my head. To add insult to injury, the devil began to laugh at Sam cruelly, enjoying his torment and his wavering sanity."Ignoring me's not gonna do anything…" he said softly, voice abruptly rising in delighted zeal. "I have all night!" His voice raised as his enthusiasm grew. "All night! ALL NIGHT!"

Sam was so angry he wanted to burst out of his own skin. "Stop it," he growled, barely keeping himself from exploding in fury. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, so tight his phone casing cracked slightly in one hand.

"Oh, I'll never stop, Sam," Lucifer replied coyly, grinning the whole time, mocking Sam's distress openly. "Never ever ever ever never ever EVER!" He began to shriek with laughter that made Sam slap his hands over both of his ears and drop his phone to the floor. No, no, no—I can't take this anymore. Real or not, I can't handle it if it stays like this. The thought that he might still be in there made him want to kill himself to end this nightmare.

Stubborn as hell, Sam soldiered on and gathered himself, steeled himself outwardly, then proceeded to ignore Lucifer with everything he had as he hoped and prayed Dean wouldn't take long. And so on and so forth it went. Sam ignored the devil for what felt like hours. But when Lucifer grabbed the fire poker and began to swing it like a golf club some time later, Sam lost it and finally broke his furious silence. "Okay, if this is some dream and you got power over it, why don't you just end it?" he demanded angrily, throwing his arms wide as if in challenge.

Lucifer leaned onto the fire poker leisurely, like it was a walking stick. "End it?" he asked, as if the suggestion were hilarious and absurd. "This? You not knowing what's real, the paint slowly peeling off your walls?" He grinned at the look on Sam's face. "Come on, man, this is the sweet spot! Why would I end it?! Not like we got HBO in the pit. All I got is you, floating over the coals with half a hope that you're gonna figure it all out and fix your poor, broken wittle family… well, I got news for you, kid. There's only one way to figure it out. It's up to you. It ends when you can't take it anymore. When you decide…" his smile was cold, ominous, and devilish. "Curtain call."

Blood gone cold, Sam shook his head no and looked away, trying to look tough and unaffected. Lucifer took a step closer and lowered his voice conspiratorially then put a hand to the side of his face like he was sharing a juicy secret. "I think that's maybe why we're cleaning our guns."

Sam bristled and glared daggers. "Shut up," he commanded, near his breaking point.

Lucifer grinned and put an arm out like he was inviting Sam to continue. "Make me."

Sam's voice raised to a deafening shout. "I said shut up!"

"…Hey, Sam." Stunned, Sam turned around fast—Bobby was standing there and giving him a guarded, cautious look. Sam looked back at where the devil had just been. Nothing and no one was there. His heart sank and he flushed with mortification. Bobby paused. "You, uh, having a little bag lady moment?"

Swallowing thickly, Sam had difficulty looking Bobby in the eye. "S-sorry." Bobby brushed it off and went to the refrigerator, got out two beers, and kindly handed one to Sam without a word. "Thanks," Sam mumbled, cracking it open and taking a long pull as he tried to figure himself out and get a handle on reality. He swallowed down the watery beer and then realized… wait. Bobby was alone. Sam immediately got a little worried and forgot his beer. "Where's Alex?"

Shaking his head once to tell Sam not to worry, Bobby gestured upward with his beer bottle and glanced up. "Attic." He shrugged morosely. "Figured she could use a little space. Ain't like she notices me there, either way. Think she might actually sleep, to be honest. She was just curled up on the bed, starin' at nothin'."

"Jeez," Sam muttered to himself, frayed at every level. Alex definitely withdrew sometimes, that was in her personality to just retreat into herself and shut out the world and take some time to regroup, but like this? Sam couldn't get shake the feeling that she was silently crying out for help that he and Dean just couldn't give. And Sam was honestly desperate for help of his own too. He didn't know how much longer he could do this and he didn't dare bring it up to Dean, who would freak out immediately and tell him to 'man up' and 'do his job' and 'stow it' among other things. But what if I can't? Sam's eyes flickered up a few times to the man who had always been straight with him, encouraged him, and been on his side no matter what. "Bobby… you know, after... everything…" a million horrible memories raced across Sam's mind's eye, "All these years, all that we've been through… I—I just don't know if I have it in me anymore." He looked at Bobby with pleading eyes. Tell me I can do this. Or tell me I don't have to. I need some relief.

"You beat the devil before, kid," Bobby pointed out.

Those words only made him feel fractionally better. "I know," Sam replied heavily, trying to downplay how deep his despair was, "but this time it's… it's kinda different." He took another drink, trying to wash away the lump in his throat. No one could understand what he'd been through. What he was going through right now. And he didn't want them to know. The nightmares he'd seen, the Hell he'd endured, the fear he carried for if Lucifer ever got out…

"How's it different?" Bobby asked, firm and corrective. "You're still you, ain't ya? Strong, stubborn, a Winchester? You'll get a handle on this too. You will." There was a gruff gentleness to him that reached out to Sam and comforted. And then, behind Bobby, Lucifer appeared, making Sam sick all over again. His growing good feelings suddenly evaporated completely. Oh no. The devil was studying his fire poker with faint interest as Bobby continued. "You're not in Hell anymore. You're here, with us." Lucifer shook his head no and looked Sam in the eye with a secretive smile playing on his lips. And then suddenly, violently, he stabbed Bobby in the back with the poker so hard that the front end protruded out of Bobby's chest. Unaffected… because it wasn't real—Bobby looked at Sam questioningly, who was staring at the blood dripping out of his uncle's chest in dismay. "You hear me, Sam?" he asked, getting visibly worried. "…You all right?"

Sam nodded, stowing his horror and fear, hiding it away. Bobby didn't need to know he was seeing more crap. His family didn't need to know how nuts he was. "Y-yeah," he lied. "Just… just tired."

One of Bobby's landline phones rang suddenly and he glanced at the wall, seeming slightly surprised. "Oh. That's my local." Bobby sauntered over, and Sam gaped—Lucifer was gone as was the poker. How could it look and feel so real and not be real at all? Bobby didn't see how Sam was stumped. "Y'ello?" he answered. Sam heard a one-sided conversation that lasted maybe thirty seconds. When Bobby hung up, he looked disgruntled. "Well, either Sheriff Mills is having an ObamaCare-insured opium dream, or something's eatin' folks down at Sioux Falls General Hospital," he said. "She needs help, Sam." Bobby hesitated and studied him dubiously. "Look, can you hold down the fort for a couple hours while I wrangle this mess?" He seemed very hesitant to ask, but they both knew why Bobby had to go: "People are dyin'."

Sam tried to be nonchalant so Bobby wouldn't feel so unsure about heading out. "Yeah, yeah. Of course."

Bobby wasn't convinced. "You're sure?"

It was tough to have people doubt you and look at you like they thought you might be off your rocker. "Come on Bobby, it's not like I've gone totally cuckoo for cocoa puffs," Sam said, trying a soft dismissing chuckle. "I'll be fine. You go. I'll—I'll watch the phones and let you know just exactly how much Alex hasn't eaten when you come back." He forced a thin, watery smile.

Bobby nodded tensely, making his decision grimly. "I won't be long." He grabbed his jacket and headed out without anything further.

Immediately after the door shut behind him, a low, soft voice spoke right into Sam's ear. "So, just you and me, huh?" Sam gasped and jumped, whirling and staggering backwards in alarm. Lucifer grinned at him then began to sing at the top of his lungs while spreading his arms wide. "Reunited and it feeeeels so goo-ood!" He laughed. "Come on Sam!" he shouted enthusiastically. "You're supposed to sing along!"

The lunacy persisted for what felt like forever—Lucifer wouldn't shut up. And then, without warning perhaps thirty minutes later, it all just went away and Sam was left alone in a completely silent house. After waiting a good ten minutes to make sure he really had stopped hallucinating, he cautiously went upstairs and checked on his sister. She was miraculously fast asleep, curled up on the attic bed and hugging a pillow to herself with vice-like arms. Thanking God for the small mercy (if he even existed), Sam was set a little more at ease and went back downstairs. Restless and checking his watch constantly (Dean would be back soon), Sam decided to start timing himself as he loaded and unloaded his gun. It was an okay pastime, but mostly all it did was depress him. He was off his game and slow, clunky.

When he finally heard a car roll into the driveway and recognized the faint sound of the Impala engine, Sam was filled with relief. He stood up, a can of beer in hand as he walked toward the kitchen door. Dean got into the house fast, record fast. "Hey," he greeted as he pushed the door open, then spotted the beer in Sam's hand. "Oh, yeah. Good thinking." He took the can from Sam.

"Uh…"

Too late. Dean was taking a huge gulp of Sam's beer and walking past him. "So I, uh, I followed those swim kid Levia-whatever…"

"Leviathans," Sam corrected impatiently, anxiously. "To where?"

"Here," Dean said. "Well, back to town, and that ain't the good news." He took a sip of beer, leaving a worried Sam hanging. "It ain't just two of them, I don't think."

More than two? Not good. "Did you call Bobby?" Sam asked, feeling his heart pounding in anxiety. It seemed like these monsters were gonna make a move or something.

Dean was curt. "Yeah, he's working his own case, I gotta move and I need back-up and that means you and Al."

Sam did a double take. "Wait what?"

"I know, you're bonkers and she's a vegetable," Dean said, chuckling and further stunning Sam with the unexpectedly insensitive comments. "But, luckily I just need you to keep the engine running and wait by the back door while you babysit little miss comatose. I already got her in the backseat of the car."

Sam balked. "Wait, wh—?" he stumbled verbally, frowned deeply. "How? She's in the attic."

Dean gave Sam a heavily lecturing look and chuckled patronizingly. "Weren't paying attention, were you Sammy? Your poor little batshit brain's more fried than you thought, buddy." He pointed toward the general direction of the road. "Found her out there wandering around like a lost puppy a few miles down the road." Sam's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in shock as Dean shotgunned the rest of his beer.

"Oh my god!" Sam breathed, horrified. "I—she was asleep—upstairs!" He suddenly doubted himself immensely. "I… I think." Was she not? Had he made that up in his own mind because he'd wanted her to be okay?

"You're seeing things, Sam," Dean said factually and brusquely, tossing his beer can at the trash lazily. "Who knows what you saw." He brushed past Sam toward the door, leaving his brother speechless and confused. "You coming or what?"

Feeling strange, like something was wrong—Dean was acting really weird—but second guessing himself because he was obviously a little out of his own mind currently—Sam agreed falteringly. "Wh—yeah, yeah."

"Just don't let Satan change my presets," Dean wisecracked, already halfway out the door. Sam stared after him for a second, hesitant to follow. Something's not right about this. Sam contemplated that thought grimly and then pushed his instincts out of his own mind roughly. Get over yourself, Sam. He grabbed his gun and jacket, trying to hurry after his brother.

That wasn't Dean, of course. And Sam had no idea he hallucinated that entire exchange. As he would remember it, Dean drove him in the Impala to a fancy business building where he claimed several Leviathan waited. But that wasn't what happened. In reality, Sam drove himself in Bobby's van to an abandoned warehouse, and left Alex all alone in the house.

When the real Dean got back to Bobby's a scant ten minutes after Sam left, he entered the house expecting to find his family. When he found a seemingly-empty home—when he called their names and no one answered—he assumed the worst. He just knew that Sam talked Bobby into taking Alex to some quack-house behind his back. Angry and upset and so glad he'd turned on Sam's phone GPS in secret because he'd suspected this might happen, Dean immediately left the house and broke every speed limit there was in a race to catch up.

Twenty minutes later in the attic, Alex awoke to the smell of smoke. Absently, she thought, huh, the house is on fire. By the time a few shreds of clarity and sanity were afforded to her, she was completely trapped upstairs by the flames and near the point of passing out because of the heavy smoke. And that's when she saw Castiel.

---

Even as Bobby's house burned to the ground with Alex trapped inside, Sam was still seeing false reality. In what he thought was the Impala, he, 'Dean,' and 'Alex' pulled up to a nice office building. Since it was night, the interior lights made it easy to see five people in businesswear on the second floor gathered around a conference table.

Dean and Sam got out of the car and Dean frowned at the people in the building. "Ah, dammit," he muttered. "There's five of 'em." He sighed and motioned for Sam to follow. "All right, come on."

Sam immediately felt uncomfortable. Go in there? That seemed like a bad idea, especially since Alex was sitting in the back of the car with a faintly sinister little smile on her face for whatever reason. Must have been whatever mind-break she was going through, Sam figured. Either way he definitely didn't think she should be alone and he didn't know if he was in shape to go in there and try to do anything with those Leviathan things. "Are you sure?" he asked doubtfully. "What about Alex?"

Dean scoffed like that was a dumb question. "Dude, she'll be fine, stop worrying so much. And listen, when we get in there, you gotta keep it together."

Sam looked at the keys in his hand, startled when he felt them there. When had those gotten there? He tried not to look as mystified as he felt. "Yeah, yeah, I–I will, I–"

"'Cause if you're seeing Lucifer, then you could be seeing all kinds of crap, okay? You just don't know." Dean started walking off, leaving Sam to stare.

"…How is this helping?" he asked, genuinely hurt.

Continuing in the rude, insensitive way he'd been displaying ever since getting back, Dean shrugged. "I'm just saying, Sam, you're outta control."

Sam followed his brother, jogging slightly to catch up. "I'm dealing with it the best I can," he defended, feeling attacked in every way. "Why are you being so mean?" Sam stopped walking pointedly, starting to get a little mad at his brother's attitude. "Are you sure we should leave her Dean?" He was about to put his foot down. This was absurd.

Dean stopped and gave Sam a strange little look—narrowed eyes, slight smirk. Like he was onto something, like he knew something that was making him feel superior. "Seem pretty overly-concerned with your sister, there, Sammy," he commented, eyeing Sam closely. "Something I should know?"

Sam bristled. "Like what?"

Dean lowered his voice and shrugged his eyebrows suggestively. "Sometimes, the way you look at her… I think maybe… maybe you got the Flowers in the Attic thing going for her," he said. Sam withered, shocked at the implication. He'd heard of those books—they were about incest. Sam opened his mouth to fight his brother tooth and nail and correct him firmly because that was not true and never would be and Lucifer was the twisted one, not Sam. But Dean was walking off and shaking his head. "You say you're dealing, but—" he laughed easily. "Sorry, that's just funny, I mean how can you deal?" He pulled open a glass door that said MorningStar Endeavors, Ltd. Sam followed at an angry march, ready to chew his brother's proverbial head off. And then Dean's announcement stopped him cold: "You think this is an office building, right? Sorry. Wrong."

Sam stumbled to a stop. They were not inside an office. They were inside a rundown old warehouse. He turned around to face his brother, shocked and afraid. "…Where the hell are we?"

Dean grinned cruelly and shut the door with a loud metal clang. "Oh, you think I'm Dean! Right…" he abruptly morphed into the Nick version of Lucifer, leaving Sam to breathe out softly in horror and drift backwards. "You poor, clueless son of a bitch," Lucifer lamented, chuckling softly.

It suddenly made sense. Maybe it should have relieved Sam. But he was terrified. This had felt so real…! Was anything real anymore? "Stay the hell away from me," he threatened stiffly, then turned and stalked away, barely able to contain himself or the things racing through his mind.

Lucifer's voice followed him and made him sick. "Your world is whatever I want it to be, understand?"

Sam whirled and whipped his gun out, shooting at where Lucifer had been, hitting nothing. "Leave me alone!"

"Now we're getting there!" Sam turned around quickly, gun held high and heart hammering. Lucifer had reappeared behind him, casually standing with all his weight on one foot and his arms folded. "Pinocchio's seeing his strings."

Sam hated him. Hated. "Shut up."

Satan did not. "It's the big crescendo," he mocked.

"I said, shut up!" Sam shouted, firing at the devil again, who disappeared. The gunshot echoed in the loud space and Sam panted, eyes darting around crazily in an attempt to locate the adversary.

Behind him, Lucifer reappeared uninjured and only mildly annoyed. "Want to point that gun at someone useful?" he asked cynically. When Sam turned around, Lucifer set him with an ugly, lofty look and pointed at Sam after making a circling motion with his finger. "Try your face." Sam wanted to shoot again, but this weapon did nothing against Lucifer. He was wasting ammo. Feeling powerless and frustrated and so so tired, Sam looked down and away as he struggled not to give up. He just wanted to be done.

Maybe seeing an opportunity, the devil, hallucination or not, proceeded to tear Sam down brick by brick with haughty, mocking words alone. "You're nothing but a danger and a curse and a blight on your family, Sam. They don't love you, they don't need you…! You have no friends, your family is a mess because of you—I mean, your sister's little girl would still be alive if you'd said yes to me right away, you get that right? I'm not the bad guy here, you are. That blood is on your hands. I think that's why you were so mad at Castiel about the poor little miscarried baby… you wanted to blame someone other than yourself. Ha! That's low. That's so petty."

Sam's heart ached because it was true. He did blame himself. For his sister's death at Lucifer's hand, for his niece's death, for everything. Lucifer kept on flaying Sam verbally, each word hammering him further and further into the ground. "Your stubborn, hardheaded idiocy is the root cause of every problem in existence in your life and you know what? We're gonna get out of the cage, we're gonna put those plans for corporate takeover of the entire world back on the rails, and this time you're gonna like it!" Sam held onto his gun with a shaking, sweaty hand and he tried not to show the emotion he was feeling: despair. He couldn't let that happen. At his shiny eyes and unsteady emotions, Lucifer rolled his eyes and put his hands onto his hips. "Wow, to look at you right now. My true vessel... pathetic. Unworthy of the title." He shook his head, dismissing Sam as pitiful. "I know you, Sam," he said, seeming disappointed and patronizing at the same time. "You are a mistake, you make mistakes, your name should be mistake, because guess what?! You never do anything right!" He drifted a little closer. "Wanna know the truth? Want to skip to the last page of the book? You know where to aim… cowboy." Lucifer held a finger-gun to the underside of his own jaw and made a sound like he was pulling the trigger. Sam flinched. "Do what everyone else in your life wants to do. End it. Wipe your puny, pathetic, cowardly existence off the damn map!"

Sam was silent, stricken, beaten, and broken. He looked at the gun in his hand. Lucifer's words had hit him in his weakest, darkest places. Maybe I should...

"Need some help, Sam?" Lucifer asked in a whisper, coming to stand right in front of him. His icy cold hands gripped Sam's and began to move the gun upward until the muzzle pressed against the underside of Sam's chin. "Do it," Lucifer whispered, his eyes boring into Sam's. "Do it!"

And then the warehouse door banged open loudly and startled, Sam let the gun drop away from his chin.

It was Dean. Or it looked like him anyway. "Sam?" he called, then spotted him and began to head over immediately. "Sam!"

"Oh, look," Lucifer said, chuckling. He looked like Dean again, which only further confused Sam. "Another me, here to join in on the fun…"

Dean, the newly come one, looked irritated and intense. He was marching toward Sam, who didn't trust his own eyes anymore. "Sam, what are you doing? Where the hell is our—"

Feeling backed into a corner and petrified, Sam pointed his gun at Dean. His brother (who was probably just another hallucination) came to an abrupt stop, shocked as his hands flew up. "Whoa, whoa!"

"I was with you, Dean!" Sam accused in a voice that was thick with the threat of tears. What was going on?! What was real?

Dean still had his hands out and he looked freaked out and very confused, but he managed to stay calm under pressure. "O-okay—well… here I am."

"No," Sam protested miserably. "No, I don't, I…" he looked over at Lucifer, who was waiting silently nearby and looking like Nick again. Sam looked back at Dean and he didn't trust his eyes, ears, anything anymore. "I can't know that for sure. You understand me?"

Dean looked more and more confused, and if this was another trick, it was a good one. This Dean actually acted like Dean. "Okay, now we're gonna have to start small…"

Sam was beside himself with confused misery. "I… I don't remember driving here," he breathed, begging Dean silently to really be Dean, begging him to know how to fix this.

"Well that's because I drove," Lucifer said, then shrugged his mouth downwards briefly. "…You thought." He mock-whispered to Dean, who didn't seem to hear. "Sam is very suggestible."

Sam abruptly whirled to the side and opened fire on Lucifer, but there was nothing there. The shot cracked out like thunder and Dean jumped in shock, his hands reaching out again in a staying motion. "Whoa, whoa! Sam! This discussion does not require a weapons discharge!" he shouted, giving Sam a look like he was absolutely gone. Sam didn't know what to do—his eyes flickered from the gun to his brother (was that his brother?). Should he shoot him? Was that really his big brother? "Look at me," Dean pleaded, becoming gentler as he approached his brother slowly and carefully. "Come on. You don't know what's real? Look man, I've been to Hell. Okay? I know a thing or two about torture. Enough to know that it feels different. Than the pain of this—this regular, stupid, crappy this." He gestured around them vaguely.

Sam shook his head, refusing to fall for any more tricks. "No, no. How can you know that for sure?"

"Lemme see your hand." Dean reached out and Sam looked down at the gun in his hand. What for? Dean shook his head. "No, no. The—the gimp hand! Let me see it!" Oh. That was his other hand.

"Smell you, Florence Nightingale!" Lucifer chortled, and Sam looked back over his shoulder, startled at the re-appearance of his worst nightmare. His wounded hand was suddenly grabbed up by Dean, and Sam jumped in surprise.

"Hey. This is real," Dean said, showing Sam his own hand that was bound loosely in a white bandage wrap. This was where Sam had fallen down onto glass and cut himself—Jamie had stitched him shut and it was still healing—and Dean was adamant that Sam look at it. "I was with you when you cut it, Sammy—James sewed it up, and this is real! Look!" Dean squeezed Sam's wound hard and pain sprang into existence as he did. Flinching and trying to pull away feebly, Sam gasped. Dean grabbed the barrel of the gun Sam was holding with his other hand, making sure the weapon was not used again. Next to Dean, Lucifer flickered as pain shot through Sam thanks to Dean's fingers digging painfully into the stitches. Wait—was Dean right? This pain seemed to center him, however uncomfortably.

"We've done a lot more with pain," Lucifer said calmly, challenging Sam to think this discovery could give him any advantage whatsoever.

Sam took in a shallow breath and grimaced. It hurt but he felt like his vision was unclouding, like his ears were opening back up to hearing again. "This is different," Dean insisted, pushing his thumb even harder into the center of Sam's palm, making Sam squeeze his eyes shut and clench his teeth. "Right?" Dean held on tighter and Sam shuddered. "Than the crap that's tearing at your walnut? I'm different." Dean was gentle and firm at the same time, reassuring and seemingly real. "Right?"

Sam couldn't take the pain and pulled his hands away from Dean, who kept Sam's gun in the exchange. Staring at his hurt hand, Sam breathed in and out hard. Dean was right. This pain felt different than what he remembered as definitely being in the cage. "Y-yeah, I think so," he said, starting to feel hope.

"You sure about that, Sam, buddy?" Lucifer asked, trying to make Sam doubt himself.

Angry, Sam glared at the vision of the devil and pressed his own thumb into his stitched hard as Dean tried to catch his brother's gaze. "Sam? Sam."

Blood began to seep out, Sam pushed his wound so hard. Lucifer flickered again then nervously shook his head. "Doesn't mean anything."

"Hey." Dean demanded Sam's attention again. "I am your flesh-and-blood brother, okay? I'm the only one who can legitimately kick your ass in real time. You got away. Cas pulled you out, and I got you your soul back, and this is real."

Deciding to believe, Sam nodded. "Sammy..." Lucifer warned. Sam pushed his thumb all the harder against his wound, determined to get control. Lucifer's voice was fading in volume. Urgency made the devil speak faster and harder. "Sammy, I'm the only one who can…!"

And then he disappeared completely as Sam groaned in pain at the harm he was inflicting onto himself.

"Believe in that!" Dean said in a strong, pleading voice. "Believe me, okay? You gotta believe me. You gotta make it stone number one and build on it. You understand?"

"Yeah," Sam managed, breathing heavily and nodding weakly. "Yeah, okay." Sam felt like he'd just been through the fight of his life and he was delirious almost. No more Lucifer though. He let out a relieved sob-like sound and reached for his brother and hugged him with his good arm, holding on for a good long minute as he calmed down with shut eyes. And then he realized something and pulled back fast, relief forgotten. "Wait—Dean—if I came here alone… is—is Alex not out there?"

Dean's face fell a little into a wary expression. "No… I thought she must be with Bobby." He started to look worried. "She's not?"

Sam swallowed, breathing heavily because of his once-again alarmed state of mind. "No, no—I—I left her at Bobby's, alone, I thought she was with me—I thought—" he stopped talking. The brothers looked at each other, Dean with a dawning expression of oh no, Sam with an expression of that asked what have I done? "Shit." What if she had another panic attack? What if those Leviathan things came and got her? A million horrible what-ifs ran across Sam's mind.

Obviously, Dean was of the same mind and he grabbed Sam by the jacket shoulder, already on the move toward the warehouse exit. "Let's go."

As they got into the car, Sam's phone rang. He answered as he shut the door hard behind himself. "Bobby, hey."

"The Sheriff was right," came Bobby's voice from the other end. Dean was already squealing out of the parking lot. "The hospital thing's definitely our kind of thing. I double-barreled one of the Leviathan guys in the morgue. Silver buckshot—no effect. Bled black ooze."

Sam clenched his teeth tight and shut his eyes. "Great," he muttered, then opened his eyes back up. If they were at the hospital in Sioux Falls, who knows where else they might be. "Hurry, Bobby. I… I kinda… had a bit of an issue and Alex is all alone at the house." There was a shocked pause on the other end. "I'm with Dean now, on our way back, but… just hurry."

Bobby asked no questions. "Ten four," the hunter replied grimly. "I'll meet you there. I ain't far."

"Be safe out there Bobby," Sam said, then hung up and stared at the road that was already racing by. His stomach was rioting against him, his heart was hammering a sickening beat. He should have known he was hallucinating, he should have trusted his instincts. "Drive faster, Dean."

The engine screamed as Dean accelerated on the open road. "Don't have to tell me twice," he muttered darkly, the picture of grim focus. There was a short silence in which Dean said nothing to Sam to admonish or shame him about what had happened, and Sam definitely noticed that and felt grateful. He tried calling Alex, but there was no answer. Anxious but resigned to waiting, Sam ground his teeth around in his mouth as he harrowed himself with worries and fears. "You heard them, right?" he finally asked, glancing at Dean tensely. "When they were in Cas? Said they'd be back for us. And for her."

"Yeah I remember." Dean let out a heavy, unhappy breath out of his nose as he switched hands on the wheel. Sam watched his brother think hard for a long minute. He could tell something was going through his mind. "Something's been bugging me," Dean finally said. He took another good long pause, furrowing his brow into deeply unsure contemplation. "You said Cas dragged Alex around the whole time I was dead and he was God, right? Well was that Cas, or was it the Leviathan?"

Sam shook his head, his face pinched into a tight expression at the conversation topic. "I don't think it was Cas." He was dark, sour, and bitter. "But I still hold him responsible." Sam pushed his thumb against his palm, and his nostrils flared against the sudden spark of pain. "And I still wish I had found a way to stop him."

"Hey." Dean sounded slightly correcting. "You tried." Sam scoffed, shaking his head no, and Dean got a little harder and angrier. "You tried damn hard," he said, daring Sam to disagree with him. "James told me all about it. You did everything you could. I am proud of you Sam." Normally Sam might have come to tears to hear his brother say that to him. But today, he felt ashamed. He was not someone or something to be proud of.

Bitter and confused feelings ran through Sam and he glanced at his brother, studying his profile in silence for a few beats. It had almost ended differently. Dean could still be dead and beyond hope of resurrection. Cas had fucked up in every way possible… but at least he had somehow broken back through and given Sam back his brother and sister, his uncle. Remembering the hell he'd lived through, Sam felt the threat of tears taking over again. He looked down into his own lap, his emotions betraying him. "I can't tell you how glad I am to have you back, Dean," he murmured, trying to sound stronger than he felt. "If you… you were still… I don't think I would make it."

Dean frowned and looked at Sam sidelong sharply. "Hey. You don't say that crap to me. You hang in there. I'm here. And we're doing this together. I'm not going anywhere."

Sam nodded, smiling tightly down into his lap. Typical Dean response. "Yeah." And Sam loved Dean. He loved him for his typical responses. And he was so damn glad this hardheaded, tough-on-the-outside, gooey-and-tenderhearted-on-the-inside guy was back again.

Dean had gone quiet again, thoughtful. There was a brief silence. "Look, when we get back to Bobby's—" he searched for words for a minute, trying to be respectful. He sounded tired, and Sam felt guilty because he knew Dean was overwhelmed. "I just—these hallucinations, man…"

Sam cut him off. "It's okay, Dean, I'm good. No white rabbits." He laughed at himself softly, a derisive little sound. "I'm not seeing anything. I think the pain thing is gonna help." He rubbed his thumb against his palm again.

Dean looked vaguely encouraged. "Okay," he said, giving his brother a small smile. "Baby steps."

Sam returned the small smile. "Baby steps," he echoed. He had to get this together. If for no other reason, for Dean. Who shouldn't have to carry the weight of the world alone. The Impala streaked through the night like a bullet, carrying the silent and worried brothers closer and closer to their destination. About two minutes later as they were getting close to Bobby's, Sam wrinkled his nose up and frowned. "What's that smell?" It reminded him of campfire.

Dean seemed a little thrown off too. "Someone burning leaves?" he suggested.

"…At four in the morning?" Sam asked doubtfully.

"Yeah," Dean replied, sounding dubious. "Weird." It was weird. And then they turned the corner and Bobby's house came into view, the brothers realized at the same time… that was not the smell of burning leaves. "Oh no…" Dean breathed.

Sam was lost for words as they came into plain view of the house. It had burned to black, skeletal remains, and thick, dark smoke slowly rose up off the charred ruins. Dean slammed the car into park and didn't even remember to cut the engine off. He was too busy stumbling out of his car and trying to comprehend what he was seeing. "Oh no," he repeated softly, his eyes glued to the burnt remnants of the house. "Oh no," he repeated, then abruptly raised his voice to a deafening, fearful shout. "Alex!"

Sam was out too, and he stared around in speechless disbelieving panic, eyes darting all over the scene in shock. Dean continued to shout into the quiet night. "Al! Alex! …Bobby!" When there was no response, Dean pointed to the right, a silent go to Sam, who obeyed immediately. Dean went left, and the brothers quickly circled the smoldering, smoking remains and met together on the opposite side of the house.

"Did you see them?!" Sam asked breathlessly.

Dean shook his head no, staring aghast at the burnt house. "No," he managed in a choked voice. Where the hell were they?

"Oh my god, Dean," Sam said in a voice that was rising with panic. "Were they… were they in there?"

Dean turned angrily on his brother. "No." He looked ready to snap in half, and his voice raised to a thundering, angry volume. "They were not in there when this happened, you hear me?" But he lost his conviction as he looked at the scene again. "They couldn't be!"

Sam was staring at the charred remains like he hadn't even heard. In a horrible trance, he swallowed slowly. "You… you don't think Alex did this, do you?"

"…What?" Dean asked, aghast at the question.

"She always did like fire," Sam said softly, and his eyes flickered over the burned house with increased despair. "And whoever did this… knew what they were doing." He was breathing hard with a miserable expression, about to break down. "Dean, this is my fault…"

Dean became abrasive. "No," he snapped. "No. We're not going there, Sam," he commanded, pointing at his brother with a hard finger. "Now move out and we find them. They are here, somewhere, and we are going to find them." Sam just stood there, looking like he didn't have it in him. Dean hardened his voice. "Go."

Sam took a couple seconds, his face working hard to control emotions. And then he nodded stiffly and did what he was told. His shouts filled the night air. "Alex! Bobby!"

Dean stayed where he had been—standing at the front of the house—and he looked up at the still-visible A-frame of the attic. Had she been in there? Dean pulled out his phone with a shaking hand and called her phone, as pointless as that may have been. It went straight to voicemail, which made Dean's heart clench even tighter. He just knew the phone had burned. The familiar message, the one she always recorded if she bothered to record one at all, played. "You know what to do." Her familiar voice, bored and businesslike on the message, made him want to break down. Bee-eeeeep. Dean hung up and stared at the house again. Inside, something collapsed and embers fluttered up into the air.

"Where are you?" Dean asked softly, trying not to give up. But he felt it happening. If she had died in there, if she was gone… he wouldn't be able to take it. "If you are in there—" he whispered in a trembling voice. "If this was you… if you killed yourself over this… I'm gonna right behind you, you hear me? To kick your ass for doing that to me and Sam! Christ..."

And then, somewhere nearby, he heard Sam shout. "Dean!" He turned, his chest clenching tight in sudden hope and fear alike. "I got her!"

Three words that took over his entire life. Overcome with urgency, Dean sprinted. He found Sam holding a barely-conscious Alex on the ground in the salvage yard. She was sooty and coughing weakly, but she was alive and looked unharmed. Dean dropped down beside Sam, taking hold of her along with his brother. "Hey hey hey—she okay?!" he examined her even as Sam nodded yes.

"Yeah, she was in the back seat of a car, Dean, passed out."

Huh? Dean looked at his brother oddly. That seemed strange, and Sam seemed to think so too. Alex spoke then, her voice weak and rasping from the smoke. "No—I'm—it was… someone…" she said, sounding urgent and confused. "Someone pulled me out… I think it was Cas…"

Dean felt his stomach drop. Oh god, now she was hallucinating, too? Dean hoped it was just effects of the smoke, because if she went Sam-style with seeing things, he didn't know what he'd do. He was already pulling out his phone again. "We gotta call an ambulance," he said, distracted and worried and at his wit's end. "Looks like she inhaled a lot of smoke."

Alex abruptly tried to grab onto Dean and just barely caught hold of his jacket sleeve. "It was Cas—" she insisted, seeming almost drunk. "I saw him—his coat…"

Not sure how else to reply, Dean nodded even though inside he was dizzy and bombarded from every angle. "I know, I know you did," he said, waiting for the damn 911 operator to pick up already.

"She's delirious, Dean," Sam whispered.

He knew she was. 911 dispatch answered and before the lady had even finished asking what the emergency was, Dean was barking out an order. "I need an ambulance to twenty-one ninety-four Singer Road now, got a girl with smoke inhalation, there was a fire, hurry. Twenty-one ninety-four Singer Road!" Dean hung up and remained crouched with his siblings, holding Alex's head with a firm, reassuring grip. She was woozy and her grip on his sleeve fell away. "Hang on sweetheart, you're gonna be okay," he promised, hoping he was right.

"Mmff…" she muttered, her glassy eyes sagging almost completely shut. Sam held her a little tighter, watching her for a few tense seconds as Dean checked her pulse and nodded stiffly that she was okay, for now anyway.

Sam looked at the smoking ruins that had been Bobby's home just an hour prior and his eyes were vastly worried. "You think Bobby was…?" he started.

"Don't think so, but I'm gonna keep looking," Dean said firmly, standing up and looking around with a stony, determined expression. "We gotta find him, Sam. I am not losing anyone else. Not today." He hesitated. "You got her?"

Sam nodded, pulling his sister a little closer to himself with both arms. "Yeah."

"Do not move from this spot," Dean commanded intensely, then began to shout again. "Bobby! Bobby!"

Left with his barely-conscious twin, Sam supported the side of her head with one of his hands and tried to catch her barely-there gaze. Dean's footsteps crunched away on the gravel and Alex made a soft sound of pain and discomfort. Sam stroked the side of her head a few times. "You're gonna be okay, all right?" he whispered. "You and me both, we're gonna be okay." She heard him, and her face crumpled and she cried softly, weakly shaking her head no. Sam's heart was overcome with tenderness and care and he shushed her gently, grieving right along with her. He knew how hopeless she felt. He recognized that feeling by the look on her face.

"My car," she croaked, and Sam frowned in confusion, then looked around. And then he spotted it—part of the house had collapsed down onto the front end of her Mustang, destroying it completely. "Lost everything," she rasped faintly, shaking against him tearfully.

"Not everything," Sam insisted bravely, trying to convince himself, too.

Breathing shallowly and coughing again, Alex looked up at him with anxious, woozy eyes. "Bobby?" she asked, a single, worried question that made Sam's chest twist.

"He's fine," Sam lied softly, because he didn't think she could handle the idea that Bobby might be dead. He looked up, eyes filling with tears and his voice dropped to a whisper. "He's fine." He very well might not be, though. And Sam didn't know how he would handle losing his second father.

Sam heard footsteps in front of him, and looked up, expecting to see Dean. And instead he saw a stranger. Starting slightly and immediately highly suspicious, Sam stood, holding his half-cognizant sister against himself the entire time.

The stranger was a man around forty who was built solidly and perhaps of Latino lineage. He was smiling softly. Never a good sign. Sam backed up slowly. "Well hello, Winchester," the man said. "Congratulations. Apparently you and your brother are competent enough to warrant annihilating. I'd take it as a compliment." Sam's blood went freezing cold. This must be a Leviathan. The stranger's eyes dropped to Alex, who was barely maintaining consciousness. "But first, put her down. My boss wants her."

Protective and infuriated, Sam's face twisted up. "Well you can tell your boss to blow me!" he shouted, backing up more. Dean. Where are you!?

The man smirked, following steadily. "I'll give Dick the message."

Sam lost his bravado in place of confusion. "…What?"

The man ignored Sam's question and gestured toward Alex. "Give her to me. You needn't worry. Her safety is my top priority."

Sam clutched her all the tighter. "Oh, is that why you burned down the house she was in?!"

Genuine shock showed on the Leviathan's face. "I… I didn't know." He looked at Alex in deeply apologetic, disturbed remorse. "Please, forgive me, beloved."

Beloved?! Sam made a face, double-taking. "Okay, now that's just creepy," he said softly, unsure what the hell was going on here. In his arms, Alex had the faintest frown on her face and her mouth hung open in confusion.

"Hey!" came a loud, rough voice. "Asshole!"

The Leviathan turned toward Dean, who had a shotgun and used it—pumping a round off and blowing half of the guy's face off. His head jerked to the side from the force of the shot, but then the stranger straightened, looked at the black ooze on his hand, and his eyes snapped back up to Dean. He suddenly drew his head back with a snap. His face transformed in the blink of an eye into a monster's appearance. His mouth became a huge cavern that took up his entire face, his teeth were jagged and lined every inch of his mouth, a two-pronged tongue unfurled. It was like a war cry or something, and Sam and Dean both shrank back in revulsion and surprise.

Taking the advantage, the Leviathan knocked Dean's gun away, then grabbed Dean and threw him against a car so hard that the windshield shattered. There was a sickening snap and Dean shouted out in pain, clutching at his leg as he fell to the ground. He began to drag himself backward, and Sam, not knowing what else to do, set Alex down and rushed over to defend his brother. He was able to surprise the Leviathan, who stood over Dean—Sam grabbed him, whirled him, then punched him hard in the face. It was like punching a solid wall and Sam cried out in surprised pain as the Leviathan tumbled to the ground in front of him. Shaking his fist out and trying to find some kind of way to disable this guy—guns don't work, fist can't take much more of that—Sam looked up and saw that there was a car held high in a hoist, right above his opponent.

The control to the hoist was near Dean, who looked like he was already thinking the same thing. "Dean, now!" Sam shouted urgently. He turned back around to throw another punch and make sure the Leviathan stayed put, but when he turned around, a crowbar struck him across the face hard enough to send him flying and to knock him unconscious.

Even as Sam was going down, Dean smashed his fist into the control to release the hoist and the car suspended in the air dropped down, squishing the Leviathan flat. Black ooze began to pool out from underneath the car.

Dean dragged himself over to Sam, who had landed just a few feet from where he'd dumped Alex. She was on her side and looked unconscious. Dean got to his brother first. "Sam." He grabbed hold of Sam's shirt and shook a little, trying to jog his brother into consciousness. "Sammy?" He groaned in pain as indescribable and familiar pain shot through his leg. He recognized that specific type of pain and was so angry he could have spit—he didn't have time for broken bones! Not right now! He slapped his brother lightly in the face, trying to get him to pop awake. "Hey, come on now. Come on, I'm the one with the broken leg, you got to carry me. Sam!" He could hear sirens approaching. Dean dragged himself over to Alex laboriously and shook her shoulder. Last time he thought she was unconscious, she'd been dead on the floor, and it haunted him to remember that. Relieved to discover she was alive, at least for now, Dean looked around, feeling like his entire world was being destroyed in front of his own eyes.

Bobby was nowhere to be found. Sam was out of his mind, Alex was defeated, the house had burned… and everything that could have gone wrong had. It was too much to bear. So Dean gave up. He bowed his head and hid his face, laying there as he cried into the rough, gravelly ground, his fingers digging into the rubble uselessly as his siblings laid on either side of him unconscious. Sirens screamed louder and louder.

---

A few minutes later, the Winchesters were all strapped onto stretchers and racing toward the hospital. Sam was unresponsive as a paramedic held his eyes open one by one and checked the pupils with a flashlight. He'd been hooked up to oxygen, just like his sister.

Head turned toward Sam, Dean was beside himself with worry. "Sam, stay with me, you hear?"

The paramedic spoke into his communicator. "Male, late twenties, head trauma. Signs of increasing intracranial pressure. Female, late twenties, acute smoke inhalation." Sam suddenly began to thrash back and forth in the stretcher unconsciously, clenching and seizing powerfully.

Terrified and trapped down in his own stretcher, Dean was powerless to do anything but watch. "Sam? Sammy?!"

"Yeah, he's seizing," the paramedic said into his communicator. "Copy that. We're just pulling into Sioux Falls."

More horror washed over him and Dean sat up as much as the straps would allow. "Sioux Falls?! Sioux Falls General? No, no, no! No, you gotta take us somewhere else, anywhere—please."

The paramedic was doing something important looking with a syringe and glanced at Dean flippantly. "Yeah, okay, buddy."

Dean knocked his head against his pillow in distress. Fucking hell this was one of the worst days he'd ever experienced! Beside him, Alex was mumbling through strangely vapid tears. Dean turned his head toward her, from one crisis to the next. "I'm not crazy… not fucking crazy…" she muttered, frowning like she was fighting herself in her mind and losing the battle. "I saw him, saw him, saw his coat…"

"I know you're not crazy, you hear me?" Dean craned his neck upward, trying to get her to look at him, trying to get her attention. She didn't respond and Dean raised his voice. "Just stay here, Alex, you hear me? Stay here!"

Her face twisted in a strange expression. "…I hate here," she said blankly as she stared up at the ceiling.

"Alex." She was going into her off-mode again and he couldn't do anything to stop her. "Alex!" Dean shouted. But it was too late. She was gone, laying there like she was in a waking coma. Dean clenched his fists and knocked his head into the stretcher again, so hard he saw stars. "God dammit!"

---

The next thing Dean knew, he was under a bright light and his vision was doubled. Am I drugged? He heard echoing, strange voices around him and some kind of beeping. He was still laying down. But he didn't think he was in the ambulance anymore. Where are Sam and Alex? And who is touching me?

"Three, two, one, set!" a voice said, and then suddenly, there was the most mind-numbing jolt of pain Dean had ever experienced in the vicinity of his right leg. He screamed and shot straight up to sit—he was immediately pushed back down onto the bed, and he began to get his bearings. A doctor had just set his leg, and two nurses were holding Dean down. "Just relax," the doctor commanded.

"…Where am I?" Dean asked, voice slurring badly.

"You're at the hospital," she replied briskly.

"Which one?"

"Sioux Falls General."

No...! A needle suddenly jabbed into Dean's arm thanks to one of the nurses and Dean tried to pull away weakly. "Where's my brother and my sister?" He fought the holds on him without much success as panic made him see spots. "We gotta go."

The doctor looked at him firmly. "Your brother bashed his head quite seriously. He's gone up for an MRI. Your sister's been admitted to Laurelwood."

Dean gaped. "Laurelw—the loony bin!?"

"She was threatening suicide," the doctor announced factually. "We take that real seriously here, sir."

Suicide? The world was spinning around Dean, but he fought it valiantly. This place wasn't safe, Bobby said Leviathan were here, and he was not gonna stand for this. "Okay, enough of this crap," Dean managed, fighting sluggish muscles. "I got to go." But his body wouldn't obey him, his eyes were as heavy as mountains, and he suddenly realized oh hell. I'm about to pass out.

"You're not going anywhere on this leg, buddy," the doctor's voice said, beginning to fade out. "Relax."

The world began to blur again, and then it went dark completely.

---

Dean woke up laying flat in a small bed, and he was, for a brief moment, content and rested. When he spotted the plaque on the wall that said Sioux Falls General Hospital, he shut his eyes and groaned. "Oh, no, no, no," he muttered. He sat up, sore and drugged and feeling awful. He felt a weird pressure in his arm and looked at it, realizing there was an IV there. Also, he was wearing an ugly hospital gown and nothing else. He saw his clothes folded and sitting on a small table nearby. Grumpy, Dean yanked the IV out of his arm and pushed himself out of bed to stand—and promptly slid and fell down with a yell.

Dumped onto the floor, Dean stared at his leg, which was beyond use. It was wrapped in a foot-to-knee cast, restricting his movement completely. "…What?!" he protested softly, confused and dismayed. No no no…!

At that moment, the door opened and in walked Bobby Singer hatless and in FBI dress blues. When he spotted Dean on the floor, he quickly shut the door behind himself and hurried over in concern. "You okay?"

Dean gaped, wondering if he were dreaming. "Bobby, you're alive," he managed.

"'Course I am," Bobby said, like he had no idea why Dean would think otherwise. "Why're you on the floor?"

"They gave me morphine," Dean mumbled, voice still slurring. "A lot." He peered up at Bobby in total confusion. "We thought you were dead. Where were you?"

Bobby was hauling him to his feet and helping him sit on the bed. "Not dead yet."

The door opened again and Dean was double-shocked to see Jamie, also in FBI getup. She slipped in covertly, then took one aghast look at him in the dressing gown with the cast and her eyebrows raised high. "What'd you go and break your leg for?"

Dean was slack-jawed and dumbstruck. "J—wh—what are you doing here?"

"Same thing Bobby is. Saving your busted up ass." She checked the hallway through the window blinds quickly to make sure they had privacy.

Dean frowned at Bobby woozily. So… they had teamed up. That was nice…? Bobby looked urgent. "We got to run," he said, grabbing Dean's clothes and putting them in his lap. "This place ain't safe. Where's the twins?"

Dean scratched his head, trying to process everything that was going on. "Uh… Sam's in for a head scan, I think…" he said, trying to remember. He sobered a great deal. "And they put Al in Laurelwood."

Bobby's eyebrows rose slightly. "Damn," he commented, obviously doing some quick math in his head. Laurelwood was near the hospital, but in a different building altogether. "All right, well first things first. We get the big one outta here, then go bust the little one outta Laurelwood. Meet me at the ambulance dock, stat. I'll find Sam."

Dean was confused and tired and the morphine was making his mind feel clouded. "Wait, where? Bobby, I'm a gimp."

Jamie grabbed the crutches that were leaned near the door and handed them to Bobby, who handed them to Dean with of all things, an impish, encouraging smile. "Hey. Jamie'll help you get your big boy pants on." He patted Dean on the cheek a few times and smiled at him, then headed out, closing the door behind himself.

Dean looked at the clothes in his lap and the crutches, not sure how to pull this off. Jamie folded her arms and gave him a challenging little look.

Starting to get some of his clarity back, Dean scoffed and began to clumsily get up using the crutches. "Yeah relax, I think I can put on my own clothes, nurse," he said, starting to head for what he soon realized was not the bathroom, but the closet.

"Bathroom's that way," Jamie said, pointing to the other end of the room.

Dean blanched slightly, because walking away from her meant she'd get a view of his… um, full moon. They both knew that, but she wasn't averting her eyes or being delicate. "Well don't look," he complained.

She smiled softly and looked away.

---

A few minutes and one stolen ambulance later, a blonde woman, a man on crutches, and a tall man an obvious head injury stood in the lobby at Laurelwood. After arguing with the receptionist and getting nowhere—visiting hours aren't for three more hours, the patient can't leave yet, yada yada yada—Dean demanded to see the doctor on duty.

"Yeah, look, you got a patient in last night, Alex—uh, Smith," Dean was saying. Jamie hung back slightly in the middle of the lobby, watching for any perceived threats. Bobby was waiting in the ambulance, keeping the engines running. "We're her brothers, and I am telling you, we gotta go, now."

The doctor was a soft-spoken Indian man with dark skin and thick eyebrows. He had a quiet, composed, peaceful way about him from the way he stood with fingertips touched together to the way he spoke in a gentle, accented voice. "Unfortunately, Mr. Smith, the seventy-two hour hold is required because she was threatening suicide," he said patiently. "However, once the hold has been completed, I'd be happy to help her transition into your care." He paused. "I am actually going to recommend moving her to Sunny Meadows."

"…And just what the hell is Sunny Meadows?" Dean asked irritably.

The doctor eyed him thoughtfully, sizing him up. "It's a mental health hospital in Montana. I worked there several years ago. The facility has a much more diverse program than the one we have here." He smiled humbly, apologetically. "We're a simple operation here at Laurelwood, mostly we hold suicide threats for the required time then refer our patients to other facilities. And after evaluating your sister briefly, I have to say… you're probably looking at PTSD, panic disorder, possible mild psychosis… my opinion is that she needs services."

"Services," Dean repeated in an ugly tone. Beside him, Sam looked taxed and sick but was listening hard.

"Therapy, medication, clinical monitoring, support and counseling," the doctor supplied readily.

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, I bet you'd say that about anyone who looked at you funny to get a little extra cash on the paycheck, Doctor Kapoor." He read the doc's name tag sarcastically.

Doctor Kapoor remained dignified in the face of Dean's rudeness. "I don't receive bonuses for referring people to mental health services," he assured patiently, eyeing Dean closely and seeming to have decided he knew what Dean's problem was. "Mr… Smith, is it? There are some misconceptions in our society about mental health and mental institutions. They're not prisons and they're not filled with people who want to escape. Patients know they're ill for the most part and are seeking help to get well, just like with a physical ailment." He looked at Dean in all seriousness. "Your sister expressed to me vast hopelessness about knowing how to cope with the recent trauma she's been subjected to."

Dean was slightly taken aback. "She… she talked to you?" He had been trying all week and she'd said all of ten words to him.

The doctor nodded somberly, sensitive to Dean's disbelief. "Yes. I'm very good at what I do, Mr. Smith." He smiled again, by all appearances kind and professional. "Anyway, you must remember, you're not the ones who will make this decision. She will. When I discharge her two days from now, it will be with referral papers for Sunny Meadows. I hope you two, her brothers, will do your job in encouraging her to be brave enough to seek this treatment. It would be very counterintuitive for you to attempt to discourage her from it. Admitting to having a problem and needing help is difficult for most individuals, nevermind those struggling mentally or psychologically. There's quite a lot of stigma in our society about the mentally ill and quite frankly, there shouldn't be." He paused for effect. "Please don't be part of the problem, gentlemen." He nodded a gracious farewell. "Good day to you." He left Dean blinking and slack-jawed and Sam deep in thought.

In a huff, Dean hobbled back toward where Jamie waited and Sam followed, sweating the whole way thanks to what was probably a good concussion. "Piece of friggin' work…" Dean muttered angrily. "If I wanted a lecture I'd go to church."

"No," Sam replied in a furtive voice as he glanced around. "He's right Dean. And you know he is. Stop being such a jackass and just… just let Alex have this decision. Be supportive like the doctor said."

Dean stopped walking and gave his brother an angry glare as he leaned heavily onto his crutches. "What if we let her go to this… this Sunny Meadow place and she never leaves, Sam? What if she just goes in there and gives up and we lose her forever?"

Sam laughed weakly, seeming to have given up. "Do we really have control over this, Dean? Any of it?"

"Look," Dean said, grinding his teeth briefly. "Right now, we gotta break her outta here, before those Leviathan things figure out where we went."

Jamie came over to where they had stopped and she listened hard. "Okay, so diversion?" she asked, already catching onto the plan.

Dean smiled at her wanly, getting smart. "You got some kinda magical spell you can abracadabra?" he asked sarcastically.

Jamie gave him a half-amused, half-insulted look, then glanced over her shoulder, walked a few feet to the wall there, and pulled the fire alarm. As the sirens began to blare loudly and the sprinklers began to go off overhead, she gave Dean a challenging little look. "Abracadabra."

Making a face, Dean spat out a mouthful of water showering him. "Yeah thanks for that," he muttered, limping out of the way of the strongest water fall.

Jamie was walking past him and giving him a quick pat him on the shoulder. "I'll go get her, Peg-Leg," she said, already heading down the hallway. She went unnoticed thanks to the staff responding to the alarm.

Dean gritted his teeth and hated himself for what he was about to say, but he made himself say it, despite his pride, his fear, and his hatred of where this was going. "Sam, go to that quack's office and make those referral papers happen," he said. Sam looked vaguely surprised. Dean didn't have time for more discussion. "Now."

---

Two Hours Later
Country Kitchen Café & Diner
Mitchell, South Dakota

The Winchester three were seated at a booth in a random highway-side diner. They had gone and traded the ambulance for the Impala and Bobby's ride, then caravanned this way fast, wary of Leviathan the whole way. So far, so good. Bobby sat at a nearby table with Jamie and they were leaned over her laptop, googling Leviathan mythology and trying to learn anything they could. Effectively on the run and out of all the resources they'd ever had before (Bobby's library, the panic room, and so many family things that had burned away in boxes in that attic), the mood was somber and heavy.

Sam had a concussion, Dean had a broken leg, and of course, Alex was… she didn't even know. A fucking joke, if you asked her. She sat across from her brothers, still in Dean's huge jacket. It had always felt safe to her because it hid so much of herself. Same held today. She wore it to hide herself and to feel safe. She continually twisted the hospital bracelet that had been put on her and watched it absently. She could feel Sam and Dean's worried stares on her and she was loathe to look at them and see their injuries, their pain, their concern. She wasn't sure, entirely, what had happened these past twenty-four hours or so. It felt like a huge, vague blur. All she could think about was the attic burning all around her… and then catching sight of Cas's trench coat and being picked up and taken out of there. Who did that? It was someone, right? She wasn't crazy. Or was she? She twisted the bracelet again, a lump stuck in her throat. Maybe she was crazy. She felt crazy.

"So." Dean's voice startled her. "Suicide?"

Her stomach sank and she swallowed against a dry mouth. She had hoped this topic wouldn't come up. She vaguely remembered ranting about wanting to die as they had wheeled her into the hospital. "I didn't mean it," she said softly, not sure if she had or not. She just didn't want Dean to worry himself over her. She could sense how stressed he was, and she hated being part of the reason. "The smoke got to my brain."

Maybe that's why she thought she saw Cas? The smoke and how much she had gagged down as the fire began to destroy the little world she had existed in all of last year. Her attic. Their attic. Now it was gone along with him. But then how did I see his coat? I know it was there. Someone picked me up and got me out of there, and my face was up against one of those damn buttons I would recognize anywhere.

Across from her, Dean was bowing his head, resting his elbows on the table, and running his fingers through his hair in a gesture that seemed spent and harrowed. "I hate this," he announced glumly, and Alex finally looked at him through veiled eyes as guilt and bad feelings descended on her anew. Hated what? Her behavior? Her reaction to everything that had happened? She didn't blame him and she was once again ashamed of herself and her lack of ability to soldier through. "Hate it," he repeated, then looked at her with a vastly emotional expression. "But I'm gonna try and stop being a stubborn bastard and listen to you. Is… is this what you need?" Is what what I need? Alex didn't know what he meant. He explained himself when she said nothing. "To go stay in some mental health place to get your marbles straight?"

Oh. Alex looked at him, then Sam, who was quiet and concerned and watchful. She was speechless and blank for a minute. What do I need…? How about a redo of my entire life? How about we go back in time and erase my fucking existence so I don't have to cause all this shit and feel all this pain, huh? Cynical, bitter, hopeless thoughts whirled through her mind, deepening her misery. What Alex wanted and needed was to stop inconveniencing and burdening the people she loved. She wanted to stop overhearing tense exchanges about herself between her brothers and Bobby. She wanted to stop catching her brothers looking at her like they were killing themselves inside over her condition. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to hide. Because she didn't want anyone to see her suffer through this scary, unknown territory that was taking over her mind and heart. She didn't want her brothers to know how truly weak and hopeless she felt, how terrified she was of losing them too. Honestly, how much more loss could one person take? And what good was she going to do if she stayed with them? She was an inconvenience and a headache, a constant down. Sam and Dean didn't need any more pain or burden than they already had. And all those thoughts were why Alex nodded stiffly and tried to look stony. "Yeah. It's what I want."

Dean looked heartbroken, then started to try and talk her out of it. "We—the Leviathan are after us," he said intently, trying to convey how important it was she understood what he was saying. "It's not gonna be safe for us to stick around you too close if you're in one location. You get that, right?" Yeah. She did. And that's why she was gonna follow through on this and do what they couldn't: wipe herself off their to-do list. They needed to be free of her. If she couldn't get away from herself, at least they could. Dean watched her in silence and when she remained quiet and tense, he tried again. "Al, you don't need pills and shrinks."

She looked into his eyes, having to force the action out of herself. "You don't know what I need, Dean," she managed in a tight voice. All she wanted was to cry and crawl into his lap like she had when she was little. But she wasn't little anymore, and she had to stop weighing him down. "I'm not as… as strong as you and Sam are." She wasn't strong at all, and she could barely talk about how she felt without either beginning to fly into a panicked state or needing to shut down. "There's… there's just a part of me that… can't even comprehend what's happened," she whispered, her mind briefly paging over all the horrors. She hadn't been prepared for the things that she'd been put through. She was haunted by trauma she'd faced at Cas's hand, she was harrowed by grief at losing her brothers, her uncle… then Castiel, too. She didn't know how to control the panic attacks that kept her prisoner, she didn't know how to function for very long at all, and she felt like she just couldn't do this anymore. Her fight was gone, she was too tired. Too destroyed. "I'm sorry," she said, looking down at her legs in shame. Her own thoughts made her furious and depressed all at once. "I know I've disappointed you."

Dean leaned forward over the table adamantly, almost angrily. "You do not disappoint me," he replied immediately. "You have never disappointed me."

He was trying to make her feel better, but… "We all know that's not true," she said flatly, remembering how she'd broken his heart by going and marrying Cas in secret. She'd disappointed him time and time again, but that time was the greatest example. She would never forget that look on his face that night.

Dean understood and softened remorsefully. "Well… that's in the past now, okay?" She didn't answer and Dean frowned, trying to get her to listen. "I am proud of you."

She wanted to cry. She didn't deserve to hear that, and she couldn't believe he would be proud of her. Not after everything she had done and let happen. Sam spoke up, making her emotions that much more unstable. "I am too," he said earnestly, echoing Dean's sentiments. "Asking for help is a strength, Alex. You're not weak. If you need this, if this'll get you through what you're going through, we're all for it. Both of us."

Alex looked up at them, starting to wonder if maybe… maybe… there could be a way out of this hell she'd found herself in. Dean and Sam were waiting for her response, and she was amazed to see Dean, especially, actually was for once in his life willing to let her go out of his grip enough to get help from someone other than himself. For a minute, she forgot about her plans to pluck herself off the Winchester map and relieve her brother's problem of having to deal with her. For a minute, she began to really think that maybe she could conquer this and maybe she could recover. "R-really?" she asked, and somewhere deep within herself, a small spark of hope came to life.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed, a kind smile briefly showing through his worry.

Alex looked at Dean, wanting to hear him say yes, too. He nodded grimly, hesitantly, looking reluctant but resigned. "Yeah. If this is really—really—what you want… you got it." He smiled for her benefit through his conflicting emotions. "Even got you some shiny referral papers to a place in Montana."

Without warning, a part of her wanted to suddenly say no, please. Don't leave me! I can't do this without you! That was her default mode: clinging to men who she loved and needed. But then she remembered how Dean had died because of her, how Sam had been tricked into saying yes to Lucifer because of her. How Cas had gone insane and been willing to do anything for her. Even the unthinkable. And Alex couldn't let anyone ever care about her that much ever again. It got people killed. It destroyed things. And she was a curse that had to be removed. She should have left a long, long time ago. "It is what I want," she said, giving little hint to what she was really thinking deep down inside.

Sam nodded a few times, folding his hands onto the table and studying her closely. "Then that's what's gonna happen," he said. "Dean and I are gonna hunt these Leviathans down, get them off the map. You're gonna be safe and not have to worry about anything." He paused, waiting for her to say something. She said nothing. "We'll be a phone call away if you ever need us. And Jamie and Bobby will check in on you as often as they can."

Dean, quieter and much more reluctant than Sam was, gave Alex a small, bittersweet smile. "Trust me, we won't drag our feet on this one, Al."

"We'll get through this," Sam said firmly. "The three of us. I promise."

Alex's eyes were filling with tears brought on by the intense emotions she felt. Guilt consumed her alive. She was abandoning them, she was giving up and laying down and admitting defeat. Dad would be furious at how weak she'd turned out to be. He would never let her hear the end of this… he could hear his angry voice in her mind, clear like a bell. You're walking out on your family! Alex looked at her two brothers and saw two of the most central and important cornerstones of her life. She knew them, and they knew her. There was so much only they shared: The wars they'd fought together, the things they'd seen… the unspoken promise to always remain together and fight the good fight no matter what. And here she was, walking out. She had to remind herself: they would be better off this way. And yet… "I love you guys," she whispered, and when she heard herself say it, she felt disgust. Who would want to be loved by her?

Unaware of her inner thoughts, Sam reached out and touched her hand gently with his. "We love you too," he said, and his eyes were too intense for her to look into.

"I know," she said, avoiding looking at anyone, wishing no one had ever loved her, ever.

Dean got up and indicated she get up too. "Well. Road trip to Montana?"

She got up slowly and stiffly, and when he put an arm around her and kissed the side of her head then said it was gonna be okay, she wanted to shove him away and tell him he should just stop trying. She wasn't worth it and was tired. Done. Dead inside in a way she couldn't begin to explain.

---

Present Day
(About Four Weeks After Cas Walked Into the Lake)

Daphne bustled around in her kitchen, tending to three different pots and pans as she prepared dinner. Emmanuel sat at the kitchen bar where he always did. Daphne said men shouldn't cook, but always asked him to join her as she prepared the meals. Meals he didn't need, but politely never turned down. Her kindness was so generous that he felt bad to disappoint her. He had learned very quickly that she thrived on helping and nurturing. He didn't want to take that away from her.

She was currently going on and on about things that Emmanuel tried to pay attention to, but found difficult to concentrate on. "And Martha said the farmer's market needed a couple more stands, so I decided we'll go start one this Saturday together," she continued. "I mean, what am I supposed to do with all those cucumbers, anyway, you know? I'll just sell them!" She laughed easily, happily. Her greenhouse boasted vegetables all year long and she spent a lot of time in there growing her own produce. "And I just love the farmer's market, you will too." She stirred the boiling pot of water and some kind of pasta as Emmanuel stared off into space, distracted by a deep, disturbing feeling. She noticed, and her good mood faded. "What is it, Emmanuel?" she asked, forgetting the spoon in her hand.

He looked at her and he once again felt that this was wrong somehow. He was confused. "I feel… I feel worried," he said, shaking his head slightly.

"About what?" Daphne asked, concern making her face twist.

About what he was always worried about. But he wasn't sure what that was. Emmanuel strained mentally to catch hold of his reasons for constant anxiety, but… he had nothing. "I'm not sure," he said, continually frustrated with this ever-present feeling. "Something… something important." What was he forgetting? He had been here with Daphne for a month now and it had gone from a 'temporary thing' as she put it to… well, permanent feeling. Daphne had bought him clothes, set up her guest bedroom as his own, and he often caught her looking at him with eyes that seemed to crave something more from him. He thought he knew what, but hoped he was mistaken.

Daphne worked regular hours at the herbalist shop and Emmanuel was left to himself a great deal of the time. In his alone time he read a few of Daphne's new age books and tended to her greenhouse garden. He walked to the gas station sometimes, contemplating those cupcakes and trying to remember what they meant. They always made this feeling swell up inside of him that was almost too big to contain. He went to that yellow flower field sometimes by himself and tried to remember. But he never did. Maybe he never would. He knew Daphne was growing more and more impatient with how he tried to remember. It was almost like she wanted him to just move on and accept this as his life now. Perhaps that was the appropriate thing to do. He remained vastly unsure.

"Well, it'll come to you," she said with a sigh, stirring another pot of sauce while watching him. "And if it doesn't, that's the universe's way of letting you know it wasn't meant to be. God always shows us the way, and—aah!" She screamed loudly and fell backwards onto the floor.

She somehow knocked one of the pans into the pot on the front burner, and the scalding water splashed down onto her bare legs (she was wearing some kind of stretchy, neon colored shorts), burning her legs raw red in an instant. "Daphne! Are you all right?" Emmanuel was with her in record time, in fact so fast that he didn't remember moving at all—she was on the floor, crying and whining, groaning and gasping in pain as she clutched him and he was left to panic slightly.

The burns were bad, and Emmanuel touched her leg with his hand, unsure of why he felt the inward conviction to do so. And when his hand touched her leg, suddenly, the burns disappeared on both of her legs and her gasping sobs turned into gasps of surprise. She stared at her suddenly-normal legs and fumbled for words. "What—did you—did you just… do that?!" she asked, staring up at him with wide, astonished eyes.

"I… I don't know how," he said, looking at one of his hands in confusion. He looked at her fearfully, certain that something was wrong with him and she would now tell him to leave. But the opposite happened. Underneath him, her eyes softened and drank his in. She said nothing, just looked at him like that, prompting him to swallow. "A-are you all right now?" he asked, feeling nervous and unsure about her gaze.

She nodded softly and refrained from speaking for a long, uncomfortable moment. And then… "I need you to carry me to the bedroom," she said quietly, and Emmanuel's heart skipped a beat. Was he misinterpreting her tone? Her eyes? Her body language? Not wanting to be rude or jump to a conclusion, he did what she asked, and avoided looking her in the eyes, trying not to notice how her arms circled his neck trustingly as he carried her. He set her down in the bedroom and she did not back away from him. She had her hands on his chest, resting against the soft cotton of the shirt he wore that said 'Earth is Art.' She had bought it for him, of course. "Emmanuel… you're special," she whispered, holding his gaze and making his heart rate increase. "I've always known you're special." Her hands moved lightly, invoking odd feelings in him. "God put you here to change lives. Do you believe that?"

He was so distracted by her hands and her close proximity. "I—I think so," he said, more and more confused at what was happening.

Daphne smiled softly, and Emmanuel thought the way she looked at him was the way people looked at someone they loved. "He put me in your life for a reason, too," she said, then reached up and touched the side of his face carefully. His breath caught. "I care about you," she whispered, becoming so serious and vulnerable. "More than I've… I've ever cared about anyone."

Emmanuel wasn't sure how to reply. He tried to find words, but he couldn't.

Daphne backed away from him and looked at him hopefully, nervously. Then she gave him a soft smile. "Wait here."

---

Meanwhile…

Alex stared out the window to her left. She could see yellow flowers out there, lit up by the exterior lights perched along the landscaping outside of Sunny Meadows Mental Health Center. Yellow flowers made her think of Cas. And as always, thoughts of him left her broken internally. Or maybe that was just the way she was now, point blank.

"Do you remember?"

A male voice pulled her back from her internal world. Alex was momentarily disconcerted and looked at the source of the voice. "…What?"

Patiently, Doctor Schulz waited with steepled fingers. "You said you were trying to remember how you got here. So… do you?"

She let out a soft, haggard sigh. Alex Winchester was tired of doing this. Forgetting, remembering… going in and out of dissociative phases, panic attacks, numbness, confusion… trying half-heartedly in this shit called therapy. The entire thing felt like hell, and like she'd been here forever. And it had only been about three weeks. The doctor wanted to know if she remembered, and now she remembered enough. "Yeah, a little," she replied apathetically. "But… I'm… I'm done for today if that's all right."

"Of course Miss Smith," he replied. "It's nearly lights-out anyway."

Alex's eyes rested longingly on the metal letter opener on his desk. She looked at that letter opener every time she came into this office and wanted it. And tonight, she decided she was finally going to take it. She feigned a calm, sweet smile and looked at the picture that Doctor Schulz kept on the shelf behind his desk for visitors to see. Her every word and expression was calculated and false. "Your family is very beautiful," she said, putting on the charm just enough to look genuine. "Your son looks just like you."

He fell for it hook, line, and sinker, turning a little in his swivel chair to smile fondly at the five-by-seven in the frame. Alex's plastic smile fell and she swiped the letter opener silently and stuck it up her jacket sleeve in less than two seconds flat. "Thank you," the doctor was saying as he smiled at the photo of his family. He had a son and two daughters. "I'm very proud of them." He turned back around in his chair and Alex's fake smile returned. He smiled back. "We'll speak tomorrow, all right?"

"Tomorrow," she said pleasantly and stood up, exiting the room. Her face went blank when she turned her back on him. There would be no tomorrow. She was tired of tomorrows.

As she slouched back to her room, turning the letter opener with her fingers inside of her sleeve, she caught sight of him. That same guy she kept noticing. He was always lurking around in the hallways and in the lunchroom and rec room watching her, maybe everyone. But it felt like he was watching her. His age was hard to pinpoint because he had a baby-face and slight build. He could have been eighteen or thirty for all she knew. Curly, disheveled dirty blond hair offset a delicate jaw and expressive, watchful eyes. He wore long red shorts, flip-flops, and a yellow hoodie that said KSU on it—and he was looking at her very pointedly. So pointedly that Alex stopped dead in the hall and gave him her most bitchy and challenging look. She was tired of this guy's stares. "You got a problem?" she asked acridly, ready to pound him into the floor with her fists and then stab him with her letter opener.

A nervous smile came over his face with jarring suddenness. "I self harm and I'm bi-polar," he said in a voice that was boyish and sort of simpering. "That's two problems right off the bat." Alex rolled her eyes. Great. A wiseass. "Hi," he said. "Kyle." He paused and Alex started walking past him. He hesitated, then followed right on her heels. "Er, I'm Kyle. I wasn't calling you Kyle." Alex walked faster, annoyed, but he kept right up. "But my friends they uh, they call me Zip. I don't have a lot of friends but um, uh, it's a computer thing, nickname from freshmen year, it kinda stuck you know?" Alex stopped dead and looked at him with a very obviously short expression. He didn't seem to take the hint. "Anyway so uh I've seen you around." He tried a friendly smile, clearly feeling anxious. He stood about an inch shorter than her, and she was vaguely making a bet with herself about how fast she could have him K.O.'ed onto the floor. He rambled on, oblivious to her violent thoughts. "We were paired up in art therapy last week—do you remember?"

"No," she said, turned her back on him rudely and carrying on down the hallway.

He was overly nice and awkward and practically tripped over his own feet as he hurried to walk beside her. "Ah. Well, it's the medicine," he said, grinning breathily. "Makes ya a liiiiittle loopy." He chuckled nervously. "And I've noticed they've been giving you a lot of it, too."

Bristling, Alex stopped abruptly and eyed him up and down warningly. "What, you watching me or something?"

He looked insulted and confused. "Um…" His glaringly red shorts were an eyesore at the bottom of her periphery and she glared at them, then realized they weren't shorts at all. They were swim trunks. He was a freaking nutjob. This place was full of fucking freaks.

Alex walked off again, done with the conversation and just wanting to be alone. Kyle followed again "Hey, wait, Alex!" he called, jogging and catching hold of her shoulder to try and slow her down. "Alex, right?" His touch made her see red and she whirled, grabbed his wrist, then slammed him up against the wall and bent his wrist back hard—just a little further and it would break. He looked shocked, his face showed pain, and Alex shoved him hard.

"Leave me alone," she threatened in a growl. "Touch me again and I'll break your fucking neck."

He stood there, severely cowed. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking embarrassed. "I was just… trying to be nice."

"Well go try somewhere else, Chip!" she thundered, then began to storm off.

"Zip," he corrected sadly, then suddenly sounded cheerful and hopeful again. "See you tomorrow?" he called after her.

Alex looked back at him with an ugly expression. "Fuck off!"

He grinned nervously, uncertainty, and waved awkwardly, nodding to himself. "Okay! Fucking off. Bye…!"

One of the other residents, a textbook gothic-looking guy with long black hair that fell over his eyes (in which he wore purple contacts), looked at Kyle oddly as he slunk past. "You're so weird, man."

Kyle, or as his friends called him, Zip, tried to be cool and give a tough, clever comeback. What he came up with: "You're… weird… man." After dropping that zinger, he muttered to himself and shook his head as he walked off, his flip flops noisy in the bare halls of Sunny Meadows.

---

She always thought a mental institution would be like in the movies. Scary nurses with soulless eyes and creepy smiles. Straitjackets and doctors forcibly cramming bizarre horse-sized pills down your throat. Mentally ill people bent on escaping.

It wasn't like that at all. And it wasn't the answer she'd been looking for, either.

It was disappointingly normal and honestly more like an elderly home with lots of sedatives and therapy. And it wasn't working.

Alone in the small, functional, mostly-empty room she'd been assigned, Alex sat on her bed cross legged and looked at the letter opener. Moonlight made it glint up at her. She must have stared at that piece of metal for hours, going back and forth with herself and making sure she was sure. And she was sure. Alex saw nothing left of value in herself anymore and more than anything she just wanted it all to please fucking stop. Cas had gotten her a Heaven. Why couldn't she cash in now? Living hurt too much.

When she dreamt, there were nightmares. When she was awake, she felt too much. When she disassociated and came back from that blank nowhere, she was terrified of how she remembered nothing she had said or did during that period. Had she always been doomed to do this? Crumble apart and go insane? She didn't know and it didn't matter. All she knew was that she didn't want to be a burden on her brothers, she didn't want to be who she was anymore. Nothing could ever undo whatever it was that had gotten her here. And she hated 'here.'

Slowly and surely everyone else she cared about would die and leave. She wanted to die before anyone else could, she wanted to get out and escape any more losses. After Cas, after the fucking turmoil he left her to deal with alone, she was too shattered to trust again and she was petrified of having more taken away. She had lost so much already. If she lost anything else, she wouldn't be able to cope. That's why she took that letter opener and studied the blunt end and decided to be in control one last time.

What happened next wasn't pretty. She had nothing to sharpen that vaguely-pointed letter opener with. So she had to work up her self-hatred to paramount levels, she had to let every horrific memory she'd ever stowed away come out. Finally, Alex drew back and stabbed herself in the wrist hard enough to puncture the skin and make herself sob out a stifled sound of pain she muffled into her own shoulder. And then she had to yank it out. The pain was unbearable, the blood loss was quick, and she tossed the letter opener away and laid down in bed limply with her arm hanging off and blood dripping onto the floor, waiting for it to be over.

I should have written my brothers a letter, she thought as she drifted off to what felt like sleep. I'd tell them I'm proud of them and that their life will be so much better without me in it. I'd tell them they're my heroes and always will be. I'd tell them I'm sorry if this seems selfish but I just couldn't take anymore. At least now they have one less thing to carry around and be responsible for. They might have loved me, but in time, they'll be okay. They'll be better because they don't have me dragging them down.

And then she thought about Cas and pain consumed her anew. Look how this had ended. With a dead angel who and a dying human, heartbroken girl. She imagined him holding her in those final moments in arms that were treacherous and heavenly all at once, she tried to remember how he sounded and felt, she pretended this final outcome was just a bad dream and she imagined that somewhere, she was about to wake up with him and discover it had all just been a nightmare. Hot, miserable tears welled up out of her shut eyes.

Remember our good times.

She remembered all of her good times. She remembered playing superheroes with her brothers and using motel sheets as capes, jumping off things and trying to fly. She remembered Sam always sharing his ice cream with her in the summertime when they were little. She remembered cannonballs in motel swimming pools and trying to out-do Sam and Dean with a bigger splash. It had never worked. She remembered Dean teaching her to drive and showing her how to wolf whistle and calling her 'kiddo' for years and years even after she had ceased to be one. She remembered Dad smiling at her and squeezing her shoulder and telling her "good job, baby" once about something. She didn't even remember what, just the effect those words had had on her. Those were her good times. And then she remembered the gentle, innocent first kiss an angel had given her. A kiss that sealed her fate and eventually destroyed her life… left her dying on a bed with a ribbon of red curling out of her wrist. Alex shuddered, turned her head, and watched herself bleed out.

Her last thought was this: How could something that began so beautifully end in such dark tragedy?

---

Even as Alex lay dying, the angel who had forgotten who he was waited alone in Daphne Allen's bedroom. He was agitated in a way he couldn't quite describe. At the moment, high anxiety ran through his mind and chest for no true reason. His nerves felt knotted up, he wanted to get up and pace to let off some nervous energy. It was almost like he felt a need to be somewhere else. But where? A feeling of severe panic and alarm was coming out of nowhere.

Help me, he thought he heard—no, felt—someone say. But who?

He heard the bathroom door open, and he looked up, distracted out of his thoughts. Daphne stood there, and she was wearing soft, feminine lingerie that was deep purple and trimmed in lace. Stunned, Emmanuel gaped. She had soft curves and a womanly bosom, and he didn't have to wonder anymore. He now understood that his suspicious had been correct. She wanted him.

"Hi," she murmured. Shyly, she lingered at the door—Emmanuel's heart began to race and his mouth felt dry. He didn't know what to say or do. He didn't move. He stayed rooted to the spot where he sat on Daphne's bed. Then slowly, Daphne came to him across the room, touched his shoulders, stood between his legs, waited a moment while studying his face, then sat down on him and initiated a slow, cautious, soft kiss upon his lips.