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.

89. Dead Like Me

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 89 / Dead Like Me

"It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone at all."
- John Steinbeck

---

1990

"Hey, Bobby, where we going?"

Little Dean followed a much-taller Bobby Singer out into the leaf-scattered field that was adjacent to the nearby playground. He was a little confused at the sights and sounds surrounding the area: kids and families playing, laughing, relaxing, and spending time together just because. At eleven years old, Dean Winchester had been told that he was too old for any of that stuff. Hot on the heels of the guy he'd always called 'Uncle Bobby,' he tried to catch up to the older man's longer stride.

"Dad says we're supposed to practice with the double-barrel," he reminded in vague concern. He glanced at the duffel bag his uncle carried then back at the bustling park. "We can't shoot guns here, this is where people play."

Bobby stopped and smiled down at the child who was toeing the line between boy and young man. Matter of fact and pleasant and kind, he put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Exactly, Dean. Today… we're gonna play." Stumped protest gathered on Dean's face. "We're gonna skip the guns today," Bobby explained, a smile growing. "Today…" he set the duffel down and unzipped it, withdrawing a football. Dean's eyes widened just a little and a look of immediate joy crossed his face—then he quickly wiped it away in favor of a much more cautious expression. Bobby showed him the ball for effect. "Today you're gonna throw the pigskin around just like a regular snot-nosed little jerk." He said that affectionately then backed up a few steps and sent the ball sailing to Dean, who caught it with a look of conflict. He looked at the ball apprehensively. It was obvious he really wanted to play. But he looked up at Bobby cautiously and held onto the ball warily, turning it in his hands for a couple of thoughtful beats. "…Sam and Alex too?" he asked, making sure he wasn't the only one who would get this afternoon of forbidden fun.

Never a thought for himself, this one. Bobby smiled widely. "'Course!" he confirmed encouragingly, trying to inspire a mood of enthusiasm in Dean. "You'll be able to start your own little football team by the time I've learned ya'll three the ropes."

Dean was still holding the football with two hands. He considered it hesitantly. "Won't Dad be mad?" he asked, peering up at Bobby with those bright green potential-filled eyes.

Bobby felt a ripple of a sadness at that question. Dean was only eleven—the things John expected of him were close to impossible. Bobby crouched down to be more on Dean's level and he didn't show his truer feelings on the matter (anger, resentment, disapproval—John Winchester had some very messed up ideals if you asked him). He smiled reassuringly for Dean's benefit, letting the little guy know that it was all okay. "One day'a doing some kid stuff won't kill ya, Dean. If he's got a problem with how we spent the afternoon, he can take that up with me, all right?" He stood up and smiled over Dean's shoulder, catching sight of two similarly-sized figures nearby. "There they are! The wonder twins!"

Sam and Alex were coming out of the little nearby bathroom pavilion together. Sam took his role of big brother quite seriously at seven years old, even if he were only a minute or so older than his twin sister—he walked very closely to his sister and just as trained, was looking around their immediate area for perceived threats. He emulated Dean quite often and was very watchful of his sister at that age. The twins were real cute—both built wiry and sort of scrawny in comparison to their more stocky older brother. Alex had long unruly dark brown hair that matched her father's hair color—little wild curling hairs framed her face in an unpredictable pattern. Sam's hair was lighter than hers but just as messy and hung in his eyes—sometimes Bobby though he was trying to hide behind that long hair. The twins both wore boys jeans and boys shoes and, you guessed it, boys shirts too. Apparently John Winchester couldn't be bothered to get clothes that were for girls or something. Bobby had never really figured it out but it didn't seem to bother little Alex. Maybe she preferred it that way. The twins were both a bit on the reserved side, especially Alex, who was unable to speak. It was a good thing she had her two big brothers looking out for her. While her father was always oblivious to what she needed or how she felt, Sam and Dean always seemed to know, they spoke their sister's silent language somehow.

The three of them were not your typical kids.

Dean was an old soul and a consummate 'good boy' who lived to please his father—he carried a lot of responsibility and worry that no kid his age should have to shoulder. He was always worrying over his brother and sister, sometimes to the point of obsession. Sam was probably the most normal of the three—he was very well-spoken for his age, optimistic, and typically helpful to others. Alex was a child who didn't seem to be a child at all: she had old-soul eyes like her brother Dean, and when she looked at you, it felt like being studied by someone who had seen a hundred sad lifetimes. All three of them had fiery little tempers, huge hearts, and a lot of pain. They also all had enormous potential. Bobby loved them all more than he quite knew what to do with.

As the twins approached, Bobby nodded to Dean and patted him on the shoulder encouragingly, indicating he go ahead and throw the ball to his brother or sister. Dean tried to mask an eager smile. He seemed suddenly energized, biting his bottom lip and tossing the ball with all his strength—his jacket snapped as he sent the brown ball sailing through the air toward Sam. The twins stopped short, staring at the football strangely like they didn't know what to do. It landed just in front of them at their feet. They both looked at Dean questioningly. They had heard their dad's instructions about shotgun practice. Even though they were small and underage, John had them training already.

"You were s'posed to catch it, thing one and thing two," Bobby teased affectionately.

"We're playing football, losers!" Dean shouted through elation.

The twins looked at each other like they were wondering is he for real? Deciding he was, Alex abruptly got a devilish little smile on her face—Sam saw what she was going to do and sprang into action while yelping a protest but he was too slow. Alex had darted forward, snatching the ball up. She had already started to run with it. "He-eeey!" Sam complained through a grin, right behind her, pawing at her in an attempt to get the ball away.

Dean was running toward them too, and Sam abruptly decided he was on Alex's team. "Keep it away from Dean!" he shouted enthusiastically, laughing and trying to block his brother's way.

Dean dodged Sam and ran around him. Alex would have been squealing and laughing if she were able—a huge toothy grin split her face in two as she stood there holding the ball tight. She had gone still and was now sort of blocked from throwing—Dean stood between her and Sam, grinning breathlessly as he blocked her ability to pass the ball without taking a huge risk. "Gonna have to run it, Mouse," he teased. Everyone knew she was fast… but Dean was faster.

Bobby chuckled and motioned for Alex to try and throw it to him instead—he didn't know if she'd be able to make the longish-distance throw, but he encouraged her either way because it was a clear shot to him unlike to Sam. "Let's see what you got, shortstop," he called, holding his hands in a catching position. "Throw 'er here." Dean realized his window to get the ball was about to disappear and he made a run at his sister to swoop in. Alex reacted fast and threw the ball to Bobby with her best attempt—she bent backward a little and unleashed the ball with an impressive grimace of concentration. Bobby jogged forward a couple steps and just barely caught the ball low. "Not bad!" he said, grinning her way. She was currently being spun around by Dean, who had grabbed her around the waist from behind and was holding her high as she laugh-protested silently and tried to elbow him in the face.

"Not bad for a girl!" Sam corrected enthusiastically, eager to have a turn too—he ran a little closer and held his hands out. "Throw it here Bobby!" Bobby tossed it gently and Sam caught it with a little squeak. He looked like he'd never done that before.

"Good job, tiger!" Bobby complimented through a proud grin. "You're a natural!"

Grinning toothily, Sam pointed at Dean, who dropped a dizzy Alex to the ground and backed up a few steps and held his hands out to catch the ball. "Watch this!" Sam shouted. "Raaaawr!" Sam launched the ball with no finesse into the air where it spiraled pretty impressively far—right over Dean's head.

"Whoa, good arm Sammy!" Dean cheered, laughing as he looked at how far the football had gone. "We'll all be pros soon!" Dean made to run after the football—then got tripped by Alex as payback, Bobby was sure. He chuckled to himself. This was the best afternoon he'd had in awhile. He could get used to having these hooligans around. He was in no hurry for John to turn back up.

The four of them played leisurely with no rules and no goals for nearly an hour. The kids loved it and caught on fast, couldn't get enough of it. Bobby showed them a few tricks—how to hold the ball, how to get it to spiral, the best ways to catch it. Sam was especially enthralled and said he wanted to be a football player when he grew up. Dean told him he was too small to do that, Sam got indignant then said he was going to be the biggest guy in the universe when he was twenty. Dean laughed at him, Sam got mad and attacked, Dean laughed even harder… Alex threw the football at them to bonk them in the head while they wrestled around on the ground. Sam shouted an infuriated "OW!" and Dean laughed all the harder as Sam realized he wasn't being wrestled as much as he was being restrained. Sam began to try and get away while turning red in the face from his shouts of protest.

Bobby refereed the little dispute and got the boys calmed down, taking a good five minutes to talk to them about when to quit hassling each other and why petty fights were beneath them and also a waste of time. When it was over, the boys kept going with football, but Alex retreated to the edge of the field. She sat near a bench—not on it—and picked at the little flowers there and watched people with a shrewd, studious look on her young little face.

Bobby drifted over after a few minutes to see that she was tying the flowers together in a single strand. She sat cross-legged and Bobby noticed again how one of her shoes had been worn through the toe on the side, how her shirt was missing a couple buttons and was too short in the sleeves. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions, but he'd always felt like the kids were priority number two or three to John. Did that man not notice his daughter was in clothes that were falling apart? That his sons needed more than militaristic demands on them to grow into strong, well-balanced young men?

It wasn't really his place. But if it had been, Bobby knew he would have done anything in his power to give these kids the world.

"What's she doin', huh?" Bobby asked Alex in a kind voice, sitting on the bench near her so that he was close but not too close. He'd noticed she didn't seem to like people being in her personal space much. She glanced up at him questioningly and he gestured to the long strand of flowers she was creating. "Is that a necklace you're makin'? Looks real pretty." She shook her head no with a deep frown and then held it across her body like some kind of strap—she motioned that it was going to go all the way around, shoulder to hip front and back. Bobby thought maybe for a purse or for a dress, but then he realized… this was John Winchester's daughter. His smile faded a little. "Oh. A... shotgun strap?" he asked dubiously. She nodded in a very content, matter of fact way and returned to her work. "Naturally," Bobby muttered, trying to sound pleasant despite the cynicism he was feeling. That man had his kids valuing the wrong things. Bobby wondered how the hell these kids would ever survive if John kept this crap up. Honestly, Bobby volunteered more and more to keep them because he really loved these damn rugrats and wanted the best for them. Was it presumptuous to think that he could be the best for them…? Alex was peering up at him sidelong, and for a second, he wondered if she could hear thoughts. Sometimes he got that impression.

The sound of yelling caused Bobby to look up. Predictably, Sam and Dean were on the ground fighting over the football again. Sam was shouting his brother's name in exasperation ("De-eeeeaaaan! Ughhhh give me the baaaall!") and Dean was enjoying himself immensely. Bobby felt a smile on his face and shook his head fondly. They would probably always bicker like that. Hadn't he just talked to them about not fighting over dumb stuff? Idjits. He never knew three grubby little kids could steal such a big part of his rusty old heart. He just couldn't get mad at them.

A little teary-eyed out of the blue, Bobby glanced down and saw how Alex was still watching him—she was pretty observant. He cleared his throat and attempted to look serious and grown up and not emotional. "Those brothers of yours are somethin' else," he said. She contemplated him a moment longer then stood up as she tied the strand of flowers closed into a full circle—Bobby noticed how the circle seemed too small to be a shotgun strap, and when she came to him and put the little floral circle over his head, he realized she'd changed her mind and made it into what he'd thought it was at first—a necklace. He was surprised and unsure of what to say. "Oh… for me?" She nodded yes and Bobby smiled under his beard. Never thought he'd see the day when he'd proudly wear a flower necklace. But today was that day. He admired her handiwork, picking the necklace up from off his shirt and looking at it so she could see he was interested in what she'd done. "Innt that nice," he commented, then smiled at her and tweaked her cheek between his thumb and forefinger. She seemed insanely pleased that he liked it and grinned bashfully, showing uneven teeth that were too big for her little face. She was the cutest thing in the world. Freckles, dimples, hopeful bright eyes that were unbelievably intelligent and clever. One of her feet kicked the ground and she held her hands behind her back as she swiveled back and forth in place.

Bobby adjusted the necklace for effect and winked at her then patted her on the side of the shoulder. "Thanks, sweetheart. I ain't never felt fancier." He leaned closer conspiratorially and glanced at the boys, indicating she look too. "Hey, I got an idea. You wanna go team up with me? A little two-on-two game?" He gave his tone a sly spin. "We'll go easy on 'em at first then win the game when we got 'em where we want 'em." Alex grinned even bigger and nodded yes numerous times as her cheeks flushed a happy pink color—she loved that idea, just like he thought. What a sweetheart. Bobby raised his palm for a high five. "Up high." She bit her lip and gave him an enthusiastic five that made a loud slapping noise. Bobby grinned at her and ruffled her hair. "That's my girl." He paused and leveled her with a serious look. "Piggyback ride back to the boys?"

Bobby didn't know just how much he made that little girl's heart soar when he said things like that to her or when he treated her like she was someone's pride and joy. He didn't fully know how much he filled a father-shaped void that existed in her life. How his encouragement, steadfastness, and care throughout the years helped shape her into the young woman that she would grow into. But what Bobby did know was he could say he'd had a little girl. Maybe she hadn't been his on paper or via biology or some mumbo-jumbo like that, but she had been his in ways no one could take away from him. He'd always remember how when she was little she would reach for his hand when they crossed the street—his heart burst every time. He'd always remember the time those kids all got chicken pox and she crawled into his lap pitifully and laid there curled into his chest, wanting him to soothe her—and he sure hated to see her sick, but cuddling that sweetheart was one of his best memories. One of the memories he treasured. One of the memories that stayed with him and replayed in his dying hours.

Most of his memories during his dying day were centered on those damn kids. Maybe that's because they had become his life, or at least a huge part of it. He remembered Sam and Dean and Alex invading his life and pissing him off and giving him grief and teaching him what love really was. He remembered the sum of years that felt golden and beautiful and precious as he reflected on them. He remembered Sam's science experiments that messed up many a floor, table, and rug at his house. He remembered Dean accidentally blowing a small crater in the salvage yard with some dynamite ("I thought it was fireworks!"). Bobby remembered a constantly bare refrigerator and pantry, trips to get shoes that actually fit, a kitchen that Dean wrecked when he baked the twins the world's worst birthday cake. He remembered not enough sleep and 'my stomach hurts' and arguments about if Jackie Chan or Bruce Lee were a better fighter. He remembered pulling out splinters and showing Dean a trick or ten about mechanics and listening to more petty fights than any one man should have to listen to. He remembered life lessons and learning the meaning of patience and the day he realized he'd die for those kids in a heartbeat. Still would. Actually, kind of was.

He remembered the time little Alex gave him a kiddy drawing of himself standing out by the salvage yard—she'd drawn an oversized head and a freakishly huge smile that stretched across half of his entire circle-face—his hat looked like a cinderblock, the cars behind him could hardly be called that, and she had inscribed the picture UNKL BOOBY with lots of lopsided hearts. Bobby had accepted that drawing with straight-faced graciousness, said "thank you very much, darlin', this is real good," then went into his study and laughed until he cried. Uncle Booby. That damn drawing was still on his refrigerator years later when his home burned to the ground—obscured by a calendar and a Chinese takeout menu and some magnets, but he never took it down. And you know what else? He left that crater Dean made out in the salvage yard. There were still stains on the floor of that house where Sam's experiments had left their marks. Because to Bobby, those things were the things that mattered. That drawing, the crater, the stains—they were constant reminders and evidence that he had kids who he loved, blood or not. In fact, some love, he thought, was stronger than blood.

---

Present Day
Hammonton Regional Hospital, New Jersey

Almost at the point of tears, Dean stalked down the hospital hall.

What the hell! What kind of insensitive, brain-dead hospital-employed asshole would come up to him and ask if Bobby were an organ donor right now?! While Bobby was laying in there hooked up to a million machines that were keeping him alive? The assumption was that Bobby was going to die and Dean got that and hated it. He shoved the door to the outside world open with enough force to make it bang loudly as he marched through. He shook out his injured fist, still too adrenaline-riddled to really feel the pain that would soon start to sear the knuckles that had punched a glass panel out of rage.

He literally couldn't handle everything being thrown at him. He couldn't handle the thought that Bobby was dying in that building behind him right now. He refused to accept that as a possibility.

At least Sam was with him again… it was rocky between them at best because of Amelia the Kitsune (and then, of course, Sam's surprise 'marriage' to Becky…), but at least they had gotten past all their crap long enough to regroup a little. Just in time for this horrible new nightmare… Dean swallowed down his shaky, upset feelings and checked his watch distractedly. Where are they? He felt so anxious he wanted to jump out of his own skin. Dean paced a few steps to his left and dragged a hand down over his mouth, trying to prepare himself and get it together. Jamie should be close by now with his sister in tow. He had no idea what to expect. Last time he'd seen Alex, she'd broken his heart. He didn't know how she would take Bobby's critical condition and he was second-guessing her coming here at all now. What if she couldn't handle seeing him like this? Cas's death had sent her over the edge, what might Bobby's death do to her? Dean caught himself in that thought and immediately reacted inside. He's not dying. Not on my watch.

Dean turned and paced to the right, trying to walk off some of his jangled nerves. He had another thing gnawing at his mind: Last time he'd seen Jamie was when he'd copped a bad attitude, mouthed off, disrespected her verbally, and then ran her off as a result of his own pain and not knowing how to deal with it. He hadn't even talked to her since except to make a frantic please-pick-my-sister-up-and-bring-her-here call. Miraculously, she'd agreed. But she had sounded less than thrilled to hear from Dean. The way she answered the phone when he called with a flat, "what?" had been all the reminder Dean needed that he'd probably burned that bridge. He seemed to be good at that lately… destroying the relationships that meant anything to him. Losing people.

Whatever. Just… whatever. Dean shook his head and stopped thinking about it. His apprehensive gaze darted restlessly around the hospital parking lot in front of him, and he stopped mid-step when he noticed a shiny black car with night-dark tinted windows idling nearby. A sudden burst of hatred filled Dean. He knew whose car that was without even a moment's hesitation. He knew. He marched down the stairs of the hospital entrance and went straight to the car. "Dick!" he thundered. "I know you're in there! Come on out—" he reached the car and pounded his fist heavily on the closed rear window of the car, "—you dick."

The window lowered a little with a mechanical groan. Sure enough and with a vile grin on his face, Dick Roman. The man who had shot Bobby and put him in this hospital. Every fiber of Dean's being was coursing with absolute hatred and he wished he knew a way to kill these sons of bitches… but he knew no way of killing them. Only of slowing them down and disabling them. "What, did you come here to finish the job?" Dean demanded loudly. "Kill me and my brother?"

Dick's smile widened lifelessly. "What can I say, I finish what I start, champ!" he boomed enthusiastically, that irritatingly false cheery tone making Dean's skin crawl and veins fill with lava. Behind him, he could hear a few bystanders getting interested—Dick Roman was famous, and people were noticing him.

Dean played that card for all it was worth. "Yeah well good luck ganking me with all these people around, Dick Roman!" He said the name really loud to draw more attention. It worked. A couple nurses who were on break glanced over, another bystander began to film with a cell phone.

Dick didn't look shaken at all at Dean's attempts. In fact, he just looked more maddeningly smug and wicked. "Say, how's your sister these days?" he asked, causing Dean's temper and fear to flare at the same time. Dick teased him ruthlessly. "Really been wanting to see her again… think you could set something up?"

"You listen to me you slimy two-bit jackass," Dean hissed, his finger pointing at Dick threateningly. "You so much as look at her and I will end you. She is off limits to you, to that Edgar douchebag, to all the other goopey freak friends of yours we've taken down!" He and Sam had noticed a pattern with the Leviathan: that they were all obsessed with Alex and finding her. And as far as Dean was concerned, that was not gonna happen.

Chuckling and shaking his head, sighing as if Dean's behavior was adorable, Dick's eyes never blinked even once. "See that's where you're wrong, Dean," he said languidly. "You can't 'end' me. I'm forever. I don't die." His smile fell just a little and his eyes were suddenly filled with ominous promise. "That's your job. And I'm going to see to it that you and that bad-haircut brother of yours are buffet grub soon enough, but…" he glanced around at the bystanders and seemed to admit mild defeat, or to at least decide he was better safe than sorry. His voice punched up a notch. "What say we do this thing later, Dean? Hmm?" A lifeless smile stretched his mouth across his pearly white teeth. "Maybe you should go check on that friend of yours. He can't be feeling too frisky right about now… I'm a very good shot."

Dean wanted to rip this guy's freaking spinal cord out of his body. "You son of a bitch, you listen to me," he spat, pointing at Dick again with a jabbing index finger. "We're coming for you, and I don't care if you think you can't be killed, I will find a way."

A hearty laugh barked out of Dick's mouth. "Sure, sure," he said in maddening calm. "Whatever you say, Dean." He got a cold glint in his eye, a smirk pulled at his mouth, his voice softened. "But riddle me this. What's to stop me from going into that hospital right now and taking one of the doctor's appearances or even your appearance and spiriting your sister away?" Shock struck Dean like lightning. "I know she's on her way here," Dick said in an almost sing-sing voice. Abruptly, he became dark and frightening. "And I want her. I'm going to get her. No one can stop me, especially not you. When I want something, I get it—end of story." His threatening tone gave way to more disconcertingly pleasant laughter. "I'm laughing because I win, no matter what, and I already have." He shook his head as if in fondness at Dean, who was steaming and shaking and petrified but not showing it. Nearby, Dean could hear an ambulance wailing loudly and approaching very quickly. Dick's lazy, entitled smile lounged around on his lips. "All I have to do is sit back, kick my heels up, and wait, because the day is coming wh—"

That ambulance sounded close—like it was reaching top speeds and not about to stop, and Dick and Dean looked at the same moment, confused. Dean saw what was about to happen and his instincts kicked in just in time to save him from being killed. He jumped back even as the speeding ambulance smashed headlong into Dick Roman's shiny black Lincoln so hard and fast that the entire front end of the car crumpled. The car was slammed back by nearly twenty feet and into some parked cars there with a sickening metal crunch.

Fallen down onto the ground nearby with an arm thrown up over his head protectively, Dean winced as debris rained. The ambulance siren gave a couple sad sounding dying sounds and ceased to work at all. Dean pushed himself up and gaped at the wreck.

Around him, onlookers were freaking out, screaming, running to try and help.

"Oh my god!"

"Was that Dick Roman?!"

"What happened?!"

"Is everyone all right?!"

The chaos was immediate and pronounced as people swarmed the wreck. "Son of a bitch…" Dean murmured, unsure of what had just happened. He saw black goo dripping down out of the ambulance driver's seat and into a storm drain. What just happened? Dean stood up slowly, grimacing because his shoulder had taken a bad hit when he jumped out of the way. Dick Roman was nowhere to be seen. The only body present was of his driver, who apparently had been a human man. He was very, very dead.

For a minute or two, Dean watched dumbly and skirted the scene at a very wide berth, trying to figure out where Dick had gone and who had been driving the ambulance. The only clue was that black slime.

Shaken up and needing to verify that Sammy was okay, Dean hurried back inside. Were there more Leviathan around? How could you ever even know? Those shapeshifting bastards only had one weakness… was Dean supposed to just walk around with borax-infused soap and squirt every person he came into contact with? Dean walked at a march down toward where he'd last seen Sam. When he turned the corner, his gait paused for a second. He saw his brother (impossible to miss at that tall, imposing build). With Sam, appearing short beside him, a familiar figure with long blonde hair. No Alex to be seen, though. Dean hardened his face in an attempt to be unreadable as he approached the two of them.

"Hey," Sam greeted when Dean walked up.

"Hey," Dean replied gruffly, glancing at Jamie very briefly. Her body language had immediately changed at his approach—she folded her arms, her expression became mildly resentful and mistrustful. They must have arrived right when Dean was outside or something. His gaze guiltily dodged hers and he looked around for his sister, aware of how curt he was being. "Where is she?"

"With Bobby," Jamie replied. She sounded really tired and looked the same.

Dean followed the nod of her head—from where they stood, he could see that Alex was in Bobby's room with him, standing at his bedside and holding one of his hands in both of hers. Unconscious, he looked like death warmed over. His head was wrapped in bandaging, he was hooked up to a million machines—he was pale and looked like an elderly man, not like the kickass hunter that he was. Dean watched his sister say something to their uncle and fight off strong emotion as she did it, he watched her touch shaky fingertips to the side of his face very faintly. His heart ached for so many reasons all at once. Nothing was in his control anymore, Dean reflected. Nothing. He had spent so many years being told by Dad that he had a job to do and that his life depended on doing the job. But Dad never said there would come a day when nothing Dean did would work. When he wouldn't be able to protect them at all from the pain of reality. When he wouldn't be able to save Bobby or stop the unthinkable from happening. There had always been a way to cheat fate before, why did now have to be different?

"They're—they're saying there was an accident outside?" Sam asked in a concerned voice. He was exhausted, same as Dean, and his tenor voice bore witness to the fact.

Dean was pulled out of his pain however marginally. "Yeah, I dunno what that was, it was crazy," he said—he didn't wanna talk about it yet. Not with Jamie there. He reluctantly looked at her, feeling too awkward to know exactly what to say. He settled on a general question asked in a hard tone. "Everything okay on the road?"

Guarded, Jamie shrugged, eyes drifting to look down the hallway at Alex. "Well, she didn't say anything the whole ride, but yeah." Her ice blue eyes flicked back to Dean, unreadable. "Uneventful, if that's what you're asking."

She was still way pissed at him—he could tell. But most girls did get pissed when you called them what he had and said what he did. Quite honestly embarrassed at himself because hindsight was twenty-twenty, Dean just wanted her to go away so he didn't have to think about it anymore. "Well, you look, uh, pretty terrible," he said, then kicked himself immediately. He meant to say 'tired,' but she did look terrible and it had just slipped out. She appeared sick almost (dark undereye circles, pale color). It didn't look like she had washed her hair in days or slept in just as long either. Sam made a bit of a face at Dean's blunt comment and Jamie looked pretty ready to kick him in the nuts, but Dean just decided it is what it is and stuck with what he said—he'd make things worse if he kept talking. He motioned toward the little break room area nearby. "Get yourself some java," he suggested sort of forcefully. "They got some in that room right there."

Jamie looked like she'd rather punch him in the face, but she complied with a half eye-roll. "Yeah, great." She walked off and Dean made a face like she was the one who was out of line.

"Geez," Sam commented.

He got a perturbed glare from Dean. "What?"

"You two are becoming the old married couple who hates each other."

Dean's mouth drew into a wan, unamused line and he crossed his arms. "Shut up Sam," he muttered, then leveled his brother with a correcting, sharp stare and leaned a little closer and lowered his voice to a harsh murmur. "Maybe quit cracking lame jokes and start worrying because that accident outside was Dick freaking Roman getting hit with a damn ambulance."

Sam's face showed shock and then immediate worry. "What?" He glanced at Bobby's room at their sister, then looked back at Dean and became furtive. "What happened?"

Surly and glancing around constantly for perceived threats, Dean kept his voice covert. "Let's just put it this way… I don't know how they're gonna twist this one on the news. Dick gets hit with ambulance, disappears out of car, reappears a couple days later just fine? That's not suspicious." Dean huffed then shook his head and set his jaw, his worry intensifying as he looked at Sam meaningfully. "But he's got it bad for Al too, just like the others, so…" Sam's face immediately darkened, but he looked like he'd suspected as much. Dean realized just how stupid it was to bring Alex into the line of fire. "Dammit, maybe we shouldn't have brought her here," he muttered.

Sam seemed to consider that sentiment but he shook his head regretfully. "No. She needs to be here if… if this is it."

Dean bristled. "Don't say that to me," he snapped. "This is not it." He turned and walked off a single step in anger then turned back around and threw his arms out for emphasis. "Sam—it's not safe here, for any of us," he said, worried about the other problem at hand. "We're sitting ducks!"

Calmer despite his harrowed and exhausted mood, Sam nodded weary understanding. "I know Dean," he said, trying to sound reasonable despite how anxious he was. "But we can't leave. Bobby needs us right now."

Dean glanced around them again with a watchful, hyper-vigilant stare. "Just keep your eyes peeled," he said stiffly. A needless thing to say, obviously. He dragged his palm across his face. When was the last time I slept? He had no idea. He had more important things to worry about. He crossed his arms again and looked down the hall into Bobby's room. Alex had pulled a chair up close to the bed and didn't look like she was planning to move anytime soon. "What's the update?" he asked, unable to look away. Bobby could do this. He could fight it. If anyone could, it was him.

"Swelling's down a little," Sam said. "They took him off sedation. Apparently, he—he started fighting his tube. So they pulled them out, and he's breathing on his own."

Dean perked up and fought off the urge to hope too much too soon. "That's good, right?" he asked, then realized he didn't know what that lingo really meant. "Is that good?"

"Yeah," Sam said, then quickly edited himself. "Well… doctor said best-case scenario."

Nodding slowly with gathering speed, Dean's mind was trying to race to put everything together so he could predict the outcome. "All right, so when they gonna take the bullet out?"

Sam looked reluctant to break the bad news. "Dean, t-they're not even—they're not even gonna try that, not yet."

His heart sank a little. "What does that mean?"

Sam looked down, distress pinching his face. "The word's 'abrading,' I think?"

Dean's mouth flattened into a thin line. "English."

"Cutting out the dead brain tissue," Sam said somberly.

Dean couldn't find words. Dead brain tissue. His heart was sinking further and his entire body felt ill. He vaguely heard some shoes clicking on the floor nearby—Jamie was back he realized as he turned slightly. She had a little foam coffee cup in one hand. Arms still crossed, Dean glanced at her briefly, perturbed at her reappearance. "You know a magic spell to make this all okay, Bewitched?" He got a you're being rude side eye from his brother.

Even though Jamie looked sick of Dean's crap, she said nothing about it and glanced down the hall at Bobby, her features somber and regretful. "There's a few spells that could help with the pain, but… if his brain is damaged…" she looked back at Dean and reminded him of what he already knew. "Dean, most of the spells I have access to are for supernatural stuff." Her mouth pushed to the side briefly in a suppressed expression of embarrassment. "And you already know my magic has been getting more and more…" she gestured a hand sort of awkwardly and dodged his gaze.

"Wonky," Dean supplied ruefully, a little apologetic and contrite now. His crappy attitude softened a little. "Yeah, I know." He'd been wondering (and worrying) about that off and on the past couple weeks since their fight, actually. For the past few months, Jamie had been experiencing what she described as 'power shortages.' She had been getting sick on and off and her magical abilities sometimes failed or only half-worked. Dean wondered if her Hellhound day was getting really close. She refused to tell him any details about it. Not that it was any of his business, but still. Was that why she looked so tired right now? Or was it just the hunter life?

Jamie looked like she was feeling pretty down on herself now that Dean was actually paying attention. "Sorry," she said, and Dean saw how her eyes held true sadness as they gazed down the hall at Bobby. "I'd help if I could."

Bobby was her friend, too. Dean softened more. He wasn't the only one hurting here and he nodded a little and allowed himself to be marginally earnest for a second. "I know you would," he told her, nodding slightly. She always did. Her eyes lifted to look into his for a brief moment. Her stare was intense and almost vulnerable. She didn't look at him like that much and it startled Dean.

Sam seemed distracted and sent Jamie a brief, gaunt expression as he took Dean by the shoulder and began to steer him away, breaking the moment. "Sorry, I—uh, I just need to talk to my brother for a second," he said.

The brothers moved down the hall about ten paces, out of earshot. "What?" Dean asked, worried about what was clearly bothering his brother and curious about what the privacy was needed for. "Talk about what?"

Sam's face was filled with this greatly pained sadness. He took in a breath then let it out like he was bracing himself. "You know what."

Dean clouded over. "Sam," he said firmly. "No, we're not gonna have that conversation."

"Well, we need to," Sam retorted in short patience.

"He's not gonna die," Dean said, his patience failing too.

Sam looked pissed. "He might."

"Sam."

"Dean, listen—we need to brace ourselves," Sam said urgently. "This is real."

It felt like being backed into a corner and being slowly crushed. And Dean did not like that feeling. "What do you wanna do, Sam?" he asked angrily. "You wanna hug and—and say we made it through it when Dad died?" Seeing red, his voice was rising in volume and roughness. "We've been through enough, we've lost enough fathers in our lifetime, this isn't gonna happen, he's not gonna die!" Becoming accusing, Dean let a hand sweep out in Alex's general direction. "What do you think another death would do to her, huh?" he demanded in a harsh low voice, then had his hand chop back to indicate himself. "What do you think another death would do to me? Especially because it's B-" Dean's voice abruptly caught on a tight, rocky throat. His voice softened because he quite literally couldn't speak at full force anymore. "Especially because it's Bobby."

Empathetic at painful levels, Sam nodded slowly, his eyes silently asking Dean to please be reasonable and listen. "I know," he said earnestly. "But… it's not like we have control over this," he said quietly. He sounded near tears, too. He looked like he were searching for the right way to say it, and he used a careful, earnest tone. "People die, Dean."

He lost it. "Not Bobby!" Dean snapped, and he abruptly stormed away, knocking into Sam's shoulder when he did.

Exasperated and tired, Sam let out a deflated sigh and gave up, letting his brother stalk off. He wandered back to Jamie after throwing his hands up into the air out of frustration. He didn't know how to talk to his brother sometimes. And Dean didn't really want to talk about it. Clearly. Jamie was sitting in one of the chairs lining a portion of the hall and had her coffee sitting next to her, untouched. She looked up at Sam with a silent question in her eyes as he sat down beside her and took a second, giving a frustrated sigh and rubbing his forehead briefly. He glanced at her sidelong after a second. "Sorry about him," Sam apologized woodenly. He was tired of apologizing for Dean and his stupid, immature, self-centered, childish behavior. But he still did it. "You know how he is."

Jamie made a bit of a cynical face and looked off, nodding vacantly. "Yeah. I do." And then after perhaps three seconds, she abruptly stood up and surprised Sam when she headed off to, by the looks of it, impulsively follow Dean down the hall. Sam stared—he wasn't sure if she were brave or stupid to follow Hurricane Dean. He wasn't nice to be around when he was this level of upset. But Sam said nothing and returned to watching his sister and keeping an eye out for anything off or suspicious. Enemies could be anyone these days. And Sam was determined to do his part to keep the rest of his family safe while he still could. He was upset, too. But that didn't give him permission to storm off and stay in denial.

Maybe Jamie would have better luck talking to Dean. Sam scoffed to himself. Yeah right.

---

Dean was pacing a short little stride, practically steaming at the ears. In the empty little break room, there was a small cheap table and two vending machines in the room plus a little coffee station for the hospital visitors to use. The room was small and lit with buzzing florescent lights.

Jamie had no sooner entered the room than Dean began to rant seemingly to no one in particular. "It's just one bullet, he can survive that, it's just one goddamn bullet!" he raged, tearing back and forth in his frantic back-and-forth. He was agitated to very high levels levels and it looked like he was going to give himself a heart attack if he kept it up. "If that bastard dies on me, I will burn this entire place to the ground!"

Sighing wearily, Jamie went to him and grabbed him by both arms, stopping him. "Dean," she said with no huge amount of patience, like she were talking to a kid who was testing her last nerve. "Look at me. Bobby's alive in there right now. He hasn't died. Not yet." Empathy showed through on her pretty features as she let go of him. "Don't give up."

Dean abruptly gave a soft, derisive chuckle and looked down, shaking his head as a cynical little smile placed on his lips.

"…What?" she asked warily.

"It's just funny," he said heartlessly, looking down on her coldly. "You, preaching about giving up hope."

That sent indignant disbelief across her face. "…Really?" she asked. "I drive however many hundred of miles to bring your sister here after you were a total dick to me? I come in here to try and talk to you when one of the most important people in your life is in there dying and you say some shit like that to me?"

Dean's pride and grief made him stupid and stubborn. He pretended not to care about her at all and he shrugged apathetically. "Yup. Guess so."

Jamie's temper flared, which wasn't a common occurrence. "You're such a fucking child," she snapped. "Stop trying to piss me off by being the world's biggest jackass and just admit you're scared!"

Dean's face twisted up into an ugly expression. "Please," he scoffed. "Nothing scares me."

She didn't bother hiding a very disgusted eye roll. "Oh grow up, Dean—how about you stop throwing punches at the very few people left on this planet who try with you?" Frustrated and dealing with her own shit, Jamie ran a hand through her hair. "I don't need this," she muttered, "why do I even try?"

Still acting big and bad, Dean shrugged. "You got me," he said, rudely turning his back on her in an effort to insult her further. "Leave," he suggested bluntly. "Door's right there. I won't stop you."

Jamie stared at him a couple seconds more, hurt in her eyes. Then she set her jaw against that hurt. "You're a fucking idiot." She turned to leave.

But just as she got to the door, Dean's suddenly-soft voice stopped her. "Jamie."

The way he said her name made her stop, hesitate, then turn back around to look at him in mistrustful confusion. He was standing facing one of the vending machines and he had his eyes closed, head bowed. After a few seconds he opened his eyes and stared at the vending machine. She could see his profile and it was tight with pain. He said nothing for a long moment, but Jamie didn't go—she just waited.

Finally, he spoke. "Sam thinks… Sam thinks this is it," he said faintly. Dean tried to wrap his own mind around how he was feeling. "You don't understand," he said blankly, still staring at the vending machine. "Can't lose him. I cannot lose that man. I am one freakin' step away from going cracker jacks in the brain, I am this close to calling it quits." He suddenly laughed, but it was a pained, joyless sound. He hit the vending machine with a fist and looked at Jamie like she mystified him and made him mad. "And you're in here trying to talk to me—why?" He sounded like he was accusing her of something. "You've done so much for me, my family, why do I deserve that? Huh?" He was approaching her now. "Tell me why! I know what I am! A rude asshole who drinks too much and treats the people around him like shit and for the life of me, I can't figure out why I went to Heaven when I died last year!" There seemed to be no point to what he was saying at the ever-increasing volume. "I don't belong there, I know where I belong!"

Her energy was as low as his was high. "Dean, stop it."

"You know, I wish it would stop," he said. "All of this crap, all the fighting, all the constant over-our-head battles we can't win. I'm tired of this, James!" He abruptly lost his wind and his gusto and his shoulders slumped a little. "Tired. Can't do it much longer." He shook his head and his mouth flattened into a thin line as he looked in the general direction Bobby was with a deeply worried expression. There was a wall there, but he looked all the same.

Jamie nodded her understanding but didn't try to kiss his ass or gloss over anything. "If we don't, who will?" That was her motto and he knew it by now and he totally agreed but... Dean hadn't wanted to hear that. He shut his eyes, letting a breath out of his nose. She watched him a minute and softened slightly. "I know you're tired," she said, and she clearly felt the same. She was quiet, but there was a fierceness to her. "But you don't get to quit. And you can't act like this. What we do isn't a career choice. It's a death sentence. It's signing up to give it all away and fight as long as we can. The end is always coming closer each day we're here. Bobby knows that. So do you." Her eyes searched his and showed that she knew his pain very well and was dealing some herself. "I'm sorry Dean. I don't like it either."

Dean tried a halfhearted joke. "You really suck at making a guy feel better, you know that?"

Jamie gave him a very wan little smile. "I didn't come in here to make you feel better," she said, gentle but firm at the same time. "I came in here to tell you that you gotta get it together."

He looked at her like she'd suggested the impossible. "How?" he asked, allowing his heart to show on his sleeve. His voice was a bare whisper. "You know what he means to me."

Jamie nodded. She did. Her voice softened too. "You can't save everyone, Dean."

---

Still seated in the hospital hallway, Sam was pressing his thumb hard into the scar on his hand, digging the digit in deeply to cause himself discomfort and pain. Lucifer flickered out and Sam was relieved. For a moment, the hallucination had distracted him out of watching his sister. That's when he realized she'd shuffled up to him and was sitting down beside him. "Hey," he greeted, a little surprised that she had left Bobby's side. Maybe the nurses told her to leave.

"Hey," she replied, eyeing how he was pushing his thumb into his palm. She looked pretty tired and drawn, slightly underweight and definitely very distressed. "What are you doing?" she asked, nodding at his hands.

A little embarrassed, Sam tried to explain without showing his discomfort. "It's, uh, how I get rid of the… the hallucinations," he admitted, wishing there weren't hallucinations at all. "The pain, it helps." His sister—obviously very emotionally all over the place—nodded and looked off and down the hallway. Her hands worked nervously, her jaw clenched and unclenched. "You okay?" he asked her. She shrugged and then shook her head no, and Sam's heart went out to her. "C'mere." He shifted a little closer to her and put his arm around her. To his surprise, she leaned against him and rested her head onto his shoulder, putting her arm around him readily. He had sort of thought she was going to get angry at his attempt to comfort her. So when she accepted the gesture and hugged him like that, Sam was touched (and a little worried). He rubbed his hand against her jacket-clad arm a couple times, trying to think of some way to make her feel better. He couldn't think of any way of doing that. No words seemed right. And he didn't want to give her false hope either.

"So tired of losing people Sam," she said softly.

When she said that, he understood that she was expecting Bobby to die, too. Just like he was. Sam felt a pang of unbearable sadness hit him. "I know," he said. This was getting realer and realer. "Me too."

Alex was quiet a minute then shook her head slightly against his shoulder. "How are you still doing this?"

"I dunno," he confessed honestly. He wasn't sure if she meant life, the job, or what. But the answer was the same for everything: "One day at a time, I guess."

She abruptly pulled out of his side-embrace and in frustration raised her hands to be in front of her in emphasis. "He was fine," she said, her trembling voice bearing witness to the fact that she was very, very upset. "I saw him two weeks ago and he was fine." Her hands slapped down onto her knees and she shook her head, put an elbow onto her knee, and bowed her head into her hand.

"He might pull through," Sam said, but his heart wasn't in that statement. He doubted it very much. "He might be fine."

Alex looked at her shoes with this cynical, jaded little expression on her face. "Come on Sam," she murmured. "I know better than to hope anymore."

Her words cut him just like Dean's did. "Don't be like that," he insisted, voice becoming faintly harsh. "Don't give up."

Alex was apathetic and sad in a disquieting way, shrugging as she looked up into middle distance in front of herself. "I gave up a long time ago."

Sam felt an instance of something like fear ripple through him at how blasé and lifeless she sounded. He tried to be firm. "Well Bobby deserves better," he said almost defensively. "Don't give up on him yet." His twin's eyes came sidelong to look into his doubtfully. Sam repeated himself meaningfully and pointedly. "Don't." She said nothing and looked away, squeezing her hands between her knees and bobbing one leg constantly in nervous energy as she looked down the hall.

About half a minute of silence passed and Sam decided to try and lighten the mood and tell Alex a little bit of what had been going on with him lately. His mind went into one of the only recent pleasant memories he had—this had happened shortly after he visited Alex a couple weeks back, actually. "So, I, uh, I met someone," he said, remembering a beautiful blonde girl who was tall and beautiful and had this refreshingly sweet shyness to her he had really been drawn to—her smile and voice were both stuck in his mind. And then his smile faded a little as he thought of another woman. "And then got married to someone else the next day." At the completely confused look he got from Alex, Sam gave a nervous, short, breathy laugh. "Funny story." The look on her face said explain. Now. So, Sam did. "Yeah. Um… so do you remember Becky?" he asked self-consciously. Alex got this look of semi-dread on her face. And Sam began to recount the very odd story of how, thanks to magic and demons, he'd ended up married to Becky Rosen. It was funny but also mortifying and odd, but it definitely got Alex interested and something close to amused.

By the time Sam was finished telling her the story, she was smiling very slightly. "That's… that's pretty random. And insane."

"Tell me about it," Sam said, chuckling.

Alex thought a minute then frowned slightly. "So who was the someone you met who wasn't crazy-Becky?"

At the mention of her, Sam felt a surge of schoolboy nerves and tried to hide it. "Yeah, um… yeah," he said, fumbling around for words as he scratched an ear and tried not to smile. "Her name was Annaliese and she was, uh… really great." He felt self-conscious and couldn't stop smiling as he thought about her. "Like, super smart, nerdy, really beautiful, easy to talk to… I dunno, she was… like, I dunno." He tried to find the right word. "Special?" He laughed at himself weakly. "It sounds dumb but I just… let's just say I really wish I got her number." His smile was fading. "Or last name. Or any kind of way of finding her again." He'd been in Vegas for just the week, she'd been there just for the weekend, a bachelorette party or something… and he'd probably never see her again. Sam saw Alex's sort of blank look and he was quickly chastened. Telling her about this stuff and being so giddy was insensitive. He hadn't really been thinking that way, he'd just wanted to tell her about one of the single good things that had happened recently. Feeling immediately guilty, Sam cleared his throat and made himself get serious and forget the girl. "So," he said, hunching forward over his knees a little and studying her carefully. "When you gonna come back on the road with us?"

"I don't wanna be on the road," was her immediately and quiet reply. Her eyes went back and forth on the floor in front of her. "I have a room at Sunny Meadows. It's mine. Same bed, every night." Sam understood what she was saying: she had consistency there, something that wasn't really attainable on the road. His sister seemed mildly rueful, but she shrugged. "They serve food that isn't gas station crap. All the people there are kinda cool. A little messed up in the head, but… I dunno, so am I." She frowned slightly, studying her hands absently. "I feel normal there, sort of." Alex appeared unsure of how to feel about that sentiment and she looked at Sam with a disturbed little frown on her face. "Is that weird?"

Sam shook his head no. "I just want you to be okay," he said in all sincerity even though it pained him to know she was having such a hard time. "Take as much time as you need." He paused and rubbed his palms together. The past few months had been rough, and Alex's absence had been very noticeable. However, there were the constant Lucifer hallucinations, and sometimes she was the Lucifer he saw. Because of that, sometimes, he'd been glad Alex wasn't there on the road with them because it was so disturbing. Her not being there with him and Dean had made him feel a little less ashamed about it. But he couldn't tell her that. He didn't want her to know the darkness he knew. "Just know we're hoping you come back someday," he said, looking at her with a brave little smile despite all the anxiety he was feeling. "It's just not the same without you in the back seat."

Alex was picking at a frayed thread on the knee of her jeans. "I dunno," she said glumly. "Hunting is…" she expelled a heavy breath and stared off into space. "It's the only thing I know how to do, but… nothing feels right anymore."

Sam nodded a few times, studying her profile somberly. "I know what you mean."

Alex felt his careful gaze and turned her head, studying him in return then a soft little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, surprising Sam. And then she abruptly poked him in the side of the face. "I like your sideburns."

Sam smiled despite himself and touched fingers to one—they were something he was trying out. "Thanks."

Alex stroked the side of her face thoughtfully and frowned off into space thoughtfully. "Think I might grow some too."

Sam chuckled in earnest at the unexpected compliment and joke. Her sense of humor wasn't gone. That was something positive. It relieved him, because he had barely recognized her when he visited her at Sunny Meadows last. She had always had a very marked sense of humor her entire life and when she didn't joke around or pull faces or give purposefully deadpan reactions, he worried more.

At that moment a couple hospital staff, a doctor and a nurse it looked like, came out of Bobby's room at a brisk stride. "All right, Kendra," the doctor said briskly, marking up a clipboard as she went. "Keep the head of the bed up for transport. IV can run off the pump. Just run a TKVO but we'll have to wait for respiratory."

The nurse nodded understanding and then headed back to Bobby's room as the doctor waved over a couple other nurses. Sam shot to his feet, watching the new development closely in concern. "Wait, wait, wait, wait," he said, catching the doctor's attention as he approached. Near him, Alex had drifted to her feet too and was standing there with a look of dread on her face. "What's happening?" Sam asked.

"He's showing signs of responsiveness," the doctor answered. "We're taking him up for surgery. If you wanna see him, I'd squeeze in there quick."

Sam was already moving. "I'll get Dean," he said, hurrying down the hallway in search of their brother.

Alex went the opposite direction to Bobby's side. He didn't look like he were showing signs of responsiveness. He was still laying in that tiny little hospital rolling bed with shut eyes and pale color. He was still hooked up to a bunch of machines and he had an oxygen mask on to help him breathe. Alex stood there at his side as a small flurry of nurses worked and did things she didn't understand or know about with all the nearby machines and contraptions. But her focus was on Bobby.

She put her hand on his then grasped gently, leaning down a little. "Hey old man," she whispered after a second. Her voice was tight and difficult to speak with. Tears were gathering in her eyes and she squeezed his hand a little tighter. "You look real dumb with that bandage on, so hurry up and get better, okay?" The only response was the steady beep beep beep of the heart monitor. Bobby Singer. Paranoid old bastard with a million surprising skills and talents—gruff and bear-like on the outside, tenderhearted softie on the inside. He was important. He was special. He was irreplaceable. Alex slowly leaned down and kissed his cheek. She hadn't ever done that before. When she drew back, she studied his familiar careworn face and cupped a hand to it, her fingers gently stroking against rough, grizzly beard. The oxygen mask he wore made her so sad and scared. She was overwhelmed with how much she loved this man and how deeply afraid she was that he wouldn't survive past today. She was stricken by how she had never told him how much he meant to her—how she'd never told him he was ten times the father to her than John had ever been. Maybe it was too late.

She held his hand closer and crouched down a little to be almost level with the rail lining the bed, her eyes scanning his face over and over again in a search for any sign that he was gonna make it. Be okay, please. Just be okay. I have so much more I wanna do with you. I need to make it up to you, somehow, all the things you did for me throughout the years. Hoping he could hear somewhere deep down in there, she pulled his hand close then kissed the back of his hand softly, her tear-garbled eyes staying on his face the entire time. With her mouth just against his hand, Alex's voice was a strained whisper so that only he could hear. "If I could have picked a daddy… I would've picked you."

The room was silence except for beep, beep, beep. Her heart was pounding hard and aching inside of her chest, straining and needing him to respond, to wake up, to tell her to 'quit that cryin' right now, sweetheart. Ain't no need.' But he just laid there. Alex could hear Sam and Dean's heavy boots approaching nearby and she turned her head to look at them—and then Bobby's fingers tightened in hers and she whipped her head to look at him in shock—he suddenly opened his eyes and looked around in a daze as he became conscious.

"Bobby?" she asked, freaking out, holding his hand tight again. "Bobby!" He seemed disoriented and urgent, looking around with rolling eyes and a strange expression on his face.

"Hey hey hey, is he awake?!" Sam double-timed to her side and Dean was right behind him.

"Bobby?" he asked, relieved and worried sick at the same time.

Bobby pulled Alex's hand to his chest and he yanked off his oxygen mask with his other hand as his mouth gaped open as little grunts came out—he was trying to say something but was wheezing and panting like he was having an asthma attack. "Don't talk, don't talk!" Dean commanded urgently, whirling around and looking for something in a tizzy. "Pen, gimme a pen—!" He grabbed the chart at the end of the bed clumsily and dropped it with a clatter even as he snatched the marker that had been attached to it. He put it into Bobby's right hand. "Here. Here, here, here."

Bobby held the pen weakly and pulled Alex's hand to himself palm up. He began to write on her hand with great labor as the Winchesters watched in stunned uncertainty. He wrote down the numbers 45489. When he was done, he let the pen drop and he relaxed. Everyone looked at the numbers briefly, mystified, then back at Bobby, who seemed satisfied. He was smiling at them tiredly, fondly, his soft eyes looking over every single one of them in turn. He squeezed Alex's fingers and looked at her with an unspeakably heartfelt gaze. She hung on breathlessly like her brothers did, because it seemed like he was about to say something important. He opened his mouth and wheezed out a few labored words in a very weak voice as his eyebrows raised in an expression of earnestness. "Woulda picked… you… too…" he said, each word a vast struggle. Her heart exploded inside of her and Alex squeezed his hand, nodding even as her face crumpled and eyes flooded. I know. I know you would have. You proved that over and over again. Bobby smiled for the last time as his voice rasped up out of him to say one final word that was thick with the kind of love a father has for his children. His eyes rested on Dean and Sam, his lips turned up at the corners in a smile that was weightless, free, and tender. "…Idjits," he murmured in that husky, gruff voice. His eyes crinkled a little as the smile rested in his eyes and made him look happy and younger. All three Winchesters were momentarily stilled and finding themselves smiling back despite everything. And then, Bobby's smile faded away into a slightly confused expression, his eyes lost their light, and his head sagged against his pillow as his eyes fell shut.

Without fanfare, an important life slipped away like so very many do: to the tune of a solid, unending beep and a flatline. Leaving more questions than answers, leaving behind three young people who would never quite recover from the loss of the man who they called uncle but viewed as father.

---

A Few Days Later

Outside, torrents of rain poured like a monsoon.

Alex still dripped from it—she'd come in from the rain and was soaked, sitting on the floor leaned against a plastic-covered couch. It was dark in here and she was alone, it was quiet except for the downpour outside. She hadn't bothered to dry off or remove any of her sopping wet clothes and she probably wouldn't anytime soon, either.

Nothing mattered. She didn't care at all. The only thing she could think about was Bobby, her brothers, and every other fucking loss she'd ever had to shoulder.

Sitting beside her, the bottle of whiskey she was nursing had temporarily been forgotten. She stared out of one of the windows. It was night, but one of the outdoor parking lot lights lit the rain. The weather felt like her insides. Relentless grief hammering down inescapably, drenching everything it touched. It seemed like it would never stop. Like night would last forever and the rain would drown her.

She'd been back at Sunny Meadows for a few hours now—checked herself back in and then snuck outside after hours and wandered outside smoking and drinking. That's when the rain abruptly started pouring. She was now hidden away in the abandoned portion of the facility, the off-limits boarded up part, drinking. It probably wasn't safe to do that because of the huge dose of Oxy she'd taken, but it wasn't like it'd kill her. Nothing would, after all. Still, she felt sick and strung out, deeply depressed. Not even the painkillers or booze had done much for her. Nothing could take away the despair.

Someday, Sam and Dean would die too.

That was the worst and more pressing thought her mind was stuck on. She didn't want to love them anymore or care anymore… that way, it wouldn't hurt as much when they were gone. You're so fucking selfish and stupid… do you even hear yourself right now? Alex took another huge burning drink of whiskey to try and make her internal critic stop. It didn't really work. Her mind was plagued by deep and continuous self-loathing she didn't know how to rise above.

She and her brothers had given Bobby a hunter's funeral and she was still struggling to cope and accept what had happened. The sight of her uncle burning to ash had been one of the lowest moments of her entire life. When her brothers tried to comfort her as the fire raged, Alex had reacted poorly thanks to the beginnings of Oxy withdrawal and the devastating amount of grief she was feeling. She had screamed that it was their fault Bobby was dead and stormed off telling them to stay out of her life forever—she'd gone and found a pharmacy and broken in to steal herself some painkillers. She'd never forget being in one of the dark aisles of that closed store sobbing as she shoveled those damn little pills into her mouth and waited for them to work, to give her relief from the aches, the sickness, the sweaty shakes. She would never forget wondering what the hell she was doing to herself and to her family. But it felt too late and she didn't know what else to do. She was a victim, no longer a victor.

From there, she'd spent about thirty hours on a bus back to Sunny Meadows. She didn't know where else to go or what else to do. When she got back, she found out that Zip was gone—her only friend there. Apparently he'd checked out sometime after Jamie had come to get Alex.

Alone. She was alone. She wanted to be alone, but she was also so needy of a reminder that she wasn't alone. It was such a mess… and here she was, trying to push away the only people she had left in the entire world. Sam and Dean's hurt at her behavior had been tough to swallow down and left her guilty. She simultaneously hoped they would never come see her again even as she wished they would walk in the door right now and tell her they weren't gonna leave no matter how much of a bitch she was to them.

That was stupid to imagine. Stupid and not gonna happen. They were probably finally going to give up on her like she'd given up on herself. Which was the point, right? She wrestled internally with what she wanted. Because she really didn't fucking know.

Alex sat there and drank more and remembered Bobby and wondered why she had never appreciated him as much as she did now. He was puffy vests and flannel shirts, engine-oil streaked arms and gruffly disgruntled wariness. He was dependable and loyal to the bitter end, he was grizzly-bear tenderness and pats on the back that silently said it was all gonna be all right. He was cantankerous and sarcastic and funny and she hadn't expected him to ever leave. But now he was like so many others she had known: gone. Taken away too soon. Robbed of the rest of his life.

In times past Alex probably would have gone the route of revenge and anger and justice. She would have found the monster who killed Bobby and made him pay with agony, blood, and screams. But hopelessness had shackled her feet down and she wasn't fighting anymore. It was too much, she was too tired, it felt futile. She wanted to lay down and be done. But that just wasn't an option. She was stuck being alive. If you could call this shit existence being 'alive.'

She put her hand into her pocket and pulled out Cas's wedding band, looking at it as it gleamed up at her from her palm. Her heart constricted. Really wish you were here right now, Cas. He would make this better. He would know what to do. Alex tried to remember what it felt like to be held by him, but she couldn't recall the specifics. It felt like she hadn't been touched or comforted in a lifetime. She shut her eyes and tried to conjure the feeling of being near Castiel, of being cradled and protected by his strong arms. But she had trouble even remembering his face.

A soft creaking startled her and Alex looked up fast, realizing simultaneously how fucked up she was—her head felt like it was beside her and rolling around on the floor. Zip was peering at her from where he was slowly coming out of the shadows. "Hi," he said. He saw her confusion and how she was drawing back slightly as if she were afraid of a stranger. He stopped. "It's me," he said, waiting for her to recognize him. He wasn't wet like she was—he was in a typical hoodie and jeans that were a little too big for him.

Blank, Alex frowned at him. He wasn't supposed to be here anymore. "I thought you checked out…" she said slowly.

He grinned in typical nervousness and shrugged. "Well, yeah but… I'm back," he said sort of hopefully. He was stiltedly playful. "My neuroses win again. Heh, 'curses'…!" he shook his fist playfully and awkwardly, not fully committing to his attempt at humor. Alex was too dead inside to respond at all and just looked back at the bottle of booze which she held loosely between her knees. Zip watched her in silence for a few seconds, his eyes darting around her and the cobweb-riddled abandoned wing in slight confusion. "So uh, what are you uh… what are you doing?" he asked, trying to be conversational. But she could hear that he was a little worried. He came a little closer.

Alex answered honestly and direly. "I don't know."

He came closer still, his eyes very keen. "You're soaking wet," he observed, his voice taking on a concerned tone. "Won't you get sick?"

She shrugged shallowly. "Doesn't matter."

He made a little bit of a face like he disapproved of that statement. "Yes it does," he said, and began to wriggle and shrug out of his hoodie.

Seeing what he was doing, Alex protested halfheartedly. "No, don't—it's—" she let out an inconvenienced sigh as he put the clean, dry garment around her shoulders gingerly.

He sat down beside her and looked her over again—the whiskey bottle, her expression, her new levels of depression. His eyes, which were pale blue, looked dark black in the dim light. His gaze rested on her carefully and he was empathetic. "What happened with you?" he asked her quietly and gently.

She opened her mouth to tell him it was none of his business and to leave her alone. And then, the truth came out instead. "My… someone very important to me died," she said softly. Those words hit her own ears and she still wasn't sure if she believed it or not. It didn't feel real. But saying it made it realer. Made it harder. Made her so much sadder.

Zip looked pained on her behalf, his boyish face showing sympathy and understanding. "I'm so sorry," he said faintly.

Alex nodded, still staring straight ahead at the window. Her eyes had tears in them that were rolling down onto her cheeks. She didn't understand this outcome and felt like a small child: Confused about why life had to be the way it was. "I loved him," she said, speaking to herself almost. "He was my dad, all those years, like… he did the things my dad should have done. And now he's gone. And I wish I'd spent more time with him. Talked to him more. Realized before it was too late." She looked down at the bottle of whiskey and she felt nothing but regret and failure. "I watched him burn away to nothing." That wasn't right. Bobby had turned to nothing but dust. His home was gone, everything he had built and made just went up in smoke. No friends and family remained, no true legacy. Just a discombobulated network of hunter friends who would soon realize that the hunting community had just lost one of its finest. Alex sniffed loudly and wiped at her nose, depressed about every single last thing. "Nothing feels like it matters anymore," she murmured blandly. Yet at the same time, she was guilt-tripped and stressed out because she knew Sam and Dean could use an extra hand now more than ever. But she could barely function on a daily basis… how was she supposed to help anyone? "I shouldn't be here," she lamented miserably, putting her head in her hand. She needed to do the job and stop laying around feeling sorry for herself.

She felt Zip put a hesitant arm around her and pat-rub her shoulder uncertainly. "It's okay to be here," he said softly, and she finally really looked at him.

His eyes had this way of intimidating her to a small degree, of making her feel vulnerable and seen in ways only Cas had seen her. Was it okay to be here? He seemed to really mean it and she felt like maybe she could believe him. His warmth beside her and his clear concern half-comforted her and half-unnerved her. It felt a little wrong to be touched by someone who wasn't family or who wasn't Castiel. But Zip somehow had gained a special place in her world the past few months. He had always listened to her, always been willing to stick up for her. He was a good friend—a better one than she'd had in a long time. They'd spent a lot of time together and she was pretty comfortable around him, pretty familiar with his quirks. He was irresistibly odd and funny—a good example was the one time a condom commercial had come on and he got this look of realization on his face. "So that's what the thing in my wallet is for," he'd said. She had laughed at his joke. He'd made a face like he didn't know why she was laughing, which made it even funnier. She definitely loved his deadpan sense of humor and how cynical and self-deprecating he was. But there was another side to him, an innocent side. He wasn't like the other people she knew (jaded by the world, harrowed by the hunt, cursed). He was just normal, weird, a little mentally unstable—super uncoordinated and not athletic at all. Dorky, neurotic, jumpy. Honestly, he reminded her of Cas sometimes with his oddities and his sweetheart personality. Sometimes he would ask questions Cas might have asked, sometimes he said things Cas had literally said to Alex before. That was why Alex currently didn't have the heart to reject Zip's arm around her shoulder. He reminded her of what she loved, and he was the only one there. She needed comfort right now, and his arm around her was better than nothing.

Outside, thunder rumbled deeply and ominously. Alex wondered where her family was and what they were doing. Again, guilt gnawed. "I feel so wrong about being here though," she said softly, worrying her bottom lip. It didn't feel entirely right to be asking Zip for advice, but she had no one else to ask. "What else do I have besides my brothers now, you know?"

Zip's dark eyes were intense and quiet just like his voice. "Me, maybe."

Alex stiffened a little and shook her head no. "You and I are not like that, Kyle," she said in a hard voice, leaning away from him slightly and using his government name for emphasis.

"I didn't mean—" he protested, seeming upset with himself and her immediate rejection of his venture. "We're… we're friends," he said, but his feelings were obviously hurt and he had wanted her to be interested in him like he was so clearly interested in her. Still, he stuck with the 'friends' story. "I know that much. And I um, I care about you. You care about me." Alex looked at him doubtfully. He did that little hopeful, awkwardly nervous smile and shrugged a shoulder up, letting her know there wasn't any pressure. "It doesn't have to be anything else if you don't want it to be." She had seen how he looked at her. She wasn't stupid… he was interested in her, he'd tried to kiss her before. She knew it by instinct: he wanted her. And she'd been trying to ignore that for awhile now.

She said nothing in return, just felt her face twisting up in tense thought. He was cute, he was sweet, he was nice, but she had no real interest. The same could be said for most things in life currently: she had no real interest. That, and no trust. Not after Glen, not after Cas and Destroyer. She couldn't love again and she didn't want to either. She wanted to lose the ability to feel completely. And she didn't understand why she was so incapable of getting back on her own two feet. "What is wrong with me?" she asked in all honesty, staring out into space. "I'm stuck on pause. Like I think… like I think he's gonna come back." Blue eyes and a deep voice and a tan trench coat flashed through her mind and her throat tightened, her heart cracked. "Like I think after a commercial break the show comes back on." She thought of Bobby's burning flesh and bones on a pyre made out of firewood she had to help chop down. Sadness flooded her insides. "It's not."

Zip touched her left hand gently with his free hand, sending a rush of unexpected tingles through her at the faint touch. Startled, Alex was shaken out of her thoughts as she looked at his slender, smallish hand that was similar size to hers. "I know how it is to be all alone," he said, and his voice carried a weight that didn't seem possible of his young years. He sounded just like she felt, and she couldn't look away as he continued to talk because it seemed like he truly understood—and she was desperate to be understood. "To feel like you have nothing and no one." Gone was his typical clumsy and neurotic speech pattern. He spoke softly, somberly and his eyes held onto hers. "I hate feeling that way. I don't want you to feel that way, either. It's the worst."

His tender tone was making her feel fuzzy and weird. "Yeah," she agreed in a near-whisper, frozen under his touch and a little short of breath at his close proximity. "It is." She wasn't sure if she wanted to get further away from him or closer.

He swallowed as slight nervousness showed. His eyes scanned back and forth between hers apprehensively. "Tonight, I can… I can help you not be alone."

Alex's pulse picked up as a rush of nervousness made her feel lightheaded. Her throat was dry and it felt like the air had evaporated from the room. "How?" she breathed, not sure if she wanted to know his answer.

There was a very long pause in which he looked at her intensely, deciding something. Finally, he spoke. "This," he said quietly, touching the side of her face with gentle fingers and studying her eyes, then her mouth as he leaned closer. She didn't turn away—she stayed still with held breath as he kissed her mouth softly and briefly, so sweetly. Like he wasn't sure about how exactly to do it. The touch of his lips startled her body into an abrupt state of endorphin-riddled pleasantness. Her reaction startled her, because she had never felt attracted to Zip but her body was immediately interested in continuing… and she felt ashamed. Because Castiel.

Her heart hammered and her stomach turned and she swallowed thickly, staring into his eyes uncertainly. Zip waited, hand still on her face, gauging her reaction. He was waiting for her to make the next move. She didn't know what to do, so she did nothing at all, leaving it up to him. His dark, full eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips repeatedly. When she said and did nothing and didn't pull away, he leaned in close again and gave her another questioning kiss—softer this time, more open-mouthed, and he didn't pull away. More euphoric feelings surged up inside and after a couple seconds, Alex kissed him back tentatively as her eyes fell closed—she had forgotten what it felt like to be kissed, and even though it felt amazing and comforting at soaring-high levels, her heart twisted in pain because his mouth was different, his smell wasn't the same, his face was smaller than Cas's. Zip wasn't who she really wanted. But his kiss had her craving more. The way he kissed her felt like he loved her, and that was what she wanted the most: to remember how Cas had made her feel again. Zip's hand touched the side of her face gently and carefully, thumb stroking a little across skin affectionately. He broke her with that touch. The grief, pain, the need for comfort all surged up in her and she melted into him like candle wax, letting the kiss deepen as she reached up and pulled him closer by the back of the neck. She let herself pretend he was Cas, she shoved away the heavy pit in her stomach that said don't do this.

In a million years, she wouldn't have pictured this. But she was starved for love and reassurance and something like the heaven she had touched in times past. That was why Alex let him keep kissing her. His kisses became deeper and deeper, and the way he pulled her close brought back a time when Alex had been safe, loved, and cherished beyond compare. The buzz she was in from her whiskey binge erased inhibitions and muffled her inner conflicts, making it easier to forget herself and just be in the moment.

As Zip continued to coax her into a dream of beautiful feelings that she was so desperate to experience again, she grew more and more continually pliable, soft, and lost in feverishness. She just needed to feel alive again, and he was taking her there. She wanted to use him for that. An addict to the euphoria, she lost herself in kisses that meant very little except good physical feelings. As kisses grew intensely hot and heavy, they ceased to be enough and the touching began, then more and more and more.

The rain poured loudly outside and what happened next on the floor beside a plastic-covered couch was probably a mistake, but one she made all the same. She thought of Cas the entire time, trying to find him again, searching for him in the arms of someone else. He wasn't there. It wasn't the same. And she wasn't sure what she'd thought it would be. She shut her eyes tight as Zip gasped into the side of her neck and dug his fingers into the skin of her back, as the cold floor pressed into her shoulder blades. A single whisper escaped her mouth, a wretched word she breathed and lived and died for all over again: "Cas." But the man she was with was not him, the pale blue eyes that looked back at her in faint confusion and mild hurt didn't belong to the one she loved.

Alex shoved Zip away, grabbed her clothes up, and then fled immediately without a single word. The reality of what had just happened sank in at devastating levels. And she felt all the emptier after that.

---

The shower was noisy and too hot, scalding her all over. But she stayed under the stream of water, trying to burn away every touch she had ever endured that she hadn't wanted, hadn't allowed, or now regretted.

It's not a big deal. I don't care about it. It's over now. It meant nothing.

But it did mean something and it wasn't over. She couldn't be apathetic about it like she wanted to.

Alex was in a vague state of shock as she replayed what had happened over and over again. Sex with someone other than Castiel. She almost couldn't comprehend it or accept it as having happened because it was so out of left field for her. But it had happened and her mind couldn't stop reliving it over and over. How it had felt good enough while it was happening; how it had served to distract her and give her some semblance of momentary comfort… but every pain she'd forgotten during the heat of the moment was back at even more intense levels and now with new guilt and confusion to add to the mix. She cried in that shower, tried to wash Zip away—his smell, the ghost of his touch on her skin, the sound of him, his weight on her, the feeling of the bare floor pressed up against her back.

I just want Castiel. I just want him back. I just want this to be a bad dream.

I just want Bobby alive and Sam and Dean okay again and me back to who I used to be.

How do I get there?

She asked herself that over and over again. But there wasn't a way back from the place she had found herself in.

How did that even happen…?

Alex was deeply confused because ever since the second rape attempt she'd endured at Destroyer's hand, she had thought she might never be able to have sex again—she'd had nightmares about being held down—she'd avoided being around big men she didn't know—she'd worn jackets that hid her body even when it was hot inside. So why all that and then tonight? She'd gone and fucked a mental patient on the floor while drunk with no real problem or anxiety, only a hunger and need that she was now ashamed of. She wanted to blame the drugs or the alcohol, she wanted to say they were the reason she'd gone and had what felt like a meaningless encounter.

Every time with Cas had been earth-shattering, important, and so very unspeakably intimate. It felt like the final tragedy to no longer be able to say she'd only been with one man. It hurt because it cemented the fact that Cas was gone all over again. It made her realize anew that he was never coming back, that she would never see him or touch him or hear his voice ever again. That the kind of love and soul-to-soul intimacy she'd had with him was lost forever. It was beyond what she could fathom.

Without Castiel, there was a terrible ripped void in her life. The irony was that he was the one who had done the damage to begin with—he was entirely at fault for ruining it all. It seemed to Alex that she was cursed either way, with Cas or without him… but she would truthfully rather have him, cursed or not.

Didn't matter what she wanted though. She was left with reality. And the reality was that she'd just gone and slept with a guy who she could barely scrape together feelings for—she'd had sex not out of love but out of desperation and a need to cope with her grief. It felt like she was spitting in the face of Cas's memory to so readily sleep with someone so vastly meaningless in comparison to her husband. That word stopped her mentally in her tracks. Husband. Grief poured over her all over again at what she'd done.

Alex sat down in the shower and hugged her knees, letting the water rain over her as she cried. She'd been so in love just a few months ago, anchored by the angel in the trench coat and loved beyond compare… to the point of obsession, it had turned out. And now she drifted aimlessly after he devastated her world and destroyed everything. Now she was the kind of girl who would just let any guy fuck her. Well, that wasn't true. Zip wasn't just anyone… and Alex had zero plans to have sex again, maybe ever. Not if it triggered all this grief and shame and confusion.

She shut her eyes and rested her cheek against her knee as she focused on breathing in and out and calming down. If she got much more worked up, she thought she'd have a panic attack. You're okay. You're okay. You're okay. She imagined that Cas was close by watching over her… it was supposed to be for comfort, but that train of thought backfired quickly. What would he say if he knew what she'd just done? She could imagine his face, heartbreak in his intensely blue eyes because he knew she'd made a step in letting go of him. She tried to imagine he was still real and alive, that he still loved her and always would, that he could forgive her for letting another man do what only he had done.

Alex lifted her head and stared at the dull white shower wall in front of herself. She couldn't stay here at Sunny Meadows anymore. Not with Zip around. She had to get away from him. Hopefully she would never have to see him again or have to look him in the eye. Mortified wasn't quite the word about everything that had happened, but especially one thing: She'd said Cas's name. You couldn't explain that away. And otherwise, Alex just didn't want to have to talk to Zip about it. She wanted to run away from reality.

Seemed like she was best at running away from things these days…

All she wanted was to get to a place where she wasn't a basket-case of hypocrisies. Where sex wasn't something she felt like she had to conquer and brave and be ashamed of all at once. Where her body wasn't a cage that imprisoned her and held her to addictions she could no longer control. Where she didn't live in fear every waking moment, where bad memories didn't own her and send her into panic attacks, where Dad's voice didn't beat her down inside, where she could recognize herself again.

She looked at the palm of her hand where the numbers Bobby had written were still semi-visible. I should be trying to figure out what these mean with my brothers. Doing something about what Bobby did with his left efforts. Not sitting in a shower feeling sorry for myself.

Even though she felt a sense of duty and obligation to do just that, Alex still couldn't muster the willpower to actually do it.

Maybe I'll just go live in the wilderness somewhere and get a dog and grow crap like Robinson Crusoe did. Or maybe I'll find another mental health home where I can just watch TV and stay high for the rest of all time.

Either way, she couldn't sit in the shower forever.

Slowly, Alex got out and dried off and made plans to pack up and leave Sunny Meadows in her mind as she dressed. When she pulled her jeans up and buttoned them, that's when she realized something very important of hers was missing. Cas's ring wasn't in her pocket where she always kept it. Immediately panicking as she tore apart the immediate area and then her room in a frantic search for the most important object she owned, Alex found it nowhere. She rushed back to where she and Zip had been and scoured the area ten times, getting more and more alarmed each time her search came up empty. She found nothing. She decided that Zip must have picked it up and she hurried to his room in as much quiet as she could (the halls were echoing and loud, especially at night). Alex dreaded seeing him after what had happened earlier. But when she knocked on his door, there was no answer. She promptly entered and looked around for her ring. It wasn't on his dresser or windowsill. She began to pull drawers open and tossed aside socks, underwear, some towels. Nothing. Second drawer. Nothing. Third drawer. Nothing again.

She pulled the bottom drawer open expecting more of the same and then froze completely as she inhaled sharply enough to gasp. Her heart jammed into the top of her throat and she was so shocked that for a moment she could do nothing—because she was looking at Cas's trench coat. It was folded up neatly in Zip's bottom drawer. Why? How could this be the coat? Why did Zip have this?! As if in a dream, Alex slowly took hold of it and pulled it out. It was definitely Cas's—it had black stains from the Leviathan all over it, just like she remembered. Her heart clenched and tightened and ached. Oh, Cas. She clenched the coat tighter, barely able to believe she had it in her hands—how was it a simple garment could inspire such overwhelmingly strong feelings in her? She heard a soft sound behind her and turned fast, crushing Cas's coat to herself protectively like a mother might hold an infant.

Zip stood in the doorway and his demeanor was contrite. He looked caught.

Suspicion and anger rocketed. "…Why the hell do you have this?" Alex demanded in a shaking voice.

He was quiet for a couple seconds. "Took it," he answered quietly, his eyes raising up to look into hers slowly.

Took it?

But it disappeared from Bobby's. Why and when would Zip have been there…?

And then Alex realized.

Wait.

Wait.

Suddenly, a string of clues she had overlooked completely began to fall in line inside of her mind.

… Zip had checked in to Sunny Meadows the same day she had.

… He disappeared for weird amounts of inconsistent times and staff could never find him when he went MIA.

… The disappearances Dean had mentioned from the nearby elderly home and the morgue had started when Zip had shown up in town.

… He had checked out of Sunny Meadows when she left here to go see Bobby in his final hours, then he had checked back in when she did, too.

… He had this coat and had taken it from Bobby's—which was where she'd been pulled out of the burning house and had sworn the person who did it was wearing this coat.

… Zip had been wearing red swim trunks when she first met him and he hadn't taken them off for two weeks. Alex vaguely remembered seeing someone in red swimming trunks at the lake when she was having a breakdown after Cas walked in.

… Had that been Zip?

A sickening suspicion was overcoming Alex about who Zip really was.

He saw the dawning look of horror on her face and he quickly began to try and explain everything away, which only made her more certain that he was who she thought. "Listen, i-it's not what you think," he said, coming into the room and holding his hands out. "I can explain it all if you just listen—"

She was clutching Cas's coat and waited until he was close enough—and then she shoved him mid-sentence really hard into the cheap, light bed frame nearby hard enough that he was knocked sideways and the bed scraped across the floor. She ran out of the room, but he was already behind her, protesting and telling her to please, wait!

She ran to the rec room—it had the closest exit out of the building—but as she got there, she spotted an abandoned bucket of soapy mopping water against the wall. Remembering what Dean had said about Borax, Alex picked up the bucket with one hand and flung a good portion of the contents back at Zip—he stopped, flinched and held his hands and arms up, trying to keep the sudsy liquid from hitting him in the eyes and face. The water drenched him. He screamed in pain as his skin smoked off of his face.

Alex staggered back a little, horrified. No. Oh my god, no.

Zip was groaning and holding his burning face with both hands as the skin slowly repaired itself. "Augh—it hurts," he managed weakly. He sounded like he couldn't believe she would hurt him. And when he looked up at her with betrayed eyes, when his hands came away from his face for a second, unmistakable black goo dripped down from a hole that was closing in his cheek.

Holy… shit. Sick enough to puke, Alex managed to stay on two feet somehow. He was a Leviathan...! Clinging to the bucket with white knuckles and one hand, she stayed on the defensive. There was still some soapy water in the bottom and she was ready to throw it at him if he came any damn closer.

In genuine pain, he was hiding his face with one hand and holding the other one out defensively. "Alex, please, listen to me—" he begged, groaning and grimacing. "I'm, I'm not like the others. I'm not!"

Even though she had no weapon on her, Alex made a threat in a cold, chillingly dark voice—this was the voice she reserved for enemies, for those who were as good as dead. "Give me one goddamn reason why I shouldn't chop your head off right now."

His features showed confusion and hurt at her words and tone. "I-I've kept you safe this entire time," he said, stumbling verbally in his normal awkward way as he straightened and held himself timidly. "I, I pulled you out of the burning house, I kept Dick Roman from getting you at the hospital, I've killed so many of my own kind to keep you safe—I'm not bad and I'm not trying t-to hurt you or lie to you, I just wanted to protect you… because I… my feelings… for you…" he trailed off wretchedly at her increasing look of disgust. "Alex, please… you gotta believe me," he pleaded.

"Don't tell me what I have to do or not do," she replied icily.

Zip had the audacity to look heartbroken and then abruptly resigned. He nodded quietly, swallowing down obvious disappointment and embarrassment. "I knew if you knew what I was you would never love me," he said softly.

"Love you?" Alex asked harshly, completely incredulous—did he think because they'd had sex…? Her temper suddenly hit magma-hot levels. "You son of a bitch! I never would have done anything with you if I knew what you were!"

Hurt and slightly angered, Zip's voice raised for the first time she'd ever heard. "I didn't choose to be what I am!" he protested. "I don't like what I am! I had no choice in who I was created to be—" he threw his arms out appealingly. "Did any of us?"

Unbelievable. "What, so you killed the real Kyle to take over his life and pretend to be a human?!" Alex asked, sicker and sicker as she learned more and reality set in. "You had a choice there!"

Zip looked insulted. "No! I didn't kill him!" He wet his lips, getting agitated because she didn't believe him. "Kyle Young, the person I became, drowned in that lake the night before Castiel walked in. I found him there and I brought Kyle back to life…! Sort of…" he was babbling on and on, trying to get her to listen to him. "I don't like hurting people, Alex, I hate it. I don't like having to eat people or even animals, it's just not right to me." Alex was backing away from him with a very dangerous look on her face and Zip was losing his fire as he saw he wouldn't convince her that he wasn't all bad. But he still tried, however sadly now. "Mostly I eat other Leviathan and human food. Some old people here and there so I don't, you know… wither away into nothing and die." He looked vaguely sick. "I'm… I'm not proud of what I have to do to survive." His eyes looked into hers hopefully and hers remained hard and mistrustful. She couldn't believe she'd had sex with him. Fucking hell. He looked at her for a minute longer then said a single word she didn't understand the meaning of. "Least."

"…What?"

"That's my name," he explained reluctantly. "My real name. Least. I'm… I'm the reject of my kind. Runt of the liter, I guess you could say." His eyes seemed far away and he looked incredibly depressed. "Most of my existence I've been running away from Original." At the confused look on her face, Zip explained. "You know him as Dick Roman. I don't think I was supposed to exist, honestly. He made me by mistake and tried to erase me for however many thousand years. But I'm, heh, good at hiding I guess. And then we were set free out of Purgatory and I saw you and… felt things and… just wanted a chance at something good and decent, a real life… maybe love…" he trailed off momentarily and gazed at her with renewed hope and earnestness. "Alex. I know this isn't ideal. I know you probably think I'm a monster, but—"

"Because you are," she spat, still clinging to that bucket of soapy water. Visibly stung, his eyebrows moved in together for a second. What did he think, that she would be happy to learn he was one of the ones who had possessed Cas? "It's your fault he's dead," she said in a trembling voice. "You killed him."

He shook his head faintly, seeming very sure about his stance. "He knew what he was doing when he summoned us from Purgatory," Zip said quietly. He sounded sad, which she didn't understand. "He knew the risks. He did it all to save you from what he did." Hearing someone talking about what had happened to Cas made wither up inside. "Alex… I… I'm all that's left of him," Zip said quietly, stepping just a little closer. Alex stiffened immediately but didn't splash him. "Do you realize that?" Zip was looking at her piercingly like Cas used to. "I'm Kyle and I'm Least and I'm Castiel, all at the same time. But I feel like the angel most of the time. I have his thoughts, his memories, his… his feelings." Alex's mouth was slowly parting open. It was beginning to make sense why he looked at her like he did, why he had been so attentive and soulful with her. "I am him, in a way. I… I remember everything." Zip was looking at her so emotionally. "Sometimes the memories of us feel so real that I…" he trailed off and Alex wanted to fucking weep. No wonder she had felt whatever connection to Zip and had readily gone to bed with him. She'd glimpsed some small part of Cas in him. Zip saw how she was getting upset and empathy made his face twist up. "Alex, beloved, I—"

Alex felt like she'd been slapped when he used that term of endearment with her. "Don't call me that!" she screeched, throwing the bucket at him in a fit of completely blindsided grief and rage. It hit him in the shoulder harmlessly even as she rushed him and shoved him hard into a table. "Don't you fucking dare ever call me that! Only he calls me that!"

"I know." Zip looked hurt again but soldiered on, straightening from where he'd been pushed against the table. "And I… I could be him for you," he said softly.

Alex's stomach turned. "…What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Zip indicated himself briefly and looked down at himself. "I don't have to look like this. I could look like…" he looked back up at her and without any warning whatsoever, he morphed into a completely different person. A taller, bigger, trench-coat wearing person. A person with startlingly blue eyes and dark wild hair and a face Alex never thought she'd see again. Castiel. Stunned, she staggered back from Zip. "This," he said, and his voice had changed, too. Deep, husky, familiar. He looked and sounded exactly like Cas, and Alex was devastated, barely able to breathe.

"No, stop," she protested weakly, eyes filling with tears.

Zip, looking and sounded exactly like her lost lover, just looked at her sadly. "I know, Alex. What he did to you. How you'll probably never die." He stepped a little closer and it was torture. "I'm eternal, too. And I can look like him. I can be him."

She looked up into those eyes but even though his face was Cas's, she knew it wasn't him. Still, when his hand came to the side of her face to brush away some hair, she didn't move. She shut her eyes and suppressed a sound of dismay and yearning. Fingertips she never thought she would feel again. But it wasn't Cas. How fucked up was this? Panic and alarm and hatred swelled inside of her and her eyes snapped open. "No one can be him but him you bastard!" She shoved him away wildly, snarling almost. "Don't touch me!" He still looked like Castiel and she couldn't freaking take it. In the place of anger was sudden hopeless devastation. "Please… I can't even look at you," she said hoarsely, near tears and looking away. "Take him away."

Zip did as asked, and he was once again shorter, smaller, a completely different physical manifestation. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," he said, seemingly extremely uncomfortable and regretful. "I… thought you would want that. I know how much you loved him."

Alex clenched her jaw and set him with a gaze of stone. "Love," she corrected stiffly. "Not loved." She was breathing hard, shoulders heaving up and down. She held her hand out and demanded he hand over what was hers. "Give me the ring. Now."

He hesitated, then slowly withdrew Cas's ring from his pocket. "I didn't want to lie to you," he said, contemplating the ring anxiously. "But I just… I wanted you to… to love me. It's stupid. I know." He looked her in the eye and she snatched the ring away and turned to leave. She was absolutely ill inside and felt like she might pass out from the anxiety that was coursing through her veins. She clenched Cas's coat to herself and his ring in her hand and made a beeline for the exit.

"Wait—where are you going?" Zip asked, sounding worried and following her.

"Leaving."

"I'm coming with you," he insisted, hot on her heels.

"Like hell you are," she snapped.

He blocked her way out of the door, moving really fast and making her come up short. "Listen to me, Alex, you can't," he said urgently. "It's not safe out there without me. My kind is out there—and they're all looking for you. They've gotten close before. I have to keep you safe."

"Says who?" she retorted roughly. "I don't want you around, understand? I'm leaving." She tried to push past him but he grabbed her by the upper arms—she could feel it then—he was really, really strong—his fingers were close to leaving bruises. A slight instance of fear ran through her.

"And what, going back to your brothers?" he asked, focused on one thing only. He seemed really upset. "They can't keep you safe, not forever Alex, not like I can!" He was vehement. "Dick won't stop until he has what he wants. And he wants you but he's not like me. He'll hurt you. Let me keep you safe, it's what Castiel would want."

"You don't know what he would want," she challenged, stiff in his hands and wishing he would let go—the irony wasn't lost on her. Only an hour or two ago she'd been with him. And now his touch was the most repulsive thing on the planet.

"That's where you're wrong," he replied softly and knowingly. Alex's heart dropped. When would she ever have any such chance again to be with someone who carried a part of Cas inside? But she couldn't. And Zip was scaring her because he was holding her so tightly. He saw how his touch was unsettling her and his fingers loosened. "Don't be afraid of me," he said, seeming appalled that she was. "I would never hurt you."

She looked him straight in the eye, defiant and bitter. "That's what he said too."

Deflating, disappointed, Zip let go of her. "I'm sorry. I wish you had found out the truth in a better way."

"And I wish I hadn't been stupid enough to fall for all your fucking lies, but we can't always get what we want, can we?" she fired back defensively. Her words hurt him just like she'd wanted and Alex began to draw herself up to her full height. "You know what?" she asked, suddenly filled with purpose and courage that came out of nowhere. She felt like she was remembering herself as she stared down Zip, who she now viewed as the enemy. "I'm sad. I've had a shit year. So what. The world is still spinning and I'm done feeling sorry for myself and sitting around like I can't do something about things that need to be done." She stepped closer and put her face in his intimidatingly. "I am going to wipe every last one of your kind off the map. You've saved my life a couple times but I don't owe you fucking anything. I'd run if I were you." She stared him down with a razor-sharp gaze. "Now move."

Zip considered her for a second, appearing dismayed at where the exchange was ending. And then he moved, allowing her to leave. Alex left him with one parting threat: "Follow me and I'll kill you."

She left that place and never returned.

---

A Couple Hours Later

Alex sat on the hood of her stolen car, feet on the bumper. The rain had let up and the storm front had blown over, leaving stars visible in the early-morning sky.

She hugged Cas's bunched up coat to herself. He had been real. This was evidence of that. She studied one of the buttons for a long moment and rubbed her thumb along the curve of it—a touch that had tenderness and longing and deep sadness in it. They had shared a love story most people would have found too fantastic to be real. But fire and light had turned to dark. Love, a word that had seemed so pure, was now twisted and had a bitter aftertaste. He was supposed to have been good. And he hurt her worse than anyone else ever had.

Castiel was the empty chair beside her and the burned down attic, he was the silence in the air when her ears strained to hear the soft stirring of wings. He was her broken heart and the only one she could ever love. He was her curse and her gift—she wasn't sure which one he was more of.

It's better to have loved and lost than never loved at all.

She wasn't sure if she bought that bullshit.

In one of Alex's hands, between her middle and index finger, a cigarette burned slowly. She took a long drag and somberly let it out, watching it dissipate into the night air. Life was hard to understand.

She absently thought of Zip and another wave of devastating guilt washed over her. She thought that maybe sleeping with someone else was supposed to have fixed something or changed her perspective or set her free from Castiel's grip on her heart. But if anything that grip felt tighter. Never again. Or at least not for a long, long time. Not until it was with a man (or woman, even) that she loved and trusted. But would there ever be anyone besides Castiel? Could there be? She just didn't know. She really didn't think so. Her heart was spent and empty and forever in the possession of a dead angel.

So. Now what? Alex was at a proverbial crossroads. She could either continue to wallow around in self-pity and aimless depression… or she could make good on her threats to Zip. She could exact revenge on the monsters who had killed Bobby and hurt Cas and hurt her, too. She could pick herself up and fight to take her life back.

Jesus. That sounded impossible.

Her mind drifted into a memory from when she'd been staying with Bobby when Dean died and went to Hell. It had been a time of deep, inescapable depression.

"You know, kid, I see it two ways," Bobby said in that patient, slow way he had of speaking. "You can sit around and feel bad. Or you can pick yourself up and kick it in the ass." He smiled at her crookedly and she thought she saw his eyes twinkle at her. "Now I dunno about you, but I think we outta get ourselves up and kick it in the ass while we still got good knees."

Alex smiled a little to herself, bittersweet. She still had good knees.

Sit around and feel bad. Or pick myself up and kick it in the ass.

She'd fallen down a pretty long way. Picking herself up wasn't going to be easy. It would take exhausting amounts of work to try and get better, to try and find closure. But where there was a will, there was a way. She just had to decide what she wanted. What was a girl who'd found herself to be basically immortal to do? Sitting around and feeling like shit for the rest of time didn't appeal. Manning up and deciding to take this curse and use it to her advantage sounded more admirable.

Alex looked at the cigarette between her fingers and a sudden instance of distaste ran through her. You know what? Fuck you. In a sudden rush of decisiveness, Alex put Cas's coat down beside herself, stood up and threw the cigarette down with a finality she hadn't even known she had in her. Staring down at the lazy smoke ebbing out the end of that slender tube, Alex decided no more bullshit. She crushed the cigarette underneath the heel of her boot with a malicious, slow twist. That habit represented everything she despised in herself and every weakness she'd ever permitted herself to have. It was time to step up and stop crying about what had happened. This was her life and if she was gonna live forever, it was going to count for something and not be a melodramatic wasteland. She was going to use her life to take down some enemies and right some wrongs, save some people who would otherwise go unsaved. She was gonna learn to let go of the past so it would stop holding her back from the future.

In Bobby's words, she was going to kick it in the ass.

The thought of the man she loved as a father sent grief surging through her. This one's for you, Bobby.

She gathered Castiel's coat back into her arms and her resolve wavered slightly. And for you, Cas. You didn't know how this would all end for us. And you deserved better than what you got.

Alex put his coat into the car on the passenger side then stood up straight and tall then whipped her hair into a strict ponytail like she was getting ready to go into battle or something. And really, she was. This wouldn't be easy—she knew it would take everything she had to go toe to toe with her inner demons. But she was going to do it. For the first time in her life, she was going to face a problem completely alone and somehow… she wasn't afraid of that this time.