Song Remains the Same
Chapter 105 / Deal Or No Deal
"The mildest, drowsiest sister has been known to turn tiger if her sibling is in trouble."
- Clara Ortega
The year had been 1988.
Five years old and dressed as Superman (well, wearing a sheet tied around his neck like a cape, anyway), Sam Winchester was in a heap on the ground in front of a shed, sobbing and clutching his left arm. "Owww, oww! Augh, Dean, it hurts!" he howled, tears streaming down his little face.
His big brother tossed aside his Batman mask, the one his sister had painstakingly cut out of paper then colored black with a marker. "Hey hey hey, buddy, don't move okay? It could be broken!" Dean said, his young face wrinkled up in worry as he crouched with his brother on the leafy ground.
Sam wailed a little louder when his sister, distraught by her twin's crying, took his hurt arm in an effort to look at it for signs of injury. There weren't any, not outwardly anyway, but Sam's shriek of pain at her touch made Dean pull her hand off their brother as her eyes bulged wide—she was further upset that she'd hurt him.
"Gentle, Al, gentle, it's okay," Dean consoled. But Alex began to cry too, upset at what was happening. Her entire little face was colored lime-green with a highlighter, lips and all (Dean had caught Sam helping her 'become the Hulk' just before they decided to jump off the shed and pretend to fly), so it was a bit of a strange sight to see. Dad would definitely kill all three of them when he found out the hijinks they'd gotten up to and the injury Sam had sustained. But he wasn't around at that time, and so Dean stepped up to the crisis. In doing so, he seemed godlike to the twins. He stayed calm, hid his own panic, and was firm about what to do. He took a bike that was there at the old house they were squatting in and put Sam on the handlebars and had Alex hang onto his back piggyback style. To this very day, she still remembered how that sour, chemically highlighter tasted in her mouth from where Sam had missed when he colored her face. She still remembered how his sheet-cape had flapped back at her on that bike ride. She still remembered how Dean had distracted them as he pedaled along with a story he made up on the spot of how Batman took the Hulk and Superman on an adventure to the hospital to defeat True Evil.
That was the kind of big brother Dean had always been—thoughtless for himself when his brother or sister were in trouble, willing to do whatever it took to get them better and make them feel safe. How hard would it have had to been for a nine-year-old boy to pedal that bike almost three full miles to the local hospital with the weight of both his siblings on him? At the time, a mere five years old, Alex hadn't wondered about that. Her big brother Dean was cool and big—he was invincible and all-powerful; he knew everything and could do grown-up stuff she and Sam couldn't even dream of. He never needed help and nothing was too hard for him. He was brave and strong, stronger than her and Sam put together.
These days, she knew all too well how Dean wasn't invincible at all, not even a little.
Nevertheless, he had been the backbone that held the family together.
When Sam left for Stanford and when Dad gave up on the family as a whole, Dean hadn't let his grief defeat him. Instead, he stood up taller and stayed at Alex's side, family first no matter even if family had become just a brother and a sister. When he died after his soul deal came due, Sam and Alex had gone their separate ways and endured their own personal hells without Dean to anchor them. When Sam jumped into the cage, Alex and Dean hadn't been able to go on as before—Alex's call, not Dean's. She still regretted that decision. And now, she regretted how things had been between them when he was ripped away yet again six days ago, when he and Cas had sent Dick back to where he belonged.
The thought of Cas twisted her chest. The way he'd been taken from her time and time again with each time being more painful and unthinkable than the last… it was the cruelest joke fate had ever played. The thought of him was so heavy. He was lost to her, and honestly, he had been for what felt like a long time now. Ever since he walked into that lake, his returns had been false teases. Now he was gone again after delivering the killing blow to the evil he'd brought into the world in the first place. In a book, it would have sounded tragic and beautiful that the hero had sacrificed and redeemed himself. To Alex, it was utterly unfair and heartbreaking.
It all left her here, with every person she loved in the world taken away from her. Bobby was on the verge of becoming a vengeful spirit, Dean and Castiel were trapped in some dimension out of her reach, and Sam was dying slowly in front of her eyes. She was alone, with a broken arm and no place to turn.
For the past six days she'd stayed at Sam's side as he crumbled into a nearly-unrecognizable state. She'd wracked her mind for solutions, fixes, and hope of any kind. Jamie wasn't answering her phone, Garth was in Timbuktu (no, he was seriously in Timbuktu hunting a Rugaru—it sounded like a joke but was apparently not), Alex's other calls to hunter contacts in search of healers or help for Sam had turned up totally fruitless. What else could she do except what she was planning to do here tonight? Who else could she trust to find a solution? It was all on her. She was the only one who could do anything to save the ones she loved. So dammit she was gonna do whatever it took because if she didn't, no one would.
In the past, she'd been through a lot of impossible situations. She'd been all over the place in how she reacted to things but mostly, she'd let others do the heavy lifting while she supported and provided the backup—or she'd done rash, half-thought through things in the hopes of a good outcome. Today, she was up against a wall with only one viable option left. She had told herself she'd never do this, but she couldn't—wouldn't—stand by and let Sam die. There were no fixes she knew of for him short of getting an angel to take on his pain. So, she was about to do something she'd been considering in depth for the past six days since Sam's hallucinations had returned. She understood the risks, the implications, and the fact that Crowley had refused her the last time she'd tried this. But today, she refused to take no for an answer. Not with Sammy wasting away at such a young age, not with Dean and Cas trapped somewhere without help, not with Bobby stuck between dimensions. And Kevin—she had to find a way to save that kid, too.
That's why Crowley currently stood before her now in the hospital room where Sam laid sleeplessly in a waking coma. Alex Winchester had work to do, and the King of Hell was going to enable her to get quite a lot of shit done.
"...My goodness. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were about to peddle your soul to me," he was saying.
Alex's answer was immediate and flat. "That's exactly what I'm about to do."
The demon's smile faltered in favor of a confused frown. Crowley stared at her hard and narrowed his eyes deeply. "…Come again? …Are you yanking my sack?" He looked something like indignant and inconvenienced. "You want to try and sell me your soul? … Again?" A falsely sympathetic smile abruptly broke across his face. "Alex, sweetie, don't you remember last time you tried this? Answers the same. No." He paused, his needly eyes flickering over her in dark fascination. "Although I am curious what you wanted. Is it the angel again or something less painfully predictable?"
Alex shook her head once, her features set hard and uncompromising. Maybe she didn't look very foreboding with an arm in a sling and all that but she felt severe enough to kill with a stare alone. "Sam. He needs help now or he's gonna die. So you are gonna make his brain, his mind like it was before the wall and before that soulless crap. You're gonna fix him once and for all. No more hallucinations, no more Lucifer, no more of whatever the hell this is doing this to him."
Crowley was wan, his eyes sliding briefly to Sam, who groaned in faint pain and shivered, curling up on the bed into a fetal position. "Ah, so touching, a sister's love for her ridiculously-oversized brother," he muttered, obviously finding her pathetic. "You lot make me want to gag." He turned sing-song. "Answer's still n-o."
Her heart beat fast and furious. "You don't get to say no and I'm not done," Alex snapped, her tone inspiring a genuinely taken aback look from the demon. But when she spoke again, the surprise on his face doubled: "Bobby Singer. You're gonna bring him back."
After taking a couple flabbergasted seconds, Crowley looked at her darkly. "Well, I'm a bit insulted." He narrowed his eyes at her sharply, like he was having a hard time believing her demands. "You know soul deals aren't an all-you-can-eat buffet, right? You know you get one thing, don't you?"
"Oh gee, really?" Alex cracked back.
An eyebrow arched just slightly. "Would you look at the sass on you," Crowley commented in a murmur, and even though he was trying to play it like he didn't care and had no reaction, Alex could see that he was getting irritated in earnest. His eyes went up to the large painted devil's trap on the ceiling that kept him stuck in that room. "Do you think if you keep me in time-out long enough I'll change my mind?" he asked snidely. "And on that point, are you stupid, or are you deranged?" When she said nothing, he leveled with her. "Look, Alexandra, dearest. We go way back. We're, oh, what's the word, BFFs. Which is why you'll believe me when I say that even if I wanted to, I can't take your soul."
"Bullshit," she replied flatly.
"Language," he corrected teasingly. "All right then, if you really want the truth… I don't want it. It's too…" he gestured at her with both hands clumsily as he tried to come up with a way of putting it. "Cut-and-pasty." She gave him a weird look and he tried again. "Too cobbled together after what Cas did to it back in the day. It's... lost its value," he explained apathetically, "where I'm concerned anyway."
Alex nodded that she'd heard him as she worked her jaw slightly. She had been afraid he'd say that, because that meant she had to do something really drastic to get him to deal. "I thought you might say that. Which is why I have more than just my soul on the table."
Crowley frowned slightly, then got a knowing, flirtatious glint in his eyes. "Don't tell me you're gonna offer me a roll in the hay," he murmured, then eyed her thoughtfully, biting half of his bottom lip just slightly as his suggestive eyes slid upwards over her body. "Or do say that. Could be interesting."
Alex was like cardboard. "I'll work for you."
He looked mildly taken aback and mystified. "Work for me?" His face became very doubtful and he eyed her broken arm. "In that condition? Also, tell me, did you forget the part where I have hundreds of doltish minions who do my every last bidding?"
"And did you forget who I am or what I can do?" she countered, banking everything on this and trying to up-sell herself even though she knew it really was a long shot. But with her brother sweating and exhausted and sick behind her, she tried her best to get Crowley to bite. "Did you forget your little peons used to be scared of me? The demon blood girl? I've done more with less, and you know it."
"Hm." A slow smiled played on Crowley's face. "Interesting proposition, I'll give you that. Might be entertaining at the very least to have you on the payroll. God knows there's nothing good on TV these days." He chuckled and threw her a cheeky grin. "And yet alas. Still not interested." He put his hands into the pockets of his slacks and strolled aimlessly around the space he was confined to. Alex felt her insides screaming—she was striking out with this royally, and that meant losing Sam and she was at the point of getting down on her knees and begging Crowley and saying if a 'roll in the hay' was what it took, she'd do it to save her brother. And then the demon continued speaking. "I do have one final curiosity though," he said, eyeing her with fond curiosity. "Riddle me this. Why wouldn't you throw in the fates of good old Ape and Halo while you're making ridiculous requests?"
Thoroughly aggravated with his refusals and her lack of remaining options, Alex was short on temper. "Because I can do that myself. I don't need you for that. I'm getting them out."
Mild surprise flickered across Crowley's face and he stopped walking. "Oh are you. Out of Purgatory." When she said nothing at his doubtfulness, his smugness faded and his interest increased. "How'll you get there?"
"I have a way."
"Oh do you." He hesitated, growing much more interested as he sauntered a little closer. "…And how'll you get out once you've gotten in?"
Suspicious of his sudden interest, Alex narrowed her eyes, sensing that maybe this could be an 'in' with the demon. "…Why?" she asked, cautious and hopeful.
Crowley considered her for a moment before replying. "I recently learned of an… object of interest I very much want to have," he said, keeping himself vague. "…Guess where it is." He smiled as she understood his implication, and he swept his arms out accommodatingly, giving the impression pleasantry. "Well, Miss Winchester. You're in luck. I think I've changed my mind!" She swallowed deeply, mildly shell-shocked that he was going to deal with her after all. It became very real to her in that moment, and her confidence took a hit as the risks played in her mind again, frightening her. What if her secret—the immortality—didn't turn out to be a safeguard like she hoped it would? "Here's how it'll go," Crowley said, laying out his terms as Alex struggled internally. "Sell me your little patchwork soul… work for me six months starting today, torturing and maiming and what have you… get me this object I so desire from Purgatory (I'll give you adequate time to get yourself there and back again)… and then and only then after you've ticked all the boxes does Sam walk."
Alex's eyebrows slammed together. "He's dying now, jackass! He doesn't have six months! He doesn't even have six days!"
Crowley was utterly calm in the face of her explosion. "Didn't let me finish," he commented mildly. "As a gesture of solidarity, I'll give him nice hallucinations. Cute fluffy ones with puppies and kittens and whatever else his little plaid-patterned heart desires." At the look of utter confusion and dislike on Alex's face, Crowley shrugged. "Call me a head-case, but if you're anything like your hubby you're a double-cross and a half. I don't trust you, or anyone for that matter. A demon has to protect his interests, after all. Sam will live, and if you make good on your end, he'll be all the man we remember him to be. Isn't that what you want?"
Yes. It was. Alex hesitated. "And Bobby?"
Crowley was mildly aggravated at her question. "No. You ask too much, Mouse."
"It's not too much," she argued. "Work with me here Crowley, this is my fucking soul we're talking about here—glued together or not, it's still a soul!"
Crowley studied her for a second, looking past her agitated exterior. "You seem a touch cavalier about this whole thing, don't you. Is it that you're that desperate to save Moose, or that you think you can pull one over on me? Because that would be a dangerous assumption to make, darling." His eyes glittered darkly and he stepped as close as the devil's trap would let him step to her. His voice lowered to a gravelly velvet murmur. "Are you still willing to deal even if I tell you your whole immortal stint means diddly squat once the deed's done?" He saw the surprise widen her eyes and he shrugged as if in sympathy. "Soul deal trumps all, I'm afraid. Even what an unhinged angel-turned-god did to you. Play ball with me and it's bye-bye to that immortal nonsense once and for all." Thoroughly dismayed that Crowley knew about that and was going to play it against her, Alex was stuck in silence. Honestly, she'd thought the immortality thing would keep her from having to pay up—although now, she didn't know why she had assumed that. Soul deals were basically the most powerful magic known in the universe—she should have known the hounds could kill what no one or nothing else could. "Tell you what," Crowley said at her stiff silence. "Do a good job, go above and beyond when you work for me… maybe Bobby finds himself a real boy again."
Alex looked at Crowley with pain clenching her chest. "All I get's a 'maybe'?"
The demon was half-playful half-genuine. "It's more than anyone else gets, love." At the stumped look on her face, Crowley smirked. "Maybe I do play favorites after all sometimes."
Alex took in a deep breath and thought it through. What was to think through, though? "So Sam lives if I do this," she surmised, already knowing that this was going to happen. That she was going to say yes and trade her life for his. Because she'd never be able to live with herself if she went the selfish route and let Sam die. It just wasn't within her to be capable of.
Crowley nodded obligingly. "And he's back to his irritatingly moosey self once you've completed the twelve-step plan." He abruptly raised a finger as if he'd thought of something. "Oh, forgot to mention. You'll have ten days once you've gotten back from Purgatory to the realm of Earth again before my pups come howling your name."
Alex balked. "Ten days?" she repeated, thunderstruck. Most people got ten years.
Crowley was dark and dangerous. "I'm doing you a favor here, Mouse, be glad I didn't say ten minutes." A smirk played across his devilish features as he watched her process and think it over with a stark expression. "Decisions, decisions…" he commented, then lowered his chin and voice at the same time. "So. What's it going to be?"
Alex hated him so much in that moment and yet he was the only way to get anything done. Her worst enemy was her greatest asset. The irony was killer—she'd been so angry with Cas for dealing with this monster, and yet here she was about to do the same damn thing. Alex yanked out her pistol and cocked it furiously, pointing it at the ceiling (they were on the top level of the hospital) before she shot a hole into one of the solid lines of the devil's trap, setting Crowley free. "Yes," she spat, shoving the gun back into her waistband and staring at the demon maliciously.
"Dramatic," Crowley commented offhandedly, not ruffled one bit by her actions. His eyes were gobbling her up. "Well. Only one thing left to do…" his dark gaze traveled her face lengthily, his eyes resting on her lips as his smile became a shade more sinful. "Can't say I mind this part," he murmured, enjoying the look on her face as he waited smugly. "Give us a kiss, love."
Refusing to let him have the satisfaction of intimidating her, Alex strode forward and grabbed him by the back of the neck with her good hand then pushed her lips to his hard and unfeelingly, meaning only to stay there for a second. And then his hand clamped down at the back of her head and refused to let her leave the kiss and in fact only pulled her against his mouth harder. As she tried to pull away, he went with her and wrapped an arm around her back to hold her in place—it hurt her broken arm to be crushed that closely together. When she tried to protest, he tilted his head sideways and let his tongue dive into her mouth artlessly as he chuckled in the deepest part of his throat. He tasted spicy and boozy, like cigars and bourbon, and she fought the kiss with a protest of "mmfff!" When that didn't work, she bit his tongue ruthlessly and he was startled enough to let go of her—she shoved hard with her working hand, separating herself from him as she spat out the blood she tasted, fear roiling in her veins as she worried about if that small taste of demon's blood would affect her.
"Well aren't you saucy," Crowley commented, dashing away the blood that was creased in the side of his mouth. He looked sort of approving of the bite she'd given him much to her dismay. "Cas is the lucky one, isn't he?"
"Shut up you idiot!" Alex exclaimed, riled up and humiliated and admittedly a little flushed too. He sauntered closer to her breathless frame and then dragged a finger down the side of her face then tapped her lips with his finger, his eyes devouring hers as his ever-present smirk taunted her. She smacked his hand away indignantly and his smile only grew.
"Kitten, you and I are going to have fun," he promised in that midnight black voice of his. "But first things first. As promised, brother bear needs some relief from his ailments." Crowley lazily sauntered a couple steps to the end of Sam's bed and then snapped his fingers once. "Sweet dreams, Moose." Sam's vapid gaze and pained expression faded and his head nodded to the side as he fell into the mercy of sleep after six days of not being able to rest at all. His face relaxed of all tension and Alex could have cried from relief.
She went to her brother's side and crouched there at the bed and smoothed his greasy, unkempt hair away from his face a few times over. He looked a lot younger and so innocent when he was asleep, and her heart which had been held so tightly for the past few days breathed a little easier. He was going to be okay if she did what she had to. And she was going to make sure she did. "The dog…" he mumbled barely audibly.
Alex frowned. What dog?
Sam sighed gustily, deeply asleep. Nice hallucinations, Crowley had said. She prayed she and Crowley had the same idea of 'nice' but kind of thought they didn't. Sam liked dogs. She hoped he was in a dream where he had a dog and no problems whatsoever.
Hang on, big brother. Alex leaned close and kissed Sam's clammy forehead, shutting her eyes and praying Crowley didn't betray her. "You're gonna be okay," she promised her brother in a whisper, her mouth against his skin. She was going to make good on her end and then Sam would be okay.
"Oh enough with the Lifetime movie," Crowley said, rolling his eyes. He rounded the bed and held his hand out to her, demanding what was due. "Let's get to work, shall we?" Alex didn't like the gleam in his eye or the darkness in his voice. But she took the hand of her enemy and with her mind focused on the end goal, she closed her fingers tight. But she was afraid. So afraid.
Two Weeks Later
A young woman with her arm in a sling who hadn't showered or changed clothes in a few days from the looks of it slunk into a motel room under the cover of darkness, wary of onlookers. Maybe because of the dark blood spattering her torn clothing, maybe because she had a very conspicuous red bruise on her face that would get questions asked. She looked like what she was: a drifted, a loner, a drug-addict who hadn't slept in far too long. She had a backpack slung over her shoulder and a huge, heavy duffel bag in hand and that was it. There was a tiredness across her features that made her look years older than she was.
She flicked the lights on in the motel room that was so much the same as all the others she'd ever been in. Dingy, musty, soulless. Alex tossed down her bags apathetically onto the floor and sat down on the closest bed, scrubbed her face in her hand, then looked around the interior longingly. The room was so quiet and empty. No brothers there bugging her about moving her stuff or competing for who got the bathroom first. No rock-paper-scissors to see who got a bed and who had a sleeping bag on the floor (but usually, two of them ended up sharing a bed because they couldn't stand to let the others sleep on the floor). She hated the silence so much, hated the feeling of being so alone.
Alex was currently tracking down a demon named Alvin for Crowley. A traitor who'd eluded him for several years now apparently. That's what all the blood was, and the bruise forming under Alex's eye. From a demon she'd captured, tortured, then killed for information in her search. It wouldn't be much longer and she'd have Alvin and hand his ass over to Crowley. Then he'd hand her another job, she was sure. Six months of this. She could barely fathom it, but she kept the end goal in mind: Sam back on two feet. Dean and Cas out of Purgatory. Her life sacrificed for something meaningful. Wasn't that more than some people had?
Alex had checked on Sam multiple times over the phone. Apparently, he'd slept for more than a day straight after she left and was still out of his mind, but now pleasantly so. He was up and about and the mental hospital staff said he was really doing great. He was eating and drinking on his own again, sleeping regularly, and generally happy from their reports. But… apparently he thought he was dating a woman named Amelia and he thought he had a dog or she had a dog or something like that. They said Sam had no understanding of where he actually was and that his delusions were full blown. Alex was very sad to hear that he was out of his mind but at least he was having good hallucinations like Crowley said. It was a small plus, but it was a plus. Six months to go and then she could focus on Purgatory and get Sam back to his regularly scheduled self after finding whatever 'object' Crowley wanted her to get. He hadn't told her what it even was yet. Said he would after the six months was over. Her mind spun because of what would happen after the six months of indentured servitude was over. She would have to find the Wayfinder thing Zip had mentioned and to do that she had to find the Garden of Eden then after that she had to find Zip again and get him to tell her how the hell to even get in to Purgatory—the thought of everything she was trying to carry out overwhelmed her.
One thing at a time.
She looked down at her hand that wasn't tucked into a sling. It had blood on it. Her other arm was in a hard, extra-tough plaster cast that was heavy and clumsy. She wondered about that kid who'd shown up, the one who looked like Cas and thought he was saving her from a broken arm. Nice try, whoever you were. Although she had suspicions on his identity, thinking of it too long made her feel too much. Wonder too much.
In a haze of autonomy, Alex got up and showered (broken arm held out of the shower so her cast didn't get ruined). She changed clothes, threw out the bloodstained ones, scrubbed her boots hard to remove the sticky blood off the dark brown material and laces. Broke down and cried in the middle of doing so because she didn't think she could do this and was so scared that she would let everyone down and see Sam die after she failed. Then she stopped herself from freaking out because failure wasn't an option. She thought of Dean who really needed her to come through for him for once in her goddamn life—he'd saved her so many times, it was time to return the favor. She thought of Cas and languished in conflicted, confused feelings, remembering the sum of their time together and how it had unraveled at the end. Her heart ached for him as he'd once been. In the time before everything had been so utterly ruined.
How would she tell him (and Dean and Sam for that matter) when she saw him again that she had sold her soul? It wasn't that she regretted it, because she knew what was being bought with that price—but she knew Sam would blame himself. She knew Dean and Cas would both be utterly beside themselves when she told them what she'd done. She sort of didn't think either of them would ever forgive her, to be honest.
That was a bridge she'd cross when she got to it. For now, she had something else to confront that she'd been either avoiding or unable to get to because of how ragged Crowley was running her. She tied her damp hair back into an uneven ponytail with one hand and then fished out the salt-packed bag with Bobby's flask in it. Her throat caught and chest hurt—she'd put him away like this the day he crashed the car. It was for everyone's own safety. But she couldn't just leave him packed in salt forever.
So she pulled the flask out of the thick snow-white salt with a quickening heart and then set it down on top of the TV. She got her solid-iron fire poker out of her duffel bag and sat down with it across a knee as she watched the flask apprehensively. She'd faced so many ghosts in her day. This one was by far the hardest one to confront. A few minutes of nothing passed. And then the temperature in the room began to dip and the feeling of pricking on the back of her neck made her sit up straighter. Her fingers tightened around the fire iron as she looked around for him and stood, turning in a slow circle. "Bobby?" She could see her own breath when she asked his name.
He flickered into visibility nearby, just in front of the TV, and he looked a little disoriented. "What the hell'd you do to me?" he asked grumpily. "Felt like I was stuck in a shoebox under the bed for the past ten decades!" He paused, seeing what she held at her side. "What's with the fire iron?"
She was very careful in how she replied because she knew it didn't take a lot to set him off these days. "Um, it's… a precaution."
He took a second to realize why, then his expression fell. "Oh." He looked stung but understanding, guiltily so. "Guess that makes sense." Much more morose, he eyed her injury. The one he'd caused. "…How's the arm?"
"I'll live."
Bobby's grizzled, pale face bore self-loathing and the beginnings of inner despair. "Sweetheart… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, you gotta believe me—"
"I know," she said, cutting him off and not looking him the eye very well. "It's not your fault, Bobby. Not really."
"Right," he said softly, darkly, becoming similarly withdrawn like she was. "That's just what ghosts turn into. I really bet the farm I could outsmart the damn inevitable."
Alex smiled in a tender bitterness, managing to look him in the eye finally. "I think me and my brothers did too."
Bobby sighed heavily. "It's just good ole denial, s'all. Seems like something we're all good at. Must be a family trait." He squinted then, noticing her tired face and bruised cheek. "You all right? Look kinda off."
She remained vague. "Not getting much sleep these days."
Bobby nodded, then something else hit him, causing him to become a little riled up. "Wait. Wait. Dean," he said, voice speeding up as he thought. "Cas—Sam, too." He looked at her in confusion, apparently not even remembering what had happened to them.
"Yeah," she confirmed somberly. "Dean and Cas are in Purgatory, Bobby."
"Purgatory?" he repeated, his face working as memories flooded him visibly. "Wait. Wait. Yeah." His face became baleful. "I remember now," he growled. "I remember." The TV behind him cracked in the center and Alex jumped slightly.
"Hey, hey, calm down," she warned, and he held up a hand like he already knew that and was doing so. He shut his eyes, took a second, then let his hand down and made a face like 'see? I got it.' Alex waited a second then continued. "I'm gonna get them out. I know how, I just gotta do the legwork."
"Alone?" Bobby asked, his immediate frown a little too intense for her liking. "What about Sam? Where's he got to?"
Alex hesitated to tell the whole truth because she had a feeling it would set Bobby off further. "He's okay. He's okay now. But he's not going with me, because—"
Bobby lost it. "Your brother ain't gonna help you!?" he demanded thunderously, and the TV shattered completely, the bathroom door slammed, the curtains to the motel room rattled along the rod they hung from. "What the hell kinda game is he trying to pull!? You let me at him, I'll kick his selfish, overgrown ass!"
"Bobby!" Alex yelled, desperately trying to get her seething uncle's attention. "He can't help me!" It was horrifying how quick to irrational anger he was.
Bobby saw what he was doing and tried to calm down, but he looked like he was having an extremely difficult time. "Sorry—sorry. I can't—it's getting harder to control this mess," he said, breathing in and out hard as he tried to get himself together. "Why didn't you idjits just burn me straight off?"
That sounded like a fair question, but… "What would you have done?" she asked earnestly, a little at her wit's end. It wasn't that cut and dry. She hesitated again, then ventured forth cautiously. "Bobby. If, if I could figure out a way to bring you back, like for real… you'd want that, right?"
He sighed wearily. "Hell, I dunno. I'm tired." He shrugged his eyebrows up as he looked off in thought. "But havin' a few more years with my kids is a real nice idea." He smiled at her from under his beard, then abruptly frowned. "Why? …You ain't getting any crazy ideas, are you?"
"No," she lied. "No crazy ideas."
He nodded, then looked around the room, especially at the TV he'd destroyed in anger. He took a long moment to consider what he said next. "Look. I—I can't exist like this, Al. All I wanna do is bust somethin' up or hurt someone, maybe even you. I'm just mad all the time and feel like I can't hold back much longer. It's—it's like I ain't even gonna be me for much longer." He came a little closer, but he was clearly afraid to be too close to her. "I damn near killed you, crashing that car like that. Every little thing gets under my skin, makes me wanna go homicidal. I stay here much longer, I'm gonna murder some poor sap. I can feel it." Their eyes held for a long moment—his anxious and pleading for help, hers full of denial and dread. And then Bobby asked what she knew he would. "I hate it, kiddo, but I gotta ask you to do somethin' for me."
Alex shut her eyes and her face contorted. "Bobby, I can't," she protested weakly, already knowing what he was asking.
"You gotta," he cajoled, a desperation in his careworn eyes. She looked at him wretchedly and he gave her a sad gaze that she'd never forget. "Look… I'm done. I just need to get to wherever's next for me. Stayin' here's a bad idea. We both know that. Wish I could stay and help you out, you know I do, but... think I might do more harm than good." His grim expression tightened and his eyes glanced at her arm. "Hell, maybe I already have."
She wanted to say no. That she was going to pack him in salt and keep him in her back pocket for the rest of her life. That he couldn't leave until she was ready if ever at all. But that wasn't her call to make. If she tried to control the situation to her own perspective instead of hearing his desires out, who did that make her like? Alex swallowed, her eyes shining with tears. And yet she managed to summon a smile because she didn't want their last moment together to be anything but brave. She would let his last sight be her standing up straight, being the woman he'd helped her become. "I'm gonna miss you," she said in a tear-laced voice. "And those stupid baked beans you heated up every day for us and the endless books you made me read... the way you were always grumpy in the mornings. And the rest of the day too, I guess."
His expression mirrored hers and a brokenhearted smile rested under his rough beard. "Yeah," he agreed softly, his voice thick with emotion that almost prohibited him from speaking steadily at all. "Funny, innit. Even though those were bad times, they were good too, huh?"
"Yeah," she managed. "They were." Sniffing and clearing her throat to get herself together, she wet her lips and looked down. "I guess I knew it right away, when I heard you'd hung on that… that it'd end like this because it always does. Because it has to." She looked back up at him, having a hard time. "But that doesn't make this any easier."
He nodded his agreement, voice soft as a lullaby. "I know it don't." He took a second then gave her that look. The one that was reserved for when he was about to give her a lecture for her own good, a lecture to let her know what was what. "All right now look. You're gonna do us all proud. I know you are." He smiled at her sadly and the weight of all the years between them was comforting, tangible, real, something she could take with her forever. "Just do what I always told you," he counseled. "Stay sharp. Always know what's behind you. Sleep with one eye open. Don't trust no one further than you can throw 'em." He gave her one last encouraging smile that was dampened by bittersweet sorrow. "You get those boys home."
She nodded, swallowing thickly. "I will," she promised, and then followed his gaze—he was looking at her lighter that had fallen out of the backpack. She understood and picked it up with a twisting heart, then looked at him again. Did he really want this?
Bobby nodded somberly. "And when it's your time... go." She nodded a yes, fighting off deep emotions and the many tears she wanted to shed. If only he knew how soon that would be. "I love you a whole truckload, you hear me?" he asked, voice shaking a little as her fight to keep her eyes dry failed. "I'm damn proud of you. And like I said." He hesitated and his eyes glinted with emotion as his voice softened. "Woulda picked you too."
She nodded, shuddering out a shaky breath as her eyes stung. "I love you, Bobby Singer." It was a mere whisper from the heart. She wished he was there and real enough to touch and hug. But he was an echo, a shadow, a specter. They shared a last sad smile. And then without anything further, Alex took the flask tying Bobby's spirit to that realm and set it in the motel sink. She let it burn there and watched the image of her uncle drift away into sparks and dust. The last thing she saw of him was a ghostly smile on his face.
Six Months Later
Near a thin, rocky stream that cut crookedly through desolate, lifeless land, two men crouched.
The first wore a torn and frayed trench coat that had once been rich and buttery beige. It was now so dirty and faded that the color was barely noticeable at all. The all-white hospital outfit he wore underneath was now foul gray—rips and holes and stains marred both garments all over. His dark hair clung to his head and where he'd been clean-shaven before, a full beard had grown. His skin was smudged in dirt and ash. Only his crystal blue eyes retained brilliance.
Beside him, his companion sharpened a wicked looking blade against a rock as his shrewd and watchful gaze darted over the nearby land in between strokes. His jacket which had once been beautiful rust red was faded, filthy, and scuffed all over. His face was streaked in blood—not his own.
"Hey, how's that arm?" Dean asked.
Cas glanced his way and looked at the injury in question—his left arm had been slashed seven days prior. "Functional, but the pain is still very acute," the angel replied factually.
Dean was wry. "Sucks to be low on the battery power, huh?"
"Everything about this place sucks," Cas returned, using Dean's slang grimly and making the hunter chuckle abruptly. At his laughter, Cas looked at Dean with a deep, confused frown. "…Did I use the term incorrectly?"
Dean shook his head, a little smile still on his face. "Nope, it just still sounds pretty funny when you say it, that's all." Cas accepted the answer in the usual Cas way: with a face that looked like he was struggling with severe constipation. Dean finished sharpening his blade and stood, eyeing the tree line all around once more.
Here in Purgatory, the enemies never really stopped coming. So he was suspicious when they were given rest from attacks. Dean glanced at Cas, who still crouched at the water's edge, holding a small square paper object. For so long now he'd heard Cas claiming 'I'm an angel, I'm a warrior, blah blah blah—' and then these past six months, he'd seen how true that was. Dean grunted as he sat down on a rock a few feet from Cas. He was tired, but not in a sleepy way—they didn't eat or sleep here, but he always felt hungry and tired. Part of the curse of Purgatory, he guessed. The land was endless and bleak, it was easy to get lost, and the few times they'd been separated had been the absolute worst—Dean had no idea what he would do if he'd gotten stuck in here alone. He'd probably be dead or worse. The two of them were trying to find the way out—really any way out, but so far, nothing.
"I dunno, man, I'm starting to think this portal's either a myth or a trap," he commented offhandedly, shaking his head because they'd been looking for four months now ever since one of the vampires they'd killed had taunted them about it. "I mean, wouldn't we have found it by now? How big can this place be?"
Cas was in deep thought and sort of distracted, and therefore he didn't really give Dean much attention when he replied. "Colossal, Dean. Possibly even infinite, or close to infinite."
Geez. "Way to be an optimist there, Cas," Dean retorted wanly.
"That was sarcasm," Cas noted, still not paying much attention to Dean. Dean knew why. Cas was engrossed in the small paper object he was holding. "I miss her," the angel said softly, his voice very heavy and sad.
Dean watched his friend a couple beats. "I know, Cas," he conceded, then let out a bittersweet chuckle. "Hey, just be glad you even got a picture of your girl."
Cas looked up and over at him. "Yes. Thank you very much, again, for letting me carry this."
"Yeah," Dean answered, and he was the distracted one now. "You got it." He'd let Cas 'borrow' the picture of Sam and Alex he kept in his wallet—they were like twenty-three years old or so in the picture, so it wasn't recent, but still. It really seemed to mean a lot to the guy. Cas looked at it every chance he got. And he also wore Alex's penny necklace under his shirt which apparently had been in his pocket for awhile now. Strung beside the penny, Dad's old wedding band hung too. Cas was of a one track mind now that he had his marbles back, it would seem. But Dean was thinking of something else though as his eyes searched the heavy, gray sky. It was so weird… there were never birds or animals of any kind. Only beasts and monsters. His heart tugged and ached as he thought about how long it had been that they had been trapped here. "It's been six months, man," he finally said, voice low in volume and high in anxiety.
Cas put his picture away into his pocket and stood. "You're worried," he observed. Thank you, Captain Obvious. The angel came and sat beside Dean and leaned over his knees, watchful of the woods across the stream. "She'll be in her third trimester, if she is indeed with child," he said, knowing exactly what Dean was anxious about.
Dean swallowed, staring off into nothing as the thing that consumed his every waking thought harrowed him anew. "That's what kills me." He could feel Cas's tense gaze on the side of his face. "Not knowing. Not knowing about her, about if Sam and Al got out, if the other Leviathans died when Dick did… what happened to Bobby. Might never know the way this thing's going." Was Sam doing a good job keeping the family together? Was Alex so sad about what happened to them that she was in a mental institution again? And Jamie. The last time he'd talked to her haunted and tortured him. It destroyed him to think of her out there and pregnant and alone and thinking he was dead or worse. "If she's… she's really having my kid, I just—she shouldn't be alone, man."
Cas nodded slowly, and he seemed to agree. Dean shook his head in mild, rueful disbelief because he was baring his soul more and more often to Cas. Who would have thought there would come a day when the two of them were sitting together and talking about this kinda stuff, huh? It still felt a little weird when Dean thought about it. The first few days here had been the hardest and most tense. Those days were the ones where Dean had been torn between needing Cas's help and remembering all the things he held against him. Stress had been high, Dean had picked verbal fights, Cas had been defensive sometimes and guilt-ridden others. They'd ended up settling it the good old fashioned way about a week in when they got so sick of each other's shit that they couldn't stand it anymore: by hitting each other until they were black and blue. Then as they sat beside each other and wheezed from pain and Cas cried (literally cried from the guilt Dean had made him feel), Dean had shaken his head and through ragged breath said, 'man, I'm tired of fighting with you like this, I really am, can we just stop?' and then they'd had this Brokeback Mountain heart to heart that Dean would never want anyone to know about ever. It had ended like this:
"I just—you gotta understand, Cas. That's my little sister. I had to look out for her from the beginning, she was always so little and I was always so scared someone would hurt her or take her away and we wouldn't even know b-because she couldn't make a noise. I would've died for her. I still would. I can't even tell you how important she is to me."
The angel had tears in his eyes. "Dean—" he'd managed. "If anyone knows how you feel, it's me."
Dean Winchester had walked away from that very lengthy conversation viewing Cas in different light. He hesitated to say it because he still had some misgivings, but… he was starting to trust this guy again. After six months in the trenches with only each other as backup, Cas had earned that several times over whether Dean wanted it or not. "We'll get out, Dean," Cas reassured quietly, stirring the hunter out of his thoughts. "If not by our own merits, by those of your brother and sister. I highly doubt they would leave us in here. They'll find a way to summon us out or send a message, maybe."
Dean let out a little heh sound. "That's a cute idea, Cas, but I doubt it." He sighed long and hard, mind going a little darker. "I dunno. Al might wanna leave me to rot in here after all that shit I kicked up at the end. Probably hates my guts." He would hate someone who said what he did to her. He still couldn't believe himself.
Cas gave Dean a look that suggested he should shut up. "She loves you, Dean," he insisted in his ridiculously low voice. "Very much. She would never leave you here. Neither would Sam."
There was a lump in Dean's throat as he thought of his siblings and how much they meant to him. "I love those kids so damn much," he whispered, then shook his head at how pathetic he was. "Sure have a way of showing it though, huh." He thought for a minute, contemplating how ironic it was that he felt so clear-headed and at peace here sometimes even though he was itching to get out. "Is it crazy to say this place has… I dunno, opened my eyes in some ways?" he asked. "I was so weighed down back there, so, I dunno, jacked up. Something was always tearing me apart and I was always letting someone down or messing something up. Out here, just you and me and all the clawed freaks out there… it's simple. Hunt and be hunted. Kill or be killed. Survive. Slash your way to the top. You're not ever really gonna win, but damn does it feel good to try."
Cas was squinty and frowny. "…That mindset seems mildly disturbing."
Dean scoffed and made a psh sound. "Have you met me? 'Mildly Disturbing' is my middle name."
Suspicion and confusion made Cas's frown all the deeper. "…No it isn't," he said, then seemed to get that it was a joke and his frown gave way to a disgruntled expression before he sighed and looked out across the stream again. "If you like it here—if things feel good to you—simpler—why do you also want to leave?" he asked. "It seems contradictory."
Dean mulled it over a minute, a little hesitant to answer. "I—I dunno," he admitted, trying to find why. "I guess part of me thinks maybe I deserve to be here? This is what I'm good at, raise your hand if you agree. No, don't actually raise you hand, Cas." He sighed gustily. "But… what's the point of it?" There was no progression, no goal. Only more of the same forever. And as messed up as the real world could get, as complicated… Dean missed it and thought maybe, given another chance, he might be better at it. "Out there, it's the same thing as in here: kill or be killed. But there's a whole lot more in between those two realities. Family. Hopes. Dreams." He smiled wistfully. "Food. I miss burgers something fierce." He paused, the smile fading. "Plus, I made someone a promise." Time was ticking away with him stuck here. And the Hellhounds, they were gonna come if he didn't find a way to stop them...
Cas was silent for a minute, obviously thinking about something hard. "You know Dean, I think if I had come here alone, if I had killed Dick myself and left you behind on Earth, I would never be able to want to leave this place."
Dean waited for an explanation, mystified. "Uh… why?"
"It's simple." Cas shrugged mildly. "Because I deserve to be here. This is proper punishment for the sins I've committed and the wrongs I perpetuated, the lies I told." He looked at his hands which were clasped between his knees. "But being with you here… fighting at your side… receiving your friendship and forgiveness… I feel as though I can rise above the mistakes I made." He looked at Dean sidelong, anxious. "Is that… is that absurd of me?"
Another chick-flick moment courtesy of teddy-bear Cas. Dean shook his head, a little chagrined at himself and Cas, who he'd learned was the world's most sensitive guy. He had kind of realized, bit by bit, why his sister must love the dude. He was a puppy and a lion all at once. "You know what?" he asked. "No. It's not absurd."
A soft little secretive smile crooked Cas's mouth and he looked down at the ground fondly. "It's strange, isn't it? I find it strange, anyway."
Dean waited. "What?"
"How you and I are… friends now," Cas said. "After everything… sometimes I thought you would always hate me."
Dean looked away, a little uncomfortable—so he pulled a breathy little grin and let out a chuckle. "Hate's a pretty strong word," he said, trying to avoid the stark truth. "I mean I hated stuff you did. And there were definitely a few days there where I hated you, but…" he trailed off. "I dunno. Guess I know you always tried. And I've told you this before: good on you for trying to fix your mess even when your brain was in pieces. That takes some balls." He clapped Cas on the shoulder once. "And hey, I think I know you pretty well now after this time in here. You've had my back every single time, you've stuck at it even when I know you wanted to give up. That counts for something in my book."
Cas looked touched and pleased and opened his mouth to say something—then suddenly sat up straighter, his eyes squinting into the trees ahead where there had been the softest snap of a twig. "Dean," he said, already standing. His voice had lowered to the tone Dean recognized: imminent danger.
"I heard it too." Dean was already standing, too, his blade at the ready. The angel and the hunter continued onward together, in search of a way out but only finding more of the same: enemies, battles, and blood.
Six months had taken Alex Winchester from the girl with the broken arm and the sad face to the girl who got things done. Like what she was doing right now: dragging a demon she'd hex-bound and gagged into Crowley's swamp-side Louisiana mansion. It had been a dark six months that Alex was eager to put behind herself, and today was the final day. Sam was the same in the mental hospital—hallucinating continuously about an Amelia girl and now some guy named Don too according to the hospital staff. But not for much longer. Alex was this much closer to succeeding. It felt like the worst and hardest was behind her, it was beginning to feel like she was actually going to make this happen.
One thing she hadn't accounted for was Kevin apparently had gotten away from Crowley about three weeks into his captivity and Alex of course was the first to get accused of breaking him out—but she had no idea what had happened to him and Crowley had only been satisfied with her honest answer after he'd tortured her for a week just to 'make sure.' Alex was still pissed about that but someday she'd get even with Crowley and pay him back for all his shit. Alex just hoped Kevin was okay out there wherever he was. Her plan had initially been to wait until she'd gotten Sam fixed and then go after Kevin or send Sam in her stead. But now it was out of her hands, she guessed.
Striding into Crowley's place like she owned it, she dragged the demon Portia by the hair and then tossed her at Crowley, who was relaxing with a glass of bourbon and some sort of torture-device catalogue. "Ah, lovely," Crowley said, uncrossing his legs leisurely and setting down his magazine as he stood from his leather armchair. He snapped his fingers and two of his henchmen appeared. "Take our darling Portia to the torture chambers and, well, I'm sure you know the rest." He waved his hand impatiently and they disappeared with a wide-eyed, struggling Portia. Crowley turned to Alex with that smirky, cocky expression he so often wore. "I must say. You've been a joy to work with."
If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was Crowley's stupid sarcasm. She was so sick of it now that she wanted to rip her own ears off. "Yeah, well whatever, by my count this is the last day of our agreement," she said, because she couldn't be free of him and his tasks soon enough, "so—"
"Oh no, not so fast Mouse," he chided, chuckling all the while and then checking his watch for effect. "You still have, oh, six hours until midnight which is when the six months is truly finished." Alex blanched. Was he serious? "And, well, I have one last little project for you. Let's call this your final test, shall we?" He beckoned her with a nod of the head to follow him. He carried his glass of bourbon the entire time as they went through the house into the basement. "This little demon you're about to meet refuses to break, you see," he said, leading her down a dark hallway. "And I need her to talk." He paused at a doorway. "I want to know where the crypts are. Find out."
Alex waited for more information. "What crypts?" she asked, not bothering to hide her impatient tone.
"Doesn't matter. She knows. Get it out of her, and if you can't, make sure she's a more lot more cut up than when you first saw her, hm?" Crowley winked and patted her on the face, his expression conveying a coyness she didn't like. "Atta girl. I'll leave you to it." He opened the door for her with a gentlemanly flourish and Alex walked in with a dark glance at him before she did. He shut the door behind her.
The room was dimly lit and beside the door, a cart of torture instruments sat glinting in the low light. In the center of the room, there was a bare table like they might have at a police station for interrogations, and someone sat at it. Demon hexes preventing the obviously-female demon from escaping littered the room. Alex couldn't see who it was and didn't think she recognized her. She squinted as she drifted closer. Coppery blonde hair tumbled down like a lion's mane and the prisoner slowly looked up. A round face that was bruised and battered and familiar looked back at Alex, who stopped mid-step in shock.
A slow smile spread across the demon's familiar face. "Well hi, Ariel."