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.

109. Ghost Town

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 109 / Ghost Town

"And once the storm is over, you won't remember how you managed to survive.
You won't even be sure whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain.
When you come out, you won't be the same person who walked in.
That's what this storm's all about."
- Haruki Murakami

---

They were very quiet as they re-dressed quickly and discreetly beside the fallen tree trunk they'd just had sex behind.

Cas helped a dodgy-eyed Alex back into her underwear and jeans, taking care not to cause much discomfort to her gashed knee as he did so. She then sat up and shimmied into her bra quickly, nervousness in her features and body language. In her hand, the ring and penny on their chain remained clenched tightly as she yanked the tank top Cas handed to her over herself one-handedly. Tear-tracks were stained onto her face thanks to the dirty surface of the skin there. Cas re-dressed himself, watching as Alex pushed herself up to sit on the log and then pulled her socks out of her boots. She stared hard at her socks as she straightened them out and shook little debris from them. He understood that she was sad about saying goodbye, but he couldn't really tell if she was upset about more than that. It hurt. Everything about this situation hurt.

She re-holstered her tossed-aside machete and hunting knife and then looked around glumly at everything but him. Cas got to the part where his trench coat was the last item left to put back on. The coat was so dirty that he barely recognized it. He almost thought about not putting it back on at all, but it would be strange not to wear it. His body didn't feel weighted correctly without it. So he put it back on and then sat down beside Alex tentatively. He noted how she stiffened. "Is—is something wrong?" he prompted softly.

She set her socks down and looked over at him reluctantly. Her face was very pained and tense, then he saw what he had missed before: While he had re-dressed, she had taken his wedding band off of the chain. She was now passing it back to him and pressing it into his hand. "You need to keep this," she said in a voice that was breaking and broken at the same time. "It belongs to you." And then she looked away, breathing oddly and trying to keep her face inscrutable.

There was an odd pain in the vicinity of his chest and throat. Castiel remained outwardly composed for her sake. When he had cried into her neck right after they made love a few moments ago, it had made her cry harder. She had even told him she couldn't 'stand it' when he cried. That was why he was trying now to be strong. For her sake. "Thank you," he said evenly, accepting the ring with a tense expression on his face. "I will."

He paused long and hard, fighting the intensity of his own emotions. It still felt like there was so much they needed to say to each other. So much he needed her to know, even though he also didn't even know where to begin. He had said everything. Shown everything. Given everything. But the thought of being here without her forever… the thought of being cursed to loneliness and desolation here for eternity… it was difficult. It wouldn't have been as difficult if he didn't have someone on the other side who needed him. And who he needed, too. He looked down at the ring in his hand then closed his hand around it, pocketing it. He had promised to be with her forever, and he wouldn't be. He had been assigned to be her guardian forever, and now he couldn't be. He needed to know she was safe and well but after today, he would never lay eyes on her again. His chest constricted. He peered at her profile, wishing she would look at him. But she seemed determined not to. Perhaps the pain was too much for her as it was nearly too much for her. "Alex, I…" he started quietly.

She abruptly looked down, seeming panicked at the prospect of a conversation. "I um, I need to wash my feet," she said in a tight, high voice, looking down at said body part. "They're disgusting." She snatched her socks and boots up without further ado then stood with all her weight on one leg and began to hobble-hop-limp toward the nearby shallow stream at a pace that almost seemed like she was trying to escape.

Alarmed and confused, Cas stood up too, not sure whether to follow or stay. "Do you need my help?" he asked, holding himself back from running after her and scooping her up.

But Alex kept going and made a motion at him that clearly indicated she did not want him to follow. "I can do it myself!"

A disgruntled frown crossed Cas's face. He drifted a few steps after her then did as she said and stayed behind. Was it something he'd said? She was so stubborn. One of the things that so endeared her to him.

After a minute, Cas turned to his right, sensing and hearing Dean's approach. Benny hung back, his blade resting jauntily on his shoulder. The two men had been out of sight, obscured somewhere behind all those thick trees in the distance. As he approached, Dean had his face in a hard expression that seemed to be purposefully unreadable. "You two good?" he asked Cas, then jerked a thumb backwards. "We gotta move out."

Cas stared at Alex and shook his head idly. "She's… washing her feet." He indicated her and Dean craned his neck and nodded.

Dean nodded, a soft little understanding smile breaking his face. "Always did do that," he commented in a reminiscent tone. She was out of earshot, which made his comment even more touching. "That girl has never liked having dirty feet, Cas. Can't tell you how many times I'd see her sticking a dirty old foot in the motel sink at the end of the day. Sam and I used to make fun of her for it."

Cas nodded faintly, unable to truly connect with what Dean was saying. What he was thinking about was something a little more worrisome to him. "Did you…" he looked at Dean and squinted his eyes deeply, "hear anything?" He had tried to be quiet and he knew Alex had, too, but… passion made it difficult to control some facilities at times.

Dean's face did something very odd and he immediately shook his head and made his mouth into a thin line. "Nope," he said, shaking his head still. Too many times. "Nope. Nothing, not a damn thing."

Cas would have accepted Dean's words as the truth a few years ago and let that be that. But now, having had so much experience with humans and emotions and the intricacies of communication, he recognized that Dean was saying 'no' just to be polite and to avoid an uncomfortable social situation. Castiel's expression schooled itself into an apologetic, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention to…" be overheard in the middle of a very impassioned sexual encounter with your sister. Cas didn't finish his sentence or say what he'd been about to say. Somehow, he thought that would only make things worse. Instead, he commented on what was already so painfully obvious. "Well… this is highly awkward."

Shockingly, all Dean did was let a helpless little laugh fly. "Hey, I get it." Cas gave his friend a confused look and Dean explained. "Trust me, if my girl were here and I thought I might not ever see her again… yeah. I get it." He quickly added an important point: "It's gross, don't get me wrong, but… whatever. Let's have that be the end of it, 'kay?" He was markedly uncomfortable about it and Cas felt the same.

"All right," he agreed. It was so strange to him that Dean had come full circle like this. After all, the first time he had glimpsed Cas even kissing Alex Dean had practically threatened the angel with death. There had been a day when Castiel thought the oldest Winchester would despise him forever. And now… thanks to this endless wasteland of nightmares… things had evolved. Cas gave his friend a slight, bittersweet smile as he thought about it. "Well Dean, it looks as though our time together is coming to a close."

Dean gave his friend a sidelong glance and crossed his arms. "We don't know that yet. Might still be able to get you out, Cas, if we're fast." He glanced over at Benny, and Castiel already knew what the hunter was thinking: let the vampire take the fall while the rest of them escaped.

But Cas did not trust the vampire. And it wasn't that simple, either. "Dean," he said tiredly but firmly. "I am going to stay here to make only you and Alex escape. I refuse to allow any of the monsters here out into the world—the damage they could do… it's unspeakable. It's my fault we're even here to begin with. It's my fault the Leviathan got out at all. This is my responsibility and I accept it. These are the consequences of my actions." He meant that completely. And he didn't want to stay here, but… his decisions in the past now dictated his present. His gaze returned to his wife's back—she was pulling her socks back on slowly. Love swelled in every part of himself and he thought he could cry again if he thought about the impending separation too much. "Believe me, I would very much like to return home with you, Dean," he said quietly. "But I can't. I'm afraid this is the end." He let out a soft, forlorn sigh out of his nose and looked at Dean. The tiny little smile on Dean's face confused Cas. "What?" he asked, wondering if he'd missed a social cue. He tended to do that frequently.

But that wasn't why Dean had a little smile playing on his face. "You just called earth home."

Castiel's eyebrows rose slowly. "I did, didn't I," he murmured. He hadn't even thought before he called it that or noticed that he had at all. And when he thought about why he had called it that, his gaze was pulled back to the girl at the water's edge. "Well, wherever she is… that feels like home to me," he said softly. His chest ached—his entire body hurt when he thought of what was soon to happen. He wished there were a way to both own up to his actions and to return with her. Never leave her side. But in other ways, he was thinking that perhaps this was fate, destiny, God—whoever and whatever—acting in divine intervention to separate them. He still thought, in the deepest parts of himself, that he had stolen a human girl away from her destiny. That he had imposed himself where he shouldn't have. That fate was attempting to correct his error. Perhaps Alex would find a way to live a normal life someday, he mused. All he wanted was to know she could somehow be happy and safe. If he could know that, he could somehow make it through this. He could take what time he had been blessed to have her and be content with that. He looked at Dean pleadingly. "Promise me you'll take care of her, Dean. Make sure she's safe. Look after her for me." He hesitated then added on another part he felt was necessary: "Hold whatever future suitors to the same rigorous standards you gave me." She was so beautiful and special—someone would soon be vying for her hand again. And even though his selfish side wanted her for himself forever, Castiel didn't want her to be lonely. For one of them to be lonely was enough. In time he thought she would forget him and move on. He would carry them forward into forever and treasure what little time they had been privileged to have.

Dean made a face. "Future suitors? Yeah right." He clapped a hand down onto the angel's shoulder and squeezed for the duration of what he said next. "Cas. Listen. You don't get out today, we're coming back for you."

"No, Dean—the risks involved—"

"Listen, man," Dean said, a little exasperated. "You've served your time, all right? Enough with the guilt and woe-is-me crap. This is the part where you get your ass up and you try again. We're the Winchesters. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory… none of those places can hold us, okay? We don't leave our own behind. Just not our style. So, like I was saying. You don't get out today, you just know I'm heading up the rescue mission." He paused and then corrected himself with a little grin. "Well, I'll probably be second in command if your…" he had a bit of a hard time saying this next part and had to work a little to get it out of his mouth, "your…" he had to shut his eyes and chop his hand out into the air, "your wife has anything to say about it." He made a face like he'd eaten something he didn't like. "God, that will never be normal to say," he muttered. Then he saw the utterly touched look on Cas's face. "What?" Dean asked, then abruptly became prissy and gruff—and a little flustered. "Shuddup." He threw a hand out, apparently having given up on being the tough guy. "Look, Cas. If nothing else, this hellhole puts stuff in perspective. And being in the trenches with you, keeping each other alive…" he paused, awkward. "It—" he shook his head and sighed his discomfort. "You never let me down even once. You had my back every single time even when I was a heartless asshole to you. You're good people, Cas. I haven't found many folks who actually stick with it when shit gets real. But you did. And that's something to me." He let his eyes slide over to his sister, who was pulling her boots on slowly out of earshot at the water's edge. "And about you and Al…" Dean sighed his defeat. "Dude, I dunno. You two found each other in this screwed up, crazy world and maybe I still have my reservations but… she loves you. And you love her. Like, really really love her." For Dean to acknowledge that… Castiel was beside himself with emotion. Dean gave a semi-playful shrug as he kept the moment light. "I never thought anyone could ever care about her more than I did but… well, you're in decent competition with me at least." He abruptly gave Cas a deadly serious warning with a pointed finger. "You ever hurt her again though and I'll murder your ass in two seconds flat."

Cas felt himself smiling a little. "I know," he said, then grasped Dean's shoulder. "You're a good man, Dean. You've surprised me. Taught me many things."

Dean looked a little unwelcoming of the long touch but he nodded and smiled stiffly. "Yeah, well. No big deal."

Cas kept his hand on the hunter. "I hope it's all right Dean but I've come to think of us as brothers," he said earnestly as Dean's eyes flickered to his hand on his shoulder a few times. "I'm very thankful for you and your friendship." He held Dean's gaze sincerely, thinking nothing of it.

Dean brushed Cas's hand off of himself and shrank away. "Okay, now it's just getting too sappy for me," he muttered, and began to walk off.

Cas frowned. He followed Dean at a distance, who approached his sister. She was sitting at the water's edge with a mostly blank expression. "Heya, Hobbles. Ready to head out?"

She was quiet and deflated. "If we have to."

Dean looked at her gashed knee, which was easily visible through the huge tear in the knee of her jeans. He made a face. "That does not look good."

She stood on her own, unevenly and jerkily, her expression a little off-putting. "Well surprisingly it feels great," she said. Dean rolled his eyes and Cas squinted. "Sarcasm, Cas," she explained halfheartedly, avoiding looking at him.

"That's what I thought," he said, then approached her and picked her up easily. She didn't resist, but he sensed how frustrated she was to be injured to the point she was. She didn't like needing help. But he wanted to help her as much as he could for this last, small time. And anyway, holding her would never be something he disliked. He hadn't been given enough chances to hold her. Not at all. Around her neck, the penny flashed as it caught the light. Cas saw it—Alex saw how he saw it—and she abruptly put a hand to his bearded jawline and kissed him softly. His heart leapt and he returned the kiss with all the gentleness that it had been given to him with.

And to think he had wondered why humans kissed at all for so many thousands of years as he'd watched from Heaven above. He'd found it a useless and silly looking action. And now, with her—well, he could have kissed her all day. Forever. There was something magical and intoxicating about it, there was something comforting and exhilarating and intimate and reassuring about it all at once. When the kiss ended as softly as it had begun, Alex pressed her forehead against his and her hand remained at the back of his neck where it had snuck to. Her eyes were shut. Cas whispered that he loved her and she nodded, eyebrows working in towards each other.

"Hey, lovebirds—come on, geez," Dean complained loudly at the PDA. He had walked off in Benny's direction and was waiting on them to stop kissing and cuddling. "I need a noodle to whack you with."

What a strange thing to say. Distracted from the more intimate moment, Cas looked Dean's way and began to follow after him, carrying Alex easily. "A… spaghetti noodle?" Cas asked, trying to picture what that would do or why Dean would ever suggest such a thing.

"No, a pool noodle," Alex said, smiling a little despite her very sad mindset.

A 'pool noodle'? Castiel wondered if perhaps they were joking with him. His eyes were squinted into slits. "What… is a pool noodle?"

"How I taught the twins to swim, that's what," Dean said, his back to them as he crashed through the woods.

"Not so loud, amigo," Benny chided him. "Gon' have everyone n' their grandma knowin' we're comin' a mile away." Grumbling because he hated being corrected, Dean took more care to walk more quietly. For about twenty minutes, they walked in silence and followed the stream into the heart of Purgatory. They met no one. It was eerily silent. The calm before the storm.

When Alex laid her head onto Cas's shoulder, his heart burst again. He remembered so clearly a time when she had looked at him and seen a stranger—that day in the warehouse when she had first seen him. When he had first seen her, with human eyes anyway. That day had changed their lives forever. He remembered that time as the time when she hadn't trusted him, when she had jerked away from his touches and edged away from his physical proximity. And now… now she laid her head on his shoulder and sought him for comfort and love. Kissed his mouth with hers. Gave her body over to him and received his into hers. They had gone from strangers to sharing the deepest and most profound bond he had ever known. Love. Marriage. Eternal devotion he couldn't even fathom. And as he held her and carried her through Purgatory, keen awareness grew that every step took them closer to the end. He turned his head down towards hers, trying to see her better. "Are you all right?" he inquired, voice laced with sorrowful tenderness.

Her eyes flicked up to his—every step he took rocked her around back and forth in a steady rhythm. "That's a stupid question," she said softly and wryly. "No offense." She hesitated, worried the inner corner of her lip, and looked at him again. "Is there… anything different about me?" she asked. Something about the tone of voice she used caused him pause.

"What do you mean?" he asked, studying her closely. It seemed to worry her a lot, this question she'd just asked.

When he didn't seem to know what she was asking or why, she shook her head. "Nothing." She stared at his opposite shoulder and her blank, hollow voice fit the expression on her face. "I'm… just having a really hard time believing this is the end." Those spellbinding hazel eyes of hers looked back up into his, silently asking him for a promise. Some hope. She needed reassurance and he couldn't find it within himself not to respond to that need.

"Perhaps it isn't," he returned, even though he thought this finally was. The end. The final goodbye.

She saw right through him. Crumbled into pieces because she didn't believe he had hope of seeing her again. "I can't do this, Cas!" she protested in an emotional whisper. "I can't leave you here, it goes against everything I feel and believe!" When he just looked at her with grim pain and regret, she appeared hurt. "How am I supposed to just leave you here? How?"

He shook his head faintly, so sorry to be responsible for the grief in her eyes. "You know you can't stay. Not here. And I can't go with you."

Those were the plain facts. The black and white reality. She knew it. He knew it. But that didn't make it any less painful. He wanted to cling to what Dean had said—that somehow, they could find a way to get him out eventually. But he wasn't sure if it would work. He didn't want to give her false hope.

There was a soft whistle just then ahead. Benny was signaling them and peeking through some trees. As Cas and Alex neared, he grinned. "We done found the promised land, ya'll." He looked at Alex. "Hope you got your magical rock ready, honey."

---

Dead center of Purgatory was marked by a gigantic tree that was as big as a house in girth. It stretched high into the sky with wayward and crooked branches that reached over the rest of the tree line. That was the way out, if you had the stone. Nearby, about a quarter of a mile out and hidden in a thick cluster of trees, a vampire, an angel, and two hunters were about to make a mad dash for the tree. No monsters had appeared for a suspiciously long time. Benny had said earlier about how the stone would attract them—how he predicted they'd hold off on attacks until the portal was actually open.

Alex held the Wayfinder tighter than she had ever held anything else and her heart hammered its way out of her chest, practically. Dean and Benny were doing a weapons check. Cas was pulling his machete out—Alex stood by herself with all her weight on her good leg as she fought sheer panic and stared at the tree. This didn't feel right. But she didn't know what else to do. In her jeans pocket was the amulet Crowley required as final payment to save Sam. She had to get it to him so that Sam would finally be free of his hallucinations. A million half-baked plans flew through her mind. Ways to save Cas, ways to save Sam, ways to thwart Crowley. None of them had substance. All of them fell flat. Was this really it?

She suddenly felt eyes on her, and she turned. Standing nearby, looking at her as light filtered in from behind him in an angelic effect, Cas stood tall. He was as beautiful to her in that moment as he'd ever been. Even with a filthy trench coat and dirty skin that nearly matched his dark beard. She broke a little because his heart was so clearly written on his face. And then he came to her and he said what his eyes were already saying to her: "I love you, Alex Winchester." There was a severity to the words. A steadfast promise. An undying devotion in the deep, husky voice.

She looked up at him and there were no words for what she felt. "I love you too," she said weakly, settling for those words that were pale shadows of what her heart and soul carried in his name. Cas bent and kissed her for what was the last time. Long, slow, bittersweet. When he pulled away, her eyes were flooded. She had so much to say to him that she couldn't find any words at all. Cas gave her the smallest smile and touched her chin, holding it between his thumb and curled index finger. His eyes—she tried to memorize those brilliant blue galaxies. Because of him, she would have a little of Heaven with her always. Even in Hell.

Unaware of her thoughts, Castiel let go and stroked a hand down the back of her head. He then let go of her and turned to Dean to bid his friend farewell. "Dean. I love you as well." He paused and squinted a little. "But in a different way." He squinted a little more. "Obviously."

Dean made a face, especially at the amused little look Benny was giving him.

Alex took hold of the side of his face with one hand, took his hand with her other hand. "Stay safe," she instructed him urgently, taking advantage of this last moment. "Please, stay safe. Find a way out. Promise me." Even if when he got out she was dead and gone, at least he would have another chance at life. She just wanted to know he was going to be okay.

Completely oblivious to her reality—the soul deal, the ticking time bomb, all the painful secrets she was keeping—Cas nodded in all sincerity and gripped her hand securely. "If I can, I will. And I'll return to you."

Benny let out a disgusted sigh nearby. "Good Lord, ya'll, this is killin' me, you two done yet?"

Cas threw the vampire an annoyed side glance. And then on a whim, Alex almost opened her mouth and said, 'Cas, I sold my soul to Crowley.' But she kept her mouth squeezed shut and refused to open her mouth again. She knew if she told him the situation, he would drop everything and rip his way out of Purgatory to try and save her. But what could he even do about it, really? Kill Crowley? Kill every demon that existed? Destroy Hell? Pull her out once she'd been thrown in? She remembered when he'd saved Dean it had taken a full 'garrison,' whatever that was—he hadn't done it on his own and had implied that would have been impossible to. Alex knew it was inevitable. She was going to have to pay up. And she refused to watch the one she loved suffer and kill himself over rescuing her from something she couldn't be rescued from. So she didn't tell him. Her only consolation prize was that if he stayed in Purgatory forever, he would live in ignorant bliss and believe that she was alive and well.

Nearby, Dean was clapping the angel on the shoulder briefly, telling him, in his own way, that he loved him too. "Cas. You're all right by me, buddy." He looked around at his companions and the nodded toward the way out. "Now let's bust outta this bitch."

---

Maine's 100-Mile Wilderness

In a perfect circle clearing on a foggy day in Maine's 100-mile wilderness, three people suddenly were spat out onto the ground from nowhere—they went rolling in different directions.

The smallest one leapt to her feet before she even stopped rolling, animalistic rage propelling her to tackle the one dressed mostly in black—even with a gimp knee, she was fast and spry with all that adrenaline surging through her veins. "What the hell did you do?! What did you do?!" Alex screamed, shaking Benny senselessly.

"I got us out, princess!" he shouted, shoving her away. But she had too tight a hold on him and it didn't work.

"Hey hey hey!" Dean yelled, trying to break them up.

"He could have gotten out!" Alex screamed, hitting Benny in the face so hard that blood ran out of his nose. "He could have gotten out you bastard! I am going to kill you!"

And then she suddenly found herself whirled around and at the point of her own machete. Benny held her against him, her back to his chest, the sharp end of her own machete against her neck. Shocked at how fast he'd done that, Alex went totally still. A flick of his wrist and she was dead—well, headless at least, which sounded pretty inconvenient. In front of her with a face gone slack and hands up high, Dean made no move at all. For a minute, there was utter silence as a silent hostage negotiation took place.

"Now, why would I kill my friend's sister, hmm?" Benny asked, turning his mouth toward Alex's ear. Dean was frozen in place but Alex saw how furious he was. "This was all just a misunderstanding, right?" Benny drawled softly. "I don't want no trouble here. Just wanna be on my way."

"You weren't supposed to come through!" Alex seethed—he'd said he was going to back Cas up and stay behind—Dean and Alex were the only ones who were supposed to get out. They're rushed in close to the tree—Alex had found the little hollow where the Wayfinder went as the boys fought off Leviathan, Wendigo, werewolves, vampires, and a hundred other monsters. And then when the portal had burst open, the vamp had snatched the stone and shoved Alex and Dean through as he dove after, stone in hand, leaving Cas behind and defenseless and on his own as the portal sealed shut. It was a cowardly, bitch move and Alex was seeing red. She was ready to murder but instead she might be about to be murdered instead.

Benny chuckled helplessly. "Sorry, cher, but what's done's done," he said simply of his betrayal. He then loosened the machete's pressure on her neck. "Now, take it easy, sugar, 'less I decide to err on the side of self defense." He snatched the machete away and shoved her at her brother hard, so hard that they fell to the ground together—Alex landed on her injured knee and a yelp of pain escaped. Benny stood over them and he looked almost regretful at what had transpired. "Control the girl, Dean," he said, getting a deadly glare from the oldest Winchester. Dean rose to his feet slowly, and the murderous gleam in his eye was unmistakable. Benny, however, let an eyebrow raise as a smile played beneath his neat beard. "What? You gonna kill the guy who saved your ass a million times in there?" he taunted.

"You just held my little sister at knife point," Dean replied, his tone like ice and his knuckles white on his machete. "What do you think?"

Benny chuckled. "I think you ain't got the—"

He didn't finish the sentence. Dean Winchester sliced his head off in a brutal attack that happened nearly too fast to even see. The vampire's head went flying and his body fell over with a dull sound even as Alex began to go hysterical, looking around the scene in a panic. "Dean, we have to go back, we have to go back! He's alone! Oh my god, he's alone! Why did we leave him like that, why did we do that?!"

Covered in blood and grime and utter filth, Dean crouched down to his sister's level and grabbed her by both upper arms. "Al, get a hold of yourself!" he shouted, shaking her slightly until she was just crying instead of hyperventilating. "Cas knew what he was signing up for, okay? He knew." Not the most comforting words in the world. Alex's face crumpled again as another wave of tears began. "He'll be okay in there for a little while longer, all right? I've seen him in there. He's good, he'll figure it out, I promise, he'll hold on until we get back to him!"

Alex's tears suddenly abated. "W-what do you mean?"

Dean looked at his greasy-haired, dirty-faced, injured sister and gave her a little disbelieving smile. "You honestly think I was ever gonna leave him in there permanently? No way in hell. We'll get him back, you hear me? We will. But we need numbers to make that happen. We need Sam—and you on two legs and whatever other hunters we can get on this. We'll get your angel back, all right? I promise."

She looked too worried to be relieved. "He might be dead by the time we get back in there," she said, shaking her head.

Dean understood her worries, but on the flipside, they were both completely beat to hell. "Alex, look at us. We'd get iced the second we went down there and you know it. You can't even friggin' walk." There was a weird howling sound nearby and Dean's head snapped up. "Shit, there wolves here?" he asked, then rolled his eyes like he might have known. He grabbed his sister by her wrist, hauling her to her feet where she stood wobbling on one leg. "The bad times never end if your last name's Winchester," Dean muttered, then presented her with his back and pulled her arm, trying to get her to hop on piggyback style. "Get on up here." She climbed on, exhausted and still in tears because she felt like she was betraying Castiel in the worst of ways. Dean hefted her up, her arms both under a knee as she pushed her face silently into the back of one of his shoulders. "Which friggin' way's a road?" he asked.

"Go w-west," Alex managed. "I left the Impala and s-some supplies at a motel at the closest town." If they even made it that far. Could Dean really carry a hundred and thirty pounds for ten miles?

He put an upbeat voice on for her benefit. "Hey, I ever told you you're awesome?" He hefted her again and set out through the woods. "Hold on, kiddo, let's get us outta here."

---

Several Hours Later
Greenville, Maine

Dean must have been super human—this wasn't the first time Alex thought this about her big brother. He carried Alex for ten miles without a single verbal complaint even though she knew his back had to be killing him from the extra weight, especially in the final stretch as they finally reached civilization. The entire time she killed herself inside over Cas. She couldn't believe she'd agreed with leaving him behind, didn't understand how she could have gone along with it. She tortured herself with thoughts of him getting hurt and she wished so badly that she had told him 'fuck the monsters and screw responsibility' and then dragged him back here to earth with them. But she hadn't.

Brother and sister got to the motel Alex had left the Impala at—Dean fawned over his baby for a little too long and then checked them into a room, insisted Alex shower first. When she got out she found that he'd spread a bunch of first aid stuff out on the bed. As she hobbled out of the bathroom in a pair of Sam's enormous gym shorts and a Zeppelin shirt that used to be Dean's, she was glad again that she'd had the foresight to leave the Impala fully stocked with their stuff.

Dean was on the phone and it sounded like he was nearing the end of his conversation. "Yeah, thanks Owen. Later." He hung up and motioned Alex over—even though he was still filthy, he was in pretty decent spirits. "Alllllright kiddo, come on over. I got us some of the good stuff." Alex limped over and sat down on the bed and he sat beside her, pulling her injured knee up to rest on his dirty jean leg. He swiped an alcohol pad over the gash mercilessly and she hissed. "Aww come on you little weenie," he teased examined the wound more closely. "Don't think this sucker needs stitches, actually. Now that it's clean, looks like it'll heal on the regular." He was dirty everywhere except his hands, which he'd washed until they were a different color than his arms. He applied ointment to her like he had a million other times.

Alex watched, feeling blank inside and too shocked at everything that had happened to know what to do. "I could do this, Dean," she protested finally, because he really didn't need to band-aid her. She was totally capable.

He scoffed playfully. "Come on. Lemme take care of you." So she did. He wrapped and taped her knee securely. The outer wound would heal well enough, she already knew that. But the bone or kneecap or maybe a tendon had been pulled or dislocated. It hurt so bad.

She tried not to focus on it and instead looked at her brother cautiously. "So, you… you find anything out?" she chanced, knowing who he'd been on the phone with and why. She didn't have to try and picture Dean as a dad. She already knew he would be a great one.

Dean got a little subdued at her question. "Jamie's numbers are all disconnected," he said, a little disheartened. "None of 'em worked. But, I talked to Owen. He says last he heard she went back 'home,' wherever that is."

Alex actually knew where that was. "New Hampshire," she supplied blandly. Dean looked like he'd just been given a lifeline. Alex tried to remember the name of the town. "Uh… Gil… Gilmore? Gifford? Gilford. Yeah. It was Gilford. Super rich town full of snobs. You'd love it." Sarcasm, of course. Halfhearted, but sarcasm.

Dean was thinking hard. She could tell because of how his eyes squinted and moved back and forth super fast. "New Hampshire. That's not far from here, either." He cracked a hopeful grin and she could tell he was getting nervous and excited. "You up for a road trip before we go get Sammy?"

Alex hesitated very strongly and her eyes went to the motel window. "I… I don't know. Cas, he's…" she shook her head. Around her neck, the penny she was wearing again was resting and causing her heart to ache. "You don't understand. I can't just leave him there." It felt so wrong. He needed her and she needed him.

Dean wasn't suggesting that they were. "We find James. We find Sam. Then we go get Cas. I promise." He paused and then frowned. "Hey, where's Sam, anyway? Never gave me the details."

Alex actively avoided giving him those details. Not yet. Instead she pulled a face. "You reek, Dean, ugh—" She gave him a very serious face. "If you don't take a shower now, I'm gonna go find some Febreze and dump it on your head."

He didn't notice her sidestep of the Sam question. It probably helped to remind him of how disgustingly dirty he was. It couldn't be comfortable to be that caked in filth. "You know, that doesn't sound like the worst idea in the world," he said, then grabbed his duffel and headed to the bathroom.

And the second he shut the door, Alex put her shoes on, got up and quickly snuck out of the room.

---

Behind the motel, Alex hurried through the demon summons, hobbling around like an old woman in a breathless hurry to do this before Dean got finished with his shower. When the summons were complete, the flame lit and the spell cast, Crowley appeared as expected. He looked pleased to see her, too. "Well well well. If it isn't my favorite pet."

"Call me that again and I'll cut your nuts off," Alex hissed.

He arched a dark, flirtatious eyebrow at her. "I'd like to see you try, darling." He paused, taking in her appearance. She'd put on her black combat boots. Paired with Sam's tent-like gym shorts and Dean's old band shirt, the damp hair and her wrapped knee, she probably looked like a homeless person. "What are you wearing?" he asked. At the sour smile she gave him, he let the question slide for another one. "Have something for me?" He sauntered closer.

She pulled the amulet out—the thing he'd wanted from Purgatory. It was intricate and had a center stone of what looked like opal. Alex handed it over cautiously, her veins humming with dread. "What's it do?" she asked, because she just knew he wanted it for nefarious purposes. Maybe it unlocked the Egyptian underworld or could be used to summon Egyptian gods, or—

"What do you mean, what's it do?" Crowley asked, amusement clear on his face. "Sweetie, I'm a collector."

Alex stared at him balefully. Really? He just liked sparkly shit? She was so beyond done with him. "Whatever," she muttered, hating every last part of this. "I did what you asked. I worked for you, I got you the damn necklace, and you have my soul. So I think it's high time you pay up. Fix—my—brother."

Crowley contemplated her in dark entertainment. "So bossy." Alex stared at him, her face stiff. Hell yeah she was bossy. She'd visited Sam a few times over the months when she'd been able. He was in Washington and had been since SucroCorp—he was totally crackers in the head. Thought he was working at a motel and living with a woman named Amelia. It had killed Alex to see her brother so lost in delusion. He literally had no idea what was going on. Crowley had insisted that those hallucinations were better than the alternative, which had caused so much mental trauma that Sam hadn't even been able to sleep—yeah, he seemed sorta happy even if he was insane, but still. It wasn't right. Alex wanted her big brother to be himself again. Crowley chuckled, raised his hand, snapped his fingers once and then slid his hand back into his jacket pocket. "Thank you for your cooperation. Sam's fine now. Well, I imagine he'll be a little confused, but hey. That's your problem now."

"What about Bobby?" Alex asked. At the look on Crowley's face, she began to protest before he could even say anything. "You said if—"

"Sweetheart, I say a lot of things," he purred. "I'm a demon." He swaggered closer, smiling unnervingly at her the entire time. "Enjoy your last ten days above ground, Mouse. Can't wait to spend more quality time with you in the land down under." He wiggled his eyebrows at her and promptly disappeared.

Chilled to her bones—ten days—Alex focused on the present moment and pulled her cell phone out, scrolling through speed dial for the mental hospital where Sam had been staying this entire time. She couldn't think about what happened in ten days. First things first. Confirming that Sam was Sam again. When the hospital answered, her words rushed out of her in anxious nerves. "I need to talk to Sam Smith, room two-oh-two."

There was a slight pause. And then, "I'm sorry ma'am but he was checked out a day or two ago."

Checked out? Alex stared into nothing. "…What?" She hadn't done that! Had Crowley? "Well… w-where is he?"

The pleasant voice at the other end was chipper. "I'm sorry ma'am, I don't know. As I said, he was checked out. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

---

When Dean got out of the shower (which he definitely spent an obscene amount of time in—probably like forty-five minutes), he was feeling extremely good. And then, as usual, it all crashed and burned.

He exited the bathroom in a plain navy shirt and jeans, a speed stick in his hand. "Yo, Alex, you got any deodorant I can borrow? This kind burns my friggin' pits." He paused. The room seemed empty and he frowned. "Al?"

It was then that he saw a note laying on the bed in her handwriting: I have gone back to Purgatory for Castiel. Do not follow me.

His heart dropped.

Oh shit Alex, what are you doing?

He immediately did a brief inspection of the room before he did anything else. He noticed how her shoes were by the door like they'd been kicked off—she'd either left for Purgatory without shoes or bought new ones. What the hell?! Completely alarmed, Dean did the exact opposite of the note and yanked shoes and a jacket on and he flew. Driving the car until he couldn't drive it further then going on foot, retracing his steps to where he and Alex had emerged from the wilderness, but he found no signs of her at all and waited there overnight, worrying himself sick in the darkness. When she never showed, he figured that somehow she'd gotten in and beaten him back. Maybe a motorcycle? An angel friend? How could she travel that fast with a messed up leg? He didn't get it, didn't know the spell to get into Purgatory, didn't have any ingredients either. He was at a completely dead end. When he realized he could literally do nothing, he spoke solitary words to the silent woods around him. "Cas, buddy, don't let me down. You find her. You two get the hell outta there."

And with nothing else he could possibly do immediately, Dean moved onto the next crisis: tracking down Sam and finding out if Jamie was even still alive.

---

Lakewood, Washington
Best Western Motel

Sam's eyes opened.

Almost immediately, his face went from relaxed and expressionless to slow, dawning confusion. For a brief second, he failed to realize what the beige, water-stained ceiling above him even was. His head felt foggy and sluggish, like he'd overslept by several hours, and his vision took a few seconds to gain its depth perception.

Am I hung over?

As he slowly gathered his wits, he realized he was laying flat on his back in the middle of a neatly made motel bed. He couldn't remember anything about what he'd been doing before he fell asleep—all he knew was it felt like he had been asleep for a long, long time. Too long. He squinted his eyes shut in a grimace as he groaned out a sound of mild discomfort: It all rushed into his mind abruptly, reminding him of the past year he'd had. Dean dying. Separating from Alex for reasons he didn't recall. Hitting the dog. Meeting Amelia. Struggling through a sometimes rocky, sometimes picture perfect relationship with her. Meeting her disapproving father Stan who had reminded him so much of his own dad. Sam remembered Amelia's long-lost husband Don resurfacing—he'd been thought dead. And… and then… Sam remembered everything ending like it always did for him. In bitter loss and crushed dreams and sour disappointment. Amelia had ended things with him and now…

Depressed. Sam was so, so depressed. He remembered that now, he felt it in his bones. Maybe he was hung over.

He sat up slowly and put his feet onto the carpeted flooring, noticing vaguely how he wore shoes. Usually he didn't get in bed with shoes on. Weird. He looked around the room, noting that it was completely empty. None of his stuff was there. All he seemed to have on his person was his wallet and… oh. In his pocket, his phone began to buzz. He pulled the phone out, recognizing the dinky little plastic mobile as one of his backup of his backups. Actually, this might have been Dean's old phone. He couldn't completely remember. The number displayed on the screen was unrecognized and he almost didn't answer, but something inside compelled him to. "H… Hello?" he asked cautiously, standing slowly as he continued to wake up and come to full consciousness.

There was a brief, disbelieving silence on the other end. Then a voice that made Sam's heart stop altogether. "Sam?" a gruff, low voice asked. "Sammy?"

Mouth open and eyes wide, Sam's voice lost all power because of how shocked he was. "…Dean?!"

There was the shortest little chuckle, a familiar sound that made Sam's chest quiver and clench. "That's my name, don't wear it out."

"Wh—" Sam blinked rapidly, totally confounded at what was happening. "No, you—you're—" he protested, thinking he'd lost his mind for real this time.

"Nope, I'm not," Dean cut him off. "I'm back."

Sam was beside himself. Back? His mind couldn't even process the word, let alone the concept behind it. "Back from where?" he asked. "Y-you were dead!" He stopped then, face falling and paling at the same time. "Am I… am I dreaming?" he asked softly, then pinched himself hard on the arm. Ouch.

"I wasn't dead, Sam, I was in Purgatory." That's when Sam noticed a distinctively unhappy tone to his brother's voice.

Sam's mouth gaped and he began to panic inwardly at the implications. "…You were in Purgatory?"

"I thought you knew this already," Dean said in a short, tight voice. "Yeah well apparently, stand too close to exploding Dick and you get a one-way ticket to monsterland."

Sam felt like his world had been destroyed. "You've been in Purgatory for this whole year?" he asked, mind racing as he tried to figure out how he wouldn't have known that, why Alex never mentioned it the few times she called him, why he had never thought of that as being a possibility.

"Well more like ten months, but sure," Dean said, and Sam could hear more and more clearly how angry his brother was. "Let's call it a year. And what have you been up to for the past ten months, Sam? Not helping our sister, I'm gathering that much."

"…Helping our sister?" Sam asked dumbly, not having a single clue what his brother was talking about. "With what?"

"… With what?" Dean echoed, clearly incredulous and pissed. "Man, you really jumped ship, didn't you?" He began to very angrily tell Sam 'with what' in a near-shout. "With figuring out where me and Cas were! With finding a way in! With getting us a way out!" Sam heard a door slam through the cell phone speaker—maybe it was the Impala's door—and then he could hear a vague walking sound, like Dean was pacing angrily on gravel or something. "The way she talked, sounded like you knew what was going on but I'm starting to get the feeling that you just… just went MIA on her!" Dean accused.

Sam tried so hard to remember, but it was like he'd shut it all out or forgotten it on purpose. What he did remember was trying to live a normal life with Amelia and not making much of an effort to reconnect with his sister. In disbelief with himself, not even sure how this could have happened, Sam was quieted and guilt-ridden. "Well… yeah. I, I guess I kinda did…" he said softly and uncertainly, completely vexed at himself.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean demanded, voice breaking in frustration. He sounded ready to hit something. "You better have a damn good explanation for this!"

Sam tried to find one, but he had to answer honestly. "I—I'm not sure I do," he replied in a tight, high voice that faltered as he tried to genuinely convey his confusion on the matter. "It's… it's all kinda blurry, to be honest with you." That wasn't good enough for Dean, whose raging disapproval and fury was audible even in silence. Sam shook his head faintly as his heart sank. "I'm not sure myself about why I… and what happened… to me where I would ever… not try to help… I don't…" he trailed off stupidly, realizing how lame it sounded and how brain-dead he was coming off as. But he seriously couldn't remember a valid, real reason for his decisions and actions.

"Dude, are you high?" Dean asked insolently.

Sam's face scrunched up immediately. "No!"

"Then why you talking like you don't know what's been going on this whole time?" Dean challenged loudly. "Why you acting like you just fell off the turnip truck?! Come on, man!"

Sam was beginning to feel badgered and as a result, he got flustered. "Look, Dean, you died and, and next thing I remember is…" he thought hard, trying to connect the dots, but he couldn't find the dots. All he remembered… "Is hitting a dog," he said slowly, frowning hard. He seriously only remembered Dean and Cas disappearing in front of his eyes and then… hitting a dog. And up until today, he'd never really been bothered by that strange fact. He wracked his brain: Had he and Alex fought? Did he like, suppress the memory of Dean's death and whatever had happened afterward? Was it PTSD or something that had erased his memories?

"The hell you talking about?" Dean asked, sounding more and more shell-shocked by the second. "A dog? What have you been doing all this time, pet sitting?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair and shut his eyes, trying to take a deep breath and calm himself. Thinking took tremendous effort. He thought over the past year. It felt disjointed and hazy, sort of two-dimensional. "Uh… odd jobs? Drifting around?" It sounded embarrassing and pathetic now, but he remembered really enjoying it at the time. "Just… just trying to find something normal, I guess." That had always been his internal fantasy, after all: a normal life with a sweet girl. A dog, a house, no more nightmares.

There was a very long, judgmental silence on the other end of the line, then a darkly-toned question. "Is there a girl? Is that what this is?"

Sam's jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. He was totally caught. Dean knew him pretty well. "Look, yeah, there was a girl but—"

"Are you serious?!" Dean exclaimed, cutting Sam off completely. "Y-you dropped your family for some chick?! You let our sister risk her life and limb so you could… could get laid?" It sounded so terrible when Dean put it like that. "Alex needed help, Sam! She barely survived!"

Sam had never felt worse in his life or more blindsided—the guilt was soul crushing. "I—I didn't know, Dean," he insisted, throat closing and eyes beginning to glaze with tears. "I… I didn't know! Is, is she okay? Is… is Cas?"

"You know what, save it Sam, I am too pissed to even see straight right now," Dean ranted, ignoring his brother's questions. "I can't fucking believe you!"

Swallowing hard, Sam tried to make his brother understand what he barely understood himself. "Look all I know is—Alex didn't want me around. I remember trying to call her and she would never answer or if she did she just…" he trailed off and remembered long phone calls where his sister had expressed her disappointment of him at hurtful lengths. "She just told me everything I'd ever done wrong," he continued faintly, barely hearing his own voice because he was lost in his own mind and in how ashamed he was. "Over and over again."

"Yeah well maybe that's 'cause you bailed on her again for the second freaking time in her life, maybe it's 'cause you left her to get me and Cas out all by herself!" Dean thundered.

Another wave of impossibly heavy guilt crashed over Sam. He wasn't sure what the third-degree was going to do now, so he tried to look on the bright side; he tried to get his brother to stop beating him over the head with the past. "Well, you're all out now though, right? Th-that's something."

Dean paused significantly, and Sam's heart tightened a little at that small silence. Something was wrong, and he knew it before Dean even said anything. "No. It's only me. She got out but Cas didn't and… she went back in after him."

Sam's internal alarm bells went off immediately. "What?" he asked, terror climbing internally. He didn't even have to think about how to react: "Alone? Well we have to get her! And Cas!"

Dean was cynical and flat in the face of Sam's urgency. "Oh now you're ready to go play hero, huh? That's hilarious, just fuckin' hysterical, Sam." Hurt at his brother's tone and words, Sam fought emotion as Dean continued. "Well I hope you know where Kevin or that bastard Zip is, 'cause those two are my only leads at the moment and no one knows where they are. Can't get into Purgatory without a spell and guess what? I don't have it." Sam felt his insides sinking. He was smart and got the implication: Kevin and Zip must have access to this spell. Sam thought hard—hadn't Kevin been kidnapped by Crowley or something? As he was thinking, Dean was turning the conversation back to Sam-bashing. "I don't get you, man. Is this your M.O.? The second I'm outta the picture you decide you're not gonna be there for your family? You just run off and try to live some normal life and forget who you are, forget us?" Dean wasn't just rubbing salt in Sam's wounds, he was dumping buckets of acid. "You really are a quitter, aren't you?" he asked, hitting Sam where it hurt and driving the knife in all the way. "You turned tail on the family, you left us hanging in the wind."

As much as Sam wanted to deny it and argue… it was true. And he knew it. Didn't understand it, but… "Yeah. I… I did," he said, owning up to his actions miserably. His heart was broken and he didn't know a single way to explain it to Dean, let alone himself. "It made sense at the time but now it's… I… I don't know."

His contrition was met with hellacious fury. "I sold my soul for you!" Dean shouted. "Do you remember that, Sam? I traded my life for yours! I spent years in Hell for you and went through torture you couldn't possibly imagine, I have spent the better part of my entire life being there for you and seeing you through all the crap that's come our way—I gave everything!" There was a long, breathless pause and Dean's hurt was audible. "And you just… gave up? You just left our sister totally by herself for no good goddamn reason except you wanted 'normal'? My brother, the Sam I know, would never abandon us like that, would never leave his sister without backup like that!" Sam wanted to cry. He wanted to weep at what he'd done. He'd abandoned his sister… again… and didn't even really remember why. He'd ignored the outside world and put his head in the sand and failed his family. Again. All the good things he'd ever done seemed shallow and stupid because he felt like he'd been outed; like his true character had been revealed. He was a coward. A quitter. Selfish. And he had never despaired at himself more than he did right then. "Guess I don't know you, huh," Dean said coldly, making Sam's emotional torment all the worse. "You must have gotten hit in the head with a stupid brick or something. Or maybe, ooh, maybe the devil made you do it, Sammy!" That last cruel, sarcastic statement made Sam's blood run cold with utterly hurt anger.

"You don't have to be mean," he managed brokenly, wondering in what universe it was okay to take this kind of abuse from your brother. But then again, in what universe was it right to abandon your family like he had? Sam tried one last time to appeal to his brother. There wasn't anything they could do now except move forward. Fighting about the past wasn't going to do them any favors. And Sam was willing to try again, to make up for his wrongs. "Look—I don't know what to tell you," he said, trying to speak evenly through a failing voice. "I'm… I'm sorry, I didn't realize that you were still alive or in Purgatory or… or anything. I had no idea what was going on. Honestly, this past year is a blur, a total blur." That wasn't an excuse, and he felt stupid for saying it. He wet his lips, blaming himself more and more. "But y-you're back now, so… if Alex and Cas are in trouble… I'm in."

His heartfelt offer of help was met with what sounded like annoyed hostility. "That's great, Sam. Just friggin' great. You know what?" Dean's voice lowered another notch and became even more unfriendly. "I don't need your help with this. You just go enjoy your normal life, all right?" There was an abrupt click on the other end.

Startled, Sam gaped into the air as he strained his ear against the phone. Surely Dean hadn't just ended the call. "Dean—Dean?" No reply. Sam looked at the phone screen, which confirmed that his brother had just hung up on him. Taken aback and feeling like he'd been slapped in the face, Sam slowly lowered the phone and in a zombie-like daze, he stared around the motel room. Nothing made sense at all to him. What the hell was I thinking? His brain felt muddy and stupid and he couldn't understand himself or why he'd dropped his life so readily. Something felt highly wrong to him. Or maybe that was just his guilt catching up with him.

In a shocked trance, Sam scrolled through his phone, thinking of calling Amelia even though they'd broken up. But her name wasn't even in his phone. Sam frowned, growing even more lost. Did I delete her number after we broke up? He couldn't remember. His mind was in shambles. More confused than he had ever been in his entire life, Sam sat down slowly on the bed and the ringing silence around him was another reminder that he was completely and utterly alone. That he had burned his bridges and disappointed everyone. Especially himself. He began to cry all the sudden, and that ashamed him even more.

All he wanted was his family, even though Dean had just used him as a verbal punching bag and Alex despised him. He just wanted his family.

---

Gilford, New Hampshire

After Dean hung up on Sam, he fought off the urge to hit up a bar and get angry drunk. That was old Dean. He had to be different now. And he had to find his girl. So that's what he did. He put Sam out of his mind, he tried to kill the constant worry over Cas and Alex in Purgatory and he concentrated on what he could do. He feared that it was too late. But he still had to try.

Because Alex gave him the name of the town Jamie had grown up in, finding the Ward residence wasn't too hard once he got to the little city. After all, the Ward family had caused an uproar in the community—more than fifteen years ago, yes, but people still remembered the rich, affluent family that had ended up on the six o'clock news. The socialite mother who'd had a psychotic break and murdered her husband then tried to kill her own children. Dean still couldn't quite believe it—he'd heard it of course, but hearing it from other people's mouths was surreal. Being in the insulated, wealthy community James had grown up in for the first half of her childhood was another oddity. It left him realizing what different worlds they were from. He knew that, duh he knew that, but sometimes he forgot she had all that stuff in her past. The private school education, the nannies and tutors, the money and the privilege and the social status. He knew she'd hated it and honestly he couldn't blame her. It was all so soulless and empty. No wonder she'd embraced hunting when it had come into her life. It was the total opposite of this. It was freedom and rebellion against this cage of aristocracy.

It was night when he finally found the old Ward home—it was famous in the community of Gilford because it had been shut up for so long after the murder had taken place inside. One guy had even told Dean it was haunted, which made Dean chuckle. He'd decide that for himself. The house—well, mansion—was gated and had a privacy wall around it and a huge wrought-iron gate with a swirly letter W on the front. It was in a ridiculously upscale neighborhood on some ritzy lake that boasted a huge, expensive golf club and a yacht marina. It was the kind of place Dean didn't belong in and never would. It made him feel a little skeevy, to be honest—driving past all those multi-million dollar homes and the assuredly-snobby people who were inside of them. He hated those people without even knowing them, then wondered if he was jealous. Money would be nice. Hell, so would a place to lay his head. It didn't need to be a mansion. It could just be a nice little house in the suburbs. He caught himself thinking that and had a small moment of what the hell are you thinking? He shook himself out of those thoughts.

Once Dean had parked the Impala somewhere inconspicuous and jumped the fence, he landed feet-first in a lawn that hadn't been mowed or cut in over fifteen years. He stared at the house with a gaping expression. Holy shit. This place was seriously ritzy. He'd been able to tell that even before he scaled the wall but now… damn. It looked like a place off of one of those TV shows about the homes of the rich and famous. Squinting around into the moonlit scenery, Dean could see the old horse stables that were on the gentle sloping pasture to the left of the home—the stunning lake view that was probably even more beautiful in daylight. He rounded the huge house slowly, picking his way through grass that was almost to his knees. And then he saw a faint glow in one of the upstairs windows and his heart practically jumped into the sky. Was that her? What she in there? A hundred scenarios filled his mind and he was both hopeful and scared shitless. It was about to get real.

Urgent and hurried and getting nervous excitement, Dean broke in through one of the back doors and tiptoed through a dusty drawing room. Everything was covered in white sheets, but the sheets weren't white anymore—the dust had turned everything into a mothy gray color. A lot of the rooms he passed were emptied out or had abandoned boxes stacked high. It was like a ghost town. And the musty, stale smell bore witness to the fact that the place hadn't been lived in for a long, long time. Even with the state of decay the place was falling in to, the home was obviously multi-million or at least had been when it was first built. Floors were polished granite and marble, the ceilings were high and all carved in various expensive ways; the doors to even closets were even bigger and grander than regular household doors. The house said one thing to Dean's quick assessment: old money out the wazoo.

He found the main staircase which curved leisurely up an elaborately carved wall. He was quiet, just in case it wasn't Jamie at the source of the glowing window. As he carefully ascended the grand stairs, he realized that he could hear some kind of music playing—was that… The Cure? It was—Dean recognized it as his ears adjusted to the low volume.

He crept onward to the source of the sound, down a hallway that was lined with expensive looking paintings. He could see a slat of light glowing out from an open door halfway down the hallway and that's where the music was coming from. Careful to be quiet and with a hand near his weapon just in case, Dean peeked around the corner.

The room was really big and painted a pale, irritating pink—a ballet-themed wallpaper was plastered across the lower half of the room underneath cream-colored chair rail molding. The sheets covering things had been torn off and thrown onto the floor—a shelf full of trophies had been destroyed and then the trophies had been thrown at the walls (you could tell because of all the dented plaster). An expensive mahogany study desk had been thrown onto its side and beat with its own drawer—and the bed that was covered by a sheer pink draping had a chair thrown into it—the bed was kind of collapsed and the draping ripped.

And the one who had done that damage? She was off in her own little world as The Cure serenaded via an old CD player plugged in near the doorway.

Clearly not pregnant, Jamie was laying flat on the floor and staring with unfocused eyes up at the ceiling. In jeans, boots, and a dark purple skintight tank top. Something like a hundred candles were lit all around her—the source of the light. But the flames weren't on the wicks. They were dancing around in the air like little floating ghosts above Jamie. But she wasn't even watching the dancing orbs. She was staring past them and up into space. Beside her, a bottle of wine that was nearing empty. On her other side, Dean saw the glint of metal and craned his neck to see what it was. His blood chilled. A pistol.

He didn't want to jump to any conclusions, but he wasn't sure what else to assume from the bizarre display. His eyes scanned around for any sign of a newborn. A crib, a monitor, a diaper bag. But he saw nothing. Swallowing down an ominous feeling, Dean cleared his throat tentatively, hoping he didn't startle her (or get shot). She didn't hear him.

With a brief pause, Dean bent and hit the stop button on the CD player. That did it. Jamie shot up to sit reclined halfway onto her side—the flames zigged back to their wicks as she looked at him in vast confusion and then shocked recognition, a hand half-raised to cast some kind of spell onto an enemy. But he wasn't an enemy, and her hand drifted down. "...Dean?"

Dean felt the emotional smile coming across on his face, a smile borne out of long-suffering patience for this exact day. She looked like a dream, even better than he remembered. He helplessly devoured the long-lost details that made her her: the long tousled blonde hair, the severe and beautiful features, the strong arms, the swell of her breasts, the curves of her body, the unmistakable eyes, the tattoos. "Hey, James," he said softly, and it felt like his heart might burst out of him from happiness. He took a step forward even as she was standing up slowly, in a trance. He wanted to run to her, snatch her up, and laugh while crying into her neck—but he knew she'd need a minute to decide it was really him. Still, his emotions were radiating out of him stronger than he could stow. After so long apart, here she was. The expression on his face said it all as he cracked a lame, whispered joke to cover up the intensity of what he was feeling. "Anyone ever tell you not to play with fire?"

Jamie puzzled at him furiously, the sentiment tainted by faint worry. "...Am I tripping or something?" she asked, but she looked more interested in anything but that being the case.

Dean smiled a little more and came a couple steps into the room, approaching her carefully. "You're not seeing things," he assured. "It's really me."

She was beginning to consider it. "But y-your sister said you were dead…" she protested softly. She came another step closer.

Dean let a shrug say that was halfway true as he went a step closer too. "Yeah, I sorta was. But… I'm back."

They were now at an arm's length away. "You're alive?" she whispered, as confusion began to give way to joy.

Dean couldn't help but smile again. "Survey says yes," he teased.

An amazed, emotional expression broke on her face. She abruptly threw her arms around his neck and laugh-cried into his neck. "You asshole!" she exclaimed, a happiness in her voice that had him grinning as he hugged her back. She pulled back to look at him again, hands on either side of his head, and her heart was in her eyes—which were suddenly so much brighter and alive. But then her smile fell into slight suspicion and hurt, and her hands slid down to his shoulders. "But if you weren't dead, where were you?"

"Purgatory."

Her face registered utter horrified disbelief. "Purgatory?" she echoed, voice softening.

"Yeah," Dean said, rueful at best. "Not a good vacation spot, if I'm being honest. But long story short, Al got me out."

Jamie was visibly gutted as she processed. "I—I had no idea," she whispered, eyes going left and right rapidly as she grew guilty. "Oh my god… I would have… I would have done something if I knew!"

He knew she would have. "It's okay," he said and hugged her again, shuddering faintly as he held her close. She hugged him back tightly, nestling her head into the space between his neck and shoulder. And Dean closed his eyes, as a part of him that had been broken was healed. God he'd waited for this exact moment. He'd pictured a few details differently, though... Dean's eyes opened and glanced at the firearm on the floor again. He pulled back and looked at her seriously. "What's… what's going on with you?" he asked, then very apprehensively began to ask about the baby he thought he'd helped make. "Where's… where's the…" he trailed off, letting his facial expression do the talking.

Her face fell and her guard went up. She shook her head no and became more rigid. "It, um—it... it was a false alarm."

Not what he'd expected to hear. He felt dumb. "F-false alarm?" he asked, not understanding.

She pulled out of his hold and put her arms around herself in something like a hug. She wouldn't quite look at him. "Yeah. I... I was freaking out over nothing, just the flu and a late period. Sorry."

It was like being splashed with ice cold water. He'd spent the past ten months believing one-hundred percent that she had been pregnant. He'd felt it like deeper than deep—he'd known it and been doing shit like worrying about how to make it as a family together, pondering how to pay for college, thinking about how to phase himself out of hunting if need be. He didn't believe her, and not just because of his own feelings. Her tone and body language said she was hiding something, and even her body—which he'd seen enough times to know this—looked different to him. A little more filled out in some places or something, he wasn't quite sure how to say it. His bullshit meter was going way, way off. "The flu and a late period?" he repeated, then chanced a boldfaced lie to test her. "I talked to Owen though, and he said he saw you like from a distance a few months back and that you were pregnant, so… are you lying to me right now or does he really need to start wearing glasses?" Owen had said no such thing to Dean. So if Jamie was telling the truth about not being pregnant, she'd call him on that lie right away. But…

Jamie looked like she'd been caught. Her entire demeanor changed. There was a long, tense pause where she deliberated stonily. "T-there isn't a baby, Dean," she finally said softly, clenching her arms around herself tighter. "There was, and now there isn't, okay?" Her jaw tightened and her expression grew pained. She wouldn't meet his gaze.

Dean stared at her with a heart that was made of lead. His voice was a fearful whisper. "Jamie... what the hell do you mean?"

She abruptly looked away and upward, her eyes glazed with tears. He hung on in awful silence for her to tell him what was going on. And when she did, it all made sense. "I miscarried, all right? And—" she squeezed her eyes shut and began to cry despite her best efforts. "You can't imagine how painful—h-how traumatic—" she shook her head no and stopped speaking.

Dean was stuck in place as an avalanche of understanding and grief crashed over him. It broke his heart in several different places, and in several different ways. "Oh my god... I'm so sorry, James," he managed, not even knowing where to start.

With shining eyes, Jamie's gaze remained dodgy. "Me too."

Dean honed in, immediately realizing she saw it as her fault. "L-Listen, you can't blame yourself—"

Her reply was wearily bitter. "Too late."

He knew about guilt-tripping yourself over stuff you couldn't control, and he reached out to gently touch her shoulder. "Jamie—"

She pulled away from his touch, her face a hardened mask of pain. "Stop." Her avoidant, reddened eyes flickered over to him and guilt made them falter away. "It's… I... I really just can't talk about it," she said, voice cracking through her attempts to remain composed. "Not right now, anyway."

He swallowed painfully, blaming himself for this. "I'm... I'm so, so sorry." What else could he possibly say? Everything felt beyond his control and he blamed himself, predictably, for not being at her side. He blamed himself for getting her pregnant in the first place. Now, the woman he loved was in unspeakable pain. They had put a little life into motion and now that life was no longer there at all. This was one of the lowest moments of Dean's existence. "Just wish I'd been here with you," he said softly. And god it hurt that he hadn't been.

"Me too," she whispered hoarsely, taking a moment to compose herself and speak more clearly. "It was hard," she murmured, dabbing at an eye where a tear threatened to spill. "The day I found out that you were supposedly dead... it's like everything went dark." She paused for a long, loaded second. "But knowing I still had a piece of you with me..." her eyes raised to look into his, and the emotional agony was overwhelming. "I can't explain how it felt, Dean. How happy I was in somemoments after panicking and grieving at first." She cleared her throat and sniffed, composing herself. "I quit hunting. Smashed my phone, put my spellbook into storage. Rented a place on the coast for a few weeks, then went and stayed with Maria a little while..."

"Your old housekeeper," Dean said, thinking he remembered that name as the woman who had saved Jamie on the day Caroline Ward went nuts.

"Yeah." Her quiet confirmation held a lot of bittersweet things that transitioned into balefulness. "I'm just so shocked that I didn't know you were still out there—I would've done something." She looked worried. "You know that, right?"

Dean nodded with certain gentle severity. "Yeah. I do. But hey, either way... you were kinda busy, right?" She got a pass. He would never hold that against her. But there was still something else he needed to know. He wet his lips cautiously, trying to be delicate and gentle. "When did it happen, Jamie?" The miscarriage.

Jamie swallowed, eyes seeing memories Dean might never know. She took too long to answer. "Toward the end." Those icy blue eyes looked into his with untold pain. "I was gonna… I was gonna be a mother," she whispered, sounding lost. "And now… I'm just not." She tried to accept it bravely, and Dean got the feeling this was a daily thing she went through with herself. They both knew the unspoken part she had left off: he would have been a father. And now he just wouldn't. Her eyes studied his as her mouth worked. Then Jamie shrugged up a shoulder, valiantly working to stow her compromised emotional state. "But I mean, I would have died when she was just a few months old anyway, so… I don't know."

Dean's heart fell—a single word had broken him forever. "...She?"

Jamie realized she'd let a very significant detail slip. They would have had a daughter. Her face fell along with his, then crumpled and she began to cry in earnest—there was deep shame and even slight panic accompanying torrent of tears. "Yes. And I, I c-can't talk about this anymore, it hurts too much Dean—" she said, voice distorted by choking sadness.

"Okay, yeah—" he responded automatically, agreeing even though he barely felt his own body right then—his ears were muddled and throat was tight, muscles felt like water, mind was just a pile of pain and confusion. Broken, Jamie let Dean envelope her with his arms. Why did this happen to us? She shuddered against him, muffling a sob. As much as this hurt him, it had to hurt her worse. "It's okay," he whispered, rubbing her back softly as he wondered about who that daughter might have become. Who she would have looked more like. What her name might have been. "It's gonna be okay," he repeated in a soft choked murmur, because maybe if he said that enough it would become true. But his world had just fallen apart and he didn't know what to feel. And he couldn't stand it when James cried—it killed him. And all he could think about was how much crying she'd had to have done alone through all this. So he held her tighter and kissed the side of her head and a million worries haunted and harrowed him. She calmed after a few minutes, but even when she stopped crying… she didn't pull away. Just turned her cheek against his chest and kept her arms locked around him.

Finally, Dean chanced a question. "Why'd you come back here, James?" he asked, gaze wandering the lavish details of the bedroom. "Thought you hated this place."

Long pause. "I do," she confirmed, voice soft against his chest. "Should have gotten rid of it a long time ago. Honestly I'd rather burn it to the ground but…" a halfhearted shrug. "I came back here to finally sell it. Face my demons, I guess. It's just been shut up for years and years while I avoided this." Dean listened, but inside, he was frowning. Selling it? What for? She could have sold it years ago. So why now? He had to wonder about the soul deal. Maybe she was going to donate the money, or maybe give it to Maria. He could see James doing something like that. "Sold it last week, and it's closing next so… I dunno, I guess I decided to come here and hate it one more time."

Dean drew back to look her in the eye and see her face when she answered him. He indicated the discarded pistol on the floor. "Is that what that was for?" This whole thing felt like a suicide to him.

Surprised at his bluntness and then quickly defensive, Jamie's temperature went cooler. "No," she muttered, pulling away from his grip and crossing her arms. "But have I thought about it? Of course."

That just broke his fucking heart all over again. "Jamie, no..."

She became vaguely hostile. "What do you mean, 'no'?" But under that hostility was fear and hurt. "Is something wrong with the thought of me being in control for once in my goddamn life? About having some fucking say so in what happens next?" Her voice rose as her emotions surged. "I've been abused, tricked, raped, cursed; I lost our baby; everyone I ever knew died or left me!" Her eyes glittered with tears. "I'm alone in this world—no matter how much I wanted otherwise—and I didn't get to have any control in life until hunting. It put power back into my hand, until Jake took that away again. Well, I'm back to needing something in my life I decide, even if it's the way I die, Dean."

Dean was subdued. He knew all of that. Even the rape. He'd known for awhile now ever since an awkward heart-to-heart they'd had on a couch while a shitty soap opera had played in the background. He remembered that moment so clearly when she'd talked about being coerced by Samuel Campbell like it was only something of slight annoyance. He'd known then what he knew now: she had been pretending to feel nothing about it when in reality it had almost destroyed her. And now she was taking everything bad that had ever happened to her and letting it have control. She was giving up.

Dean's heart was in his throat and his eyes hurt because he just wanted her to be okay. He wanted her to stick around. At this point, he didn't wanna picture life without her. "James… I'm not too late, am I?" he asked, voice catching on her name. "Please tell me it's not too late, please tell me you got some time left, please."

She didn't say. For all he knew, the hounds could be coming for her tonight. Maybe that's why she was in the house with this gun, hating her childhood home one last time. "Dean... there's no return policy," she said quietly. "The closer it gets, the more I just… just give up. Don't waste your time."

He felt like he'd been stung. "Waste my time?" he repeated incredulously. Didn't this girl—didn't she get it?

She turned her head away, trying to be detached but having issues after his question and the tone he'd used. "You didn't figure out a loophole when it was your soul on the line," she reminded, trying to use reason. Dean only got more pissed.

"That was different." He stared at her hard. "How much time you got left?" He needed to know.

Jamie didn't answer, but her eyes goaded him. "How?" she challenged, voice laced with almost anger. "How is this time different?"

Dean answered angrily before he even thought about it. "Because it's you!"

He said that and they were both taken aback, but especially Jamie, whose face fell into something vulnerable. Dean took a second then tried to explain himself. Admittedly, he was sort of gruff about it. "Look, I'm not good with words and feelings crap and… and all that but…" his gruffness gave way to a certain softness she inspired in him. There was a long, wretched pause in which he felt his heart beating out of his damn chest. He couldn't say it in the right words, but he had to try. "You matter. To me. A whole helluva lot. All right?" He tried to tell her one more time without saying the words he couldn't bring himself to say. "You know, Purgatory was… was dark and hopeless and dirty, it was fucked. Like one long nightmare that never ended. You know what kept me going? You know what I told myself I was coming back to when I got out? You know whose face I saw when I told myself I couldn't keep going a day longer?"

Jamie's eyes were shining, her jaw was stiff. Her voice trembled hard. "Dean, stop..."

"No," he whispered, looking at her fully and telling her. "It was you. I pictured you."

She looked like she had been stripped of every last defense. A tear ran down her cheek. "Why would you picture a dead girl?" she whispered back.

He was meaningful and severe. "Because you're not dead, and if I have anything to do with it, you won't be." The look in her eye said she was going to protest. And that made Dean get desperate. He wasn't too ashamed to beg. "Let me, James. Let me try!"

Why did she look so sad about him wanting to save her? Uncharacteristically meek and quiet, she shook her head no. "It means a lot that you wanna do that for me. But Dean... I don't see a way out. And I'm not getting my hopes up." She hung her head and talked about life like it was all a huge joke. "It's over. And it sucked. A lot of it really sucked." But then a bittersweet smile crossed her lips and she peeked back up at him. Tender, fond things rested there. "You're one of the only good things that ever happened to me," she said, then came the creeping pain on her beautiful face. The smile was lost in favor of apprehensive dread. "And I don't want you t-to keep trying to save someone who can't be saved." Her voice almost failed. "I don't want you to have to mourn me like I mourned you."

Oh my god, Jamie. His heart shattered on the spot. "Don't," he commanded. "Don't you do that." He almost lectured her at that point: "Do you know who I am? I am Dean freakin' Winchester. Been to Hell and back, broke ground in Purgatory. Died a couple times, saved the world from the apocalypse. You think I can't get my girlfriend out of one little crummy soul deal?"

Her eyes jumped up to his, a flicker of surprise there. A tiny little smile showed, breaking through all the doubt and fear that was etched there. She eyed him with veiled eyes but the smile twitched, like she was feeling a sudden flush of flattery. "Since when am I your girlfriend?" The ghost of the teasing tone that he loved was present in the question.

Dean grinned crookedly at her, remembering exactly why he liked her so much. For a million reasons and for no reason at all, too. He just did. And as far as her question… "Well I have your name tattooed on my damn arm, don't I?" he teased, then his eyes drifted down low to where her thighs met. His voice dropped and got a little huskier. "And you have my name on your…" he looked back up at her and she was obviously rueful but amused, too. Those damn tattoos they'd gotten drunkenly together… was forever a dumb little inside joke they would share and roast each other over. Dean's smile fell a little as the intensity of his feelings suddenly caught up with him. This girl had a hold on him that scared him, almost. To her original question: "I mean, we're kind of a thing, don't you think?"

Jamie considered. "A cursed thing," she decided ruefully.

Dean had to smile sadly. "Would we be us if we weren't cursed?" he countered softly, then paused. A sudden thought had popped into his mind. James had spent these ten months thinking he was dead and gone. So what if some other guy had come around? What if like Owen were that other dude? He faltered as the question turned in his mind.

"What is it?" Jamie asked, seeing the shift immediately.

Uncomfortable, Dean wet his lips. "Well, I just realized... I mean, beautiful girl like you, grieving the guy you thought was dead... I dunno. Maybe someone else came along." He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it if so.

But he didn't have to wonder. A forlorn, heartfelt expression made her eyes soft. "No." She shook her head, contemplating him and coming closer. Her feelings for him were clear in her gaze. "Of course not." Her hand reached up to touch his face ever so gently as her eyes stayed steady on his. Her tenderness was near the surface, and she let him see every bit of it. "You were my grand finale." The depth of emotion in her tone was staggering, the shine in her eyes was testament to how much she meant it. "And no one else'll ever come close."

Man, the way those words hit him. Because he felt the same. And he cleared his throat, blinking eyes to keep his emotions in check. "Well the show ain't over yet," he said. "Curses be damned." Jamie was hard to read—fearful maybe. Dean put confidence into his words so they could both believe, and put his hand over hers where it still rested on his face. "We're doing this. We're gonna re-write the ending. You and me."

Jamie hesitated. And then nodded, visibly girding herself up. "Okay."

Relief cascaded. Dean drifted closer into her space. "Yeah?"

"I mean, an hour ago I thought you were dead," she reasoned softly. "So... maybe miracles do happen." A brave, scared quality persevered on her features. And Dean hugged her close, able to breathe a little easier. There was quite a lot they had to catch up on. A lot to work through. But right then, to be in the same room as her again after ten months of pining and separation... all he could do was feel at home again.

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart," he told her in a voice so soft only she could hear. "And I'm so damn sorry you had to go it alone through all that."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, and there was a teary-eyed smile there, attesting to how she felt about him. "Look, all I know is you are never allowed to ditch out again like that," she joked, inspiring a weary smile on his face that was tinged by deep emotion.

"Yes ma'am," he returned in kind, understanding that their words were shields, protecting them from the deep water of how intense their feelings truly were.

That unspoken truth was communicated between two pairs of vulnerable eyes, and the distance between them grew less until they were only a breath away from each other. Dean's hands came to touch either side of her face, catching on strands of white-blonde hair as he studied her face and let thumbs stroke a soft, silent message. For a long moment, only their eyes spoke, then at the same instant, the both of them closed the distance to share a soft, lingering kiss that conveyed everything they refused to say. They mutually sank into each other, arms wrapping and bodies gently molding as their mouths tangled deeply in a slow, burning embrace. When they pulled apart by a mere breath, Dean's voice was huskier.

"Come on." He let his hand find hers. "I think it's time to leave this ghost town behind."