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.

118. It's a Bittersweet Symphony

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 118 / It's a Bittersweet Symphony

"I get up and pace the room as if I can leave my guilt behind me. But it tracks me as I walk, an ugly shadow made by myself."
- Rosamund Lupton

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*** CONTENT TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide ***

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The hunter crept around the corner, weapon drawn.

All but noiseless, he slipped from shadow to shadow in the silent warehouse, looking for his attacker with harrowed eyes and a glinting handgun held ready. But he was no match for an angel, of course, and his stealth would not hide him.

The second Dean Winchester felt the presence of another entity on the back of his neck and turned fast to try and defend himself, Castiel struck his friend as he was trained to do, sending the gun flying with a shove before backhanding Dean brutally across the face.

Disable the target.

Falling backwards with a grunt and down onto the floor from the force of the hit, Dean gaped up at his attacker in what looked like shock, betrayal, and fear. He raised a hand defensively as the angel towered over him. "No, Cas, no!" he protested, seeing the resignation of violence there in Cas's eyes.

Ignore pleas for mercy. Disable the target.

Castiel grabbed the hand that was reaching out to him and he viciously twisted it back, breaking the bone with a loud crunch.

Don't think about who he is. Do what we've told you or you know what will happen to her.

With that being the thought that drove everything he did, the angel barely even heard or registered Dean's sharp cry of pain.

Disable the target. Kill Dean Winchester.

Castiel raised his angel blade high with a face blank as paper, and all his thoughts punched through him like a massacre of bullets, compelling him forward like an unstoppable machine. His orders screamed louder and louder, and his own thoughts weren't audible at all.

Disable the target! Kill Dean Winchester!

"No, Cas, don't, please!" Dean begged, but it was in vain.

The plea fell on deaf ears. Castiel knew what would happen if he continued to resist these drills. And with his only thought being save her, Cas plunged the blade directly into the hunter's heart with no outward remorse or emotion whatsoever. Dean screamed and gasped, choking and dying as Cas watched with barely any reaction at all. It seemed so very realistic but he couldn't summon a response anymore, not after doing this for what seemed an eternity now. He had killed Dean a thousand times but it almost felt like he was killing Naomi at this point—these Dean clones were her invention, after all, and he hated them because they were so close to the real thing. When Dean was dead yet again, Castiel pulled the blade out of the hunter's chest then straightened up and stared hollowly down at that body on the floor. So strange how he felt so little because of the inhibitor Naomi had put into his skull behind his right-hand eye. He was under her thumb in every way. And yet glimmers of his true self would filter through without warning, always catching him by surprise. Briefly, as he gazed down at the Dean-shaped body, he felt a lurch of self-horror. And then he reminded himself of the facts. That isn't really Dean. And quickly on the coattail of that thought came another. But someday it might be. Do I really have to choose between sister and brother? Will I be able…?

"Hey!" came an impassioned cry from just behind him. Castiel knew this part of the song and dance too and without any energy or life to what he did, he turned and met Sam Winchester's surprise-attack straight on blankly, stabbing him in the chest and not looking into the long-haired boy's eyes as he did so. That hazel gaze looked too much like hers.

"Cas…! Why?" Sam wheezed out, a programmed explanation of dismay that Castiel had heard a hundred times already. And then with an expression of shocked pain, Sam fell onto the floor and choked out then gasped his final breath.

And so it was finished. He had killed them both.

Again.

Beneath Castiel's feet, the blood of the Winchester brothers was beginning to pool and his stomach turned, his heart clenched. He began to feel again as he did every time after shutting down. This is wrong. I want this to stop! I need this to stop! But it wouldn't stop. It didn't stop. And Castiel knew of no way to end this vicious cycle. Therein laid the despair. He was trapped and unable to do anything about what was happening.

As if on cue, the electricity came back on with some heavy clicks and a whir of a generator starting. The lights flickered back on like they always did and the warehouse was suddenly bathed in stark, clinical light that chased away even the possibility of shadows. Her heels clicked against the floor behind him as she approached and Castiel stared down at his dead friends. His heart was a rock inside of his chest. His blood felt like it ran colder the closer she got to him.

"No hesitation," Naomi observed approvingly as she came to his side. "Quick. Brutal." She seemed extremely pleased. "Everything's back in order," she said, turning a pleasant, self-indulgent smile his direction. "Finally." His features were expressionless in the face of her pleasantness. He just wanted this to be over, but she had other plans. "You're ready."

Ready. For something truly unthinkable. Castiel looked at the warehouse full of dead Sams and dead Deans. They numbered in the hundreds and he had killed them all because of what Naomi was holding over him. His wife. His memory-wiped, muted, small, scared wife who was being held somewhere in Heaven and who he forgot about completely every time he wasn't in Naomi's presence. He needed to get to her and rescue her. But he had no idea of how to. Castiel had never felt such terrible or crippling fear in his entire life. True emotion trickled through his bones as he finally looked at the angel who had him so indentured.

"When will this end, Naomi?" he asked, and it wasn't the first time. He was so threadbare inside. Hope escaped him. He was at the point of begging and pleading and doing anything. "When will you let her go?"

The nameless mention of Alex made Naomi's pleased demeanor lessen. An impatient, disapproving edge set in. "Soon, Castiel," she said thinly, just as she had said a hundred times before. "When I have the tablet."

Castiel felt his body shaking with restrained emotions. "I—I need to see her." His voice broke slightly from the wretched earnestness behind his words.

"You saw her last month," Naomi reminded tightly.

And yet it felt like a lifetime. He was worried about her every second of every hour of every day. And when he was on earth and didn't remember her, he always felt physically ill, like something was wrong. And whenever he was here in Heaven he was beside himself with the absolute need to verify that she was still alive. His voice cracked. He couldn't do this much longer without knowing his Alex was really and truly okay. "Please, Naomi, I need—"

"Silence, Castiel!" she commanded shrilly. That disapproving glint was sparking to life and Castiel obeyed and went silent, fearing that Alex would pay for whatever negative emotions he created in Naomi. He became outwardly blank and stoic. But inside, he was panicked, sick, and backed into a corner. He needed to know where Alex was and lay his eyes on her and he had never, ever had a stronger conviction. He imagined her being terrified and confused, without memories or knowledge of who she was, without the ability to speak, without any semblance of an idea of what was happening to her. And that thought made him want to weep along with this next one: He knew that Naomi was lying. That she would never let Alex go and probably never let him see her again either. That she would hold Alex in a dumbed-down, drug-like stasis forever and use her to force Castiel to keep working for Heaven. That thought only increased the panic making his stomach boil.

What am I going to do? What can I do? How do I end this?! …Can I end this?

Naomi was cool and businesslike, unaware of his all-consuming inner thoughts. "Now. Go and find the crypts intelligence has reported, Castiel. And if Dean or Sam Winchester gets in your way…" her meaningful gaze drifted to the corpses that littered the area surrounding them. "You know what to do."

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Meanwhile
Shoshone, Idaho

It was roughly two weeks after Sam and Dean had faced off with Nazi necromancers. For a week and a couple of days, everything had been quiet and calm with nothing major happening. Dean and Jamie and Sam had gone back to the bunker and continued settling in and figuring the place out. However, Sam had made lots of excuses to leave the bunker to 'run errands' and 'get supplies' and 'check out the area' but Dean wasn't stupid. He knew Sam was going the next city over to see that Molly chick, aka Jailbait. He still didn't get it but didn't care much, either. After all, whenever Sam left, he could convince Jamie to have sex with him in really naughty, public places without the risk of being caught. The bunker's kitchen, one of the hallways against the wall, the library table a few times more, and a few other places too. Jamie was pretty much always up for it except the two or three times she'd just wanted to lay in the dark and hold each other. Either way, they used each other to forget their respective worries and inner darkness and got some good 'workouts' in as a result too.

Dean wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even really himself, but he was in vast denial and had been for awhile now about everything: His loathing and confusion toward his brother for what had happened during the Purgatory year, his grief about losing his sister so senselessly, his anger at Cas for disappearing and never returning even when Dean prayed to him (another thing he wasn't going to admit to doing). It was a lot to handle and quite frankly, Dean couldn't really cope. So he ignored his deeper feelings and compartmentalized and tried to forget most of the things that could or would cause him pain. He poured all of his energy into researching Hell, demons, and soul deals. He gave everything over into his gung-ho mission of saving who he still could: Jamie. He withdrew from Sam and threw himself into other things. He amassed a huge supply of goofer dust and devil's shoestring—two things that kept Hellhounds at bay; he spent extra time going around the bunker and making sure every single corner of the place was airtight and warded against anything and everything demonic, he made hex bags for Jamie to wear or put in her pockets if she was leaving the bunker for even a second. She wasn't gonna die on his watch, and as long as she didn't leave the bunker until he found a loophole and a way off the hook for good, she'd be fine and protected. He didn't know when her deadline was and she still wouldn't say, but he had taken every precaution to ensure that it didn't matter anymore, either.

Dean was feeling pretty good about that entire endeavor, to be honest—like he really could succeed and was gonna win for once. Even though he should probably be depressed out of his mind, he was living in a bit of a fantasy world and scraping by on delusion. But it felt like happiness to him and he didn't try to dismantle that. James kept him from collapsing in on himself, and god damn it helped that they had a lot of fun times between all the work he accomplished. Dean couldn't remember a time in his life when weirdly enough, on the surface level, he'd been so good. It wasn't just that he got laid like every day and sometimes multiple times at that. It was because he loved that girl. Like dead serious loved her. Wanted her around, felt lighter whenever he'd catch her glance, adored teasing her and bickering with her and hanging out with her; he liked how she left her skimpy little bras and underwear scattered across his room mindlessly. She was an excellent hunter to have on the team, a solid drinking buddy, and had this soft side Dean always wanted to see more of. He loved her sense of humor, her sharp intellect, her strength both physically and mentally, her more vulnerable side, the kindhearted nature. Having her warm, soft body in the bed with him at night in their room—er, his room—was everything he never knew he'd wanted. He loved holding her all night and waking up with someone in his arms every morning, the same someone. He loved that she gave him something to focus on and invest in that wasn't going to destroy him internally. She was his mission now. She was someone he wanted here to stay for good, and dammit he was gonna make that happen if it killed him.

Now, Dean had never pictured himself as the kind of guy who would ever have an actual long-term girlfriend again after his last attempts with Cassie and then Lisa. But with James… well, he wouldn't mind keeping her around. You know. Permanently. And he had never really felt that with anyone else. Everyone else he'd ever been with romantically he'd wanted to keep around awhile. The idea of 'forever' had always felt claustrophobic to him… until a blonde with a bitchy resting expression and tattoos and sass he could barely keep up with had changed that. He was currently missing her something fierce, having left her behind at the bunker as he and Sam had ventured out into Idaho for a very promising hunt. After Kevin had called with new information that he finally cracked out of the demon tablet half, he relayed the news about how it was possible to permanently shut the gates of Hell through a series of trials. When he said that, both Winchesters had been immediately interested. Kevin gave them the instructions for the first trial—he said that there were three trials in total and that he was still working on deciphering the other two. But the first one required the trial-bearer to bathe in the blood of a Hellhound.

Dean had been ecstatic about the idea of closing Hell and still was, but he was also simultaneously grumpy and annoyed because Sam was doing this thing where he was trying to be overly-helpful and kind and sacrificial and meek and it got on Dean's every last fucking nerve. It was hard to be in a good mood with Jamie not there too. When it was just Dean and Sam, it was always a lot easier to miss that third person who had always been there before and now never would be again. The pain that came along with every smallest fleeting thought of his sister was unbearable. So he didn't think about her. Or tried not to, anyway.

The brothers were currently working on a wealthy family's ranch where apparently, ten years ago to the day, an oily fellow by the name of Crowley had baited an entire rich family and even some of their staff into selling their souls. Ten years ago to the day meant that the Hellhounds were coming for more than one person. Here. Tonight. And guess what? Two of the Chassity family were already dead, and the rest of the ridiculous family was on lockdown, handcuffed in the living room for their own safety. Dean was gonna be so pissed if these rich assholes didn't start cooperating with him and Sam. The two people who had already bitten the dust had been shredded by the hounds before Dean and Sam could do anything or get there. The brothers therefore had two missions for tonight: save some of these other Cassity saps from getting torn to pieces and, as gross as it sounded, bathe in the blood of a Hellhound. While that sounded next to impossible since Hellhounds were invisible to humans and therefore kind of impossible to fight, Kevin had also given the boys another useful tip via phonecall: the tablet said Hellhounds could be seen through an object scorched by holy flames. So, using a couple pairs of glasses and the bit of holy oil they had in the trunk, the brothers crafted a couple pairs of Helldog-specs. Now was the hard part. Figuring out which one of these rich bastards was next on the hit-list.

Dean was currently spreading the rest of his goofer dust at the edge of the lavish living room, creating a barrier to keep Hellhounds out or at least at bay. No one else was saying if they had sold their souls or not (everyone was insisting that they hadn't) and it was pissing him off. Behind him, he heard familiarly weighted footfalls. Sam. Dean shook the last of that can of goofer dust out and glared at the can churlishly. "This dust ain't easy to come by, you know," he muttered mostly to himself as his brother neared.

"Yeah." Sam watched his disgruntled brother for a couple of cautious beats then spoke in a near whisper since the occupants of the living room were so close by. "So what's our play?"

Dean kept his voice low and didn't make eye contact. "You camp here, figure out who whored their soul. I'm gonna go scout the grounds—see if I can't gank Huckleberry Hound before he makes his next move." With those words, Dean moved out of the living room and into the massive foyer. Sam followed closely and quickly. He sounded pretty upset.

"Wait, you're not going alone, Dean. I'm gonna come with you."

Dean was flat in his immediate response. "Wrong."

"Uh—" Sam was starting to sound mildly angry. "They're on lockdown, and you need backup."

Dean turned around bluntly and looked his brother in the face. "No, I don't," he said in a tone that clearly conveyed how Sam did not wanna push him or test him tonight.

But Sam didn't back down. "Yes… you do."

Impatient and brusque, Dean was having a tough time. He didn't have time to argue. "This trial crap is no joke, Sam," he said gruffly. "It ain't safe."

Sam was immediately indignant and a touch confused. "Since when is anything we do ever safe?" he countered.

Dean didn't use her name anymore, hell, he never even mentioned her if he could help it, but today he was on edge and as such he lost control and spit out the truth harshly. "I already lost one twin, I don't wanna double my losses, okay?!" The way he said it was almost accusatory and Sam looked stung and shocked by both the words and his brother's tone. Dean felt mildly stunned at himself too and was left unsure of what to say or do next. Even though he quite often wanted to strangle his brother or let him have it verbally, when all was said and done, nothing would ever take away the fact that Sam was Dean's little brother and he was always gonna look out for him. Including now. Dean's voice softened a little, but remained guarded. Eye contact was minimal at best on his end. "I just mean… look, we've been down roads like this before, man—with Yellow-Eyes, Lucifer, Dick friggin' Roman... we both know where this trial crap ends," Dean said in absolute seriousness. "One of us dies... or worse."

Sam seemed a little pissed that Dean was making the decision for them both. "So, what—you just up and decided it's gonna be you?"

Dean nodded patronizingly, closing himself off from a real dialogue and guarding himself carefully. He wasn't interested in discussing the subject or hearing Sam out. That would lead to things he couldn't and wouldn't confront. Like Alex, and the year in Purgatory and the utter rage Dean harbored toward his brother concerning what had happened. "That's right," he replied in a tone that was on the colder side. "I'm gonna do these trials because I'm the big brother. And I'm gonna do these trials alone—end of story." Sam looked ready to protest, which only made Dean get all the more domineering and all the more unwilling to hear him out. "You're staying here. I'm going out there. If landshark comes knocking, you call me. If you try to follow me, I'm gonna put a bullet in your damn leg."

And that wasn't the best way to say you loved someone but it was all Dean had right then. He brushed past Sam roughly and walked straight out of the house without so much as a backward glance. But he already knew if he had looked, he'd see Sam watching him leave with a sad look on his face. Maybe that was why Dean didn't look. He hated the way things had become between him and his last remaining family member. But he also didn't know how to let go of his anger or how to accept that Alex was really and truly gone for good. And every time he looked at Sam he saw Alex and remembered that she was gone and he didn't even really know why or how that had happened. Cas wasn't answering Dean's calls, Sam was having an identity crisis, and the back seat of the Impala was achingly empty but in a way it had never been before. These were the things he tried not to think about.

Distracted and angry for the moment, Dean went out into the rainy night hoping he would find that Hellhound and be able to rip into it to blow off some steam. And then in his pocket, his phone buzzed—he stayed just outside the side door where an awning provided shelter from the gently falling rain and he pulled the device out to squint at the screen. A new text from James. He was immediately a lot less cantankerous at the thought of her and a faint smile tugged at his lips as he read her message. Hey. Miss your stupid face. Tell me something nice.

Tell her something nice? The out-of-the-blue request via text struck him as odd, but he wrote her back immediately, a trollish grin playing on his face when he decided to be a tease about it. best boobs in the world ha ha ;)

A few seconds passed and when her reply came in, he had to stifle a guffaw. lol I didn't say to talk about your saggy old man tits. For real. Say something nice?

A heart emoji followed the question mark. Weird. Maybe she was lonely. He didn't wanna let his girl down. Dean glanced around, like he was paranoid someone was going to see him write something sappy. Then he quickly fired out a very honest reply text that would be blackmail material in anyone but Jamie's possession. i cant wait to hold u n kiss u again baby….. i love falling asleep with u beside me n ur on my mind every hour. dont miss me too much ok ;)? lol almost done here. im gonna fix everything just like we talked abt i promise. cant wait to c u soon.… g2g sry sweetheart

He almost—almost—ended the text with the words he had been thinking for awhile now (I love you) but he didn't want the first time he said them to her to be via text message of all things. It needed to be careful and in person and said where it wouldn't scare her off or freak her out. But he felt that way and knew it over and over again. It burned deeply in his chest and kept him warmer. Jamie didn't text back, but he didn't think much of it because he had a Hellhound to catch. Later, when it was much too late, Dean would realize why she had texted him that request in the first place. And why she never texted him back again.

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Later

The Winchesters were wrong. It wasn't any of the remaining Cassity family that had sold their souls. It was Ellie, the ranch hand who had worked the land and property since she was a tween. Ellie who was beautiful and dark-haired and bore striking resemblance to Alex. She was Latina but Dean had immediately been reminded of his sister and subsequently weirded out when Ellie hit on him over and over. She just really, really looked like Alex to him. Long story short, Dean had found Ellie getting drunk in her room off of the horse stables and after he talked to her and fended off a kiss he definitely did not want, he learned that she was waiting for the Hellhound to come for her. She had sold her soul to see her mother healed of Parkinson's disease but hadn't understood about the ten year deadline until recently. That left her terrified and without much time at all. Realizing this was what he might be going through with Jamie soon had given Dean an all-consuming fire and drive that almost scared him.

The Hellhound came into the horse stables and Dean attacked it but in the process lost his glasses, got clawed in the side and subsequently momentarily disabled, and probably would have died… but Sam had gone against what Dean told him. He'd showed up and saved Dean's life and killed the Hellhound himself with the demon blade Dean dropped… subsequently soaking himself in its blood. It had been a close call, but it was done. And hey. Now they knew it was totally possible to gank one of those Hellbitches.

Sam stood in his black-blood soaked v-neck and watched as Dean winced and pulled his jacket tightly around himself to cover over his wounds. They were in Ellie's cozy little room and she hovered close by, her face pinched with concern. "Okay but seriously, you need to go to a hospital," she was saying even as Dean shook his head and shrugged his mouth downward in an expression of indifference.

"I've had worse."

Ellie seemed doubtful of that and looked at Sam who confirmed tiredly. "Yeah… he's had worse."

She nodded, and an uncomfortable worried expression held on her face. "So… what now?"

Dean was severe. "Now we make a hex bag, and you start running. If Crowley can't find you, then he won't be able to sic another mutt on you."

Relief flooded her face but she tried not to look too hopeful. "So… I'm not going to hell?"

He gave her a tight, small smile. "Not on my watch." He glanced at his brother, who was saying nothing but obviously thinking a lot. Dean cleared his throat and hoped Ellie wouldn't mind stepping out for a bit. "Give us a minute?" he asked.

She nodded and gave an, "of course," then left the room and shut the door behind herself.

Dean's more friendly demeanor dropped away and he made a 'gimme' motion toward his brother. "Starting to think I should start a dodge-your-deal business or something," he muttered, waiting for Sam to hand over the Enochian spell that was written down that completed the trial.

Sam did not hand the paper he was holding over to his brother. He looked reluctant and wary. "Dean, even if she can dodge Crowley which is a big if, as soon as Ellie dies, her soul's still earmarked for hell."

Dean shook his head once, unruffled. "Not if we shut it down first." When his brother still wouldn't hand the paper over, Dean sighed. "Sam. This is the best news we've gotten in forever. Demons and hell and soul deals and Crowley might be last year's news." Saying it out loud made a smile break his face despite everything. "Wait 'til James hears, huh? If I can do these trials soon, if I can get Kevin to figure out the rest of 'em really soon, we're home free. Like, for good. So gimme that thing and lets get this show on the road."

He snatched the paper from Sam without anything further, who just looked weary and a little jaded. "The spell's not gonna work for you, Dean," he said quietly.

Dean sent his brother a defiant glance as he unfolded the paper then spoke the spell that was written therein. "Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr." Nothing happened and Dean waited in annoyed expectation then realized how right his brother was and brushed it off roughly. "Doesn't matter," he muttered, then gave Sam an abruptly angry look. "We'll track down another Hellhound, and I'll kill it."

Sam was very soft-spoken and resigned in the face of his brother's ire. "No, Dean."

Dean was pissed and marched a couple steps closer. "Sam, I didn't pass the test!"

"Yeah but I did…" Sam reasoned steadily and grimly, "so I'm doing the rest of them."

Dean's jaw dropped right before his face twisted up into an ugly expression. "My ass you are!"

Sam barely reacted except to look mildly hurt and confused. "Why not?" There was a certain sadness resting in the depths of his hazel eyes that caused his entire face to be held taunt in guilt. "You really think I'll mess it up that bad?"

Whoa, what? Dean's genuine flabbergast at Sam's quiet question caused him to open and shut his mouth a couple times as he struggled to process his brother's question and then retort defensively. "No, I don't want you to get hurt!"

Sam looked doubtful and vulnerable. "Right. So suddenly you care about what happens to me."

Dean looked like he'd never heard anything more insulting. "Sam, I have always cared about what happens to you!"

Sam only looked more and more ruefully defeated. "Right. I forgot. I'm the one who never cared," he said, further stunning Dean. Sam looked his brother in the eye with utter resolve resting there. "Well… I want you to know I do care and I'm gonna do this. I'm closing the gates of Hell and you don't get to make this decision for me."

A little beside himself because of what Sam was saying and the defeated tone he realized he had put in his brother's voice, Dean tried to undo his emotional abuse just a little too late. "Sam…"

Shaking his head and obviously fighting off emotion, Sam refused to hear his brother. "You don't understand how much I—I need to do something," he said, and his voice audibly shook. "Something that matters. Something that saves you. I, I didn't before for God knows what reasons but I gotta make it up to you and this family or I won't be able to keep living with myself." Dean swallowed a horrible feeling down in his throat as he saw Sam for the broken, guilt-destroyed man he'd become with real eyes for what felt like the first time. Sam's eyes glinted as he tried to maintain an even composure. "I can't ever fix what I did and what happened, understand? But I can do this. So I'm gonna."

"Sam, no, come on," Dean protested, gentler now.

Sam shook his head, rueful again. He was resigned to his fate, it seemed. "Dean. I'm the man for the job. You know I am. I mean, you—you've got something going with Jamie. Something worth sticking around for. I don't have that." He paused and fleetingly thought about something and his eyebrows tensed together. "Not really." More pain flashed across his youthful features. "I can't… can't live with this guilt, you know?" Yeah. Dean knew. Sam tried a soft laugh but it sounded more like a gut-punched expulsion of breath. "I'm—I'm kidding myself if I think I can make it much longer. You have so much going for you up here—friends, a girlfriend. I mean, hell, you even got your own room now. You deserve this, Dean."

Feeling how his own face was twisted up in pain and confusion, Dean shook his head slightly. "Deserve what?"

Even though Dean had been an asshole to him without fail recently, Sam was heartbreaking kind and earnest. "To live. To be happy for once in your life."

Dean blinked a couple times rapidly. "And you don't?" Maybe that was a crazy sounding question coming from the guy who had bashed Sam over the head again and again with guilt for the Amelia thing and Sam's selfish quest to be happy and normal. But seeing Sam willing to make a martyr of himself in effect reached down and shook Dean to his core and changed a lot of shit for him. Sam looked hollow in a way Dean was realizing went far past what he'd thought. Maybe I've been too hard on him.

"I'm just saying…" Sam continued, the picture of self-loathing. "If I died doing something important…" he trailed off then shrugged in near-apathy. "I'd be okay with that." Dean felt physically sick because somehow, he knew he'd in part or in whole driven Sam to this mindset. "I don't like myself, Dean," Sam confessed brokenly. "I don't like who I am anymore and if I sit this one out… I'll regret it the rest of my life. I need this. And I don't have anyone waiting on me or needing me like you do."

There was a long, heavy silence. "Well w-what about Library Girl?" Dean asked, trying to come up with a counterargument of some kind. At Sam's look of clear surprise, Dean couldn't help but crack a weak smile. "Sam, you really thought I bought your dumbass stories about going to the store and getting stuck in traffic and your 'car trouble'?"

Sam smiled for a brief, wan second, like he realized how flimsy those excuses had been, but the smile devolved into a sad expression of loss. "Yeah I dunno what I was thinking. I just really liked her and though maybe I…" he stopped and shook his head and didn't continue. He became utterly, deadly serious. "Look. I've made my decision. She's better off without me. And you are too." He held his hand out for the paper Dean still possessed. "Give me the spell." When his brother didn't comply, Sam's voice lowered and toughened. "Dean. Give me. The spell."

There was so much Dean wanted to say, to argue, to add to the conversation. But he knew—knew—that Sam had made up his mind. And Dean thought maybe this was what they both needed. For Sam, a chance at redemption. For Dean, a chance to trust his brother with something important. So before he could think it over more, Dean relented and slapped the piece of paper into his brother's hand. "Don't make me regret this, Sammy," he said in a voice above a whisper. That was the first time he'd called his brother by that affectionate nickname in a long, long time. "And don't do this unless you're sure, you hear me?"

Sam accepted the paper with a pensive, conflicted look on his face then took in a deep, steadying breath and Dean saw how tightly his fingers held the paper in his hand. And perhaps before he could think it over any further, Sam took the plunge and sealed his fate. "Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr." Immediately, there was a soft whooshing sound and Sam's eyes bulged wide as if he'd been kicked in the stomach—he groaned and grimaced mightily then began to weaken to the point that he fell to his knees and had to use a hand from collapsing completely.

"Sammy? Sam!" Sam didn't seem to hear his brother. He was staring at his right hand, the one that was pressed to the floor. His skin glowed with bright white light, and his red veins stood out garishly as an effect. The searing, painful light traveled up his arm, and Sam grunted protest. And then the light faded away and he was left breathing heavily. He took a second and then clenched his fist and stood shakily. Dean hovered anxiously. "You okay?"

Visibly rattled, Sam nodded as he gathered himself. "I'm good. I'm okay." He paused, still breathing harder than normal. He looked so much younger than thirty-one to Dean at that moment. Brave and scared at the same time, Sam gave a stiff nod. "I can do this."

Dean didn't like it and was suddenly so terrified to lose Sam, too. "Sam, you sure?" he asked, because he didn't want his brother to make this a suicide mission and was suddenly unsure if he was really on board with this. "You don't have to. Trust me, you don't have to."

Sam's mouth was drawn into a thin line. "Yeah," he said, then more certainly. "Yeah, I am sure. And I do have to."

Dean hesitated and then said something he knew needed to be said. "Well just so we're clear here… I'm not better off without you." Sam's expression flickered and Dean's did too. "That has never been true. Ever."

---

The brothers stayed at the ranch that night and after things calmed down and Sam helped patch Dean up, Dean tried calling Jamie. Her phone seemed to be off which made him a little anxious but he chalked it up to her forgetting to charge it or something. Same thing in the morning—her phone was off. But Dean didn't let himself worry. She was probably in one of her leave-me-alone moods. She was probably reading or practicing spellwork. Sam came to him as they loaded up to leave the ranch and said he needed to go see Molly before they returned to the bunker to do more with the trials—he said he had to explain why he had to end things with her in person (Dean asked what 'things' could possibly be there to end since they'd only been dating or whatever for a week). But Sam insisted and said little else and Dean gave up and even let him drive.

It was on the way to see Molly that they first heard about it on the radio. They were right outside of Topeka when it happened. At first, they weren't even listening in earnest—they were just waiting for the music to come back on after the top-of-the-hour headlines passed.

"…sources are saying the woman jumped off Westgate bridge into the water sometime last night and fell three hundred feet to her death. Authorities believe this to be a suicide and are currently seeking to identify the victim. The woman, early thirties, was blonde haired and blue eyed and had no identification on her person. She had numerous tattoos, one of which that included the name 'Dean' on her inner thigh. Anyone with information on this woman's identity, please call the following number."

If you could have seen Dean's face when the report was running, you would have seen a man who in the span of twenty seconds lost everything he'd had left. What happened next was not pretty. He told Sam to step on it to the Topeka morgue and at first he denied and rationalized and panicked, calling her number a hundred more times even though her phone was off or dead. He said lots of girls might have a tattoo of the name Dean on their inner thigh, he said it couldn't be her, she wouldn't do that, she wouldn't leave the bunker, she wouldn't kill herself my god she would never actually do that Sam. But they got to the morgue and he rushed in hotheaded and emotional and when he saw that it was her… he lost it completely. Sam would never forget that day nor the chain of events it set off.

Through tears and hysterics Dean demanded they give him her body but they refused because she had no identification and her fingerprints hadn't come back yet and it was against protocol. Desperate, Dean started trying anything and everything—he claimed he was her spouse, he flashed his FBI badge, he begged and pleaded without pride. And when they apologized in earnest and again said sorry no he would have to wait until they went through the proper procedure, Dean went berserk and knocked two morgue workers out cold and Sam was then forced to assist his brother in a barely-successful bodysnatching.

They took her broken and bruised body back to the bunker. And there on Dean's bed, they found her suicide note waiting in a plain white envelope. His name was on it and Dean saw that and lost it yet again and refused to read it and went into a rage. He crumpled it up and threw it at a wall and didn't go to his room again. Instead, Dean became a complete madman. He refused to burn her body or bury it, insisting that he was going to 'find a fucking way' to 'get them both back.' He put her in a freezer and for days, he tore through the library and hid behind stacks of books, lore, and spells as he drank himself into oblivion and abused pills that were meant to help people stay awake. He summoned demons and tortured them to try and get them to pull tricks and fix things but it was ludicrous and Dean was grasping at straws. He didn't eat, didn't sleep. He paced, he cursed, he broke things. He would lose it and crumble emotionally here and there, but when Sam tried to approach and comfort, Dean would fly back into his rage and throw things and shout abuses and become even more angry than before. Finally, about five days into the mania, Sam cold-clocked Dean and pinned him down and shouted that it had to stop or Dean was going to kill himself. The brothers fought physically and Dean broke down for real and in between shouted despairs and hard-fisted punches, he had some kind of breakthrough. And finally, that night, after a long long confrontation they barely survived, Dean agreed to burying Jamie (but not to burning her). The brothers dug her grave out beside the bunker and Dean was useless. Sam had to take over. And when Sam put two crosses in the ground—one for Jamie who now rested below the earth and one for Alex, whose body they didn't even have—the brothers realized anew what they had lost. But this time, instead of pitting themselves at odds against one another, they mourned together.

Bloodied by each other's fists, the brothers sat side by side outside in front of the graves. They were both similarly defeated-looking with slumped shoulders and tired eyes and battered faces. In silence, they remained like that under the dark and starry night sky. Two silent crosses stared back at them. One with the initials J.R.W. and the other with A.E.W.

Dean was the one who finally, softly broke the silence that had spanned for longer than either could sum. "Why do we do what we do if it ends like this, Sam?" His voice was hoarse from both shouting and dehydration. His lip was swollen and puffy and his cheek had a huge purple bruise courtesy of Sam's fist. His face was a mask of pain, but of the emotional kind, not physical.

Beside him, Sam stared blankly and his expression mirrored his brother's. His nose ran red out of one nostril. "To save people," he replied in a sandpaper voice, but it sounded automatic. Like Sam didn't know, either.

Disgusted defeat made Dean scoff. "What the fuck do people even matter?" His tears were easy to hear in his unsteady retort and his eyes shined as he looked at those two crosses. "They mattered. And look where they ended up." He let out a shuddering breath and his voice cracked, going higher as his composure failed. "I just want my girls back, Sam. I just want them back."

Sam swallowed hard, obviously fighting tears of his own. It took him a long time to muster up his reply. "She'd probably hate me," he whispered brokenly, thinking about his sister and how he'd left her on her own—again—when she had needed him the most.

Dean gave a surprisingly cynical laugh through his tears. "No," he said, shaking his head. "She wouldn't. She'd be mad, but she'd give you another chance, because that's what she always did." He looked at her grave marker with an indescribable expression. "Always gave everyone another damn chance, always forgave no matter what." He looked down and let out a weak, shaking laugh as a tear rolled down his cheek. "I used to think she was fucking weak for that shit, you know that?" His expression worked hard against pain. "Now… I think it was actually strength." He shook his head and looked down, regret etched across his haggard face. "It's hard to give people second chances, man. So damn hard." Again, he shook his head, at a loss for how to understand how she had always found the ability to do just that. "But somehow… I dunno. She always did."

The brothers fell into mutual silence in which they thought about their sister who had been the silent backup, the getaway driver, the dependable sidekick, the cover fire, the backbone. The first to stick up for her own. The last to give up on things she really believed in. The messiest one, the shortest one, the one who could say more with just a look than most people could say with a microphone. It wasn't the same without her and it never would be.

Dean didn't know what was left to do but accept it and try to carry on. But how were you supposed to carry on in this miserable existence without one of your lifelong best friends? No one else in the world would ever mean what Alex had. No one could replace her. No one knew Dean quite like Sam and Alex did. But especially Alex, who Dean had never tried to hide his more gentle, nurturing side from. There was a bond between them that he didn't think anyone else in the world had ever shared. There wasn't a time in their lives when they hadn't been close or together. Well, until Cas came along and Dean had been a dick, but you know. That had been a phase. Dean had perspective these days.

Nearby in deep thought of his own, Sam spoke up again softly. "You still wanna help me close these gates, Dean?" He sounded worried, but offered Dean a way out despite his own doubts and fears. "If you need a break or if you need to walk away… I'll understand."

Dean considered it for a brief second then shook his head no decisively. He wasn't okay and probably wouldn't be ever again and honestly he was thinking about killing himself at this point, too… but he needed to help Sam through these trials first. Help him finish strong. He had to be the big brother the twins had looked up to in years past. He had to be solid and reliable and there for them one last time. He had to do Alex proud and not leave Sam alone in this. "No," he said grimly and heavily. "I'm gonna stick with you and do what I can. Because that's who we are and what we do." Saving people. Hunting things. The family business, as he'd put it once. But shutting Hell down… he couldn't help but think of the woman whose body he had just buried. "She's down there, Sam," he whispered, and he was terrified because he knew what Hell was like and he wouldn't wish that on anyone, much less the love of his life. He knew no way to get her out and it killed him. "She's in Hell. I couldn't save her. I couldn't save either of them."

Sam looked at his brother with a tensely concerned, empathetic expression for a long moment then pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket pocket and offered it to Dean who recoiled slightly because he recognized that white wad of paper immediately. It was the unread suicide note he'd thrown at the wall. He began to lose emotional control again, immediately panicking. "I can't read that, Sam, I can't."

Obviously Sam hadn't read it—it was sealed in its envelope and still wadded up, but he seemed to think it was important either way. He held it out further. "I think you need to," he counseled gently.

What, for closure? For healing? For catharsis? Dean was full of sick dread and denial but after a long moment of deliberation he took it from his brother and nodded and smoothed the envelope out slowly with trembling hands. It had his name on the front in Jamie's bold handwriting and it made Dean's chest constrict so tight that it hurt. This made it realer somehow. More final. And he didn't want either of those things. Sam gave his brother an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder then stood and walked off, giving his brother some space. But he remained close by and watchful just in case. Dean took a very long few moments to work up the ability to open the envelope with shaking hands and pull out the wrinkled letter inside. With a churning stomach and a gutted heart and trembling breath, Dean smoothed out and then read what Jamie had left to him in her final hours.

Dean —

For as long as I knew this day was coming... it still came sooner than I thought.

I'm so sorry. I know what I'm doing will hurt you. But I can't live my life like this anymore, watching you give everything you are to try and save me. Four days from now the Hellhounds will come. No one can stop that or run forever. This is my last act of freedom. I choose to die on my terms. I know you will blame yourself but please, baby, I'm begging you... don't. I'm the one who sold my soul, not you. I know you would have saved me if you could have. But some people just can't be saved. Remember that if you hear nothing else I write on this page.

Thank you for trying. No one has cared that much about me in a long, long time and it means the world to me. I know I liked to act like you were a big annoying idiot a lot of the time but I hope you know how much I really respect and care about you. How thankful I am that you took me in, so to speak. This thing we've had going between us saved a part of me I didn't think could get saved. For what it's worth, you made me believe in love again which was a miracle in and of itself. I thought I could never trust a man ever again. And then you came along.

Falling in love was the last thing I thought would happen to me, and yet here I am. Being your girl was the highlight of my life. We made something beautiful together, something no one can ever take away. I will never regret us. I hope you don't either. You weren't just my boyfriend, you were my friend. And I needed that. Thank you. There's so much I wish I could tell you, so much I feel guilty about, so much I regret... end of the day, I just wish we'd had more time.

Be brave Dean. Be strong like you always are. Don't worry about me. I'm a big girl and can handle myself. Don't you dare do anything stupid on my account. Make sure you burn my body. If you try to do something to bring me back… I'll haunt your ass for all eternity.

I don't know how to end this letter except to say my last thoughts will be of us and how happy you made me. In this way, you put sweetness into what was otherwise a bitter fate. You were truly my grand finale in every sense of the word. Carry my memory gently. Dream of us for me.

Forever your girl —
James.

Dean blinked through tears at the name on the page. James. His nickname for her, the one she'd always rolled her eyes at, the one he had only started calling her just to annoy her. And Dean wept at the graveside and clenched that letter tight, cursing Jamie relentlessly for what she had done, while somehow loving her even more than he already had. But it hurt. It hurt like it never had before.

This isn't right. God, Jamie, why would you do this to me?! How could you leave me like this? I don't understand why you didn't tell me... I thought I knew you. I thought you trusted me to get you out of this! I was going to! I was so damn close, why couldn't you have waited? Why didn't you tell me?! Why, Jesus Christ, WHY!?

That question of 'why' would haunt him for a long time to come indeed.

---

One Week Later
Lincoln, Nebraska

Castiel blinked a couple times and frowned.

Where am I?

He saw a park before him and wasn't sure where he had been before this. He had no memory and his head hurt just behind his right-hand eye. Disoriented and confused, Castiel looked around at the unremarkable scenery and then abruptly realized he knew this place.

Wait. Wait a minute.

Something deep inside of his chest stirred, ached, and clenched. How could he have forgotten? This park—and the picnic table he stood next to—it was the place where he had asked Alex to marry him. Deep sadness washed over him immediately at the thought of her and he remembered her as she had been that day: beautiful and smiling as they shared candy and conversation. He remembered her saying a word to him he treasured beyond anything in this realm or the next: yes. With flooding eyes and renewed grief, Castiel looked sidelong to the place where he knew their picnic table was. And then, at the sight of it, he was shocked out of his emotional state. Carved into the top of it were two words.

SHE'S NOT

She's not? She's not what? Castiel looked at the words and didn't understand but they set his pulse racing, they made him immediately drift closer to study them. He could tell that the words were not freshly carved. They were slightly weathered, perhaps by a week or two, but still. Castiel then he realized he was holding some kind of hunting knife in his hand and… there was blood on it. A sense of alarm struck him. Whose blood is this? He looked around in a daze, then realized his left sleeve was rolled up to his elbow, leaving his entire forearm exposed. Cut into the skin of his arm were three words.

ALEX IS STILL

His heart jumped, his stomach flipped, his breath stopped. Alex is still what? There was an empty space of skin approaching his wrist where it seemed a final word he never wrote had been meant to go. With a racing heart and alarmed, frantic mind, Cas looked around quickly, trying to figure out why he was here and what these words meant. And as he turned in a slow circle, he realized he had been here before—many, many times. On the side of the colorful tube connecting the slide to the walkway on the playground, the words NAOMI HAS were burned, then on the slide, ALEX IS. Some men were repainting the small bathroom building that was nearby and Cas saw one huge word painted there in what looked like blood: ALIVE. And seared into the sidewalk that lead to the bathroom was the word REMEMBER.

Dizzy and breathless, Castiel's eyes were wide and he wondered if this was what it felt like to have a heart attack. And then before him, an angel appeared. She was small and delicately-featured with jet-black hair and sharp eyes and a beautiful, youthful face. Castiel did not know her and immediately took a wary step back. "Who are you?" he asked suspiciously.

She looked around at all of his handiwork with a knowing, unimpressed expression. "I see you've been trying this again," she said lowly, then gave him an impatient, cool expression. "You're coming back to Heaven with me. Naomi says you need a new inhibitor."

Castiel shook his head, eyeing this strange angel closely. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

The stranger smiled patronizingly—a formality. "She said you would say that." Wordlessly, the angel produced an object that made Castiel's entire universe go still. A penny on a chain. And the penny was discolored by a sick smear of red blood. Immediately fearing the worst even though he had no memory of what was happening, Castiel went with the angel without question.

Once in Heaven, Castiel remembered everything and fought, but Naomi was ready for that and had five angels there to restrain him from a rescue attempt as she used Alex yet again to force him to accept another inhibitor. Alex was cut up, bloodied and silent, obviously terrified of what was happening to her—and Castiel fought to get to her and cried and begged Naomi to let her go, to leave her out of it, to stop hurting her. Naomi did not listen but only grew angrier then sent Castiel back to his task of finding Lucifer's crypts with his new inhibitor. She was vexed—he was the only one who wore the inhibitors out. He was the only one who was creating these problems for her. She was determined to see him turn back into the angel he used to be. In time, she would break him of his love for that human girl. It was a defect, nothing more.

In the meantime, Naomi threw Alex Winchester back into a lonely, silent, dark place in Heaven. Alex didn't know who she was or what was happening and she was hurt, petrified, anxious, and alone. She had seen the man in the trench coat several times now. Every time she saw him, she wanted to cry out to him, "Save me!" But she had no voice, and she didn't think he was able to save her, either.

---

Three Weeks Later

It had been four weeks since Jamie's death. The Winchester boys were holding steady but not exactly doing great. Three days after beginning the trials, Sam began to cough up blood and feel weaker. He did not tell Dean either of these things because he didn't think his brother could take it.

Dean sank into a deep depression, the total opposite of his frenzied behavior previously. He did nothing but sleep, watch TV, and yes, of course, drink. He had a constant five o'clock shadow and no drive to do anything. Talking, getting dressed, showering—none of it. Sensitive to his brother's mourning, Sam turned down two jobs Garth alerted him about and Garth passed the hunts off to other hunters.

Resigned to waiting, Sam kept tabs on Kevin, hopeful that the prophet would soon know more about the second and third trial. He tried to pluck up his courage to break up with Molly, believing it would keep her safe, but he found he couldn't quite. They'd been texting so she knew the gist of things—that Jamie had died and Dean was not doing well and that Sam was 'doing something really huge.' So he decided to keep her in the dark about how morbid things really were with the trials, and decided to let himself continue seeing her, just carefully. Because honestly, their interactions—be in by text, phone, video, or in person—kept him sane and made him feel like he was still someone worth a damn. She made him feel less lonely. She softened the sharp sting of reality.

After about three and a half weeks of depression in the bunker and Dean laying in a robe on the couch with a blank stare, Sam could take no more and insisted they do something that would get them out of the bunker. Dean agreed very halfheartedly, but he wasn't enthused whatsoever. Sam however needed something to go do, and so a string of bizarre deaths in Indiana seemed like just the ticket. He took lead because Dean was so blah about everything, and it was tough to do so because he felt so shaken and scared inside and was constantly coughing up flecks of blood. But for once, Sam wanted to be the strong one.

Once the boys reached Indiana, they questioned a man whose wife had suddenly began acting strange before her death. She had been digging up different sections of the town and speaking to strange people on the phone in secret conversations he couldn't quite catch. The man showed them a model of the town his dead wife had been working on, and explained that he saw her eyes turn black for a moment while she'd been working on it. She had been found dead a day or two ago with her eyes burned out and insides melted. There were a couple other deaths just like that which had happened in the past couple weeks, too.

Unsure of what to do with knowledge that someone seemed to be killing demons for them, the Winchesters carried on and investigated a woman with whom the man's wife had been in contact with before she died. This woman came to the door with her hair in rollers and was embarrassed that the 'FBI' was there seeing her in her bathrobe and slippers, but she welcomed them inside and said she and her friend had been working to recreate a map of the town prior to a flood that destroyed it. Before she could divulge more, a knock at the door brought three demons who instantly recognized the Winchesters and attacked. Dean was a little sluggish and out of practice and as such Sam was sort of on his own and just about to get ganked by a black-eyed bastard… when Castiel appeared and intervened at the last moment to save Sam. He not only smote the demon who'd been about to finish Sam but he captured a second one who had possessed the woman with hair curlers. However, it was immediately clear that Cas was… off. He was emotionless, almost like he was drugged or something. He acted like nothing was amiss and that his sudden reappearance was not something to be shocked at.

Currently, Castiel was in the kitchen of the house and Sam and Dean were in the living room.

Dean tossed an ice pack at Sam, trying to be business-as-usual. "Put this on your shoulder."

Sam would have normally thrown the pack away petulantly. But that day, he humored his brother and sat down on the couch then pressed the pack to his shoulder even as he let out a tense breath through his nose. "I'm fine, Dean." Had been thisclose to dying, but hey. He was fine... ish. Dean sat beside Sam, his face held gauntly.

Castiel suddenly came into the living room from the kitchen. His face was blank and harrowed at the same time. His voice was dead and robotic. "The other demon escaped. I bound the one I caught in a devil's trap. I'm going to interrogate it now."

Sam didn't think so and stood up fast even though he felt a little woozy inside. "Wait a second," he said roughly, because this was insane. The ice pack was forgotten. "How about you answer some questions first? Like, where the hell have you been?"

Cas stopped and hesitated, then looked back at Sam warily. "Busy. I've been very busy."

Sam waited for more details and gave his friend an expectant, demanding look. Something was off here. "With what?"

Cas turned around fully and seemed to realize he owed an explanation, but he didn't look happy about it. "Hunting down demons. Doing things that matter." He sat down in the easy chair across from the boys.

Sam's shock increased. "Wait, so this is you? All the demon murders? Why?"

A faint instance of panic flew over Cas's face so fast Sam thought he imagined it. And then Cas answered flatly. "I've been searching for the other half of the demon tablet."

Dean finally found his voice and he was bitterly offended. "…Without us? After disappearing and leaving us in the dark? Dude, we were worried. And by the way, a whole bunch of shit we could have used you on went down, so thanks for that."

Cas gave the hunter a testy glance and he wasn't exactly friendly. "I've been trying to help, Dean. You two would only slow me down."

Stung, Dean covered over with sarcasm. "Gee, thanks Cas. Good to know. Glad you haven't lost that sweethearted nature of yours." And then Dean asked his next question like he was accusing Cas of something: "You okay? I mean shit goes sideways and the whole with Alfie and then the bleeding eye and then we don't hear from you for however long—and oh yeah I pray to you constantly yet you never even fucking give me the time of day… I was starting to think you were dead, too! And now this? What's going on with you, man?"

Sam felt mild surprise. Dean had prayed to Cas? The angel's jaw tightened and he avoided eye contact briefly as he spoke in a defensive tone. "Nothing is 'going on' with me, Dean. Is it really so hard to understand that I've been working?"

Dean was pissed at Cas's heartless response. "Yes!"

It was like they were both angry about things other than what they were actually talking about. "Well, I'm sorry you fail to grasp a simple concept like that, Dean," Cas gritted out sarcastically. Dean gaped indignantly. The angel ignored it and looked at Sam again with a dogged expression. "Now listen. In my search, I uncovered that Crowley has sent out demons to find Lucifer's crypts."

The mention of Lucifer made Sam's blood run cold. "Wait, what? L-Lucifer had… crypts?"

"Yes. Dozens of them, apparently."

Sam was cautious. He sat down slowly, trying to be calm and smart and shrewd. "Okay but… why the storage wars? I mean, what the hell are they all looking for?"

What later would be discovered to be a bald-faced lie came out of Castiel's mouth without even so much as the slightest indication. "They're looking for a parchment that would allow them to decipher Crowley's half of the demon tablet without a prophet."

"…So like a demonic decoder ring?" Dean asked in disgust. "In Crowley's hands? Just friggin' great…" He rolled his eyes and muttered to himself, obviously wanting to be done with everything.

Cas looked at the floor and spoke like he was reading off a script. "The crypts were lost over time. Only those closest to Lucifer knew their whereabouts."

"Then how did Crowley find them?" Sam pressed.

Cas's startlingly blue eyes flicked up to Sam. "His demons have been possessing locals who may have some special knowledge."

Sam had to admit that did make sense. "That would explain some of the craziness we've seen…" he mused, contemplating it all. He still didn't understand all the parts to this puzzle yet, and Dean's blasé presence wasn't helpful. Sam tried to ask all the right questions to uncover the truth. "But how did they know where to start looking in the first place?"

"I don't know." Cas stood from the easy chair he'd sat in, effectively closing the subject. "I'm hoping the strange-haired demon in the kitchen is more knowledgeable than the others I interrogated." He headed toward the kitchen without anything further and then disappeared from sight through the doorway.

Dean watched with an unhappy expression. "Well, he puts the 'ass' in 'Cas,' huh?" he muttered.

Sam had to admit his brother had a point. "He's definitely off," he conceded quietly.

"Off?" Dean repeated disapprovingly. "He hasn't been right since he got back from Purgatory. We still don't know how he got out of there." Dean looked wary and faintly ill. "This isn't him. The Cas I knew wouldn't just disappear and then turn back up and be all heartless Cas-hole. Someone's doing something to him or something, I don't know."

Sam gave his brother a skeptical sidelong look. "If he's so sketchy, then why were you praying to him?"

Dean stood up angrily. "I was piss-ass drunk every time I prayed to him, okay?" He sent a furtive, hard glance at the kitchen and swept the subject under a rug. "You keep an eye out."

Sam rose slowly. You didn't have to tell him twice. "Don't worry, I will."

The brothers followed Castiel into the kitchen where his interrogation methods proved to be bloody and shocking and a very far cry from angelic. The demon revealed that she and the demons she was working with had a hostage. One of Crowley's pets. Someone who had seen these crypts, apparently. She said the name of the hotel where their hostage was being kept and was trying to say something else when Castiel stabbed her to death without any single warning. He then disappeared and left the Winchesters shocked, pissed, and confused with no choice but to race over to the location the demon had given. When they got there, they found Cas, more dead demons, and in the bathroom, a very familiar hostage.

---

She was bloody and battered and looked like she had been run over by a dump truck, but Meg smirked as usual as she flopped down on the bed and delicately brushed at her wrists where too-tight ropes had just been. She folded her legs underneath herself and perched there like a little bloody bird. Around her head, a halo of badly-dyed blonde hair—blood was smeared into some of the ends, resulting in a garish effect. She grinned around at the boys who were giving her dark, guarded looks. "Gosh, I feel like the gang's all here!" she said, then made a slight face. "Well, except for the pretty one." She winked at Cas, who was stone-faced and cross-armed at the window. "Pray tell, where's my favorite Winchester, hmm?" She smiled around stupidly but began to frown instead as she saw the looks on the men's faces. "What? Was it something I said?"

Sam was the one who said it. "She's dead, Meg."

Genuine, non-theatrical surprise showed on Meg's face. For a moment, she looked like a real person. "Dead?" She looked to Cas for an explanation. The angel was silent and still like a statue. Meg's voice lowered. "How?"

"None of your goddamn business," Dean retorted in a furious voice he just managed to keep in check. "You ask again and I'll stab you in the throat, we clear?"

Meg turned a faintly disdainful gaze onto him. "Charming," she commented flatly.

Dean forced a fake, patronizing smile. "So I gotta ask. What's up with the hair?"

"Aw thanks for noticing, Dean, but this wasn't my idea, it was Crowley's." Meg grinned widely, showing off bloody teeth. "It's just another reason I wanna stab him in the face." She said it cheerfully, which made for odd effect.

Sam frowned. "Wait a second, you've been telling Crowley the location of Lucifer's crypts."

Becoming a touch more sarcastic, Meg's smile turned into a wan expression. "What can I say, I needed a break from the constant torture. And I did visit them during my time with Yellow-Eyes." Her self-pleased smile returned and lounged lazily across her face as she turned her gaze onto Cas. "But don't worry, I haven't exactly been giving them the Glen Gary leads."

He had a frown fixed onto his stern face. "You mean you've been lying to them."

"I just get them in the ballpark," Meg said. "Enough time's passed and enough's changed that they bought it."

Dean was starting to get interested in this. "Why lie?" he asked darkly.

"Buy myself some time, dummy?" Meg asked patronizingly. "Find a way to get free?"

Sam shook his head. "Wait, so… a bunch of innocents died so you could buy yourself some time?"

Meg tilted her head to the side and smiled cynically. "Hi I'm Meg, and I'm a demon."

Fair enough. But Sam was giving her quite the evil eye.

"So what have they found?" Cas prompted.

"Bupkis," Meg replied leisurely. "Every crypt's been one Al Capone's waltz after another. And on top of that, someone kept picking up the trail and icing demons." Her smile was distinctly flirtatious and hungry. "I'm guessing that was you, Castiel." She scoffed in faint annoyance. "But Crowley just keeps sending more. He's hellbent on finding that angel tablet."

The brothers both sat back in unison. Sam found his voice first: "There's an angel tablet?"

"Yup! Crowley found out Lucifer had it, figures it's stashed in a crypt."

The brothers both looked at Cas, both wondering the same thing. Had he known about this…? Cas looked a little unsure and quickly gave a flimsy, "Well. This is news to me as well." Notably uncomfortable, Cas stood a bit taller. "The demons I interrogated, they must have been lying about their true intentions."

"Really?" Dean asked, letting his doubt turn his voice to gravel. "'Cause I saw you zero dark thirty that demon. You were more than persuasive." Challengingly, he waited for Cas to reply.

"You're both missing the point, boys," Meg said tiredly like she was talking to children. "I lied to them which means they're digging in the wrong place. But not for long. They'll be back here soon." She smiled tightly. "Sooo... who's up for fleeing?"

"She's right," Sam agreed, his brow drawing tight as he realized this had just become urgent. "We need to find those crypts before they do." He looked at the demon who he had a pretty complicated history with and he really hated it but… it was true. "Meg. You're the only one who's been there."

Cas nodded somberly and said what Sam hadn't quite been able to. "We need your help."

Meg was pleased. "Any of you dummies got a map?"

---

They went back to the empty house's basement where one of Cas's demon murder victims had feverishly been working on a small-scale city replica. Meg used that and showed Dean and Sam the place that the crypts would be then wandered off in search of alcohol. Cas followed, leaving the brothers alone. Sam used his laptop to try and figure out what sort of infrastructure would be in the place Meg claimed the crypts were. As he did that, Dean paced behind him slowly and grimly.

"He lied to us. Disappeared for however long this has been, turns back up and straight up lies."

"Yeah, maybe," Sam acknowledged. "But I can kinda understand why. I mean, an angel tablet? If the demon tablet can shut the gates of Hell, what could the angel tablet do?"

"Cas knows he can trust us, Sam!" Dean hissed, and glanced upward, like he was paranoid that Cas was listening in. "I don't like this, man. What the fuck is happening, huh?"

---

Upstairs, Meg lounged on a couch with a bottle of whiskey and Cas took a seat near her in a chair he pulled over. He had a first-aid kit he had found in the kitchen and Meg smirked lazily. Was he seriously about to kiss her boo-boos? Sure enough. He took hold of her arm and studied her wrist where the ropes had dug into her skin until it bled. "These wounds have festered," he proclaimed flatly in that constipated deep voice of his.

"Well well well, Doctor Angel reporting for duty?" Meg teased, her voice full of dark humor. Cas said nothing to that but looked mildly annoyed as he pulled out some gauze from the kit and began to wrap Meg's wrist. She watched him with a wolfish smile, enjoying herself and wondering why the fuck he would do this. His motivation didn't matter but she tried, like she always did, to unnerve and be inappropriate. "You really do know how to make a girl's nethers quiver, don't you?" she drawled.

Cas glanced up at her just barely and sounded depressed when he replied. "I am aware of how to do that, yes." Oh yeah. Alex. "Although it doesn't usually involve cleaning wounds."

"Yeah?" Meg challenged seductively, moving past the twinge of interest and sympathy she felt at his reference to baby Winchester. "What's it usually involve?" Castiel made no reply and Meg set him with an arched eyebrow and watched him for a moment. He continued to wrap her wrist tightly and she called foul about this entire thing. "You know, call me a cynic but you seem sorta… not your usual trench-coaty self, Clarence. Your favorite Winchester gets killed off and you're just… what, business as usual? Majorly O-O-C if you ask me."

Cas's jaw clenched. "I still don't know who Clarence is. Or what O-O-C means, either." He did not answer her question about Alex. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Would it kill you to watch a movie? Read a book?" Meg asked, then took a swig directly out of her bottle of booze. This guy had been around longer than she had and was as socially and culturally inept as they came.

"A movie, no," Cas replied, distracted with his task of wrapping her wounds needlessly. "But a book with the proper spells—yeah, it could, theoretically, kill me."

Meg was mildly disgusted at his literal sense. "Oh my god, are you serious?" When it became apparently that he was, she chuckled and settled further back down into the couch pillows and looked at the neatly-wrapped wrist she was now owner of. Cas was wrapping her other wrist and having to lean a little further because of her slouched posture. She watched him and had to admit, he was interesting if nothing else. "So, which Cas are you now?" she purred. "Original make and model, or crazy town?"

The question seemed to truly still Castiel, who took a moment and had to think. Mildly disturbed, he frowned. "I'm… just me," he finally replied, but he seemed depressed about the fact.

"So, your noodle's back in order?" she pressed. After all, she'd seen him at the height of his crazy not that long ago.

Cas's eyes crimped up and he looked at her with a totally lost and somewhat suspicious expression. "What noodle? A pool noodle?"

"Mm." Meg pulled a face. "I can't decide if you're adorable or completely annoying." She took another swig from her bottle and then watched as Cas finished wrapping her other wrist. "So. Anyone ever gonna tell me what happened to Ariel or is that classified information?" Meg tried to disguise the fact that she actually really wanted to know the details.

Cas's eyes slowly raised to look into Meg's. "She died."

A factual reply but there was a waver of emotion behind it. Meg's eyes narrowed because she didn't buy this Robo-Castiel thing and didn't know why Clarence was acting so stick-up-the-ass. "Yeah I got that much, laser-brain. How."

Frowning deeply and thinking hard, the angel's eyes cast back and forth over the floor. "I'm not… not completely sure, to be honest with you."

Not completely sure? Well that didn't smell fishy! "And you're just okay with that? Not gonna move every dimension to bring her back and find out?" When Cas said and did nothing in response, Meg gave a disillusioned scoffing laugh. "Man, things really change when you're tortured by a demon for a year. Never thought I'd see the day when you couldn't give two craps about your little human toy."

Cas's nostrils flared and he sounded angry. A real emotion, finally. "She wasn't—she's not a toy." Present tense. Meg frowned. Interesting. As quickly as Cas had shown some emotion, it was gone. He began to speak in that dark, apathetic voice yet again. "But she doesn't matter anymore. I'm an angel. I serve Heaven, not man."

Meg snorted and looked him over closely. Something was going on here. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on but wanted to. No way did she buy the shit he was peddling. She decided to slide a little information out onto the table to see how he reacted. "So riddle me this. What would you say if I told you your homegirl Alex tortured me on Crowley's behest while you were in Purgatory? And man, that little wifey of yours knows how to make a girl scream, I'll tell you that much." She winked.

Cas looked mildly horrified and genuinely shocked. "Why would she do that?"

"Work for Crowley?" Meg prompted cooly. "You got me, but hey, you did it first so maybe she was just following your stellar example." She set him with a triumphant and smug little smile. "But you don't care, remember? She doesn't 'matter anymore.'" Cas was silent and disturbed and confused. Meg rolled her eyes. He was a mess. Probably still a few screws lose in the head. She chuckled cynically and looked at the half-empty bottle in her hand. "You know, I miss the apocalypse, Clarence. I mean, it was simpler, you gotta admit. I was bad. You were good. Life was easier. Now it's all so... messy. I'm kind of good, which sucks. And you're kind of…" she trailed off because she couldn't figure it out. Mostly he seemed completely defeated. "Broken," she finally settled on.

He contemplated her word choice tensely. "Yes," he said softly. "That's how I feel."

Disliking how serious and potentially genuine the moment had suddenly become, Meg threw out a lewd suggestion to make sure and spoil it. "If you need some comfort sex, I'm your girl, 'kay?" She looked at him in a way that would make anyone uncomfortable.

Expectably revolted, Cas sat back but his eyes were far away and he looked close to tears. Almost like he wasn't really there in that room at all. "Nothing would ever comfort me except to have her back," he said softly, then he looked at Meg in distaste. "And I find your offer extremely inappropriate." He then got up and walked away and stood at a nearby window, staring out of it listlessly.

When Sam and Dean came out of the basement, Meg intercepted them and asked them in a voice only they could hear: "Yo, anyone else noticed the cracked out angel in the room?"

They were forever-wary of her and obviously didn't like her. Sam glanced at Dean then looked at Meg suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

Meg shrugged. "One minute he says he doesn't care about his dearly departed, the next he's moping around about her and about to start playing a tiny violin. Anyone else think that's all kinds of wonky?" The brothers exchanged yet another loaded look and then seemed to silently decide a conversation with her would be pointless. They brushed past, leaving Meg to feel marginally wounded. "Are we still doing the ignore-Meg thing?" She asked. No answer. She followed them with a mutter. "Geez Louise, fine."

---

The crypt was below a Winchester favorite: an abandoned old building. Under the cover of night, the group of four headed in with Meg semi-leading and Dean refusing to let her. "Basement?" she suggested.

"No, attic," Dean retorted, not even looking at her. "All right, Cas and I head in and get our Indiana Jones on. Sam, you stay outside with Meg."

"What?" Sam looked at his brother in vast surprise as they continued to approach the building.

"We got this," was Dean's curt reply.

Getting more and more agitated, Sam threw his arms out. "What are you talking about, Dean? I'm not letting you go in there alone."

"He won't be alone," Cas reasoned stiffly.

"That's not what I mean," Sam protested. "Meg can hang here, watch our backs."

Dean seemed to think that was funny. "Oh, what? Now you trust Meg?"

"Hey, I got you this far," the demon put in.

"Shut up, Meg," Sam snapped. "Dean—"

Dean finally stopped and leveled with his brother by pointing at him. "Sam, I saw your bloody rag in the trash can, okay?" Sam looked stunned, then guilty, then like he was trying to come up with an excuse. "I know you're sick or whatever, so… no. You're staying here."

Sam still tried to cover it up. "That wasn't—"

"Stop," Dean said flatly. "Just stop. Sam, we don't know what's in there, okay? And you almost let a demon get the best of you back there."

Sam withered. "So did you!" He wet his lips and insisted angrily: "I'm fine."

"No, you're not fine," Dean said. "You haven't been fine since the first trial."

Meg perked up. "Trial?"

In unintentional unison, the brothers said the same thing to her: "Shut up, Meg."

Sam continued to try and convince his brother, but frustration made his voice a couple notches tighter. "Dean, I'm telling you—I'm okay."

"No, you're not," Cas said grimly, turning a very somber gaze onto the hunter. "Sam... you're damaged in ways even I can't heal." Dean's face went slack even as Sam's hardened into a glare. Cas shook his head. "Dean's right. You should stay here and protect Meg."

Meg looked like he was joking. "Since when do I need protecting?"

Apparently he still had some sass left in him. Cas looked at her directly and answered forcefully. "Since you were held captive and tortured for over a year."

She meekly had to admit he was right there. "...Touché."

That seemed to be the end of it. Dean nodded tensely and glanced at Cas and then Sam. "All right, we'll be back." He dug into his jacket and produced the demon blade. Sam took it, but unhappily. Cas and Dean strode toward a side door, leaving Sam and Meg outside—with Sam fuming and Meg stewing quietly about forever being the outsider.

---

Cas and Dean were in the dank and dusty basement level of an old factory. There was nothing but cold concrete walls and rusted pipes lining the walls and awkward silence.

Dean's flashlight swept over more dusty floor as they turned a corner and he found it impossible to stay silent any longer. "Hey, what did you mean back there about Sam?"

Distracted, Cas came off as disinterested. "It's difficult to say. It's something on the subatomic level and his electromagnetic field, possibly—"

"Okay, bottom-line it for me, Bill Nye," Dean interrupted impatiently. "Is it lethal?"

The answer came immediately. "I don't know." Cas sounded so… blasé. Not really worried at all. And Dean just didn't get it. He stopped point blank and confronted his supposed friend by getting in his path. Cas looked a little surprised by that.

"You sure you're okay?" Dean challenged gruffly, eyeing Cas closely with suspicion. "I mean, in Purgatory we were like this." He crossed his fingers tight together and looked at a Cas he didn't recognize. Something was eating Cas alive and masking him. He seemed like he was on autopilot. "Something's wrong. Now you gonna tell me or what?"

Cas was gaunt and clearly defensive. "Nothing is wrong, I told you. I've been busy."

Bull. "Too busy for your family?" Dean challenged. That word caught Cas's attention fast. Dean shook his head, fighting emotion. "Man, we all lost her. Not just you. If that's what this is about, you going off into the wilderness to grieve or something, I get it. But you should have told me where you were. And besides that, I really could have used you around after what happened recently."

Cas barely responded to Dean's heartfelt words. "Which is what?"

Dean had trouble thinking it. Had trouble accepting it. Could barely say it out loud. "James." He said her name and it slammed him hard in the stomach, reducing his voice to something bare and quiet. "She didn't make it."

Finally, a slight semblance of empathy and sympathy showed on Cas's face. "I'm so sorry Dean."

Dean was sorry too. About a lot of shit. But he was mad, too. "Why didn't you answer me?" he asked, because he really didn't get it and was tired of being jerked around by Cas. "I prayed to you. A lot." And Cas had ignored him outright. That shit hurt. They'd been like brothers in Purgatory. They had survived because of each other and come to terms in there and then Cas just dropped off the face of the earth without a good reason. Dean was trying to reserve judgment but he was in deep these days with the blame game. He wanted to point fingers and be furious and beat faces in.

"I couldn't, Dean." Cas was back to looking irritated by the questions. "I didn't have time." He then brushed past with a strong bump of the shoulder and Dean's mouth dropped open at the audacity.

Was this guy for real right now? "Cas." The angel paid him no attention, just scoped out the nearby wall as Dean followed angrily. "Cas! Dude, what the hell man?"

Cas leaned closer to the wall, paying the hunter little mind. "Dean. Shh. Wait." He began to listen to the wall.

"For what?!" Dean demanded.

Cas wouldn't take his eyes off the wall. "There's a draft. There's something behind there." Wait, what? Dean looked at the unremarkable wall and remembered their mission at hand. Cas, who hadn't forgotten for a second, became all the more pinched by focus. "Stand back," he commanded, and the fierce tone there caused Dean to obey immediately.

Cas put his palm flat to the wall and the high-pitched ear-searing sound of celestial energy rang out and intensified as light grew from beneath the angel's hand. Dean swallowed. Sometimes, he forgot what Cas was and what he could do. The wall cracked and then shattered and Dean had to throw an arm up to protect his face from spraying rubble.

---

Heaven

In her pristine white office, Naomi waited for word from Castiel. It would be coming soon. She disliked having to count on someone else to carry out her orders, but she also knew that she was no foot soldier and she was not the one who did the legwork. She was above that; designed for the delicate behind-the-scenes work of intelligence and surveillance and protection and supervision. Naomi glanced at the corner of her room where the girl huddled in a drugged, confused stupor. It had taken a vast array of angel spells to render the girl useless like that, but Naomi had done it with good reason. Without the modifications, after all, the human had been nothing but fight and trouble and issues. Now, she was the perfect dangling carrot. Passive, silent, and cooperative. Naomi knew today of all days, when Castiel was hot on the trail of the crypts alongside the Winchesters, this dangling carrot would come in very usefully. Castiel seemed inclined to rebellion and disobedience. Some said it was all because of this human girl. Naomi tried to see what Castiel saw about this human, but she could find nothing that made her special from the other humans. She was a typical female specimen. And yet Castiel had proven over and over again that he would do quite literally anything to protect her. It was almost laughable.

Feeling Naomi's gaze on her, Alex Winchester's slow, dumb eyes looked up at the angel. She had her knees curled into her chest as she sat in the corner that was behind and beside Naomi's desk. Even though the girl was obviously frightened witless and disoriented at her condition, she didn't try to run or fight or even get up. Part of that was due to the slowing spell Naomi had put onto her. It caused a human being to become sluggish and dull and physically weak.

Just then, the glass door opened and Naomi looked up. It was Castiel. Well, a representation of him, anyway. He wasn't actually in Heaven. Just a transmission, basically. He looked dogged, tired, and gaunt. "I found it," he announced breathlessly. The angel tablet. Naomi stood, immediately growing urgent too.

"Tell the Winchester the crypt is empty," she said assertively, referring to Dean. "Then you can come back and—"

"It's warded against angels," he interrupted urgently.

"Well, you can come back—"

"No," he insisted more harshly, "Crowley's demons are still in town and we're running out of time. What should I do?"

Naomi glowered. "Handle it."

That was the exact moment that Castiel caught sight of the girl huddled in the corner. His demeanor immediately wavered and his urgency gave way to alarm. "Wait. Why is she here?" Frantic eyes looked at Naomi. "What are you going to do to her?"

Just as she had predicted. This dangling carrot was a guarantee of success. "Nothing if you do as I say. Now get that tablet. Now."

---

Earth

Castiel was plunged back into darkness as his senses refocused and he found himself in a dusty, ancient crypt that was littered with ancient artifacts. He raised his finger and pointed robotically. "Dean… that's it." A sizable carved wooden box that was cobweb laced and so dusty that the details of the carvings were almost lost completely.

Dean turned his flashlight beam onto the box even as he looked at Cas. "How do you know?"

"It's the only thing in here warded against angels."

Dean hesitated and then tucked his flashlight under his arm and hauled the box off the shelf it was on, setting it down onto the grand marble table that was at the center of the crypt. Using his hunting knife, he pried the angel-warded box open. "Winner, winner, chicken dinner," he announced, pulling out a lump of rock. Inside, the tablet was concealed.

"Good," Castiel said. He wasn't sure why, but he felt such keen relief. A sense of completion. "Hand it to me and I'll take it to Heaven."

Dean's eyes jumped up to his and abruptly became guarded. "No… we will take it to Kevin so he can translate," he replied slowly and doubtfully.

Castiel realized his mistake. He wasn't supposed to have said that. "Right. Of course. I'll take it to him right away." All he knew was that he needed to convince Dean to give him that tablet. Now. "No time to waste."

But Dean did not look cooperative. "Well, he's not that far," he said, attempting to act nonchalant. "I've been meaning to... go check on him, bring him some supplies."

"He's not cooperating," Castiel said, suddenly finding himself in Heaven face to face with an urgent Naomi.

"If the demons get their hands on the angel tablet, they'll kill us all," she insisted loudly. "They'll destroy Heaven! Do you want that?!"

His heartbeat was fluttering sickeningly and Castiel could sense that this was about to become dire. Still, he begged for a chance. "I can reason with Dean," he insisted shakily. "He's a good man. Naomi, please."

Naomi did not listen to his plea. "Kill him."

Castiel slowly circled around the large table toward the hunter, his eyes on the rock that contained the tablet. "I can resupply the prophet, Dean," he said blankly. "Give that to me and I'll be on my way."

Dean took a couple of steps back, increasing the distance between himself and the angel. Castiel knew the hunter was onto him. "You know, why don't, uh, why don't Sam and I take it over to him, and you can get back to your mission?" Dean asked, still attempting to act casual. Castiel kept walking toward Dean, who kept backing up, clutching the rock to himself now. "Finding the other half of the demon tablet. That is priority, isn't it?"

Castiel was dark and forceful. He only wanted one thing in the entire universe: that rock. "Give me the tablet, Dean."

Dean was not going to. "No."

Cas heard himself saying it and wasn't even sure why. "I can't let you take that, Dean."

There was a long silence in which Dean looked at his friend in disbelief and dread alike. "Can't or won't?"

"Both."

Dean didn't move as Castiel drifted two steps closer. His voice softened, his eyes narrowed, and he stood there waiting. "How did you get out of Purgatory, Cas?"

Stark white light. Naomi. And she was holding Alex now by an arm as Castiel lost his mind because he knew what he was about to do. "There has to be another way, please!" he managed. "I am begging you!"

"You have done this a thousand times, Castiel!" Naomi tightened her grip on Alex, who Castiel could see but not touch—he wasn't actually in Heaven. "You're ready. Kill him. Then take the tablet and bring it home, where it belongs." For effect, Naomi let her blade drop out of her sleeve and she gave Castiel a dire, deadly look. "You know what happens if you don't obey." Alex struggled away feebly from Naomi, whose grip held her solidly in place.

Castiel's face streamed with tears, his heart beat wildly. Dean or Alex. Dean or Alex. And it would always be Alex. But he couldn't do this. Dean was like his brother! "Please," he said frantically, desperate for Naomi to give him another option or to have mercy. "Don't make me do this! They're both so important. My family!"

Naomi was incensed. "No. Your family is the Heavenly Host. Now kill Dean Winchester or she dies! And if you continue to test my patience, I'll kill them both!" Without warning she slashed Alex across an arm and Cas cried out and tried to lunge for his wife. Then instead he found himself crashing into a stone statue of a cloven-hoof devil back in the dark crypt.

Dean looked on in confusion, still holding the rock as Castiel smashed into a stone statue after crying out 'no' for no apparent reason. "Cas?" The angel got up slowly. His eyes were crazy. "You okay?"

Castiel looked at Dean and he was breathing hard and there were inexplicable tears on his face even though his expression was not sad in the least. "Give me… the tablet."

Dean backed up as wild-eyed Cas approached. "Just tell me how you got out of Purgatory," he said, remaining calm despite the increasingly dire situation. "Be honest with me—for the first time since you've been back, man, and then this is yours." Cas barely heard Dean. In Heaven, a girl was screaming silently in pain and Naomi was shouting kill him. And Castiel let his angel blade slide out of his sleeve as he obeyed. Dean gaped and quickly realized it was about to get bad. "Cas. Cas, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but if you're in there and you can hear me, you don't have to do this!"

"You don't—understand—" Castiel managed through gritted teeth, and without anything further, he drew back and stabbed at Dean, who only managed to block the blow with the stone he held. The blade hit the stone and thunder growled as lightning seared the sky outside.

Bright white, sick stomach, Naomi glaring at him: Cas paced back and forth like a caged animal and he wanted to be sick. "This isn't right!" he insisted, his voice gone higher in pitch from anxiety. Nearby, Alex was on all fours where Naomi had thrown her a moment ago.

"Do you realize what that tablet can do for us?" Naomi demanded angrily. "For Heaven?"

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. "I can't hurt Dean, Naomi, I can't hurt Dean!" Castiel insisted, and he had never felt such all-consuming panic in his entire life.

"Kill him, Castiel," Naomi commanded, then yanked Alex up by the hair and threw her across the room violently. "Kill him!"

On earth, Castiel went blindly veering off to the left for no reason even as Dean shrank back—and Castiel ran into the wall there and moaned 'no, no,' in confusion and looked around for something that wasn't there, his hands trying to pick something invisible up—then he turned and set his eyes on Dean again with renewed determination.

"Cas, fight this!" Dean shouted as the angel rose up to his full height. "This is not you! Fight it!"

Castiel replied by staggering over again and stabbing his blade at Dean wildly. Again, Dean used the stone to block the blow. And then Castiel gripped both sides of his own head and doubled over like a person who was hearing voices. "What have you done to me?!" he shouted, voice cracking and breaking as Dean looked on in breathless horror. He gave a sobbing sound as he seemed to see something happening to Dean's left. "Stop hurting her, stop it!" he shrieked.

"Cas?" Dean asked, worry making his tone stark.

"What have I done to you?!" Naomi demanded, bearing down on Castiel furiously. "Do you have any idea what it's like out there? There's blood everywhere, and it's on your hands!" Cas shrank back, horrified. Nearby, Alex slumped against a wall with a bleeding head. "After everything you did—to us, to Heaven, I fixed you, Castiel. I fixed you! I made you into the angel you used to be! The angel you should have been!" In anger, Naomi shoved him and he landed on the floor of her office on all fours. Nearby, Alex's scared eyes met his and he tried to crawl to her.

"Cas!" Dean's voice shouted, and a very disoriented Castiel looked to his side—he was doubled over and breathing hard and in the dark again—and Dean had a hand on his shoulder. And the words kill him! screamed through the angel's mind and Castiel saw Alex in his mind's eye and without being able to control himself, he backhanded Dean across the face so hard that the hunter was thrown against the nearby wall.

Dean grunted and rolled over, quickly picking up the stone as he tried to escape. He came face to face with Cas, and it might have been in vain, but Dean tried anyway: he took a swing at Cas, who grabbed the fist aimed for him and ruthlessly twisted, breaking Dean's arm completely. The stone fell to the floor and shattered when Dean lost grip of it, sending the tablet inside clattering. Dean fell to his knees beneath the strength of Cas's iron grip and received another bone-breaking hit to his face. Blood ran out of his nose and down into his own mouth. "You want it?!" Dean thundered, seeing how Cas looked dispassionately at the exposed tablet. "Take it! But you're gonna have to kill me first! Come on, you coward. Do it. Do it!" Maybe Dean wanted to die. Maybe he'd been waiting for someone to come along and put him out of his misery. All he knew was that Cas was too strong to fight and he couldn't.

Blade in hand, Cas smacked Naomi's desk so hard that it cracked. When he realized every time he struck the desk he was hitting Dean and hurting him, he looked at Naomi with bulging, terrified eyes. "Please!" he begged.

Naomi looked utterly venomous. "End this, Castiel, or I will!" She grabbed Alex by the side of the head and slammed her skull-first into the nearby wall. A sound something like a sob escaped Castiel and he raised his fist, hitting the desk again and again.

Dean was becoming battered and disfigured. Blood streaked the right side of his face and his right eye was turning purple. "Cas… this isn't you," he wheezed, confusion marring his features. "This isn't you!"

Castiel was growing more and more alarmed, to the point that every breath he breathed was a soft moan of despair and fear. Alex was falling over, catching herself on her hands as Naomi gave Castiel a glare made of lava. "Bring—me—the tablet!" Castiel could barely separate his two conflicting worlds or what was happening to the people he loved. He was hurting Dean, and Naomi hurt Alex every time he hesitated in the slightest to inflict damage onto Dean. He had to finish it. He had to finish it.

Dean cried out in pain as Cas's fist shocked his bloody face yet again with a devastating blow. His right eye was now swollen completely shut. "Cas. Cas." He reached out toward the angel weakly for mercy. "I know you're in there." Castiel raised his angel blade slowly, but Dean did not stop. Through a blood-smeared face and a swollen gaze, Dean appealed for his life even though he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted it anymore. "I know you can hear me," he managed feebly, trying to find his friend in there. His brother-in-law. The only reason he'd made it through Purgatory at all. "Cas... " his voice broke miserably. "It's me." Castiel stared at him with dead eyes. "We're family," Dean said, and his voice was muffled and stuffy sounding from his broken nose. "We need you. I need you. Especially right now, man." His voice cracked. "Please."

And Castiel couldn't do it. He couldn't kill the man who he had pulled out of Hell and shared so much with. He couldn't betray or break the Winchester family any more than he already had. He couldn't let Alex be hurt any longer. Behind his eye, the inhibitor burned and itched and Castiel was done in every single possible way. Naomi was opposite the desk from Castiel. His eyes raised slowly to look into hers and his fury, his temper, his wrath began to boil as he thought about what this angel had done to the people he loved and cared for, but especially to her.

"You have to choose, Castiel," Naomi said forcefully. "Your so called wife or the hunter." She slammed her hands down onto the desk. "Make! Your! Decision!"

And Castiel already had. He looked Naomi in the eye and banked everything on what he was about to do next. He would succeed. She was not going to win. "This is over," Castiel he told her in an abruptly low to her shock. "You will never touch anyone I love ever again." And then he left the transmission by the strength of his own will.

On earth, Dean watched as Castiel dropped his blade and stepped back then abruptly stuck his fingers into his own eyeball and made a sound of pain—grimacing and revolted and confused, Dean shrank back, completely unsure of what was happening. The shadows concealed what exactly Cas was doing, but Dean caught a glimpse of blood running out of Castiel's eye and then saw a small, bloody metal piece drop to the ground. And then Cas was suddenly gone completely, leaving Dean in a broken heap on the floor.

---

Heaven

Naomi gaped at the place Castiel's transmission had just been. And before she could summon anyone or even guess what he planned to do, a mighty rush of wind blew through Naomi's office and she suddenly realized her mistake.

Castiel had appeared and he was humming with celestial energy and fury, his trench coat billowing around him and whipping at his legs even as he raised a hand and sent her flying back so hard that the entire wall behind her shattered on impact. His eyes were white-hot and his wings bristled behind him, dark as midnight and large in expanse. Curled up on the floor, Alex stared up at him in awe and fear and she crawled backwards despite her multiple injuries until she hit the couch there and couldn't back away further. His severity died down—the wind stopped, his expression became gentle, the light faded away and he went to her and then crouched down with her, his face a mask of tenderness and pain all at once—his eyes were tear-filled. He was broken by relief and careful not to frighten her.

"Oh Alex," he said, his breathy voice cracking. "I thought you were lost to me." She stared at him with wide, scared eyes as he gently reached for her. "Don't be afraid," he reassured, understanding that she did not know him. "I'm here to help you." She allowed him to gather her up, but she was stiff in his arms and scared of him. "Hold on tightly," he told her in a near-whisper, cradling her with every ounce of gentleness possible. Naomi was stumbling up to her feet a few feet away—her hair was askew, her office was destroyed, and she looked absolutely shocked by what had just happened. Castiel gave her the most devastatingly lethal look there had ever been. "I'll be back for you," he growled, and then with a supersonic boom, he was gone.

---

Earth

There was a mighty crash in the crypt. One that shook the ground like an earthquake, jolting a very painfully injured Dean. He groaned protest, barely able to support himself on the arm that wasn't broken. His entire body was filled with agony and he didn't understand what had just happened. He peered through blurry, blood-smeared vision at the source of the sound. Rubble and dust had made a hazy fog-like dust rise, but Dean could make out a tan trench coat lump there. "Cas? What's—?"

It appeared that Cas had just crash-landed hard—he laid on his side and he was curled around some kind of object, cradling something against himself closely with both arms. Something brown-haired and lanky and wearing jeans and a tank-top and Dean's heart stopped when that familiar-looking figure pushed up and away from Cas and he recognized his sister. "Oh my god," he breathed, thinking he must be dead or tripping or both. He lurched to his feet, barely able to breathe as he stumbled over, because it was her. "Oh my god oh my god oh my god!" At his approach, she stood up fast but unevenly and backed away with an uneven gait. Her expression was confused but Dean was drunk on delirium and trying to get to her, unable to stop babbling "oh my god" and "holy shit" over and over with relief that had him sobbing. And then he apparently got too close. She looked fucking terrified of him and when her back hit the wall she hauled off and punched him in the face hard when he was close enough to hug her. Dean's vision exploded in white-hot pain and he stumbled back, totally blindsided. "Son of a bitch!" he rasped, covering his pain-riddled face with a hand. What the hell?! He looked at his sister, who was frozen and rigid against the wall, panting hard. Her eyes were wild and he suddenly realized something was very wrong.

Nearby, Cas had gotten to his feet. "Cas, w-what's wrong with her?" Dean asked breathlessly. Alex was looking between Cas and Dean like she was evaluating both of them as threats. "Is that—is that really her?" Maybe it wasn't. Dean's heart began to fall.

Cas looked a little worse for the wear and he stood beside Dean. Blood ran out of his right-hand eye and he breathed a little harder than normal. "Yes, Dean," he said heavily. "It's her. But she doesn't know you. She doesn't know anyone."