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.

121. Underworld Overture

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 121 / Underworld Overture

"What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love."
- Fyodor Dostoyevsky

---

The Next Day

"I don't get it though!" Sam complained in agitation as the two exhausted brothers exited the Impala. Nearby, the bunker silently towered. "Did she remember the lock combination somehow, was it a lucky guess?"

Dean slammed his door especially hard, his expression sour and tight. "Whichever one, it doesn't change the fact that she got out, she's gone and who knows how far she's gotten by now. Sam, we just looked for that girl—" he checked his watch— "for six fucking hours!" The side of his fist banged down on the roof of the Impala in a frustrated thud. They'd had her at the bunker for less than twenty-four hours and she'd found a way to run away. Of course, Dean blamed himself first and his brother second. "Dammit, Sam—I knew we should have taken shifts and watched the doors, man, knew it!" His face gave away his every stress and despair. "Runnin' around out there with no memory, I mean what the hell! I know she thought I was a terrible person but did she really need to run off?! It's not safe out there! Why didn't she listen?"

Across from him at the other side of the car, Sam's expression was taxed and worried too. "Maybe she'll come back?" he chanced, but he couldn't muster genuine hopefulness.

Dean shook his head doubtfully and dragged his hand across his face in an effort to get a grip. And then he began to stare into nothing as if recalling something. "Hey, wait. Wait, maybe Cas made off with her," he said, starting to talk faster as he looked at Sam urgently. "Yeah, he was here last night, woke me up like middle of the freakin' graveyard shift—actually kinda thought I dreamed it I was so dead asleep."

Sam jumped on board with that theory. "What, so… maybe he took her somewhere to keep her safe?" he ventured. "From that Naomi angel he mentioned?"

Although for a second Dean had been encouraged, he was looking pissy again. "Well if that's the case, why won't he answer my goddamn bat signal? Called that dude, what, ten times already!" He let out a harsh breath just before a disgruntled mutter. "This is fucking ridiculous, man."

Sam's haggard face showed grim frustration. "Yeah, he could have left some kind of 'sorry I missed you' if that's what happened…" he muttered, then abruptly ran his hands across his face and let out a huge huff of air before letting out a short, dark laugh. "Jesus Christ, man. If it isn't one thing with us, it's something else, huh?" He shook his head a few times and then asked a question he'd already asked but didn't remember asking. "Hey, any of her old phones showing GPS activity?"

Short on patience after the day they'd had, Dean gave his brother a death glare and began to stalk around the car. "I told you, she didn't take anything." He glanced around at the nearby area with a stony face. "Ground's too dry to know which way she went, no one at any of the local places saw her… I bet you ten bucks she hitched a ride with some stranger off the highway." When he said that, both brothers faces darkened with helpless frustration and fear. Their worst nightmare. This was like when Alex had been mute and younger, but now it was a million times worse. She didn't remember who she was—or that they were the good guys—and there was no telling where she'd gone or what she was doing. Dean looked positively sick with this new reality. "Just hope she remembers how to stab someone if it comes to that."

Similarly upset, Sam nodded vaguely, too distressed to summon much of a response. "Let's just hope Cas has her," he said quietly, his eyes scanning the bleak landscape nearby for anything they'd missed earlier. But he knew they'd been thorough. First checking every inch of the bunker and then combing the immediate surrounding area for clues about where she'd gone. But they'd found nothing. Only a few footprints near the car where the ground was concave and still damp from rain earlier that week. Aside from the footprints there had been nothing else. Sam was kicking himself for not locking her in her room or sleeping at her door again—something, anything to have guaranteed she couldn't slip out of their fingers. And why won't Cas answer our prayers? Sam was honestly so upset he wanted to cry. Things just weren't going right for them anymore. Ever. It was hard to hold it together. So hard.

Dean was peering at the sky behind Sam in half-interest. "You see that?"

Morose, Sam made himself snap out of his inner depression. "See what?" He turned and looked over his shoulder. An ominous sight met his eyes. Against an overcast gray sky, dark silhouettes of birds glided and arced. Sam felt a twinge of dread. Like they were symbolic of something. "Yeah, vultures." He'd noticed them earlier too. Circling lazily maybe a half mile off or so. Probably in some of the wooded area behind that old church that was up the road.

"Bet another deer got ran over," Dean muttered, eyeing the birds a moment longer. And then a loud ringer sounded in Sam's pocket, jarring both of their attentions.

When Sam pulled his cell out, his face scrunched up in surprise. "Huh. I think this is Kevin." He pressed the answer key and put it on speaker then set the phone onto the top of the car. "Hello? Kevin?"

Through the speaker came an exhausted, stuffy voice. "Sam. It's him."

The brothers glanced at each other. That wasn't the most reassuring way to start a call. Sam hesitated, waiting for Kevin to say something else. When he didn't, Sam prompted the prophet cautiously. "…It's who, Kevin?"

He got one shaky, loud word as reply. "Crowley."

"…What about him?" Dean asked, immediately frowning hard.

"He's in my head!" Kevin shouted hysterically.

"He's... in your head," Sam repeated, trying to follow.

Kevin's panicked tone grew a little more crazed as clear frustration mounted. "I see him all the time and he knows what I'm doing! He's messing with me! I need help! Do you know what that means when you see the King of Hell everywhere?!"

Dean and Sam exchanged another curt glance. "Yeah, I think it means we need to up your meds, buddy," Dean muttered before raising his voice again. "Kevin, you're dreaming. Look, if Crowley knew where you were, he'd do a hell of a lot more than mess with your head. Get some rest."

"I don't have time for rest!" Kevin shouted, so loud that the brothers both flinched back from the phone. Kevin's voice abruptly grew quiet and distant, like he'd pulled the phone away from his mouth. "Leave me alone. I'm fine. No. I don't want any."

Dean shot Sam a knowing look. "Great. Now he's talking to himself."

Sam wasn't so quick to assume. "Is he?" he asked quiet enough just for Dean to hear. Then he spoke loudly again, addressing the prophet. "Kevin, where's Garth?"

Now sounding incredibly drained and apathetic, maybe even woozy, Kevin spoke slowly, like finding words was a chore. "On a case or—or at the dentist. I don't know. I haven't heard from him. He's… been super busy. I can't remember the last time… I saw him… actually…" He trailed off into silence, and it was easy to picture him just staring off into nothing.

Not exactly the most polite of people, especially after everything that had happened recently, Dean cut to the chase out of impatience. "Kevin. What's the point of this phone call?"

Sam clenched his jaw and threw his brother a little look. "Dean."

Kevin didn't seem to notice. "I translated the second trial from the tablet," he said faintly.

Dean's mouth dropped open. "You did?!" He was abruptly grinning a little—finally, good news instead of bad. "Nice work!"

Kevin didn't sound elated whatsoever. Only more and more erratic. "And if Crowley's in my head, he knows!"

Sam let out a waveringly impatient sight. "Okay, he's definitely not in your head, all right?" He had to work in order to keep his cool and not be rude—he was fighting his own stress and anxiety. He wouldn't admit it, but these trials scared him beyond belief. "It's okay," he said, trying to calm Kevin down and himself too. "Just... we know you're stressed, all right? Trust me, we all are. Just hang in there, okay?" He hesitated, swallowed, then bit the bullet. "What's the second trial?"

Kevin's delivery was positively bland. "An innocent soul has to be rescued from Hell and delivered unto Heaven."

His words rendered the brothers into shocked silence. Dean was the first one to find his voice and say it: "…What?" His face, if you could have seen it, spelled out his every immediate thought about an innocent soul in Hell. Sam was too busy staring in shock at the phone to see that, though.

""'Unto,'" Kevin explained in a numb, distracted voice. "That's—that's how God talks."

"No, no—" Sam said, a little on the astonished side. "Rescue a soul from Hell?" He began to let questions loose in a torrent. "Like actually... go to Hell? How—how do you get a soul unto Heaven? I mean, and how do you even get a soul out of Hell? How do you even get in to Hell? "

Kevin was too exhausted to put effort into answering Sam's questions. "I don't know," he said, and you could literally hear his shoulders caving in apathy. "You'll figure it out though. You're Sam Winchester, you can do anything." He abruptly burped and groaned in something akin to pain. "…Everything tastes like hot dogs," he mumbled pathetically.

Sam heard how fast he was losing Kevin's attention. "Listen, Kevin, thanks," he said earnestly. "Thanks so much."

"Yeah…" Kevin replied, his stuffy voice sounding more and more dazed. "Think I'm gonna go faint now."

There was a click. "K—Kevin?" Sam picked his phone up and looked at the screen then sighed briefly. "He hung up." Glancing at his brother, Sam was concerned. "He doesn't sound so good, Dean." The look on his brother's face made him pause. "What?"

"Sam," Dean said, his voice wavering with a thick emotion that Sam was taken aback by. "An innocent soul." Dean clarified: "Jamie. She doesn't deserve to be there man, her deal was total BS—she doesn't belong there, not for a damn second! And I mean if I can't get her back up here to the land of the living, this is the next best thing—'delivering her unto Heaven' or whatever."

Sam had no qualms with the choice of soul, however, he was kind of stumped on any of the ins and outs of how to even begin to approach this one. "But how do I do that? It's so vague—deliver an innocent soul unto Heaven…? How?"

Dean shook his head, thinking hard. "I dunno." His eyes narrowed and Sam recognized the look of a growing idea on his brother's face. "Think we're gonna need a Hell expert, Sam."

"…Who?" Sam asked, intrigued but also more than a little cautious. Something about his brother's expression felt suspicious.

His wariness was confirmed as being appropriate when Dean said this next part. "You're not gonna like it."

Dubious, Sam tried to think of who his brother might have in mind. And then it hit him and his frown took over his whole face. "Wait a minute," he said, hoping he was wrong. "You're not seriously suggesting…"

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You got a better idea?"

"Dean, she might have helped out in the past, but we can't trust Meg with this!" Sam protested.

Dean scoffed. "Who said anything about trusting her? This is more along the lines of use and abuse." He was already rounding the Impala to look through the trunk and get supplies.

Dumbfounded, Sam followed. "Dean, what about Alex? And Cas?" He threw an arm out. "We can't just drop this, can we?"

"Sam, what else can we do?" Dean propped the trunk open then looked at his brother with a plain expression. "Cas won't answer and we just spent six freaking hours looking for Alex with no leads, no trails, no nothing. She's gone, man. Doesn't wanna be found, probably. Seriously. Unless you wanna hire a witch who might kill us in the process, we can't track her down. So, yeah. I don't see anything else to do here in this situation right now."

Sam was absolutely disappointed and hurt. It felt like something was seriously wrong with Dean—his behavior ever since Purgatory had been off and unpredictable, but this especially didn't feel like the Dean he knew. Just… giving up like that. "What's happening to you?" Sam asked, his soft voice giving away every ounce of puzzled pain he felt.

Dean was brusque. "What do you mean, what's happening to me?" he asked, fishing out a can of spray paint. "This is priorities, Sam, plain and simple—close friggin' Hell or waste time chasing a lost little girl."

A muscle jerked in Sam's jaw as his insides darkened. "That lost little girl is our sister."

Dean's jaw clenched and his mouth worked for a second as he fought off some kind of emotional response to that statement. And then he turned cold again. "Doesn't change the fact that she ran off and we got no way of finding her." Turning his attention and a hard gaze onto his brother, Dean narrowed his eyes and frowned, looking Sam over doubtfully. "You said you could do these trials, Sam." He raised his eyebrows in challenge. "Can you?"

Sam swallowed hard, realizing that if he went off and looked for Alex—Dean would probably start doing the trials himself. That Dean was going to make this about something else if Sam tried to search for Alex any longer. I'm screwed no matter what I do. Cornered, unhappy, and fighting the instinct that they were missing something huge, Sam swiped the can of spray paint from his brother angrily. He was gonna do these trials if it killed him. "Yeah. I can."

---

Meanwhile, in some of the lowest and darkest levels of Hell, Alex Winchester was thrown back into her dark cell after another excruciating stay on 'the rack.' Behind her, the door of her prison closed with a heavy clang. The screams, moans, and wails of others echoed up and down the hallways—a sound that never seemed to stop here. A heap on the floor where she'd collapsed, Alex shuddered, forehead kissing the rough ground as she shivered and sweated all at once. Every atom hurt. Blood filled her mouth and blurred her vision. Agony seared through her veins without stopping. Relief was a mere memory. Sometimes she didn't even remember who she was, the pain and suffering became so great. But here in her cell, clarity came back. She heard someone breathing out pathetic, sobbing breaths and realized it was her.

How long have I been here?

It felt like months and months.

Where are my brothers? Where's Cas? Haven't they noticed I'm gone?

Her last memory of earth: running like hell. And then the ripping. The shredding. The snarls and snapping of invisible jowls. She remembered death at the slow, cruel leisure of the Hellhounds. And no one coming to save her. Oh, she had fought. Fought. But it had been in vain. Her legs hadn't been able to carry her to safety fast enough. Her hands hadn't been able to claw or hit a way out of that sad fate. Her lungs hadn't worked, her voice had failed her. And she had died despite the fact that nothing was supposed to ever kill her. She remembered razor-like teeth. Silent screams of mind-numbing pain had ripped from her mouth and she remembered trying to summon Cas mentally but feeling blocked somehow. Now, she believed Crowley had put some kind of spell on her that still remained intact. Whenever she tried to pray to Castiel here in Hell, she felt a splitting headache and a pain like no other—the kind of pain that brought her to her knees and had tears springing out of her eyes.

She was trapped and alone, in a place that was worse than death. But Sam was alive. She reminded herself of that often—especially when she was being torn limb from limb again and again out on the rack. It was strange—she wanted to die from the agony laid upon her... and she was already dead.

It was fitting punishment to be here in Hell as awful as it was. After all, Alex's sheer stupidity in years past had caused Sam to say yes to Lucifer—that had set off an entire chain reaction of terrible things: Sam ending up in the cage and then soulless and then haunted and destroyed by his hallucinations of Satan. He would have died from what all of that hell did to his mind if she hadn't sold her soul. So, she didn't regret what she'd done or making the deal. But she did wish it could be another way. This was unfathomable in reality—so much worse than she had ever dreamed. How did Dean survive this for forty years? How did he make it through? How did Sam survive a thousand? Even as she wondered that, she felt a wave of terrible guilt and pain. Sam had suffered for more than a thousand years because of her, and her alone. She still wasn't over that. She hadn't forgotten it for a second. How was it he'd never blamed her or raked her over the coals for it? How the hell did he not hate her for what she'd in effect let happen to him? She didn't know, but in a way, this stint in Hell was self-punishment that Alex could accept because of that and all the bad things she had ever done. From stealing lunches from kids at school to unfaithfulness to Cas to torturing demons and humans both for Crowley last year… she chose to look at this as something she deserved. Something that evened the score a little bit. But she also hoped ferociously that Cas found out what had happened to her soon. He wouldn't leave her here. He would pull her out just like he'd pulled Dean and Sam out. Then this nightmare would be over.

And that thought gave her a little strength. Slowly, Alex pushed herself up. Just enough to prop her elbows onto the floor and rest her exhausted head in her hands.

How could anyone ever deserve this forever? I understand awhile, but forever…? Who even created Hell? How did this happen? Why is this place in existence?

At that moment, her cell door creaked open—a sound that inspired utter dread. Alex's heart nearly gave out in alarm as the door clanged shut.

Oh no. Again? So soon? I don't want to go back out there.

But it wasn't a typical demon punk coming to drag her to the promise of pain. It was the King of Hell, and he had his hands in his pockets as he peered down at her. Alex gaped at him—she hadn't seen him since he had sent his hounds after her. And that had been ages ago.

"Hello, Sunshine," he greeted in what sounded like fondness. His little smile echoed the sentiment. "Finding everything all right down here, then?" Slowly and badly, Alex dragged herself up to stand by the rough wall she was huddled beside. Crowley seemed inwardly amused as she struggled to complete the simple act of standing. Once she was upright and shaking while breathing heavily, Crowley went ahead and told her what was what. "Well, we both know I'm not here for pleasantries, don't we. I… have a proposition for you." He put on a falsely inquisitive tone. "Do you recall the good times we had with ripping and tearing last year? Hm? Well. I found you quite the hard worker. And I was thinking more of the same."

That would never happen. And even though she was brutalized and weak beyond compare, she managed to tell him what she thought of his offer with a good amount of bite. "Shove it up your ass, Crowley."

He seemed to have expected as much and didn't react except by smirking slightly. "What, just sulk around for all eternity in between getting torn to shreds again and again? Doesn't sound like the most satisfying existence, now does it?" He began to saunter closer. "Why not go into the business? Work yourself up a few ranks. Earn some black eyes eventually." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Torture for me again, see where your career can take you. You know you liked it… and darling, this is a rare, rare offer so consider it wisely."

Alex began to laugh—a feeble and raspy sound, but one that was authentic either way. "You're a fucking idiot."

"Oh?" Crowley looked slightly irked. "Why's that?"

She was smiling through a slightly crazed expression. "Do you remember who my brothers are?" she asked. "Who my husband is? They will fucking tear this place down if I don't do it first."

Crowley's eyebrows rose up at a crawl as a disbelievingly amused smile grew on his face. And he laughed, a rumbling deep sound that suggested he found her to be utterly preposterous. "Oh dear me sweetheart, your optimism is positively delightful… if also completely deranged." He proceeded to explain himself leisurely while sauntering back and forth, gesturing here and there with a loose and lazy hand as that self-pleased smile played on his face. "If either of those buffoons attempts to trade their wittle old flannel-wearing souls for you, I'm not buying. And I've given every other peon down here the strict instructions not to buy, either. So, Moose and Ape can't jimmy you out my hands that way and really, that's the only play they'd have, isn't it?" He regarded Alex with one of those sly, wicked smiles. "And Cas. Your devoted, doting, cloud-hopping, super-powered hubby. One can only assume he'll be seeing red once he finds out what happened to his precious little human pet. But alas, even featherbrain won't have you back. Yes, he's an angel and yes he's stolen a soul or two from down under before, but you're locked far, far away and past the point of reaching, I'm afraid." He gave a throaty little chuckle, waggling his eyebrows for effect. "And even if he somehow got past the upper levels, how do you think he'd pull you out all on his own? It took ten angels to get Dean out, if the legend's right." Although she tried not to be, Alex was starting to lose her brass and Crowley knew it and pressed the advantage. "You're mine, sweetie. Now and forever. I think in time you'll come to appreciate me, in fact. After all, because of me, darling Sammy's alive and well." He paused significantly, his dark eyes flickering almost flirtatiously before he turned away, putting his back to her as he strolled off a couple steps. "And he's not the only one."

Wait. Alex's glaring face fell slowly. Did that mean…? She felt a small spark of hope deep within her chest even as she simultaneously feared he was lying. "…Bobby?" she asked in a breathless whisper.

Crowley turned and gave her another smile meant to charm. "What can I say? I'm sentimental."

Oh my god. She was very reserved about believing him—Crowley hadn't sounded very charitable when she'd asked for Bobby's life when making her deal. So this was unexpected. And generous. And she didn't trust the reason behind it or even know if he were being honest or not. Still… "If you're telling the truth…" she had to wrench these next words out through gritted teeth and saying them went against every instinct she possessed, "Thank you." At Crowley's satisfied little smirk Alex quickly turned hostile. "But on every other level, screw you."

He moved closer. Too close. "Would you, darling?" he asked in a murmur that was like velvet sandpaper. Suggestive, he let a cold hand trace down the side of her face. "Try a demon on for size? Could be fun…" he was either messing with her or really stupid for thinking she'd ever go for him, she wasn't sure which. But he kept leaning closer, suggestion dripping from his eyes and mouth. His gravelly voice got lower and deeper and softer. "And let's be honest… just one little kiss wasn't nearly enough, was it?" He should have known he was about to get punched for coming on to her like that. She was very weak and worn down but she still had a good clobber or two left in her. And she let him have it. Fist connected with flesh and bone with a sickening thwack and Crowley yelped indignantly as he went sideways, barely managing to catch himself. "Oy!" he protested, red-faced as he righted himself. "Always with the hitting!"

Alex stood herself taller then dug deep for tenacity. "Listen to me you son of a bitch," she said in a shaking voice. "Don't you ever touch me." She was pretty sure he just did it to shake her up—but either way, she wanted none of it. Breathing hard, she meant every last word. "I don't know how long it will take my family to realize what's happened, but I can promise you one damn thing." She gave him her most steely expression with her most dire promise. "Cas is gonna fuck you up. And then I'm next in line."

Crowley chuckled and dashed away the blood at the edge of his mouth. "See?" he asked, smiling sinfully. "You love torture. Work for me."

Alex would never do that again. "Eat shit and die," she suggested in an acidic snap.

"Ah yes, charming," Crowley said, thoroughly rueful for a moment before he sent a few intentionally studious looks around Alex's cell. Even before he said anything, Alex's inner warning bells went off. Something was going on—he had something nasty up his sleeve. She could tell.

"This cell seems a bit… large, doesn't it?" he asked, then pretended to have an idea—holding one finger up for theatrical emphasis. "Ah! You know what you need? A roommate. Someone to spend time with in between getting your spine torn out of your body repeatedly." A roommate? Alex thought a million things at once.

A demon? Someone from my past who has it in for me? A rapist? A psychopath?

Hell was full of all those and more. Even though his veiled threat shook her and scared her, Alex said nothing and stayed stonily silent. She wasn't about to crack. Crowley gave her another chance. "Still don't want to take me up on my incredibly generous offer?" he asked softly, baiting her with the idea of some form of mild safety here in Hell. But Alex refused to torture any more. Especially not here. Where your mind felt unhinged and unsafe, where parts of yourself felt far away, where the edge of insanity seemed close at all times. She would take the pain. Pain was a reminder that she still existed. It was an anchor, however terrible of one. At her silence, Crowley sighed and rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself, Mouse. In time, I'm sure you'll change your mind." He began to move toward the door of the cell. He hesitated before exiting. "Enjoy your bunkmate. I'm sure you two will have loads to catch up on."

And with those ominous words, he exited. Alex was left to wait anxiously. She waited. And waited. And waited.

Eventually, it seemed like nothing was ever going to happen again. A day passed, at least, or that's how it felt. She contented herself to sit at the back end of her cell with knees drawn to her chest meditating on good things in her life to try and hang onto herself. With shrieks and groans loud and nearby, she struggled to shut those sounds out and dwell in a different place. In memories of Sam and Dean and army men, legos, crayons broken in half. Spending time with Uncle Bobby, ditching out of school with Dean to go exploring and adventuring. Sam always offering help to study for tests which she had no plans to even take. The comfortingly familiar sight of the Impala—it made anywhere feel more like home. And, of course, Castiel. She really did believe he would get her out of here, somehow. She knew that he would never let anything stop him until she was safe again. Find out soon please… I need you.

Her head began to split as she thought that and she let out a gritted sound of pain as she held her head in her hands. She breathed deep and fast to get through the pain as it faded. And when it was safe again, she thought about her last encounter with her angel. His arms holding her close in the place she belonged… his wings soft and close, his breath mingling with hers, his heartbeat strong and sure against her skin. After all the proverbial hell they had been through together, she was desperate for the separations and crises to end. Maybe some people would give up and walk away because it hurt so much and felt like it might never stabilize. But to Alex, she couldn't give up. Wouldn't give up. Not on Castiel, not ever.

At that moment, the door of her cell groaned open, startling her, and a man was shoved in, hard. The door shut behind him resoundingly as he fell into a heap onto the floor. Alex jumped up in self-defense, assuming the worst. That this was someone who was meant to harm her. But he looked like… another defeated, weak prisoner. She couldn't see his face, but from what she could see, he was in terrible shape. Filthy and greasy, bloody and beaten, he was a stocky, tall man, built solid and strong. He wore torn up, blood-stained jeans, scuffed hunter's boots, and an utterly destroyed button-up shirt. He had shaggy dark hair and my god, if she didn't know better… she'd think…

He slowly pushed his palms to the floor to give himself enough leverage to look up at her, and his expression fell as their eyes met. Her did too when she recognized the dark, distinctive features set against a pale and gaunt face, the short beard that was graying in places spread across a strong jawline, the unmistakable hazel eyes. Her heart jumped up into the top of her throat—words seemed impossible—horror and confusion and dismay all came upon her all at once. The two of them looked at each other in utter shocked silence for several long seconds.

And then, Alex managed to speak. "…Dad?" she whispered, voice nearly failing completely.

---

On an abandoned back road about fifty miles from the bunker for discretion's sake (they didn't want anyone, especially a demon, knowing even its general location), Sam and Dean completed the demon summoning spell and sent each other a tense glance as they waited for her to appear. Sam was still not convinced. But he guessed this was one of the best and fastest ways to get some answers. That didn't mean he had to like it though…

After a couple seconds of nothing, a familiar woman's voice that dripped with deep sarcasm and dark amusement sounded behind them. "Well if it isn't the two jackasses who left me in a bleeding heap just a couple days ago!"

They turned to see Meg standing there and smiling smugly at them. She looked totally different than last time they'd seen her—she'd been blonde and bloody and nearly unrecognizable. Now she was in her old getup—dark jeans and dangerously high heels, a flowing purple shirt, a cropped black leather jacket, and her signature brown hair. She looked fresh, young, and sharp again—no longer like a strange alternate universe version of herself. Dean gave her a wan smile that clearly conveyed his distaste. "Meg," he greeted in a voice laced with barely-veiled hostility. "You're looking back to your good old Hellbitch self."

Arms crossing as she shifted her weight casually, Meg arched a dark brow at him in semi-boredom. "You must need something," she commented flatly in that thick, deep voice she had. "Well, don't keep me waiting on pins and needles. What is it?"

Sam's face was tense and made him look ten years older than he was. "We need to get into Hell."

Meg's eyebrows shot up, her eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?" she asked, then abruptly began to laugh like she had never heard anything funnier. And she didn't stop—she cackled on and on, eventually holding her stomach with an arm as she shook a finger at them—a silent 'good one! Very funny!'

"What's so damn funny?" Dean asked darkly.

"The day is finally here!" she crooned, still laughing it up until she exhausted herself and had to flick at the corner of one of her eyes. "Whew mama, you have both finally cracked your acorns for good, huh?" She gave them looks like they were certifiable and it was hilarious. Then abruptly she got some superior attitude as she explained something important: "No one wants to get into Hell, 'kay? Not even me, asshats. Why do you think so many demons end up in this little neighborhood called earth, huh? Because down there is kind of terrible, that's why." She paused and then looked around for signs of the third Winchester. When she saw that Alex was missing, she looked slightly suspicious. "Hey where's the cute one, anyway?"

"None of your goddamn business, Meg," Dean fired back.

Meg peered at them a little longer, frowning intently, trying to figure it out. "What, is she in Hell? Is that why you're jonesin' to go down under?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sam snapped. "Of course she's not."

Meg held her hands up in mock surrender, seeming to find Sam's irritability offensive. "Geez, forget I said anything, Bullwinkle. So you wanna go there why, por qué? Did you not hear what I just said about it sucking the big one?"

Dean was the picture of annoyance. "Look, we know Hell is terrible, we're both alums, remember? It's not exactly our first choice for a nice little vacation." He breathed out through his nose in a huff, on edge about what he was about to tell a demon. But as the brothers had agreed on the way here… this might be the only way to get Meg to play. The truth. And the fact that it would fuck with Crowley. "We're shutting it down."

Meg blinked. Frowned. And then did a slight double take. "Uh. Come again?" She appeared to have never heard a crazier or more insane idea—and seemed to be wondering if she'd even heard right. "You're… shutting Hell down?"

"Closing time," Dean confirmed. "That demon tablet Crowley's trying to get his hands on? Has the God-approved recipe to punch the Hellgate clock." Meg's features began to move away from supreme doubt to totally intrigued. Then Dean pulled his jacket aside to reveal the demon blade meaningfully. "Now you can help us get there out of the kindness of your little black heart, or we can do things the sharp-ended way."

Meg chortled, grinning again. "Ooh, both sound super fun! How do I pick?" she commented gleefully, enjoying the way the brothers got annoyed in sync. She paused and dropped the jokes after a beat or two. "But what are you… doing in Hell, exactly?" She was clearly cautious about trusting them or working with them, and maybe thinking she would pay a fatal price if she agreed to this.

The brothers exchanged another hooded glance and then Sam told her. "Delivering an innocent soul to Heaven."

Meg pulled a touched face and clasped her hands together over her chest. "Aww." She baby talked, aggravating the brothers further. "Well isn't that just the cutest thing you've ever heard?"

"Are you gonna help or not?" Sam demanded harshly. "I just need a way in, a little help navigating, and then a way out once I have the soul. Can you do that or not?"

Meg didn't answer. Just narrowed her eyes in interest. "Whose soul are you gonna yank out and send to the pearly gates?" When neither Winchester answered her, she basically pouted. "Come on! I love the juicy details!"

Sam sent her a very short, deadly serious look. "You're on a need to know basis, Meg. And right now, that's something you don't need to know."

Forever aggravated at them, Meg huffed. "You guys are no fun. I liked you better soulless, Moosey." She winked and sent him a look that had him quickly becoming very uncomfortable. With a long and dramatic sigh, Meg thoughtfully tapped fingers against her jawline in thought. "Here's my dilemma, boys. I hesitate to help you, because golly gee, you two have a habit of screwing me over times a thousand despite my best intentions!" She wrinkled her nose, smiling slow. "But, you know, this whole slamming Hell stuff closed'll stick it to Crowley… and screw up his little racket for good. And boy do I live for the day when he gets knocked down a peg or ten." She studied Dean and Sam a moment longer, then slowly offered what was probably the best option they'd get. "Promise I'm not collateral damage and I can take you downstairs myself. Show you around. Make sure you get out safe and sound. The whole nine." She raised two fingers. "Scout's honor."

Against his better judgment, Sam nodded grimly. "All right, it's a deal."

"Great," Dean said, sounding anything but enthused. He was ready to go. "So when do we leave?"

That was when Sam slowly turned to his brother with a very final look in his eyes. "There is no 'we,' Dean."

Dean immediately took on a slight air of indignant hostility. "Uh—excuse me?"

"Dean," Sam said in his most serious and earnest tone. He'd already decided this and wasn't going to be moved. "This has to be me. Just me. I have to do this. You're too emotionally involved."

Dean's face went from shocked to pissed in one millisecond. "Goddammit Sam, are you serious?!" He obviously felt betrayed. "You bet your ass I'm emotionally involved! And I have been every time you or Alex has been on the line and you didn't stop me then so why now!?"

"Because this is my burden," Sam replied in forced evenness. "You have to trust me to be able to do this without you, Dean. Please." He wet his lips and appealed to his brother to please let it go and not fight him on this one. He understood that Dean was a control freak and felt powerless and really needed to be solving problems right now, but this was bigger than Dean's emotional needs in so many ways. "All my life you've been the one who took care of the things I couldn't," Sam appealed, emotion growing. "I have to do this. Myself. You know I do." Dean's anger was giving way to despair—because it was crystal clear how much Sam meant what he was saying. How resolved he was to go it alone. Sam just needed his big brother to let go of control and give him a chance to be the one who saved the day this time. This wasn't just about shutting Hell for him—it was about making up for what he'd done wrong in the past and all the times he'd screwed up and let his family down. Deadly serious, Sam promised his brother the only thing he could: "I will do everything in my power to get her out, Dean." His voice broke slightly as he practically begged. "Trust that I can do this. Please."

Meg rolled her eyes as the brothers looked at each other for a long, silent moment, their eyes communicating without words being spoken at all. "Ah geez, where's the sweeping emotional music and the soft glow filter effect?" she muttered.

"Shut up, Meg!" Dean snapped, then gave his consent the only way he seemed to know how: grumpily and with complaint. "Okay so what am I supposed to do while you two are joyriding down under, huh?" he demanded. "I'll go nuts worrying about you with nothing to distract myself!"

More than just a little surprised that Dean was actually stepping back from this and acquiescing to his requests, Sam grasped around for a second for a reply. "I—I dunno. Look for Alex some more? Go see Kevin? Sounded pretty bad on the phone. Someone's gotta make sure he doesn't keel over."

"Yeah," Dean muttered, distracted by other thoughts. "I guess."

Meg sidled up to Sam and nudged him with a shoulder playfully. Even with heels, he dwarfed her at a ridiculous level. "Okie dokie then, buddy," she teased, taking his arm and cuddling into his side like she was his girl. "Ready for a good time?" He looked positively disgruntled. She turned her attention to Dean. "Meet us back here in two days, Deano. That's forty-eight hours on the dot, 'kay?"

Highly skeptical, Dean frowned deeply. "Why the specific time crunch?"

"Because I'm on the most wanted list so I don't think we're gonna be given the leisure of all the time in the world," she replied sarcastically. "And first, we have to get in to Hell which isn't just like a magical mystery ride. There are steps. There's a process. Oh, and yeah, if a human who isn't supposed to be there stays in Hell too long, well… they don't walk out." She chuckled at Dean's clear worry then winked. "But don't you worry, bucko, I'll get Moose home to you for dinner."

"You better," Dean threatened, then handed the demon blade over to his brother with his most meaningful and commanding look. "Be careful, Sam. Watch your back." He had no problem glancing at Meg pointedly when he said that.

Sam nodded tersely, walling in all his feelings and fears. "I will." And without anything further, the demon and the hunter disappeared from sight.

---

Deep inside of Hell, Alex stared down in utter disbelief at her father, who was a barely-recognizable man laying on the dirty floor of her jail cell. Her heart felt like it was stopped. Her limbs had lost feeling and sensation. She could barely find her voice at all. "…Dad?" she heard herself ask ever so softly. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? …Definitely not. She would recognize him in any universe. And that was John fucking Winchester. In the flesh. The man who had dictated and domineered her life, the man who was her father but had never been her daddy. She thought she had seen him for the last time. And shockingly… here he was.

John's gaunt face, which had shown brief surprise and hope when he saw her, suddenly fell and without explanation… he began to laugh. And he laughed and laughed and laughed. A cynical, bitter sound that rasped weakly. Immediately disturbed, Alex didn't know what to do. John started talking to the air and ceiling like a madman as he rolled onto his side feebly, laying there like a lump.

"Oh, yeah. Real original, guys. My daughter. Haven't seen this one before." At Alex's expression, John abruptly looked enraged—offended—and he started grunting, straining to get up. He managed, but his movements were that of an elderly person, not the strong man he'd once been. "Oh that's cute," he said sharply, staring at her with utter hatred as he stood unevenly with horrible slumped posture. "Act like you don't know who I am. That's one of my favorites. Try and make me think it might really be her. But really, overplayed, don't you think? Are the boys gonna join us today, too?! Huh?!" He breathed hard and loudly as he started to lean against the nearby wall for support. He was haggard in a way that reached past the physical but he was still full of defiance and pride as always. "All right. Go ahead, you black eyed bitch," he growled, thinking she was a demon. "Hit me with your best shot. Which angle you gonna play this time, huh? Tell me how much I screwed my daughter's life up? Cry about how much I did wrong and tear my heart out while you list all the things I should have done? All the goddamn mistakes I made? I think I have the list memorized by now, so how about I go ahead and help you out, huh?" Not realizing he was talking to his real daughter, John started listing things that he'd obviously been tortured with and accused of over the years. "I wasn't there, and when I was, I didn't look out for you or give you what you needed. I didn't accept you for what you were, I didn't try and help you with your disability. I never told you I loved you or that I was proud of you…" he trailed off and pretended to be amused, but he looked vaguely sick instead. "Am I doing good? Forgetting anything?" He suddenly banged the back of his fist against the stone wall hard and bared his teeth in anger. "I'm the one who's beat myself up harder than anyone else for all that shit! You can't say anything to me I haven't said to myself!" he shouted. It was his attempt at gaining a foothold in what must have been, for him, a regular occurrence. When Alex could find no quick reply, John's face twisted. "No? Gonna try your other little tactic? Get angry? Throw me around and beat me up and make sure I know how much you hate me?" At her continued stumped silence, he became irate. "Come on! Say something!" She saw how he trembled and shook, how there were tears in his eyes. Pain was written on every facet of his face even though he was trying so hard to hide it.

And despite everything… despite how long she had spent being bitter at him, despite the fact that he was the root source of pain whenever she thought about her life… none of that changed the fact that she loved him. Alex was overcome with compassion and empathy and a frantic sense of I have to fix this. This was her father. And he had been here in Hell for what she could only tally as thousands of years. Suffering so much in ways she couldn't even imagine. No one deserved that. Ever. Seeing him so broken twisted a knife in her heart that left a pain so strong she could barely function. "Dad." Her voice broke as she went a little closer. "It's me." She didn't know how else to say it—her voice trembled and wavered as it lost power. "It's… really me."

His anger loosened. Confusion took its place. And then something like total terror began to set into his features. "No it's not," he managed in a suddenly-weak voice. And then stronger, more defiant: "No, it's not."

"T-they've been torturing you?" Alex asked, too dazed to come up with anything else. "With me?"

John's brief lapse into contemplation disappeared. "This is hell, of course they've been torturing me," he snapped. He abruptly gave a cold smile. "This is a good one though. New twist. Bravo!" He laughed sharply, trying to appear more mentally sound than he obviously was. "Had me going for a couple seconds, you fucking monster! That was good, too," he said, shaking a finger at her. "Making her look a little older. Giving her that penny on a chain I've never seen before. That's different than normal. Shit, you had me for a second. That's a good one, good one." He looked totally deranged. "Make me think she's really here. What, to save me? Yeah right. Or because she ended up down here somehow." He gave a short, biting laugh. "That would never happen. My sons wouldn't let her end up here, I'll tell you that much." He stared at Alex and raised his chin defiantly. "So can we just get to the whips and knives already? Your acting career needs some work, sweetheart."

Alex didn't know how to react. His words might have been hurtful somehow if she had been more present, but she was floating—confounded—thunderstruck. Couldn't get past the shock of seeing him again. He was so much worse in every way than he'd been when she saw him last. He'd looked semi-normal before. Now, he looked like the torture-victim that he obviously was. "Dad." She approached him at a drift, not really hearing any of his words. Just seeing into his pain. And when she got close enough, she did something she had never done before—touched her hands to his bruised and bleeding face. Rough, wiry beard poked at her palms. The tender touch startled him and made him stop carrying on like a lunatic for a minute. Their eyes, similar shades of hazel, held. "I sold my soul," she explained in a trembling whisper. "I'm really me." His eyes flickered between hers and his expression grew more and more convinced as she told him how she'd ended up down here. "I sold my soul," she repeated, not sure how else to explain. She smiled ever so slightly despite everything and her hands dropped away to gently hold onto his arms. "It's me, Dad."

His eyes, still sharp and intelligent and shrewd, drilled into hers questioningly—and when his silent question was answered, his face slackened. He seemed to recognize her on a basic level—he clearly saw that she really was her—because he grabbed her by the shoulders and had this look on his face. "Oh my god. Alex." So briefly, a smile that broke and fixed her heart at the same time flitted across his face. But it was quickly replaced by a deeply confused frown. He was stumped, halfway in shock, and grasping for answers. "You sold your soul? Why?"

She nodded, grim and bracing herself for some minor fallout. "Because Sam was dying."

Minor fallout was too much to hope for. John's face darkened and he suddenly shook her, jarring her. "Alex! You can't sell your soul! Are you off your fucking rocker!?"

She pulled away from him immediately, wary again. Remembering him for who he was. And more than a little soured by his predictable reaction, she lost the euphoric state she had been in. "Nice to see you too," she said, knowing she shouldn't have been optimistic.

"How stupid are you?!" he demanded. So. It was gonna be like that. Alex turned away as the barrage continued. "How the hell did your brother let this happen?" John asked, nearing a shout as he stumbled after her. "What the hell was he thinking?"

Alex turned around angrily. "You know what? Shut the fuck up!" she snapped, and even as his mouth dropped open in surprise at her defiance, she grabbed the front of his shirt and swung, cracking her fist across his face.

Shocked, John stumbled back even as Alex boiled in place, her eyes conveying that she'd do it again, too. "Dean isn't in charge of me, you aren't in charge of me!" she shouted. "I'm in charge of me, so get that through your damn head!" She clenched her fists hard at her sides and glared at him as he regarded her with mystified, taken aback silence. Not the most touching family reunion she'd ever been a part of. Dad wasn't too used to her talking back or hitting. He seemed to be wondering what had gotten into her. But outspoken was just the way she was now, and she had less and less problem standing up for herself these days, too, so she made that clear in a tight, short tone. "You've been gone awhile, Dad. Let's just say I'm not who I used to be."

Obviously not on board with what she guessed he viewed as disrespect (his greatest pet peeve in the world), he let his eyes silently disapprove of her. "I can see that." Her blood roiled beneath her skin—it was amazing how fast she could go from wanting to wrap Dad up in a hug to wanting to punch his lights. It he wanted respect, he should earn it. Alex scoffed as she tried to hold back a rude remark and an eye roll. But her dad could quite obviously see that she wasn't saying something and he prompted her sort of boldly: "What?"

She couldn't hold it inside. Anger pressed in like hot burning flames. "I tried, Dad!" she shouted, and her rage made her feel stronger and more powerful in a dizzying, alien way. "I did my best, every day of my life! To be good enough for you, to be less of a stupid, useless disgrace but nothing ever does it for you, does it?!" This was insane—even in Hell, they didn't see eye to eye and Dad was set on being a heartless jerk. It was enough to make Alex hit the proverbial roof. She had to hold herself back from hitting him again. "Jesus Christ…! Get your head out of your ass!" she screamed, breathing so hard that her shoulders heaved. And then she gave a weak laugh when she saw the point of this entire thing. "Oh man. I see what they're doing here. Sticking us together." This was quite possibly the best torture of all. The most painful and lasting barb. The shittiest scenario she could think of. As such, she began to shout at the ceiling as rage mounted at scary quick speed. "Good one, Crowley! Great! Just fucking perfect!" Sticking her in here with the father whose approval and love she'd always been desperate for and never gotten. The dad who had been given every chance in the world and squandered them all in favor of his own need for revenge. And thinking of herself when she'd been just a little girl in a huge world with a dad who related to her like a commanding officer more than anything else, Alex was set into a fit of utter rage. Completely insane for a couple seconds, Alex snatched up an axe that seemed to have come out of nowhere, and she swung blindly at her dad, drunk on fury that possessed her like a demon. And when she so narrowly missed her father and sagged under the weight of the weapon, when she realized what she had just done, she dropped the handle and shrank back in horror.

Although she was shocked and terrified at what she'd just done, John looked at the axe grimly, then at her. He didn't appear surprised whatsoever. If anything, he looked mildly regretful and knowing. "This place corrupts, Alexandra," he said quietly, gravely. Pain haunted his voice. "It gets to you. I've been here for thousands of years now so trust me… I know." He smiled ruefully down at the axe and then said something Alex couldn't believe. "You can't do anything to me they haven't already done. And hey, maybe it'll make you feel better to rip into your old man, huh?" He sounded nearly amused. Alex stared. Was he… suggesting she go ahead and chop him up to like get some kind of twisted catharsis? Apparently so. "Go ahead," he said, and she didn't recognize the man in front of her anymore. "I won't stop you. We both know I earned it."

Petrified because she wanted to so bad and didn't even think it was her that felt that way—Alex rejected his fucked up suggestion with everything she had in her. "Are you kidding m—no!" Breathing hard and shaking, backing away from the axe, she shook her head no again and again. "I'm not doing that. Are you crazy?"

He shrugged slightly, dark eyes blankly looking off to his side at nothing. "Mostly." He seemed okay with it, too.

That's what was even scarier than anything else. That he would admit that so quickly and say it so blandly. Alex felt like it was only a matter of time for herself… she'd only been here a week or so, maybe, and she already felt like she was losing it, especially after the axe thing. And here was Dad, somehow still holding it together (if teetering on the edge). How? How had he survived and soldiered through? She couldn't fathom how long he'd been here—a rough estimate in her head gave her a number close to ten thousand years—and that left her utterly beside herself—grieved, confused, and so dumbfounded. "How are you not a demon or something now?" she asked, her tone shaken by fear. Maybe he was. Maybe this was some kind of trick. "You've been here so long."

But as soon as she had the thought that he might be a demon here to trick her, that Winchester stubbornness glinted in his eyes as he set his jaw. "I don't care how long I'm here. I decided one thing. One damn thing. I refuse to become like the thing that killed your mother. Ever. I refuse to be one of the bastards I spent my entire life trying to destroy. I won't do it." He abruptly let out a soft, cynical little sound as he acknowledged something with increasing dourness. "But I mean come on, wasn't I monster enough already? Being a demon wouldn't change much."

She wasn't sure if he was fishing for pity or genuinely depressed past the point of caring what he said. But she was touched again in the saddest of ways. Regretting his life choices for him in his stead and suddenly fighting off deep wells of empathy. "Dad…" she said softly, seeing him for what he could have been if he'd picked different paths.

He shook his head doggedly, not looking at her. "Don't." A single commanding word said firmly but softly. "We both know I was a shit excuse for a father." His eyes glanced into hers before looking away again. He moved off and sagged against the wall, slowly sitting down tiredly there and leaning his back to the wall, letting his long legs bend in front of him. "No two ways about it. I knew it then and I know it now. What do you want me to do about it?"

His question came out of nowhere and seemed almost rhetorical—like he wasn't even asking her at all. Like he was just commenting on how ruined it all was and thinking oh well. But Alex felt like he could still do something about it. Maybe it was stupid, but even here in Hell she latched onto a small spark of hope. A chance at what she'd always needed and wanted from this man. "Say you're sorry," she appealed. "Mean it. And then try again." That was all anyone could ever do. And things were different now. She had grown and changed and come into her own—stopped being so much of a follower. Learned to stand on her own two feet. Been given the ability to talk and speak her mind. And Dad had been humbled by several notches—maybe he could understand things now that he had never understood before. Alex wanted to believe that somehow, there was a light at the end of this tunnel.

John looked at her hopelessly, seeming to find her request of trying again impossible. "You see where we are?"

His answer disheartened her so fast. "…So?" she asked, hurt in a way that made her voice crack a little. Her optimism faded quickly as she remembered cold hard reality. It was always excuses with him. It was always a reason why not. When it came to other things in his life he'd been loyal to the end and dedicated to the grave. But when it came to her and her brothers, they had been second priority. Oh, he would have charmed you into thinking he loved nothing better than his kids if you were an outsider. And maybe he'd believed that himself, too. But he'd never been a dad to write home about. Being walked away from and rejected and not wanted had scarred her for life internally and even now he didn't want to try. Was she really that undeserving? It was enough to make angry, bitter tears spring to her eyes. Still, she fought for herself and tried to break through the walls her father had put up.

"You aren't the kind of guy who gives up when you think it's something important," she semi-accused. "So why the hell did you always give up on me? On us?" She meant the family, of course, but she also meant their father-daughter relationship… which had been nothing but screwed up, abusive, and neglectful. "Do you know how much that hurt?" She would never understand.

She expected him to get angry at that point. Because John Winchester hated being reminded by anyone other than himself of what he'd done wrong. So when her dad's expression struggled and threatened to crumble, when he shook his head no once and looked up at her with glassy eyes, Alex was blindsided.

"I knew you needed so much more than me," John whispered, dark eyebrows working in together as pain deepened every line on his face. He wasn't much for talking about this kind of stuff—and his trouble with verbalizing himself was very painful in that moment. "What could I ever give to you worth having? How could I possibly be the kind of father you needed? To any of you kids? But especially you." He couldn't hold her gaze anymore so he didn't. He somehow looked so much younger and more uncertain. Vulnerable and uncomfortable. Not really like himself. And because Alex was used to seeing him gruff, unreadable, soldier-like in every single scenario… it frightened her. "I was too scared and too selfish to try at all," he admitted. "So I didn't." Broken and bitter, John was having a harder and harder time speaking. "I told myself the hunt was what made me a good man. That that's what mattered. That you kids would somehow just be okay somehow, someday." A sad, self-loathing laugh slipped out as his features worked hard again utter despair. "What kind of delusion was I living, huh? I wasn't a good man. I wasn't a good father. I was a coward. Running from my responsibilities. For what? Revenge?" He trailed off blankly, the picture of a shattered person who had nothing left but regret. "I can never undo that. I can never go back. And 'I'm sorry' will never fix a damn thing. You don't want me to try. Because I'll screw it up like I always do. I can't let you down again, all right?" Alex had a protest on the tongue even as her dad looked her in the eye, finally. "Trust me, Alex, I've had centuries to think about my life and choices and I hate myself more than you'll ever hate me."

Her protest was forgotten. She had spent a lot of time hating him over the years—all while simultaneously loving him, too. It was so impossible to understand. But age and time had given her perspective. And hatred had left the building thanks to therapy. Now all that was left was sadness. Understanding. Acceptance. And love. So she breathed out hard and took a second, and sat down beside him. "I don't hate you, Dad." Clearly, he didn't understand or expect her to say that. Maybe he even wanted her to hate him.

John tried to remain tough and composed. "That means… more than I can say," he admitted after a long couple of beats. His voice broke at the word say, and his face crumpled—he reached over and touched her hand with his cautiously, taking hold. "Never thought I'd get to talk to you," he said. "Really, actually talk to you."

Alex's chest hurt and her fingers worked nervously under his. "That's... all I ever wanted," she whispered, ashamed to admit it, almost. "To talk to my dad. For him to wanna talk to me." And he never really had. He had been this silent, dark cloud over her life—removed and joyless and only paying attention when she displeased him or did the wrong thing. He'd been her drill sergeant and her commander and her father… but what she'd needed and wanted was a daddy. A man who would have made every effort to be part of her silent world and reach out to her. A man who kissed away pains and told her it was all gonna be okay—done silly things to make her smile. A man who would have invested in her life by spending time, giving love, and lavishing affection. That hadn't been John. Ever.

They both knew that and when John grabbed her hand harder and began to all out weep from guilt, it was so incredibly hard to watch. All of his suppressed feelings burst out of him in a terrible display of brokenness. "I'm so sorry, baby," he choked out, letting his other hand smash against his face in an effort to hide his grief from her. His shoulders shook and his whole body quaked, his breaths all sounded like shuddering sobs. "So sorry." Having never seen Dad like this before, Alex was not in the best shape herself. She'd seen men cry before. But never quite like that. Heartfelt, brutal, destroyed, beyond caring who saw. She clutched his hand back and held herself back from hugging him—she was too afraid of being pushed away. John worked hard to get himself even halfway composed, but he was miserable. "I can never take it back," he lamented. "It kills me." He looked at her with flooded eyes and an expression that seemed pleading. "How can you not want to rip my guts out? How do you not despise me?"

Her eyes weren't dry, either. And she didn't have any answer except this: "B-because you're my dad," she choked out. With nothing left to say, she took her chance, leaned in and hugged him hard around the neck with one arm and he began to sob again as he locked his arms around her in a bear hug. And even in Hell, some part of her somehow healed. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to breathe hard, steady, and quick to keep from breaking down too. She tried to say everything with how hard she gripped onto him. And then when he'd calmed down a little, she pushed away from him and their mutually tear-filled eyes met. "We're gonna get out of here," she said fiercely. "You hear me? This is not where we're gonna stay. You're not gonna be down here much longer, Dad."

The saddest and most sympathetic smile stretched across his forlorn face. "I remember having that," he said quietly.

Alex shook her head. "Having what?"

"Hope." A single word that immediately chipped away at hers. He took in a deep breath and glanced around their prison, stowing his tears for the time being. "Escaped these cells twice. Twice in ten thousand years. Twice, Alex." He was defeated. "Almost got to the wastelands both times but… never made it." He looked at her with grave sympathy. "I don't think there's a way out." With twisting features and eyes that were growing more and more agonized, his voice caught. "For either of us. I wish you hadn't done this, baby. I wish you hadn't done this."

Alex didn't know what else to tell him. "I had to." And despite everything: "I wouldn't take it back." Sam would have died. What other choice was there? Honestly, the soul deal wasn't at the forefront of her mind currently. "We didn't really know you were here, Dad. I mean I guess we knew you weren't exactly in Heaven but when I saw you last it didn't seem like Hell…" she trailed off, confused. It had barely crossed her mind to think about Dad's eternal fate—and she felt guilty for that, of course. She tried to make excuses. It was second nature. "We've been so busy. We, uh, we stopped the apocalypse for one. And some other stuff too."

John looked mildly impressed—and talk of the outside world immediately had him a little less morose. "The apocalypse, huh? Heard some rumors but damn." He sniffed and cleared his throat, shuffling his feet to hang his arms over his knees. "When I contacted you when you were in Heaven, that was a long time ago. And I was here in Hell—soul got sucked right back down after Azazel died. But I used to be in the higher levels where things aren't as… bad as they are here. Got moved down further about... I dunno, five hundred years ago maybe." He looked at her sidelong, mystified and unhappy. "Why'd they put you down so deep right away?"

Alex had heard about the levels since being here. And apparently she was about as deep as it got. "Because Crowley is a jackass and has it in for me on a personal level," she muttered, glaring into nothing at the thought of that dickwad. "I think he wants a new pet. And it's not gonna be me."

Clearly a little worried about the Crowley thing, John did something he'd done with the boys very often. Made a half-joke. "I'll hold you to it." Alex looked at her dad sidelong again and realized that Crowley's little plan might backfire against him. If she and Dad somehow managed to stick together and not let the skeletons in the family closet dictate things... this could work in their favor. This was Dad trying, and she recognized that. He was markedly uncomfortable at the look she gave him and he cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to fill the silence. "So. How're your brothers?"

Alex thought back to when she'd been with them but without her memory. "Okay, I guess." Dean had been… weird. And Sam seemed… depressed. But she could understand given everything they had going on. Vague, she shrugged. "Still hunting."

"Looking out for you?" John asked, his tone implying that they better be.

A certain kind of happiness—the kind that she didn't know existed in Hell—lit in her heart when Dad said that. "Always," she confirmed, feeling immense, strong, unshakable love at the fleeting image of their faces in her mind.

"Good," he said, and Alex smiled tightly and looked at her knee. The smallest acts of caring from Dad had always really touched her. And him asking about her first really meant a lot. "How's Sam?"

Alex let out a soft, overwhelmed breath. It was a long story. "He's been through so much," she said, flashes of Lucifer and his soulless streak and his mental snap flashing through her mind. "Never complains about it though."

John nodded, taking it in with rapt interest. "And Dean?"

Eesh. Not such good news there. Alex hesitated. She could skip over a lot. But she settled on a summary of the truth. "Drinks too much, super depressed but won't say so. Been to Hell, been to Purgatory… just lost his girlfriend. I don't know how he hangs in there." Briefly, Alex realized how Dean's life was beginning to mirror Dad's. And it pained her on both their behalves. I gotta get out of here and back to my brothers, among other people. A vision of dark wings, skyblue eyes, and tan trench coat danced through her mind and sent a pang of longing unfurling in her heart.

Somberly reflecting on what Alex had said, John nodded, then hesitated. "And uh… what about that guy?"

Alex was a little thrown. "What guy?"

"The guy you were with." And then she remembered—when she'd spoken with Dad last, years ago, he'd asked about her love life. And she hadn't mentioned Cas by name or the fact that he was an angel. But she'd confirmed that there was someone. That had been near the start of her and Cas's relationship—they hadn't had sex yet or confessed love or anything like that. It seemed so very long ago.

"Oh," Alex said, a little awkward because she had totally forgot Dad sorta-knew about Cas. "Oh yeah." She cleared her throat. Touched her neck for no reason. And then decided to just say it. "He's... well… I… um, I ended up marrying him."

Dad looked completely blindsided. "You're married?"

"A little," Alex said, self-conscious to the max. At the weird look he was giving her, she threw her hands out briefly. "What?"

With a shake of the head as he processed, John seemed to be realizing his daughter was really, truly her own person now. "Just... surprised, that's all."

Thinking of her angel, Alex looked into middle distance with a soft face. "He'll be coming after me," she murmured, totally confident of the fact. If she didn't get out of here first, Cas would be on the way. "Trust me." She gave her dad a pointed look. "The second he finds out where I am and what happened… there won't be a single way in the universe to stop him."

Skeptical, John studied her for a second. "Sounds like a guy with connections…" he said, obviously keeping his reservations right where they were.

She hesitated before saying it. "Well… he's an angel." Then gave him a meaningful look to explain that she didn't mean that as a term of endearment. And when Dad's eyebrows crawled high, she nodded once. "Yup."

"An… angel," he said slowly and doubtfully. "Like, angel angel." Alex's expression confirmed it. Stumped, John mentally tried to piece the puzzle together. "Huh. How the hell did that happen? How did an angel… and you?"

Alex understood. It sounded crazy. And it sort of was. And yet… around her neck, a chain with a single penny on the end. "Long story but… he was my guardian angel. And... turns out he's the one who gave me my voice back." John's face registered growing understanding. "His name is Castiel," Alex said, speaking of the one she loved with a certain reverent kind of tone. "But we just call him Cas."

John was in deep thought. "How… how old is he?" he asked, his deep voice colored by morbid curiosity.

Alex dodged specifics. "Old." Like, ancient. Dinosaur didn't even cover it. "But... it's also like he's brand new," she said, wishing she could somehow show Dad all of what she saw in and loved about Cas. All the things that made him so special, so beautiful, so important.

John definitely had a lot to process. "Married," he murmured. "To an angel." Then he thought of something else. "You don't—don't have kids do you?"

A little startled by the question, Alex gave an immediate and semi-defensive, "No." Then remembered that time-traveling young man who had looked so much like Cas. Growing a little quieter, her eyes fell downward. "Not yet." And she still didn't understand how she would ever be ready to be a mother. Maybe that guy wasn't any relation. Maybe it had some other explanation. Or maybe… in the future… she and Cas would settle down. Get a house. Jobs. Have kids and a dog and all that normal-people stress that she had never really experienced. She pictured Cas in glasses with a button-up shirt and khakis—the very embodiment of suburban boring normal dad. She imagined him with a little kid who looked like them, and her heart grew two sizes.

"Your brothers were on board with this whole married to an angel thing?" Dad asked, jarring her from her thoughts.

Ha. Alex remembered the night they had found out and the hell that had broken loose thereafter. "Not at first." Hmm. Actually. She still wasn't entirely sure of what they thought. Usually, they didn't even acknowledge it.

Of all things, John chuckled lightly. "Always were so headstrong, weren't you?" he murmured, shaking his head in sad fondness. "Just like your mother."

A sentence that jolted her heart and felt distinctly complimentary. Alex wasn't sure what to say. Would 'thank you' or 'yeah, totally' be more appropriate? She wasn't sure. So she just fell into sad quietness and thought. As they shared a brief pause, Alex tried to remember her conversation with dad in Heaven in years past. Parts were fuzzy, but one part stood out the more she thought about it. "Hey, right at the end of everything when you and I were talking, you said Azazel was planning to use Sam and me to do something," she said, remembering how urgent and scared he'd looked. "What was it?"

John shrugged and scratched at the back of his neck. "It was... something too dark to talk about," he said, appearing very, very uncomfortable at her question. "Let's just be glad Lucifer's off the chess board." Dissatisfied with his answer, but not too interested in an immediate answer, Alex nodded faintly. Lucifer would never be a problem ever again, if everything held. But… a young face she sometimes dreamed about and thought of popped into her mind. And she realized whoa—I might be able to get to him now! Suddenly very breathless as the thought hit her, she sat up straighter. "Dad… do you know where the cage is?"

"The cage here in Hell?" John asked, immediately looking wary and suspicious. "Why would you wanna even think about that place?"

The answer was clear cut for Alex. "Because there's someone in there who shouldn't be." Curious, John's eyebrows pushed in together.

And then the door of their cell groaned open, causing both hunters to divert their attention fast. Two demons entered—one a female in some kind of goth getup, and then a male demon in an ugly patent leather jacket. The male grinned at them as in unison, they stood up fast. John, in much worse shape than his daughter, somehow managed to stand faster and put himself in front of her. The male demon settled his hands on his hips and wiggled his eyebrows once. "Well," he said, eyeing them in vast wicked amusement. "Who's first for some good old rack time?"

"I am," John said in a tone like acid, walking forward to meet the demons head on. "You aren't touching my daughter."

"Aw. So sweet," the demon said, then let his eyes slide to Alex. "But I'm old-fashioned. Ladies first!" And then he drew back and sucker-punched John in the face, using the surprise attack to hold him down as the female demon grabbed an infuriated, kicking and screaming Alex then dragged her out. Pinned down, red in the face, John seethed and thrashed as his daughter's angry yells began to fade.

"Not my daughter, do you hear me?!" he bellowed uselessly. "Not my daughter! You take me instead you fucking cowards! Don't touch her!"

The demon holding John down yanked him up, breathless and grinning evilly. "Well, why don't we just get the whole family in on the fun, huh Dad?"

---

Warsaw, Missouri

With a greasy sack of fast food under his arm, Dean pushed open the loud metal door and peered around the interior of the houseboat where Kevin was staying. The place still looked like it belonged to someone who wore a straitjacket—pages and notes and papers were everywhere. Scattered on surfaces, tacked to walls, stuck to odd ends of furniture.

"Yo, Kev, it's me!" Dean announced. Frankly, he was surprised that the door had been unlocked. He had decided to show up unannounced and thought for sure the door would be locked, especially after that crazy call he and Sam had gotten. "Kevin!" Where was that kid? Dean heard a movement and then a young man appeared from a further-back room. Dean's face fell even as this young man's face fell, too. "Not Kevin."

Not Kevin at all. It was none other than Zip the Leviathan, and Dean was already dropping his bag of food and reaching for the hunting knife he had holstered in his back pocket—but the Leviathan saw what he was doing and lunged across the room and tackled Dean hard. He was smaller than Dean but super powered in comparison and Dean found himself face down on the floor, struggling in utter vain against the strong grip on him.

"Hey, hey!" a high-pitched, panicked voice came. "Kyle, stop! That's Dean!"

"I know who it is, he was about to kill me!" Zip hissed.

"Well stop!" Kevin screeched.

"Dude—Kevin!" Dean wheezed into the floor where his face was smashed. "What the hell?!"

Kevin sounded honestly blindsided. "What are you doing here, Dean? Why didn't you call first?!"

"I think the more important question is why the hell is a Leviathan in your houseboat?!" Dean raged, then bucked wildly against Zip's hold. "Get off me!"

Kevin sounded dead serious… and a little sick. "Kyle… let him go."

Dean felt a hand pat his cheek and heard Zip's tenor voice in his ear. "No funny business, yeah?" And with that, Dean was released. Zip got off of him then went over to join Kevin.

Dean stood and dusted himself off indignantly, readjusting his jacket cantankerously while looking at the dynamic duo with sharp eyes. Zip was in his most recent form of choice—a pale skinny white guy of average height with bleached hair. Dean had encountered this version of Zip back when he and Sam had been trying to get back into Purgatory and find Alex. That felt like a lifetime ago. And he knew that apparently Zip had hung around Kevin for awhile when he and Cas had been in Monsterland… but he thought that was over. Apparently not. And he was pissed. "Explain, Kevin. Now."

Appearing a little bit sheepish, Kevin shrugged faintly. He didn't look good—unrested, disheveled, skinny. "He, um, he keeps an eye out. Gets me food sometimes, reminds me to eat. Takes the trash out, cleans stuff. Talks to me. Makes sure I don't go crazy." He itched his ear, actively avoiding Dean's hard, demanding glare.

Makes sure Kevin didn't go crazy…? "Yeah, about that one…" Kevin looked pretty far gone.

"I do stuff a friend does for a friend," Zip put in piously, clearly trying to paint himself as the more noble one in this scenario.

Offended and murderous at the same time, Dean gave that little punkass Leviathan the death-glare. "Oh buddy, don't even start with me," he growled. "I haven't forgotten when you tried to kill my sister." Among other things.

Zip paled slightly and his eyes nervously flickered toward Kevin, who seemed to know nothing of that little incident. "That was an accident."

"Yeah?" Dean challenged, sauntering a little closer. "Well watch your back, goopy. Because I'm feeling accident prone today if you catch my drift."

"Dean," Kevin said nervously, intimidated by Dean's close approach. "Please don't stab my friend."

"I'm your friend!" Dean protested vehemently. "Not this… this… freak!"

Of all things, both of them looked offended by Dean's outburst. Kevin was particularly insulted. "Uh… piling me with stuff and sending me away and only checking up on me when you need something?" Kevin looked downright mad. "Yeah. Not friends. Your sister was my friend, but you and Sam don't give two craps about me outside of prophet stuff."

Damn. Dean felt frustration mounting. "Sam and I are really busy, all right?"

"Well so was Alex and she still made sure I was okay!" Kevin shouted, losing his temper fast and starting to unravel. "I'm tired! I'm like a living zombie! I don't sleep and this thing is taking over my whole life!" He flapped his arms around to indicate the notes about the demon tablet. "I can't wait to be done, okay!?" He abruptly bowed and then grabbed his own head and moaned a few sounds of despair and fatigue. Dean made a slight face. Kid was losing it.

And then Dean noticed Zip. He stood beside Kevin and was watching him with this look… like… concern? Maybe? And something else. Dean squinted. Wait. Zip touched Kevin's shoulder in a very careful way and spoke to him sort of gently. "Hey. You want me to make you some more chamomile tea?"

Exhausted and clueless, Kevin let his hands slap down. "Yeah. I guess. Thanks."

Zip gave Dean another careful look then went to the kitchen. Dean sidled up to Kevin. "Dude."

"What?" Kevin asked irritably.

Dean was pretty sure his gaydar still worked. And so he let Kevin know what he obviously had missed: "…He's into you."

Kevin blinked. "…What?" Then he scoffed immediately. "No he's n—" he abruptly stopped talking and probably realized everything Dean had. That for no discernible reason some Leviathan guy was staying here, befriending him, bringing him food, making him tea, watching out for him, giving him all those concerned looks, touching his shoulder with a sort of longing quality to that touch… and when Kevin realized that Dean was right, he looked shocked and scared. "Oh man." His eyes were bulging slightly as his voice dropped to a frantic whisper. "W-what do I do?"

Dean scoffed. This Zip guy was a piece of work. "Hope he doesn't get jealous when you find someone else and then try to kill you when he can't handle that you're just not that into him."

Maybe joking about it like that was in bad taste. Kevin, ill and overwhelmed completely, let out a soft sound of despair. "T-this is just great," he lamented hopelessly. "A Leviathan likes me—like likes me—and Crowley's in my head. Dean, if Crowley's in my head, he knows where I am!" He started looking around in a panic. "You know, I—I should move out. I'll find another place. I'll hide from Kyle and he won't be able to keep finding me." He smacked a hand to his face like he was trying to hit and punish himself. "Why didn't I get why he kept coming around? Stupid, stupid!"

Dean grabbed Kevin's wrist to keep him from slapping himself in the face. "Geez, Kev, would you chill out, huh? Why do you call him Kyle, anyway? Isn't his name Zip?"

Kevin looked embarrassed. "He told me his name was Kyle when we met." He looked like all he wanted to do was just go to sleep forever. "Just tell me when this prophet crap all ends, 'cause that's the only thing I want to hear."

"I've told you before, this isn't going to end," Dean said grimly. "Look, man, other guys, they got it easy, you know? It's all backyard barbecues and... bowling teams, but you and me? We got to carry a little extra weight." That was putting it lightly.

And Kevin knew it and seemed to take that as an insult. "A little extra weight? No, this is… impossible. I don't want this."

"Kevin," Dean counseled firmly. He couldn't have this prophet quitting now. "You can take this. Hey, look at me. Now, this whole thing sucks. I know. But you suck it up and you push through because that's what we do. And when you get on board with that, the ride is a lot smoother."

A cynical smile spread on Kevin's wan face. "Dean. Not even you believe that. You're just saying it to sound tough or smart or something." He looked around at his cluttered environment and grew fractionally more upset as he took in the chaos. "And I'm this close, this close to just walking away." Fidgety and caged, eyes darting all over the place to a shifty effect, Kevin made an impromptu decision. "I'm gonna—I'm gonna take a walk," he said.

"Alone?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Not alone," came a familiar voice.

Zip was there with a styrofoam cup of, presumably, tea. Looking at Kevin to gauge how the kid felt about that, Dean only saw uncertainty. Not fear. They must really be pals or something. He didn't know. It was weird. And Dean didn't like it. But, he wanted the opportunity to snoop around the houseboat and quite honestly, he hadn't slept in a couple days and wasn't in the best state of mind. He was too worried about Sam and Alex and Cas and Jamie and what the hell was happening to give anything else much thought. So he just smiled tightly. "Mm. You two have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

---

In their cell once more, John and Alex Winchester were both beaten and bloody. John sat on the floor in a mangled lump—he'd gotten the worse end of the deal that time. Alex paced slowly, her face twisted into a hard, worried expression. Blood ran down the side of her face from a severe head-wound. Gashes were criss-crossed into her arms. Her clothes had more rips in them than before. But it looked like her biggest problems were inside of her mind. The look on her face said it all.

"Don't listen to it," her father finally said quietly after watching her walk back and forth awhile.

She stopped and looked at him in exhausted confusion. "Listen to what?"

"The doubt," he said grimly. "This place'll make you go insane if you give it an inch. Think about good things."

She was too tired to think about good things. "What do you think about?" she asked.

He looked faintly sad and happy all at once. "What life was like before Mary died. You and Sam as little babies. Dean, just a little rugrat." His sad smile grew as his eyes saw faraway things. "I imagine what life might have been like if all the bad stuff never happened."

Alex barely heard him. She just couldn't connect with a solution at this moment.

Outside in the hall just outside their cell, a huge commotion began to sound. Chains and someone giggling in a high-pitched female voice. A slamming door and some kind of baby-talk and leisurely laughter. Annoyed and angry and exhausted all at the same time, Alex threw a glower that direction. After a minute or two, a very playful female voice drifted over. "Helllooooo?" Alex and John exchanged a frown. Whoever that was, she sounded extremely chipper for being a prisoner in Hell. And who was she calling for? "Yoooou hoooo…" came another playful call.

Alex went over to the door of the cell and squinted out of the tiny hatch and bars. Across the hall, a pair of mischievous eyes sparkled back from another cell window. Arching dark eyebrows were set into pale skin and even though eyes was all she could really see, Alex could just catch the hint of flaming bright cherry-red hair. "Uh… can I help you?" Alex asked doubtfully.

There was a deep giggle. "Au contraire, babycakes," the stranger said. "I think I can help you."

Alex heard how Dad had gotten up and was limping over to catch a glimpse of this mysterious newcomer. "Okay…" Alex said slowly, mistrust making her voice dark. "And you're supposed to be who again…?"

The smile was audible in her voice. "My name's Lola. And uh…" she winked and her eyes filled with midnight black. "I'm a demon."