Song Remains the Same

Chapter 129 / The Queen, The King, The Pawns

"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell."
- Oscar Wilde

Lebanon, Kansas

The inside of the warehouse was cool and damp, musty smelling. The large interior echoed when any sound was made.

"So you really think this'll work?" Sam sounded doubtful as he hauled a padlocked metal box to the center of the space.

Dean glanced up from where he and Alex were knelt nearby and unrolling a tarp-wrapped, headless body. "We've seen 'Young Frankenstein' about a thousand times, right?" he quipped gruffly. "Yeah, we're golden."

Sam sent a slightly perturbed little glance his brother's way, set the box down onto an old worktable, then recoiled immediately upon cracking it open. "Wh—ugh." He made a face as he looked at Abaddon's head and bloody neck. "This is disgusting."

"Uh-huh," Dean agreed, a little turned off by the fact that he and Alex had just gotten to Abaddon's body in the many layers of tarp. Dean glanced over at his sister, who was closer to the bloody neck part of the dead demon body. She looked positively disgusted. Dean chanced a teasing half grin. "Hey, isn't sewing a girl thing? Al? Wanna do the honors?"

He got a dirty look. "In your dreams."

Dean shrugged his mouth downwards, a silent fair enough. He drew out his machete and gave it a whirl. "Okay, let's see about un-handing this bitch."

Alex looked totally stumped. "Huh?"

"She wakes up, I don't want her to be able to reach out and touch, know what I mean?"

Sam looked mildly queasy nearby, but that was nothing compared to Alex's expression. "Sure, I guess."

Dean adjusted his grip on his blade. "Well… here goes nothin'." With a slightly sheepish look at his doubtful siblings, he set to work. He hacked off Abaddon's hands one at a time with terrible splats and crunches, and when he was done, he nodded toward Abaddon's top end even as he grabbed her ankles.

Alex grudgingly hooked her arms under Abaddon's armpits, her face screwed up the entire time they hauled the body over to a rickety metal chair. "This is so gross," she complained. "I'm seriously gonna throw up."

"Throw up?" Dean asked, sending a dubious glance at his sister as they set Abaddon's body into the chair. "Since when are you squeamish?"

She struggled to mind-over-matter her queasy stomach. "Maybe it was all the candy I ate earlier."

Dean nodded his sympathetic amusement. "I know that stomachache."

Alex shot him a flat look. "Trust me, you don't." Dean just chuckled at her misfortune as brothers often do. That only served to inspire more disgruntlement on her part. "Hate you," Alex muttered grumpily.

Dean, enjoying a brief moment of teasing and good-natured ribbing. "You love me."

Alex sighed, unable to quash a longsuffering little smile away. "Uh huh." The two siblings shared a brief fond look even as Sam gingerly carried Abaddon's head over to where Dean and Alex had set the corpse—he also had some sewing twine and a curved needle. He placed the head on Abaddon's body, then looked to his twin for help. "Can you hold this for me?"

Alex made quite the face but did as he asked. Nearby, their older brother was chuckling. "So uh… heads or tails?" Dean asked, his expression suggesting that he thought he was hilarious.

He got two bitchy, judgmental looks for that one. "Seriously." Sam shook his head. "You need to stop."

Annoyed that his genius wasn't appreciated, Dean rolled his eyes. "Tough crowd," he commented, then lost interest and went to collect Abaddon's hands. He tossed them onto the worktable nearby, then wandered over to one of the broken windows, surveying with folded arms and a hard face. Alex held Abaddon's head in place while Sam stitched skin back together and she watched Dean, wondering what was going on in his mind. His eyes had a far off look.

Sam noticed Alex's keen gaze and he glanced at Dean then silently met Alex's gaze, and she knew he also shared her worries about their brother. Tense, Sam went back to stitching. It took a few minutes, but he made crude connections all around her neck and when he finished and clipped the thread off, Alex gently let go, experimentally—just in time for Sam's eyes to go wide. He jumped up from where he'd been crouched and grabbed Alex by the wrist, pulling her away fast. And then she saw why.

Abaddon's eyes were open and midnight black—her mouth was open slightly as she took in a deep, oceanic breath. She was a disaster to look at—bloody and beautiful, but her once-carefully applied makeup was smeared everywhere, her hair was lopsided in the elegant updo it had fallen from. Her punk-inspired outfit was dirty and torn. But she sighed as if in relief, rolled her neck, then smiled leisurely, her eyes changing to human appearance and flickering over to Dean, who had made quick tracks over to the twins. "Morning, sunshines." Her voice was soft, low, husky, pleasant.

"My god, wouldya look at that," Dean murmured, amazed that it had actually worked.

"At what?" Abaddon asked, a hungry smile playing on her face. Her eyes sparkled, but it wasn't pleasant. "Ooh, Dean… missed you so. I can't wait to tear out those pretty green eyes."

Sam was quiet and dangerous. "Yeah uh, good luck with that."

Abaddon looked down in confusion and found that her hands were no longer attached to her body. "We figured kitty didn't need her claws," Dean explained, enjoying the look of indignant surprise growing on the demon's face.

"Then I'll stump you to death," Abaddon said thinly, beginning to snarl. "It'll be swell." She thrashed forward—and then grunted in shock and wiggled in the chair ineffectually. She couldn't not move at all even though nothing held her there visibly.

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen, either," Sam said, his confidence growing. "The bullet—remember?"

Abaddon's expression washed over in realization that she was trapped. "So you sit there like a good little bitch," Dean continued smugly. "We're gonna consecrate the ground, and you're gonna get to fessing up."

Abaddon's face relaxed and she smiled disconcertingly. "Oh, I know this tune and guess what? I'm over it! Onto more interesting things, like who is this little saucepot you've brought along for the fun?" She looked at silent, watchful Alex with voracious eyes. "Pretty pretty…" she murmured. "Which one do you go with, hmm? Tall and dreamy or short and grumpy?" At that insinuation that there was some kind of romantic connection there, all three siblings made enough of a face that Abaddon quickly realized the error of her judgment and her eyebrows rose as she laughed. "Oh, goodness me! Well well well." Her eyes slid up and down Alex, not missing a thing. "Mm, yes, I can see the resemblance now. You're the sister." Her voice took an ominous dive even as she smiled wolfishly. "I thought you were dead."

Unreadable, Alex's reply was quiet. "Apparently not."

Abaddon's smile crept wider, showing gleaming teeth behind smudged red lips. "I can help fix that problem, kitten."

Alex raised an eyebrow slightly and eyed the bloody line where Abaddon's neck had been sewn back together. "Just don't lose your head, huh?" she suggested sarcastically, then looked over at Dean. "Can you hurry up and consecrate so we can get to the torture?" Her brothers both gave her semi-incredulous looks and she shrugged then mumbled, "Just saying."

Abaddon laughed leisurely at the torture comment. "So she likes it rough." Her head tilted down, giving her expression a seductive flair as her eyes bored into Alex unnervingly. "Oh, Lexy, we'll get along just fine…"

"Okay, look—" Dean started, sensing that his sister was in need of some backup. And then Sam's phone rang loudly, cutting him off.

Sam made a face as he pulled out the phone and read the screen. "Six-six-six…" he muttered curiously under his breath in puzzlement, then answered tersely on speaker. "Yeah."

A low, sultry male voice they all recognized immediately came out of the phone. "Hello, boy." Sam froze even as Alex's face lost color. "Is your sister there?"

Dean was standing at his full height and had grabbed Alex by the jacket the second he recognized that voice—he looked like he expected an attack any second and already had his blade out. Sam was visibly shaken as he clutched the phone hard. "Crowley, you son of a bitch—"

"Crowley?" Abaddon asked loudly, appearing to be shocked. "The salesman?"

"Try the King of Hell," Dean growled. "And dead meat, too." He held Alex closer and he spoke in a voice only they could hear. "I got you, sweetheart. Don't make a damn sound." The second he said that, they exchanged a brief, loaded glance. Not like she wasn't good at being utterly silent. But the message was clear: It was important not to give away the fact that Alex was there.

"King of Hell?" Abaddon sputtered indignantly. "This is a joke, right?"

With a face so hard it could break glass, Sam made a nodding head motion for the doorway, already stalking out that way. Dean pointed at Abaddon hard. "Stay." And he piloted his sister and himself out of the warehouse after Sam—looking around constantly in paranoia.

"How the hell did you get this number?" Sam hissed into the phone.

"First things first," Crowley's smooth voice purred. "What are you wearing?"

Dean grabbed the phone hard and angry from his brother. "Now you listen to me you son of a bitch—"

Crowley's eyeroll was practically audible. "Oh shut up. Fine. This isn't a social call."

"You're damn right it isn't, you got a death wish?!" Dean shouted. He was rattled.

Calm and cool on the other end of the line, Crowley was maddening aloof. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

Sam snatched the phone from Dean while their wide-eyed sister stood frozen nearby. "You dragged our sister to Hell, do you really think we have things to say to you?" Sam seethed. "I have a demon blade with your name on it, Crowley!"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you do but we'll get to that later," Crowley sighed out, completely inconvenienced. "Believe you me—I want my stolen goods back. Both of them." He paused and a wickedness came into his tone. "Is she there?" Alex paled again and Crowley chuckled low and sinister. "She is, isn't she. Alex, darling, don't play hide and seek. You know I eventually always find you…"

Alex shrank and Dean swiped the phone even as Sam was grabbing his sister and standing with her protectively. "Listen to me you punkass bitch, my family is not and will never be yours, Crowley, do you hear me?! And you don't say my sister's name, ever!"

"My god, could you stop shouting for god's sake?" Crowley asked, annoyance beginning to creep into his voice. "Christ alive, I can barely hear myself think. You act like she's not the one who willingly sold her soul to me. 'Dragged her to Hell' my lily-white ass. More like did her the bloody favor of the century and this is the thanks I get? I might have known, but right now I'm interested in other things so… lucky you." He paused and refocused. "You lads been reading the papers, say, Denver Times from yesterday? No? Well, you should. It's side-splitting. What the hell? I'm sexting you an address. Check it out. Then we'll talk. Cheerio."

"Wait—Crowley!" But the King of Hell had already hung up. Dean almost threw the phone in rage before he cursed and boiled silently in helpless, fearful anger.

Sam looked scared. "A-an address? What, does he want us to go there?"

"Don't like this," Dean said stiffly, breathing through his nose like a riled up bull. "Sounds like a trap."

"Or a ploy to get stolen goods back," Sam spat, then pointed at their sister. "We need to get her back to the bunker, now."

Alex was as agitated as they were, and their panic was making hers even worse. She pushed away from Sam in agitation. "Calm down, Jesus Christ, both of you!" she snapped in a shrill voice, breathless. "If he knew where I was, he would probably not call first to give us warning." She tried to play it off, but she couldn't. "I swear to God, you two drive me crazy!" Her voice broke on the word crazy, and the look on her face gave it all away. She was like a caged animal backed into a corner.

"Alex. Stop," Sam said, then stronger: "Stop." He leveled her with one of his reasoning, empathetic gazes and he held out a staying, calming hand toward her. "Look, it's okay that you're scared."

She bristled. "I'm not scared of Crowley!" she basically seethed, but the second she said it, she realized that it was a lie no one was buying. She tried to stay strong even as her eyes glittered. "And so what if I am?!" she asked in a near shout. "Of course I am! But it doesn't matter!"

Sam took her by both arms with hard fingers. "It matters," he said firm and strong. He was giving her this look that was so intense that she was almost scared of him for a second. "Crowley won't ever lay a hand on you ever again—ever," Sam swore. His eyes were shining, his nostrils were flared, his pulse could be seen hammering in a vein on the side of his neck. "Do you hear me? He'd have to come through me first, and that's not gonna fucking happen." Sam didn't curse as much as Alex and Dean did—so the f-bomb really hit home.

Dean was right there with Sam. "He ain't touching you again," he growled. "Ever." He shook his head just once, his jaw set and his expression gaunt with determination. "Believe nothing else in the world, but believe that." He looked absolutely vulnerable in that moment and Alex felt her heart reaching out to his. She touched his shoulder, saying to him what words couldn't. Dean gave her a tiny smile, cleared his throat, and dodged the moment. "All right, enough of this bleeding heart crap, I can't handle it today," he grumbled, briefly dashing a sleeve underneath his eyes. He turned his attention to Sam's phone. "Lemme see what that asshole was talking about with the Denver Times."

As Dean paced and cursed the slow data connection, Alex sat on the hood of the car and Sam sat with her, sensing that she needed silent support. He put one of his arms around her and she readily leaned into his side. Neither of them said anything… Sam was inwardly drowning in worries about how to save his sister and dad from Crowley's pursuit. Alex was facing panic that somehow she would be dragged back to Hell and this time no one would find a way to get her out…

Nearby, Dean gave a sound of triumph. "Found it." He read quickly then made a face. "Damn. Okay, so… freak death in Lost Creek. Vic's name is Tommy Collins." Dean paused, thinking hard. "Tommy Collins." He looked at the twins in confusion. "Why do I know that name?"

Sam of course remembered right away. "Tommy Collins—we saved him from a Wendigo like forever ago," he said softly, his expression showing emotional pain at this latest development.

There was a short, grave silence. "Okay, and, what, you think Crowley blew his head off?" Dean asked. "Why the hell would he do that, huh? What are we dealing with here? Some sort of Demon-Wendigo team-up?"

"No clue," Sam said slowly, just as confused as his brother was.

"Whatever it is, Crowley wanted us to know," Alex said slowly, feeling nothing but dread. "And obviously not because of his big, kind heart…" she almost expected the demon in the all-black suit to appear from behind a corner and announce that none of this was real… that she was in another one of his mindgames in Hell. No such thing happened, though.

"Yeah, he's involved somehow," Dean agreed grimly. "All right, well, we'll pour one out for Tommy later. As far as Crowley goes, screw him. We got everything we need to put him in a permanent time-out. And man, am I looking forward to that day."

"I think we all are," Sam said darkly. He was angry angry and ready for the day when he got to squash Crowley like the bug he was.

Dean's jaw tightened but he forced a lighter mood—probably for Alex's sake. "Back to arts and crafts?" he suggested, nodding toward the warehouse where Abaddon waited.

"Yeah," Sam said heavily, then stood in tandem with his silent, unreadable sister and stayed at her side the entire way back in.

When they entered the warehouse, however… "No," Dean said as he spotted the empty chair. He took off at a slight jog toward the chair, his head swiveling around in a fruitless search. "No! No! No!" But it was too late. "She's gone. She's—son of a bitch!" Dean ran off in one direction, maybe thinking he could find her at the far exit.

Sam however was at the sight of the disappearance. "Her hands are gone," Alex pointed out nearby, staring sickly at the table where they'd been. Sam crouched down then picking up something small and bright red. The demon trap etched bullet that had been in Abaddon's head, trapping her in place. "Fuck," Alex muttered.

"Dean, Dean!" Sam called urgently. Dean jogged back and saw the bullet even as Sam's phone chimed. Sam dug his phone out and then read the screen quickly. "It's a text from Crowley—an address in Prosperity, Indiana."

Dean's expression darkened. "Prosperity? Didn't we work a case there?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, the one with the witches and the baked goods."

Alex was totally in the dark. "Wait, what?" she asked. That didn't ring a bell. Dean's expression briefly fell at the word 'witches,' but his siblings didn't see.

"You uh, you weren't around for that one," Sam said somberly. Alex chastened. Oh.

"So, what?" Dean asked, rallying. "Crowley's going after somebody there now?"

"Dunno," Sam said apprehensively. "But we can't just ignore this. He might be out to kill more people."

Dean turned slightly patronizing. "Well, you know it's a trap."

"Of course it's a trap," Sam replied in forced patience. "But a trap means demons, and we could use one right now."

That did make sense. With a rueful sigh, Dean gave in and nodded a few times. "Okay, just gotta drop Mouse back off at the safehouse where she can hang out with Bobby."

Alex immediately piped up at that statement. "Guys—no. Come on." After everything she'd proved?

Dean was having none of it. "You safe is top priority," he said authoritatively. "The end. You're staying behind."

Alex looked at Sam for some backup. But her twin was apologetic. "Sorry, I'm with him on this one."

Crushed and pissed at the same time, Alex darkened. They were nuts to think she would go along with this. "Dean. Sam." She looked between them in turn, schooling her anger as best she could. "Come on guys, how many times are we gonna do this shit?" So frustrated she could have broken something, she gestured wildly with her hands instead. "I am not gonna sit around in a glass jar. I need to live my life. Danger is just part of that! We all know this! What the hell?!" It was so absurd it would have been funny in another context: "How many times do I need to prove myself? No one tried to lock Dean up to keep him safe after he came back from Hell! No one tried to sideline Sam even when he was soulless!" Her points were being taken, both with grudging humility and twinges of regret. "I've hunted on my own for a year, I got into Purgatory which oh yeah no one else has ever done, I've housed Lucifer and do you know who dragged Dad out of Hell? Me! My hands did that." Saying it out loud made her stand taller. Remember herself. And boost her confidence. Because it was true. "I've earned my stripes. Many times over. And you don't get to leave me behind on this." She let the words marinate a second as she let out a harsh breath thanks to the adrenaline. That hard edge gave way to a softer, more forlorn part hidden in her heart in the next moment. "This is my life. You guys, hunting… it's my life. Don't take that away from me." Her voice wavered as she admitted what was incredibly hard to say: "I need you right now. I need you bad."

Dean looked unsure and guilty. He exchanged a silent glance with Sam, who let out the softest, surrendering breath through his nose. Dean looked back at Alex. "Line of sight," he told her severely. "Always in my line of sight." Relieved she wasn't going to have to fight harder, she nodded that she understood and he stepped closer, grasped the nape of her neck, and kissed the top of her head quick and hard before he glanced around the warehouse tersely. "Let's hit the road, kids."

That Night
Macon, Missouri

Instead of driving all night, they stopped at a motel that evening to rest—Alex felt crappy the entire way but got very sick seven hours into the car drive and Dean said he didn't want to chance getting vomit on his car seat again, plus Sam was looking more terrible than ever. So they stopped for an early bedtime and some food. While the brothers crashed around eight in the evening and slept heavily in a double bed next to Alex, she struggled to stay awake for fear of nightmares. But exhaustion won out. Around eleven that night, Sam woke up to sounds of muffled, distressed moans of panic. Even as he threw an arm against Dean to wake up him up, Sam was bolting out of bed and switching the light on and shaking his thrashing sister.

"Alex, wake up, wake up—!" he urged, but she just began to whimper harder and groan the words, 'no, please,' over and over again as her body seized and thrashed. Sam called her name louder and shook her harder, but she didn't wake up.

Standing nearby and stock-still in shock and fear, Dean stared. "Dude, w-why won't she wake up?" he asked, obviously getting ready to panic.

"I don't know, but—"

There was a soft sound like fabric fluttering in the breeze, then a deep voice filled with commanding. "Stand back." It was Castiel, and he practically shoved Sam out of the way as he sat at Alex's side, scooped her up close to himself, and touched the side of her head. Her wracked body went slack and wild eyes popped open. Breathing so hard, Alex was confused and disoriented and frightened. Cas held her securely. "It's all right—it's me," he told her softly in a voice that gave away his pain on her behalf. He was stroking her hair and seeking her gaze. "I'm here."

Alex's breaths became steadier as one of her shaking hands found his wrist to catch hold of. When she realized what was happening, she clutched to him, shaking hard. "I-it felt so real," she managed to get out before she began to cry. "It was so real."

"It wasn't real," Castiel assured. He made eye contact with her troubled brothers who stood back sort of uselessly as the angel cradled their sister.

After a minute, Alex shook her head and pulled her head away from Cas's shoulder, embarrassed and rubbing at her face. "It's stupid," she mumbled.

Sam sat down across from her on the opposite bed and shook his head, leaning his arms over his knees earnestly. "It's not stupid," he told her. "And you're not either. This is just part of it."

She said nothing, but she listened and nodded.

Dean sat down across from Cas and eyed Alex first, then the angel. He must have decided, for that moment, that Alex would benefit best from ignoring what had just happened. "Thought you were supposed to be closing shop upstairs."

"Yes, well…" Cas trailed off and sighed heavily. "I don't know if I can." He glanced at Alex and then his hand, which was currently holding hers, tightened. "And I sensed that I was needed." When he said that, Alex smiled in a pained and bittersweet way and shuddered out a shaken breath.

"You not gonna do it or something?" Sam asked, honing in on the Heaven trials. Cas sighed hard and then shook his head in confusion.

"I'm not sure. Earlier today, I found out that… the first trial is… well, to cut out the heart of a Nephilim."

Dean pulled a confused face. "A whaty-what?"

"The offspring of a human and an angel."

Dean's eyes narrowed hard and looked between Cas and Alex rapidly in suspicion. "Wait… you're not saying…"

Cas realized Dean's assumption remarkably quickly. "No, no—" he stumbled out self-consciously. "There's… there's one in California. A girl named Jane. The only one in existence, actually." He stared at the floor with a pained expression. "I decided I was going to—to do it. But all day, waiting for her shift to end at the place where she works… watching her… I don't think I can. It's murder." The softest and saddest expression came over his face. "I've murdered more than my fair share. Some innocent, some not. But my hands…" he let go of Alex's hand and looked at both of his palms. "I don't want any more blood on them." In a surprising move, he looked at the oldest hunter in the room. "What do you think, Dean?"

A little put on the spot, Dean took a second to reply. "Well. I think lots of innocent people die all the time. What's one more if it's for something that really matters?"

Sam looked a little taken aback. "Dean."

"What, Sam?" Dean shrugged. "That's how I feel." He looked at Cas in all seriousness. "Can't make this decision for you, buddy. This is on you."

Cas nodded, but he only looked more confused. "Don't do anything until you're sure," Alex counseled.

"I'm sure I want to close Heaven," Cas said, then hesitated. "But… I don't want this to be the way to do so."

"Welcome to planet earth," Dean said flatly. "Where things never go your way."

Alex ignored her brother's pessimism. "Just trust your instincts," she said. "And don't do anything until you're sure."

Cas looked at her like she was the only person in the room and he smiled ever so slightly then leaned in and kissed her while cupping a hand to her face. Dean balked. "Hey, do you have to do that with us right here?!"

While Alex gave Dean an annoyed look, Cas was squinting hard and trying to understand. "Where would you prefer we do it?"

"Anywhere I'm not," Dean retorted huffily.

Ojai, California

A few moments later after he had made sure Alex was calm, Castiel returned to the back of Eugenie's where he and Metatron had lurked for most of the day. The scribe was still there and had his hands in his jacket pockets. "Where've you been?" he asked, eyeing Cas with semi disapproval.

"It's none of your concern," Castiel replied sternly, determined to stay in control of the situation.

Metatron looked at him closely, seeming to sense what was happening, at least in part. "Not gonna back out, are you?" When he got nothing but a brief, hooded glance as reply, Metatron started harping. "Just motivate yourself, Castiel. Imagine a world without Heaven constantly breathing down your neck, a world where you're truly free and safe. Just think of her. Your sweet, adoring, beautiful wife…" At the sharp frown Metatron got at that comment, the scribe shrugged innocently. "I do have eyes," he said, putting his hands up briefly in a gesture of surrender. "Remember why you're doing this, is all I'm saying."

Cas stared off into the night with a hard expression. "I know why I'm doing this. You needn't remind me."

And yet, Metatron did, needling in and nagging because somehow he seemed to know that Cas was starting to back out mentally. "Castiel. It's Jane or it's your family. How is there even a choice here?"

Throwing a side eye at the scribe, Castiel repeated what Alex had taught him over and over: "There's always a choice."

Metatron seemed doubtful. "Well then, it's time to make yours." He looked toward the employee entrance of Eugenie's. "She's about to come out." Cas followed his gaze even as the back door opened and Jane emerged. She had a jacket on over her uniform and her wavy brown hair tumbled down around her young face like a mane. With a purse slung over her shoulders, she walked through the dark parking lot and toward the far end where a small, beat up sedan waited. It had a sticker on it about eating local food. Drifting up behind her as she got further past the dumpster they had been hiding behind, Cas and Metatron were surprised when she stopped walking abruptly and turned to face them. Her expression was disconcerting: she looked young, a little afraid, and surprised. And so very innocent.

Metatron was the one who spoke first. "Good evening, Jane." His words sounded ominous.

She didn't waste time with pretenses… she looked at the top of their heads with keen eyes. "I know what you are," she said, swallowing nervously. "I can see your halos."

"And we know what you are," Metatron returned icily. "Abomination."

Jane blinked a couple times, insulted and hurt. "Abomination? What are you, Baptists?" It was a half joke and half serious. At the dire looks on their faces, she held two hands out protectively and briefly. She seemed to know exactly why they were waiting for her in a dark parking lot and when she spoke, it was like she had always known this day would come when she would have to beg for her life. "Come on, guys. I'm—I'm just a regular girl with some super powers I never asked for. I just wanna live my life. I'm normal. I'm nice. I've never hurt anyone on purpose. I keep it all hidden. I don't bother anyone. I even do volunteering on the weekends. So… just let me go home, okay?" She shuffled nervously, her eyes darting back and forth between them.

Castiel forced himself to not feel empathy for her. He let his angel blade slide down into his hand even as the worst feeling of self-hatred coursed through him. "I'm sorry for this," he managed to get out honestly.

Jane's expression changed when she saw the gleaming weapon. "What is this?" she asked in a higher voice, looking at him in petrified shock. "What kind of angel are you? I—I'm just an innocent person! I've never done anything to anyone!"

Castiel took a step forward. "Innocent or not, I have to do this."

Backpedaling, bargaining, Jane's words poured out of her hard and fast and breathless. "Wait! Stop! Just—just—" she looked between them desperately. "J-just tell me! What am I? M-my mom. She died giving birth to me but her friends said she never stopped talking about how my father was an angel." She was very smart, clearly, and looked between the both of them in half dread and half hope. "Is one of you my father?" Abruptly, anger flared. "And you're here to clean up your mess twenty-four years later? I've lived my whole life without answers, you can at least give me some answers before you try and stab me with your…" she gestured loosely at the blade. "Thing!"

Her story was building in his mind. A dead mother, a father she never knew, a mystery of a life. Pain, sadness, the feeling of being alone. Empathy made him hurt. "No," Castiel said quietly. "Neither of us is your father."

She clenched her fists at her side. "Well… just go away then!" she insisted shrilly. "I didn't ask to be this!" She wet her lips fast, trying to reason her way out of what was happening. "You can't… you can't fault me for how I was born—you can't. I have a quiet, simple, good life. I don't hurt people or bother them. No one knows what I am and they never will, I promise. I hid it from the world since I was a little girl because I have always known I was a freak. My strength, my power… I never sleep, I don't need food. And sometimes, I hear you angels talking. Whispering." Her eyes were brimming with tears. "I just wanna be normal, but I can't, so… you can't just like murder me for being who I was born as!"

"You'll never be normal," Metatron said almost tauntingly. "You're a Nephilim."

That word made her face go slack in surprise. "Nephilim," she repeated softly, testing the word. "So that's what I'm called." Cas thought of Jane growing up and not knowing why she was the way she was and more feelings of empathy and guilt grew. He thought of his own son and daughter who didn't exist yet but who would, someday. And in that moment, he knew that he couldn't do this to Jane. "Leave me alone," Jane said, and her voice had taken on a startlingly sudden threatening tone. "Walk away while you still can. I will fight you."

Castiel took in a deep breath, gripped his blade harder… and then put it away to both Jane and Metatron's utter shock. "Leave this place, Jane," he said firmly to the Nephilim standing in front of him. He gave her a commanding stare that urged her to do as he said immediately. "Go home. Now."

Metatron sputtered as Jane ran to her car. "What are you doing?! She's getting away!"

Dire and grave, Cas turned with a clenched jaw to look at his unhappy counterpart. "I'll find some other way to close Heaven."

Metatron was turning red. "Are you serious?!" he exploded. "There isn't one, Castiel!" Jane's car roared to life and squealed out of the parking lot as Metatron gestured in enraged animation. "You have to cut out the heart of a Nephilim, end of story or the trials are…" he made a bunch of chaotic motions with his hands. "Screwed!" He stared at Cas in flabbergasted accusation. "I thought you loved your wife!"

The scribe was beginning to step over the line, and Castiel showed his harder, more confrontational side by using a rough, challenging voice. "I do. More than anything." His jaw clenched hard and his expression grew more pained. "But I can't do this. I can't, Metatron." He shook his head, trying to think of ways to make it work. "I'll just—I'll just have to be more watchful than before, more careful not to let—"

"Are you crazy?!" Metatron screeched. "Castiel… buddy… they will never stop coming. Ever! As long as there are angels in Heaven and you here on earth with her—! I can personally guarantee you nothing but sleepless nights and danger and heartache! I mean, come on… are you that stupid?!"

Castiel feared that he was right, but shook his head no firmly. "You'll have to do these trials, Metatron. I can't. My morals won't allow me."

Metatron abruptly became prim and insulting. "Oh, your morals won't allow you. Well." He was brusque and prim at the same time. "If you don't close Heaven, trust me, someone else'll get the same idea in the future. And you know what? Maybe they won't come after Jane this time."

A frown came across Castiel's face as he thought back to their previous conversation. "But you said she's the only Nephilim left," he said slowly.

Metatron smiled thinly. "Yeah. I did. Because the only other one in existence isn't here yet." Cas's face screwed up in confusion. Pursing his lips into a patronizing expression, Metatron looked at the other angel like he was stupid. "It'll be about, oh, nine months before this one makes their debut," he ranted, "and something tells me you won't want to cut the heart of your own child out, Castiel, so it's gotta be Jane!"

The world might as well have stopped for a small moment. My own child? Those words and everything they implied hit Castiel full force. "Y-you mean…" he breathed faintly, then shook his head, unable to breathe. His mind raced, trying to find an explanation. "B-but I would have known…!" he protested in a cracking voice.

Metatron made a duh face. "You would think you would have, yes." He looked at Cas's dumbfounded expression and made a shooing motion. "Well don't take my word for it. Go! See for yourself. Use your angel vision for once, because apparently you don't do that anymore." An abruptly sly smile appeared. "And, hey..." he leaned in knowingly, "Congrats, Dadstiel."

Cas backed away slowly, his face slack. And then he disappeared.

Castiel flew back to the motel room and found it dark and quiet—all three Winchesters were asleep again. The angel breathless crouched down beside the bed Alex was in. Was it true? Was she…? Had they…? He wasn't sure how it could be possible, but he was half mad with the anticipation of needing to know. Alex was on her side, facing him, her face relaxed and her breaths deep and peaceful as she slept. Cas swallowed hard, knowing this would change everything for them if it were true. Nervous to the point of feeling tense, his eyes went to her stomach area and when he looked—really looked—his stomach lurched. There it was—a small, unmistakable gathering of new cells. The beginning of a new person. The beginning of a new life. Completely overwhelmed, in shocked awe, Castiel reached out and his fingers brushed against her torso. The soul touch. How had he not realized? He heard a soft little joyful inhale of breath and realized it was him who had made that sound… thinking of how an entirely new soul had been created by love shared by two. He was overcome.

Alex stirred at that moment, coming out of her sleep, and she briefly tensed when she saw him there—then relaxed and put her hand onto his softly. "Cas? What is it?" she whispered as she propped herself up onto an elbow. She sounded worried. Even in darkness, she could see or sense (perhaps both) his emotional state.

Shaking his head against a smile, against tears, all he could do was pull her closer to him in an awkward, intense embrace as he remained knelt beside the bed. Emotion welled inside of him, fiercer than Heaven or Hell or any place in between. It was beyond words, really, beyond comprehension. He remembered the boy—his son—who he'd met in the liquor store. This was him. Castiel knew it, he recognized somehow, and love bright like the sun surged inside him, giving him the feeling of soaring. Words were momentarily beyond him. "I'm… I'm going to take care of us," he finally whispered in a voice that was barely there at all. His family, who moments ago had been a maybe. A someday. But even as new as it was, he already understood: He could do anything, anything on Earth or Heaven or anywhere in between if it were for his child. His eyes spilled over.

Alex sounded confused. Worried. Tentative. "Okay... but wh—"

He shook his head, his elation fading as he pulled back and grasped her face gently with a hand. "I have to do something very terrible. Forgive me." His voice caught. "Please, forgive me."

Fully awake now, Alex studied him in concern. "Do I need to come with you? Need backup?"

He loved her so much that his heart could burst. His hands squeezed hers in return and he felt how his eyes brimmed anew with tears. "No. I have to do this. Just say you understand. Say you understand I have to do this." She hesitated, clearly picking up on things being off, but she nodded after a pause. It meant everything to him. His arms tangled around her and he pulled her nearly off the bed, that's how close he held her. He wanted to tell her everything—but he didn't even know how to start or what to say except to profess his feelings. "I love you beyond words, Alex Winchester," he murmured, voice tight and wavering from emotion. "I love you so much."

"I… love you too." She pulled back to look at him again. He could see the questions in her eyes. "How did you decide this was the right thing?"

He shook his head, so beyond words. He didn't know how to sum it up. "It's… it's you. I can't have you and, and… and us—anything less than safe." He knew now there was nothing—nothing—he wouldn't to to protect her and the new little life growing inside of her. "I know I need to do this," he whispered, and a horrible wave of guilt hit him. What if someday someone was trying to kill their child simply because he was a Nephilim? Jane couldn't help who she was. And neither could… his fingers traced against the skin of Alex's stomach and he was consumed with shame and guilt. "But Heaven help me, I don't want to do this."

Alex was silent and pensive. Her eyes glanced down at his hand, silently wondering why he touched her there. "Cas..." She hesitated, then grasped him gently by the back of the neck. "Let me come with you."

He shook his head and grabbed her hand from his neck. "No—no." His thumb stroked over her knuckles and his heart raced as he thought about the daunting news he needed to share with her. He didn't think he could tell her yet. Not at this moment. "This is my burden to bear. And you can't—" he hesitated, dodging her gaze. "Don't drink any alcohol, please." Her face scrunched up in confusion and he stumbled onward. "And I—uh—just, just stay here. I'll be back. Rest." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek—she sighed, eyes closing at his gentle touches as she chose to brush off his odd comments. "You mean everything to me," he whispered, touching her forehead with his as he held her face tenderly in a hand. "My life. My world."

The bed next to Alex's creaked and Dean's cranky voice sounded. "Oh my god, you know we're right here, right?" There was a sigh of aggravation. "Someone give this guy a job writing those cheesy-ass love scenes in Hallmark movies."

Sam mumbled a sleepy, "shut up, Dean."

Alex ignored her brothers and kissed Cas's cheek and then his mouth. "I love you too, Castiel," she whispered, using his full name for reasons unknown. His heart welled.

He stood, and her hands slipped from his. "I'll be back," he promised, then tore himself away and made himself do what had to be done.

Alex settled back down, ignorant to what was happening, but not before sending a comment to Dean in the dark: "You love those cheesy Hallmark movies."

There was an audible, sleepy scoff. "Bite me," floated back, even as Sam chuckled. Alex smiled to herself and nestled into the covers. Roasting each other was, after all, how the Winchesters showed affection the majority of the time.

She fell back asleep, and was woken later by Cas crawling into bed with her, weeping as quietly as he could for what he had done. Dean and Sam made awkward excuses about needing things out of the car and they didn't come back into the room for the rest of the night. Alex held Castiel and she did not sleep the rest of that night—just comforted her distraught angel who was too ashamed and afraid to tell her, at that moment, what was happening to her. Because that night, he viewed himself as a murderer and feared she would, too.