Song Remains the Same

Chapter 138 / The Witching Hour

"If desperate times call for desperate measures,
then I'm free to act as desperately as I wish."
― Suzanne Collins

Thunderbird Motel
Maryville, Kansas
3am

Dean paced outside the motel room door like a caged animal. He could barely think. "Come on, come on, come on…" he muttered anxiously under his breath. He'd knocked all of two seconds ago but he couldn't wait a millisecond longer. He lost patience and hammered his fist on the door again. "It's me!" he almost shouted. "You in there? James? Jamie!"

The door opened abruptly, almost knocking him off balance from the weight he'd been throwing into it. Startled when he saw what was beyond that door, Dean and all his chaotic thoughts went still. Every other thing in the universe ceased to exist. Because there she was. Alive, breathing, bright-eyed and by all appearances totally okay despite the fact that he'd personally buried her body six feet under cold hard ground… Jamie Ward. Like nothing had ever happened to her at all.

"Hey Dean." It was said softly as a relieved smile broke across her cherry-red lips.

Tears were already gathering in his eyes—and all his intentions of various tests to make sure it was really her flew out of his mind completely. "Oh my god," Dean breathed, his heart choking his throat with the most intense rush of relief imaginable. "Jamie." With trembling limbs, he crossed the scant distance separating them and slammed her into a hug he had never thought would happen again. Even more emotion avalanched over him as he felt her warmth against him… the rise and fall of her steady breaths, the shape of her in his arms. His eyes squeezed shut as it all crashed over him with a helpless shudder. Every sleepless night obsessing over a way to bring her back, every ounce of grief he'd lived with and shoved down into the void paled in comparison to the feeling of this. She smelled the same, felt the same, she hugged him back fiercely. And it abruptly wasn't enough to just hold her anymore. He needed to look at her.

"How are you back?" he asked hoarsely, pulling away just enough to hold her face in his hands. It took his breath away—photographs and memory hadn't done her justice. It blew him away all over again. "Are you okay?" he whispered, not even giving her a chance to respond because looking at her face again was so surreal that it was frightening. "How are you back?!" Had one of his ludicrous attempts worked somehow? Was something darker at play?

She shook her head uncertainly, by all appearances just as emotional and overwhelmed to see him as he was to see her. "I don't know how, I just am." One of her hands came to gently rest on his wrist—a light touch that he couldn't take for granted. "I was in Hell, and then I wasn't—I… I don't remember anything else."

That should have been a red flag. But Dean was too caught up in the drug of seeing her face again to think clearly. He'd do detective work on how she broke out of Hades later. Because meantime, the majority of the English language escaped him. He'd rushed over here with every wild hope and relentless fear bursting him apart with sickening anticipation of what he would find. Sometime since losing her, he guessed he'd given up hope that this would actually happen—so now that it had… he was an absolute wreck. More than he would have thought. "I never thought I'd see you again," he managed, not sure if he should smile or cry, hands still on her face. His thumb gently caressed skin that last he had touched was pale and lifelessly cold. Now that skin was warm, healthy, and living. He felt an overwhelmed tear spill down his cheek. For once, he let his emotions openly display.

"I know," Jamie murmured, pressing into his space a little more, studying his eyes, then closing the distance to kiss him softly. Dean melted and received the kiss, but despite the elation he felt, it also brought up trauma he hadn't resolved yet: getting her body from the morgue, burying her, grieving at her graveside, seeing her headstone all the time, shouldering daily guilt over not being able to save her—then his subsequent spiral into near-insanity with ways to try and bring her back. Everything he'd refused to let himself fully feel was all the sudden smothering him. So much so that he couldn't go further into the kiss when she tried to kiss him more deeply with tongue.

She looked vaguely confused as he pulled away from her kiss, and he was sorry. Dean regarded her with every last bit of stored-up overwhelming emotional pain written clearly on his face. He just didn't know how to tell her how bad it had gotten, but needed to all the same. "Baby, since you left… I just haven't been the same," he confessed in a whispered rasp, helpless to hold up all the walls he usually hid behind. It was time to let those things down. Finally he could tell someone all the things he'd refused to say out loud. Finally he didn't have to bear his burden alone. "Spent so many nights thinking about all my regrets, you know?" he continued, still barely able to speak above a whisper as emotion made his eyes ache. He searched her sky-blue gaze. "About all the things I never said to you." He wished he could make her understand the depths of his mind-numbing remorse. Not just about her, but about damn near everything. "I'm sorry."

Jamie's brows drew in further in quiet confusion. "…What do you mean?"

He was petrified to say it out loud. But he'd already decided he was gonna the second she'd opened that door and he saw her. So Dean exhaled helplessly, feeling self-conscious as he reluctantly steeled himself. How did he even start? "…I'm bad at this stuff, James," he bemoaned shamefully, choking on the lump in his throat and wishing he weren't so… himself sometimes. He wet his lips, because by God he wasn't gonna squander a chance to lay it on the line after all the nights spent cursing himself for all the things he never did or said. Not after dreaming and hoping for this exact chance. "Look… I know it's not much… but it's all I got," he started, voice husky with tense apprehension, because he was realizing that he actually had no idea how to exactly say it all. Then he grew softer because when he looked into her eyes, eyes that calmed and centered him, when he thought it over… it was actually pretty straightforward. His anxiety relaxed away into a certain shade of tenderness. "Let's put it this way," he murmured just above a whisper. His pulse seemed to be racing and slow all at once as he willingly pulled his metaphorical heart out of his chest and let her see what was inside. "At the end of the day, somewhere along the line, despite all his best laid plans… a Kansas boy with nothing but a car and some booze to his name fell in love with the last girl he ever meant to." It really was as simple as that. Dean hesitated, then traced some hair away from her face as she listened with the softest and most rapt expression. Sadness briefly made him faintly apologetic. "Couldn't ever seem to find the right way to tell her, no matter how much he wanted to, so…" he drew himself up a little bit. "I guess that's what he's trying to do right now." Dean was resolute, managing a conflicted little smile. "And he's sure as hell hoping to get a second chance to do things better this time around."

Jamie's expression was appropriately touched and tender. She reached up to stroke his cheek in a loving way. He thought she was about to return his feelings, and his heart grew lighter, warmer. And then… she spoke.

"…You let me burn in Hell after you swore over and over again that you'd save me," she whispered softly. The words rendered him immediately stiff and shocked. Her fingernails trailed down the skin of his throat, digging in with sudden pressure as she posed her question with a sly smile: "How could anyone, but especially me, ever love a man like you?" At the dismayed look on his face, she grinned and chuckled darkly. It was absolutely chilling. And that's when he realized: this wasn't Jamie standing in front of him. Even as Dean was floundering, there was a sudden telekinetic burst of dark energy and he went flying backwards where he collided back-first with one of the room walls.

Fuck! Even as he groaned in pain he heard the motel door room slam shut. "What, am I supposed to say, 'oh, Dean, I love you too'!" She asked with an audibly simpering grin. "Yeah right." She mocked him with a false expression of sympathy as he got to his feet roughly in a daze. "Aw. Look at those pretty green eyes full of sadness and hurt…" she said with a put-on pout and then a dainty, surprised look. "Did I do that?"

Dean cursed himself into the next century for his stupidity as his stomach churned against terrified nausea. "Who are you?" he asked lowly, theories already flying wildly in his head against an entirely new tide of grief. For a minute he'd been fool enough to believe in a happy ending.

The demon or creature wearing his girlfriend's likeness sent a flirty smile his way. She now spoke with a totally different cadence than Jamie did—sort of sing-songy on some words. "Think hard, lover. We've met before…" there was a certain suggestive affect to the way she sauntered up to him. She stopped in front of him and parted her black leather jacket as she put her hands onto her hips confidently. Her t-shirt became visible, just as she'd intended. And Dean's blood went cold like ice: it was a black shirt with a cartoon female demon lounging on it—underneath, text proclaimed 'the devil made me do it.' Last time Dean had seen that shirt, Abaddon had been wearing it—Abaddon who favored a red lipstick the exact shade on Jamie's lips right now. Abaddon who had been burned out of her previous vessel by Sam and Alex and chopped apart by Dean not long before that. Abaddon who surely would want revenge on the Winchesters. It suddenly made perfect and horrifying fucking sense what was happened here. Dean mutually realized two things. One: this meant it was Jamie's body in front of him so there was still some hope left; and two: he was up shit creek without a goddamn paddle worse than he thought. Abaddon grinned wickedly, enjoying the look of increasing horror on his face. "Did you miss me, sweetie?" she mocked.

Dean sidestepped her stiffly, his breaths short and hard through his nose. He was trying to figure out what the hell to do. "You get the fuck out of her you bitch." The back of his legs hit against the motel room bed. He had nowhere to go and no clue how to combat this abruptly escalating situation. Right in front of him, the woman he loved was still out of his reach, impossible to know how to save. It broke his heart all over again.

Abaddon closed in slowly, like a lion hunts prey. "Oh I don't think so, kitten," she murmured, making Dean's pain all the worse as she continued to speak using Jamie's voice. His only thought was how the fuck could he get her out of this? "I knew this would be fun when I first got the idea, but gosh, the look on your face…" Abaddon crooned wickedly, enjoying herself immensely. "Seems as though I may have underestimated exactly how delicious this moment would be."

Hatred wasn't a strong enough word. It may have been a long shot, but Dean wasn't exactly a man with options at the moment. He backed up along the length of the bed slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves. "Exorcizamus te omnis immund—"

"Oh sweetie." Abaddon rolled her eyes with a lengthy sigh, unbothered completely. "You know nursery rhymes like that don't work on something like me." She settled all of her weight onto one foot and crossed her arms with a devilish smile. "But knock yourself out trying. I like watching you squirm." Dean glared insolently, refusing to continue. "No?" she teased, then flung a hand out. With the motion he went flying, crashing into the bedside table where a glass lamp shattered. Some of it slashed into his arm and he protested with a cry of surprise even as he managed to get back on his feet in an awkward roll. This was bad, and getting worse every second. Dean's emotions had really sabotaged him—and he was fully realizing how much so as he began to bleed. He hadn't told Sam where he went, instead mindlessly abandoning his brother in favor of this wild goose chase—he didn't have any way of trapping a Knight of Hell with him because he hadn't prepared for that possibility.

Dean was left to kick himself repeatedly. Abaddon wasn't a regular demon, and even if she was, there was no way in hell he was gonna fight her while she was in his girlfriend's body. The situation sent him into endless cycles of despair. Jamie was literally in the same room with him—but he had no way to rescue her. There was only one thing he could do. And that was try. Dean looked hard into her eyes, willing his message to go to the woman he loved. His tone faltered. "James, if you're in there, if you can hear me, I'm gonna get you outta this," he promised intensely. He'd find a way out or die in the attempt.

Abaddon's eyes took an upward rotation again as faint impatience grew. "Okay, all of this sentiment is really starting to make me itch." She began a slow, commanding pace of the room, taking her time and being showy. "It is entertaining though," she continued conversationally as he watched her with hyper-vigilance. "How quickly you came running without a thought to save this blonde bimbo of yours." She sent him a jeering smirk. "Guess a good pair of tits will make a 'Kansas boy' do just about anything, huh?"

His fury was the helpless kind and it made him shake with rage. His regrets and resentments kept growing. "I'm gonna fucking gut you first chance I get, Abaddon," he vowed savagely.

She was amused, studying his face thoroughly as she chuckled. He swore he saw attraction in her eyes as she challenged him by stepping so close that there was no space at all between their bodies. "No no, loverboy," she whispered seductively, letting her hands slither up his torso to his shoulders. He shrunk from the touch but her red-polished fingernails began to dig in painfully, biting through his jacket and shirt both. "I am going to kill you." She sent him flying again into another wall, pinning him there invisibly after the harsh impact. Groaning through gritted teeth, Dean thrashed against the powerful hold he couldn't break. Abaddon approached with a dangerously gleeful glint in her eyes as he panicked over what to do. "And then I'm going to kill your brother and your sister, and anyone and everyone else you've ever loved," she continued sweetly. "Then, when it's all over, I'm gonna boil this witch of yours alive and throw her body away like the garbage that it is." She let go of her invisible hold of him and Dean fell to the floor, catching himself on all fours and scrambling up quickly to sag against the wall, effectively trapped. He didn't know how to get out of this without hurting James and his frenzy of alarm grew more and more pronounced with every second that ticked by. He was outgunned big time and he knew it.

Abaddon was still toying with him, vastly pleased with her flawlessly executed revenge. "So tell me. How are you gonna save her, Dean?" She approached closely again and grabbed him hard by the front of his shirt. He didn't know the answer to that question. He didn't have a goddamn clue. Without anything further, the demon right-hooked him in the face, sending stars of pain exploding in his vision as she continued to hold him in place with her other hand. "Show me how," she goaded, then telekinetically tossed him through the air to collide painfully with the TV set.

He groaned as bone-bruising pain exploded across his side and back ribs from the points of impact. Abaddon was already on him again, grabbing him brutally by the hair—she proceeded to bash his skull into the television several times. He tasted blood in his mouth and his vision wavered as his entire nervous system reeled with alarm bells. "James, please!" Dean begged, trying to hold Abaddon back even though she was so much stronger than him.

"What, not even gonna fight back?" Abaddon sneered, shoving him down and standing over him triumphantly.

He was now at the point of being pummeled dumb and all he could do was look up at his very powerful enemy and break apart. "Please, just let her go—" Dean pleaded in weakening strength even as the demon yanked him to his feet and uppercut him in the face—a face that was now gashed and bloody. As soon as her fist impacted and sent another cry of protest ripping out of his throat, something strange occurred. Abaddon's intense expression dropped in favor of a sudden frown. She let go of Dean as if she'd been stung, then looked down at herself in sudden confusion like something unexpected had just happened inside her body.

Sagging against the media console, Dean watched breathlessly as Abaddon's face showed fascinated surprise. "Ohh—" she commented softly, intrigued and oddly delighted all at once. Her eyes snapped up to look into his and a dark little smile hovered. "…I think she's upset that I'm hurting you," she said in a captivated whisper. Sudden immense hope soared over Dean. She was fighting, somehow! "Huh." While it had thrown the demon off, she regained her composure quickly. "Interesting." She refocused onto Dean, her wicked grin growing larger still as her voice lowered to a sultry lull. "I bet it'll upset her even more to watch her own hands choke the life out of her little boyfriend, don't you think?" She arched an eyebrow in cruel anticipation as malevolent delight gleamed in her eyes.

He barely had time to react. Dean slammed backward into a wall, powerless against the invisible grip that pinned him in place. The demon crowded his space and despite his attempts to resist, superhuman strength hands closed around his throat harshly, choking off his windpipe and his ability to breathe with shocking speed. He began to thrash, grabbing uselessly at her wrists in an attempt to pry her off. His lungs screamed, trying to gasp air in with less and less success.

She was gonna kill him. He was gonna die in this useless motel room for no fault other than his own fucking stupidity. The full reality of his complete and utter failure slammed him all over again. Sam's situation, Alex's purposeful silence, Bobby's disappointed glances, Kevin's fear of him, Dad high-tailing it away from his family again… Dean only had one thought repeating over and over. All my fault. He had said over and over again that he was fine with being the bad guy—but the truth was opposite: he wasn't. He just wanted things to be okay, goddammit! Hell, maybe this planet would be better off without his anger, his insecurity, his bullshit and issues and the way he drove people away. He didn't wanna give up, but… he was starting to think maybe this was judgment day. Maybe planet earth would be better off without Dean Winchester. His struggle weakened. Abaddon pushed him slowly down the wall as his knees buckled and failed. She leaned in so close he could feel her hot breath hitting his his face. "I'm just sorry you can't hear all of her screams as I do this to you…"

Even as his vision began to go spotty, those words did something to him. Dean began to fight again valiantly with every last scrap he had, looking into those ice-blue eyes with gritted teeth. If he was gonna die, his last words weren't gonna be to the demon. They were gonna be for Jamie. "It's—okay—" he wheezed out faintly with every ounce of strength he could muster against the vice on his throat. A rush of memories that they shared filled his mind. He just wished they'd had more time. "I know—this isn't you—!"

He suddenly gasped in loudly, sweet new air flooding into his lungs. Abaddon's expression faltered because her hands had abruptly started to tremble and quake, fingers losing the strength of their grip. The demon's expression changed from glee to angry confusion as she looked at the hands she was quickly losing control over. And then she gave a shout of shocked agony—her eyes went wide as her hands flew away from Dean's throat to clap against either side of her own head. She screamed as she stumbled back. And Dean knew what he saw there on her face now: fear.

Given over to desperate hope, Dean managed to stand to his height as his lungs heaved, pulling in air to make up for what he'd lost. In front of him, Abaddon's hands were falling slowly from her head as she glared at him murderously, and then her hands. She was seething… and shaken up. She hadn't expected whatever that was. Despite everything, Dean felt a brief surge of pride. "Yeah, maybe not the best idea to possess a goddamn witch, huh," he said, his neck still pulsing from the crushing pain her fingers had left behind. He didn't know how she'd done it, but he just hoped she could do it again. "Kick her ass, James!"

Maybe it was too much to hope for. Abaddon's face darkened with dangerous rage. "Enough!" she spat with severe finality. She raised a furiously trembling hand and he was yanked by invisible force to crash into the bed, breaking it in half from impact. Before he could even get his bearings, Abaddon had jumped onto him and was straddling him, holding him down onto the mattress that was now halfway on the floor—she grabbed both of his hands and slammed, pinning them roughly beside his head. Her fingernails dug into his wrists, drawing blood and making pain scream underneath the pointed stabs. Inhaling sharply, Dean defied her by staring back into her furious eyes, refusing to make the sound of pain he so wanted to. "Look I'm getting tired of this, so I'm gonna cut it short," she hissed, acid roiling in her eyes. "But before you die…" she took a moment to calm herself then let go of his hands. They stayed in place telekinetically whether he liked it or not. Her hand trailed down his chest, then his stomach, then lower… to the hunting knife that was in the waistband of his jeans. She yanked it out, admiring the blade length, enjoying the look of fear that rippled across his face. She leaned closer and traced the razor sharp tip across his cheek delicately. "Tell me, lover," she murmured. "Did you know your girlfriend's a lying bitch?"

He strained against the hold uselessly. "You ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?" Dean retorted insolently.

Abaddon ignored his question. Instead, she shattered his world with a question she phrased with utmost put-on innocence. "Why would she not tell you about having the baby, do you think?"

Every sound went silent as the sensation of being slammed with shock took over his entire world. Dean quit struggling. 'Having the baby'…?

Her face morphed into a sly, patronizing smirk. "That's right," she whispered throatily. "You're a father, and she never even told you."

Dean's blood had gone still. His breath stopped. And then after an impossibly long few beats, he shook himself hard. No. This was another hell-bitch trick designed to get under his skin. It had worked. "You're lying," he accused, but he didn't sound confident about that.

Abaddon remained serene, further unsettling him. "Deep down… you know I'm not."

The hunter was left to reel. Jamie wouldn't have lied to him about miscarrying… would she? And if she had, why? He couldn't come up with a reason, but he did know that despite the strength of his feelings for Jamie, he might not know her well enough to make the call on how honest she was or not. Where would this supposed kid even be right now? He wracked his brain in a furious rush to think back to the moment he'd reunited with Jamie after Purgatory. He'd expected to find her with an infant. She'd instead given him the bad news that their baby girl had never been born.

In the depths of Purgatory, the thought of fatherhood had been one of the things that kept him going. He'd felt ready to be a dad, he'd been anticipating it, he'd spent a year surviving the wastelands with it always on his mind. He had pictured himself in a little family of his own… a chance to make things right and give a kid the childhood he'd never gotten.

He'd gotten over the crushing disappointment as time had passed, but he'd always wondered in quiet moments what would have happened if that baby had made it. So for this demon to be suggesting that she had made it… it messed with Dean on every level. What if Jamie had been lying? The implications were enormous.

Abaddon patted the broad length of the knife against his slackened face. "So when I said I'll kill your entire family… guess who else is in line?" she continued, increasing his horror a hundredfold.

Where he'd refused to believe her just two seconds prior, the threat to a kid who may or may not have existed, a kid he'd never even laid eyes on sent him into a protective, primal rage. "Leave my blood alone," he gritted out in a snarl, fighting her relentless grip with everything he had.

Abaddon chuckled again and leaned close, letting the knife drift to press tip-first into the skin of his neck. "Don't worry Dean, Mommy here is gonna go pay our baby girl a visit very soon," she murmured into his ear, letting her lips brush against the sensitive skin of his lobe. Terror ran through his veins. If her goal was to petrify him, she was succeeding. "Sweet dreams, Daddy."

His world was spinning and confounded. No—no! Even as a terrified protest rose as the pressure increased on his neck—the knife was suddenly gone and Abaddon pitched sideways with an animalistic shout and then a shocking scream of absolute pain. The hold on Dean evaporated and he was already shoving himself up to try and see what had happened. Beside him, she had both hands on the hilt of the knife—and it was buried deep in her own stomach. Blood was already pooling out around it. Her face had changed. Where there had been cool calculation, there was now panic and severe pain. She was screaming from effort and agony alike, face turning red, a vein of filling out on her forehead as her teeth bared. She held the blade in deeply for all she was worth.

Dean was already clambering over toward her. "Jamie?!"

Her panic increased. "Get—out!" she bellowed raggedly at him, eyes wild with fear. It was her. He grabbed onto her even as she panted doggedly and tried to push herself away from him with disoriented feet that slipped uselessly against the carpet. "Dean, run!" Her voice was unrecognizable from guttural pain and panic.

"I'm not leaving you!" Dean insisted, half out of his mind at that point.

Chancing losing control, Jamie gripped onto his arm with one hand, her fingers crushing into him hard. "I—can't hold her—back!" she gasped, eyes wide with raving, crazed fear. The message in her eyes was save yourself. She was begging him, and she didn't need words to do it either.

Dean had less than seconds to choose what to do. It made him fucking sick. Staying meant he was signing his death certificate and ensuring that he'd never be able to save her… or their alleged daughter. If he left, he still had a fighting chance. He knew the logical thing to do, but tearing himself away from her was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. "I'll be back for you," he promised urgently, grabbing her harder to convey himself. "I'll be back!" Her eyes were unfocused and rabid. He caught her face with his hands, forcing her to look at him. "You hold on, you hear me?!" It was a command and a plea.

For a brief second, their eyes clung to the others—a million unspoken hopes, fears, and unfinished businesses reflecting each to the other. "Yeah," she managed in a shaking whisper. And then she shoved him weakly, her frightened eyes begging him, her face portraying a rising and terrifying struggle. "Go—" she said hoarsely, her voice becoming a terrifying scream that made her even redder. "NOW!"

And as much as he hated to do it… he did. He tore himself away and ran while he still could, not even shutting the door behind himself from the speed with which he fled into the night.

When Jamie couldn't hold Abaddon back any longer she collapsed to the floor with a final sob of exhaustion. And then the change happened. Giving a lengthy aggravated sigh, Abaddon retook the proverbial steering wheel and plucked the knife out of herself disdainfully then let the weapon clatter uselessly to the floor. She stood purposefully and straightened her sideways jacket with a snap, then dusted her hands off irritably before she went to the cracked mirror beside the doorway. She eyed the bloodstain on her shirt with distaste then took her thumb and wiped away at the outline of her bottom lip where lipstick had smudged sloppily. "Well," she said to her reflection icily once she looked presentable again. "You went and ruined my night of fun, didn't you." She contemplated herself with an expression that warmed from resentment to wickedness. "We could go after him, but you know what?" She leaned in, looking herself in the eye. "I think this is actually better. We leave him for last. That way, he can watch us kill everyone else first." Abaddon tilted her head to the side, giving herself a sly, poisonous smile. "Should we start with your daughter, my sweet little meatsuit?"

Inside the Knight of Hell, a severely weakened Jamie screamed, beating at the proverbial walls that kept her trapped.

The last thing Sam remembered was falling asleep in a random motel after being shouted at Dean for playing Tina Turner in the car. So when he suddenly wasn't sleeping anymore—when instead he found himself standing in the middle of a damn road with a noisy overpass above his head—he was immediately disoriented by a surge of confusion and fear. What the hell!? He turned a quick circle as his heart jumped from a steady beat to a jackhammer pace. Where the hell am I?!

A dark and deserted rural road stretched left and right on either side of him as cars passed overhead at a steady rhythm. A few lights from the highway above lit the area poorly—it immediately felt like a great place to get jumped. Or run over, standing in the middle of the road like he was.

Struggling for comprehension, Sam continued to peer around in alarm. "Dean?" he whispered, holding himself like a spring. No reply came.

What—the hell—is happening to me?

And then his pocket began to vibrate, nearly giving him a heart attack for the briefest of seconds before he realized what the vibration was. Forcefully steadying himself, he breathed out hard and got his phone. It was his brother. Thank God.

Sam answered, but before he could say a thing, Dean's voice shouted through into his ear. "Sam! I've called a million times, where the hell are you?!"

A very good question. Shaking his head in a daze, Sam looked around again for any indication of where he was. He still didn't see one. "I… I dunno," he whispered, casting frightened glances around as he moved out of the middle of the road and swallowed his alarm forcibly. "I was sleeping and now I—I'm suddenly at some underpass in the middle of nowhere—" he paused, suddenly wondering something new. "Did I sleepwalk?" he asked, stunned and scared at the explanation. That had to be it, right? What was wrong with him? This shit was getting more alarming all the time!

Dean ignored his question. "I need you to get your ass to the bunker pronto, Sammy, you hear me?!" It was then that Sam picked up on his brother's very weird tone. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He didn't have to ask what it was, because Dean was already barreling ahead with the bad news. "Jamie's alive and that bitch from Hell Abaddon has her."

Sam's eyebrows shot high before descending back to crash into a flabbergasted frown. "Wait, what?"

Dean didn't explain anything else. "Shake tail, understand? I'll be there in an hour!"

No, Sam didn't understand. "Dean—!" But his brother had already hung up and when Sam looked at the phone's screen in irritation, he saw that his phone was just about to die anyway. He glimpsed 27 missed calls from his brother just before it cut off. "…Great," he muttered, then looked around with nervous uncertainly once again.

Something wasn't right here. Something hadn't been right since the last trial in that little white church.

It kept feeling like something was happening right in front of his face that he just couldn't put his finger on. Memory gaps, brain fog, now sleep walking…? What would be next? Was he dying? Was this more of the Hell insanity coming to call? Whatever was happening to him wasn't good. Having more questions than answers filled him with an ominous sensation. Sam blinked back the sudden sting of frightened, overwhelmed tears. He was scaring himself, and worse than that, he felt alone with his fears. Dean didn't have time for it, and Sam didn't want to burden his sister with his issues—she had a lot of her own stuff going on and he didn't want to put a damper on her life or worry her needlessly. As usual, everything else and everyone else came first. Nothing new. He'd accepted this by now. All he could do for the time being was forcefully stow that deep feeling of unease.

Sam deliberated which direction to go, his jaw clenched tight, then broke left decisively, leaving that underpass as quickly as he could.

Sam made it back to the bunker in surprisingly good time. He walked a mile and found a gas station then stole a car, apologizing to the owner profusely in his mind the entire time as he raced across the miles. When he pulled in to the familiar gravel road, he spotted the Impala parked hastily near the bunker entrance the Bobby's RV. Dean had beat him there.

Anxious to know what was going on, Sam hurried inside—a tired-as-always Kevin glanced up at him from his work at the table in the main area. A pen hovered at the kid's mouth and as usual, a stone tablet and multiple scattered notes were in front of him. "Hey Sam," he greeted wearily.

Sam was too distracted for greetings. "Where's Dean?" he asked, highly on edge from the night he'd had.

As if on cue, there was the muffled sound of an argument happening close by. Kevin drew his lips wanly. "Just uh, follow the sound of shouting."

Sam already was. He hurried toward the library section where he found his brother and uncle. Bobby was trailing after Dean who was shoving volumes into a duffel bag at the kind of speed that made it look like he was about to miss a flight.

"Dean, use your head, son!"

"Bobby I can't!" Dean retorted, whirling on him. "That bitch has my girl and is set to kill anyone and everyone important to me, I don't have time to waste!"

Sam stared, his expression gone slack with faint alarm. Dean's appearance was shocking. He was bloody and beaten—Sam spotted several gashes, cuts, a split lip, and trails of blood rivuleting down Dean's face in multiple patterns. His jacket was ripped and there was blood all over his clothing too. "Oh my god," he breathed in soft horror as he drifted a step closer. "What happened to you, Dean?"

Dean looked merely irritated at the question, returning to his work of frantically reading book titles then shoving selections into his bag. "Abaddon happened. She's in Jamie's body, Sam. Get it now?" He finished with the books and with a wild look in his eyes, he stalked over to one of the long tables. Sam saw that a bunch of weapons and hunter resources had been dumped there unceremoniously. Dean began viciously pawing through the stuff, yanking selections out and sticking them into his quickly-filling bag. "We gotta find a way to exorcise a goddamn Knight of Hell without hurting the body being possessed, and we gotta make sure everyone knows to watch their backs in the meantime, who's gonna get on that for me?"

Shit. This was worse than bad. "Did you already call Alex and Cas?" Sam asked in rising concern.

"Yeah, went to voicemail, big surprise there," Dean muttered, then threw one last item into his duffel before he swept away from the table to exit the library. Sam fumbled after him.

"Dean, you're acting nuts, you need first aid!" Sam protested.

Dean whirled, his face etched with livid, half-crazy urgency. "I don't give a fuck what I need, Sam!" He must have gotten quite the reaction from that because he paused, wet his lips, and lowered his volume, attempting to be more reasonable. It didn't last past the first half of his sentence. "I just found out my girlfriend got pulled outta Hell just to be some meatsuit for one of the biggest bads out there! And not only that, she's gunning for everyone I love! Excuse me if I'm not calm enough for you asshats."

He sent a belligerently pointed glance at a very disgruntled Bobby before turning to stalk away. He came up short of bumping into Kevin, who had meekly drifted in. "How can we help, Dean?" the prophet asked apprehensively, his eyes nervously contemplating the oldest Winchester like he thought maybe he was about to get punched for asking.

"By finding out how to hit the eject button, Kevin!" Dean thundered with zero patience. Kevin's feelings were visibly hurt by the tone of voice used, but Dean didn't care, only seeming to grow further incensed. "Why are you still standing there?!" He brushed past the kid rudely, leaving Sam to pursue on his heels.

"Dean, we need to take some breaths and simmer down, you're no good to anyone like this!" Sam appealed, managing to get in front of his brother for the briefest of seconds.

Dean was already pushing past, not even pausing. Sam didn't even know if Dean was hearing him at this point. "Outta my way, Sam!"

He moved so fast that a slight breeze wafted by Sam in his brother's wake. Admitting defeat for the moment, Sam watched him storm down into one of the hallway entrances to do God-knows-what. He heaved a frustrated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, hearing Bobby come up quietly to his side.

"Guess a day without crisis is just too much to hope for 'round here," Bobby muttered wearily, adjusting his ballcap and shaking his head in true chagrin at Dean's behavior before he fixed Sam with questioning eyes. "Whaddayou wanna do about all this?"

Sam could have laughed or cried. Maybe both. "What can I do?" he returned, already exhausted. It didn't matter what he wanted to do about anything—Dean was in a mode that didn't just switch off. "You know how he is, Bobby."

Bobby stroked his grizzled beard a couple times, fretting. "Yeah, sure do." He sighed. "Tried to talk some sense into him but you see how good that went."

Sam despaired—he knew his brother well and there was a certain point that 'sense' was just not compatible with Dean's tunnel vision. It left Sam trapped. What do I do? He was too emotionally ragged to even be put in this position. This was too much for his already stretched-thin nerves and flagging mental health. This timing was absolutely the worst. A lump formed in Sam's throat that he tried to shove away. The extreme stressful feeling rose anyway. He knew that couldn't do this alone—and what's more than that, he didn't want to. It was good to have Bobby and Kevin nearby, but… neither of them quite had the credentials to tackle the multifaceted problem that Hurricane Dean presented. Sam inhaled deeply, realizing with a brief instance of haggard relief that he didn't have to think it over any longer. He knew the next step to take, and frankly, it was one he should have taken about two months ago. Decisively, he looked at his uncle. "I'm calling Alex."

A few moments later in the kitchen with his phone plugged in to charge, Sam hit the call button. It was still early as fuck and he paced as far as the leash of his charger would let him, running a hand through his hair as he drowned in his worries. "Pick up, come on, pick up…"

And then she did. "Sam?" Her familiar voice asked, clearly half-asleep. "Everything okay?"

He'd stopped pacing the second she answered, shutting his eyes in relief. "Oh thank God," he breathed out, an old habit. He tried to think of where to start. "Look I'm sorry to call so early I just—I just dunno what else to do—Dean's acting crazy, Alex, crazy. He showed up covered in blood saying Abaddon's back, and he says she's got Jamie—like, possessing-her-body got her."

Alex didn't sound sleepy anymore. "What?"

"Yeah, he's saying she's got a hit list and we're all on it." Sam breathlessly tried to explain the mountain of information that he was still trying to grasp. "So like obviously we gotta get her outta there and deal with Abaddon again, but Alex—Dean's in no shape to lead this charge—he's not gonna listen to me though, I dunno if I'll be able to stop him—" Sam tried not to sound as worried or flustered as he felt but he couldn't quite get there. His throat was closing up with the onset of tears. "And that's not all, my gaps are getting worse and last night I sleepwalked into the middle of a road and I just—" he trailed off for fear of becoming too emotional. He shut his eyes against the torment facing him anew. "I should never have let him make you and Cas leave," he whispered, understanding that she might turn his request down. "I just need you here if you can be," he admitted, even though truthfully he wanted to beg her to come.

Turns out he didn't have to. He heard swishing on the other end of the line, like Alex was already on the move. He heard a muffled 'Cas, get up—' before her voice returned to the speaker. "We'll be there within the hour if not sooner."

His shoulders sagged from the ramrod-stiff way he'd been holding them as intense relief flooded his body. It took him a second to compose himself and respond. "Thank you," he managed, wiping at his face where tears of intense relief streaked.

Unfortunately, unbeknownst to Sam, Dean had already made his move. At that very moment, he'd already put several miles between himself and the bunker… and he wasn't by himself either.

Five Minutes Ago

Dean burst into the completely dark holding room where Crowley and Meg were still prisoners. He flipped on the lights rudely, resulting in both demons protesting with mutual cringing winces. Before he stepped out of the shadows that obscured his bloody appearance, Crowley recognized his silhouette.

"Well look who it is, my favorite dealer," the King of Hell drawled with a smirk. "Was getting bored having mousy little Kev or Duck Dynasty do the injections, nice to see you again." His face fell as Dean stepped fully into the light and his horror-movie appearance was visible for all to see. Losing his airs, Crowley was truly taken aback.

Meg was the one who asked though: "The hell happened to you?" She sounded just as stunned as Crowley looked.

Dean went straight to the point, approaching Crowley on his crazed, thrown-together mission. "Look, I got a serious issue on my hands."

Competing for attention, Meg craned her neck at him. "Well now, you wouldn't be Dean Winchester if you didn't have a serious issue on your hands now would you."

That earned her a swift glare. "Can it, Meg!"

Hesitating, her eyes narrowing shrewdly, Meg studied him quickly with cautious fascination. "…What's wrong, Dean?"

"Abaddon, either of you two clowns remember her?" Dean fired back. Both demons definitely knew the name and reacted at the same time. "Yeah well she's got a new vessel and that's bad for all of us."

A strange shadow of his former self due to all the human blood addling his brain, Crowley considered the news mildly. "That sloppy broad's got it in for my job title," he stated offhandedly before deciding how it made him feel. "Can't say that I care too much anymore, T-B-H." His dark, hungry eyes searched Dean wolfishly for the only thing he thought about anymore. "Now where's the good stuff."

Dean pressed closer. "I got something better for you than human blood, Crowley."

Crowley pulled a face. "Doubt it." At the steely glower that came his way, he sighed and put on his best cooperative face, despite clear aggravation. "I'm listening."

"Freedom," Dean stated plainly, shocking both demons. It shocked Dean too, but he was past the point of being given the luxury to care. He had a small window in which to act—he had to make shit happen and now. "I'll let you go if you can help me trap Abaddon and kick her out of the body she's in right now." He leaned down a little to let his eyes be more level with the King of Hell's. "Then you can do whatever the fuck you want with yourself and I'll leave you to it. Scout's honor."

Crowley contemplated, a certain saucy glint fading into his gaze as he realized just how far gone Dean was. "Intriguing." He enjoyed keeping Dean hanging. "You seem awful flustered about something, mate."

Dean bristled. "That's beside the point, are you in or are you out?"

Meg was listening with a very disconcerted frown growing on her face. "Wait—" she eyed Dean closely, looking for the loophole. "Is this for real? Are you serious? 'Cause call me coo-coo, but this doesn't strike me as a very Dean move to make."

His gruff answer came her way without even a glance. "Well it is."

"In that case, what am I, chopped liver?" she protested, jangling at the warded chains keeping her stuck to that chair. "I'm in a lot better shape than that crackhead is," she pointed out, jonesing for a way out of her current situation. "And hey, I'll admit—getting the hell outta here does sound pretty fab." Dean was paying attention to her now, visibly thinking about it. A tight, falsely saccharin smile stretched Meg's face. "What's a girl gotta do to get a chance to prove herself around here, anyway?"

"Look, I can use all the hands I can get," Dean said, fixing Crowley with a very significant and persuasive stare. "But I'm gonna need the King of Hell with me on this one for sure, so… what do you say?"

Prim, Crowley seemed very over the whole ordeal. "I say, do I even have a choice?" he challenged, then chuckled mildly. "Ah, me. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say—" he grew suddenly more coherent. "I'll do it." He leaned forward, making sure Dean was looking him dead in the eye. "But you'll need to make sure I get more supply, buddy."

Dean stood back and reached into his back pocket. "Yeah looks like I just came up with a job for Meg 'cause you and I—" he produced the warded handcuffs and waggled them at Crowley with a tiny, sarcastic smile on his face. "—Are gonna be pretty close for the next little bit if you catch my drift." He went behind Crowley and snapped one end onto his own wrist and then one onto the demon's before he unchained the guy from the chair. Meg was next, who he shockingly just let walk free with a threat of "I'll be watching you—now let's get while the getting's good."

Never in a million years did Dean think he'd be doing something like that, but there he was—half insane with two demons in tow (one cuffed to his body no less) about to sneak out the bunker's secret exit and mount a half-brained rescue mission before it was too late. After his encounter with Abaddon, all he knew was that desperate times called for desperate measures and he had to fight fire with fire.

He hadn't been able to save Jamie before but this time was gonna be different. It fucking had to be. Because this time, there might be something else on the line entirely. Their daughter.