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.

147. Wayward Son

Song Remains the Same

147 / Wayward Son

"Where am I to go, now that I've gone too far?"
— Golden Earring

---

Dean did not go peacefully into the bunker. He thrashed and flailed and carried on the entire way as John and Sam dragged him to the basement. Dad shouted over Dean's roars and bellows that the cure would start in a day or so when an old hunting buddy of his delivered the last of the necessary spell ingredients. Trailing at a waddling trot, a bewildered Alex asked how he even knew about the cure to begin with. John shot a sharp look at her over his shoulder and barked that he 'had his ways.' Something about his tone made Alex halt in her steps briefly, stung, before she resumed her follow.

Once they had Dean in the dungeon room, John and Sam bound the writhing demon to a chair in the middle of a devil's trap as he raged at top volume. Stupefied and ill to see her brother like this, Alex just watched while unconsciously holding two protective hands to her stomach. Cas was momentarily absent, having taken it upon himself to let the puzzled and concerned bunker residents know what was going on—because all the ruckus had woken up everyone.

Dazed, Alex watched her father and brother work in a familiar, old synchronicity—but she wasn't overjoyed. Instead, she felt dread building. In Hell Dad had been beaten and broken, stripped of his outer emotional armor—he'd been accessible and softer. Now to see him upright and in go-mode, it was almost like the Hell version of him was something she'd dreamed up. He seemed exactly like he had before: a wizened, impenetrable soldier.

Once Dean was secured, John callously slapped a piece of duct tape across his son's loud mouth, mercifully putting an end to the calamitous bellowing. Even while silently seething as he fought his rope restraints, Dean was a terrifying sight to behold. Father and son stood back breathing heavily, assessing the job they'd just done.

"…How'd you even capture him, Dad?" Sam asked, still vastly astonished at what was happening—and the fact that his dad was standing next to him again.

John was hard to read, his eyes on his oldest son. "Well I guess your old man still has some tricks up his sleeve, Sam."

The tone in his voice caught both twins immediate attention. He didn't sound happy. John crossed his arms and turned his attention from Dean to the twins, and it became clear from the look on his face and the tone of his voice that he disapproved—and even felt angry. "I've got some questions too. Like how exactly you let your brother get turned into a damn demon." Sam's face fell in surprise and John's gaze met Alex's, dropped to her pregnant belly, then came back to look into her eyes almost contentiously. "And just what the hell is going on with you?"

Alex was immediately hurt at the caustic question and the look on his face. She was too stung to say a thing. Sam however got over his brief shock the second John spoke to his sister that way. With nostrils flaring defensively and his protective hackles raising, Sam moved forward to put himself between his sister and dad. "Don't talk to her like that," he warned in snap. He didn't bother hiding how offended and upset he was. He'd always been the first one to stand up to their father, and wasn't about to stop now. "The hell is your problem?" he asked, disgusted. "You've been dead eight years—and you just wanna use your second lease on life to keep being the same old dick?!"

Suddenly avoidant, John's jaw tightened. He remained outwardly brusque, not showing any real emotion besides distaste—if he felt anything past that at all. A tense second passed before he made it clear where he stood. "We got a job to do, so let's leave our issues at the door and get it done."

And when he said that, it was back again so suddenly, the same old song and dance that had haunted them their entire childhoods: the job first, always. Devastated, Alex felt like she was sinking into herself. The post-Hell moment of reunification she had longed for imploded, leaving her with tatters of dreams she never should have allowed herself to entertain. Only one question filled her heartbroken mind: why?

Nearby, Sam stared at their father in pained disbelief, similarly shellshocked. "Unbelievable," he finally declared blankly under his breath.

Cas entered at that moment, now in his trench coat and suit instead of pajamas. "Everyone's been made aware of the new development," he relayed to the twins, then turned a darkening look onto John, who he felt ambivalent about at best.

John seemed to feel the same, squaring up to the angel slow and smooth, silently challenging the other man to speak first. When Cas didn't, John raised his eyebrows faintly. "Not gonna introduce yourself, Pajama Party?" he prompted insolently. "That how they do it on whatever little cloud or harp you call home?" The open hostility made Alex blanch even as Sam's mouth dropped open. Cas's already stormy expression grew even darker. "No real need though," John said irreverently, his tone implying he wasn't impressed. "I know who you are."

Cas raised his chin fractionally. A challenge of his own. "And I know who you are."

"Yeah?" John narrowed his eyes cooly, sizing Cas up with zero discretion. "I got a question, flyboy. What's an angel know about being a father?" Maybe he'd imagined that question would ruffle feathers or embarrass.

However, a very embittered Cas didn't miss a beat. "More than you ever did."

John had clearly not expected that retort. In a microsecond, his face fell, fury leapt into his eyes, and he lunged at Cas—who was still injured from Dean's attack yesterday. Slower than usual, he barely managed to duck John's initial swing and land one of his own.

"Hey, hey!" Sam bellowed, already trying to pull them apart in vain as poor Alex jumped in and yanked on Cas from behind, yelling stop over and over frantically. The altercation only ended when Cas threw John across the room.

Sam and Alex had hands on Cas by that time—he was heaving hard breaths as he held a palm against his torso where his injuries were. "Are you crazy!?" Alex screamed at her dad as he rolled with a groan onto his stomach and pushed himself up. His eye, which had been bruised already probably from Dean, was worse now and Cas had a shiner too. Barely able to think, Alex jabbed a shaking finger at John as she began to drag her ailing husband out into the hall. "Stay here!" The twins ushered Cas out, slamming the door behind them on the way out.

As Sam dragged a hand across his face and took a few steps off to displace his anger, Alex grabbed Cas by either arm and looked him over demandingly. "Are you all right?!"

It seemed like the most wounded thing was Cas's ego. "Of course I am," he muttered grouchily, malevolent eyes on the door they'd just come out from.

Alex fumed, joining him in scowling at the door. "Why is he being like this?!" she demanded of no one in particular, furious with what now felt like a cruel trick: the vulnerable Hell version of him who she'd found connection to and even bonded with. That father was gone, replaced by the distant and callous original model—and it made no sense. It felt like a personal attack—a destroyed dream. Her eyes were wild and her jaw clenched hard. "Bastard!" she snapped then marched off, her mind delirious with disappointment, hurt, and rage. In a mad trance, she stormed off to her room and began to move some boxes she hadn't gotten to unpacking or sorting around angrily, accomplishing nothing except getting some fury out.

Everything mental she'd been sitting on, ignoring, and refusing to face was now swarming relentlessly, threatening to send her into a total nervous breakdown. She didn't want to use her coping skills or therapeutic tools, she only wanted to rage at the injustice of all this unmanageable, unthinkable shit. She heard Cas come in, but she didn't stop her mindless, angry work. If anything, she just intensified her efforts.

"Alex—" he said hesitantly, hovering behind her uncertainty. "I'm sorry if I was too aggressive. I shouldn't have spoken like that to him."

She kept slamming shit around, barely able to speak for how fried her nerves are. "Yes you should have, he asked for it, and I don't wanna talk about that fucking goddamn jerk." She shoved a box sideways. "Have you heard anything from Hannah yet?" Not the most opportune time to ask about that, but her wiry, frantic mind was begging for some good news. However, good news was not to be had.

"Nothing."

"Fuck!" Alex slammed her hands down, sending boxes falling all over. One box came open and a small sea of little newborn sized diapers spilled out. Gone still, Alex stared at the tiny white rectangles with quickening breath and stinging eyes. It almost felt like she was on the verge of a panic attack, and her stomach tightened so hard in response to the stress that she had to put a palm onto the nearby wall and try to catch her breath as she went through yet another blisteringly intense Braxton Hicks contraction. Her lower back, which had been aching since she woke up, hurt in tandem. All the sensations did was frustrate and scare Alex. No contact with a currently-missing Hannah meant they were screwed when this baby decided to come—unless another option presented itself, but what the fuck else was left? According to reports, most angels had left earth en masse. The only ones left, if they hadn't been killed too, were nowhere to be found.

Closer now—she could hear it—Cas was worried and cautious. "Are you all right?"

The sweet question only made things worse. Alex whirled, emotions in a frenzy that made her nearly hysterical. "My family's shattered into pieces on the floor, the devil's gonna take my brother, my dad's being the same old asshole he's always been, and I'm gonna die giving birth to this baby!" Her most private unspoken fear—dying in childbirth—was now out in the open, and left Alex feeling like a scared, ineffective kid all over again. The fading contraction made it even more petrifying to think about. "No I'm not all right!"

Crestfallen and shocked as he realizing what was going on here and how she felt, Cas tried coming closer to comfort her. "Alex, no—" his hands gently came to touch either arm. "You can't give up hope, please—"

Too riled up to be touched, she yanked away from him, then regretted her lack of measure when Cas was deeply hurt by the action. And just like that, despair rolled in and threatened to flood her eyes with tears. How could she explain to him the way she felt? The fear pressing in? How crazy it was making her in tandem with everything else going down?

"I…I just don't have much right now Cas," she whispered, all too aware of how each day lately left her feeling weaker, worse, and more filled with doom. "Of anything." No matter how much she soldiered through, fear was beginning to press her tight into a corner. The sensation of being trapped and cursed was like being deep underwater—her lungs were screaming that it was time to take a breath in, but air was nowhere to be found. Alarmed by how urgently she needed space, Alex backed up from Cas even more, panic closing down on her and threatening to squash her like a bug. As her veins raced with adrenaline and her stomach boiled, she abruptly turned and fled, exiting their room in a cloud of shame, fear, stress, and alarm, not even sure where her feet would take her. She left Cas only with three words that she barely heard herself say: "Don't follow me."

---

She hid in the library—tucked away into the telescope vestibule where no one could see and where no one would think to look—not that anyone was still milling around. They'd gone back to bed from the looks of it. There in the darkness, having sunk to sit awkwardly and uncomfortably, Alex wept bitterly with two hands at her face, trying to muffle the sound.

She didn't know where to turn or what to do. Her mind spun nonstop with dismay and alarm over it all: Cas's injuries and what they meant for him longterm. Lucifer's supposed return. The angels. Heaven. Hell. Sam—Dean—Dad. And all this while hovering at the end of a pregnancy that would be fatal if nothing changed.

Would Lucifer take Sam? Would the apocalypse start up again? Would the dark and twisted things he planned for Sam and Alex happen? What about Alex's unborn son? Would he even have a mother? And with finality, her thoughts went to the basement below and the person being held there right now. Her heart ached. Dean. What would happen to him? One stone cold fact kept raising up in her mind like a loaded gun staring her down:

…The Winchesters killed demons.

So if the cure failed… the unthinkable could occur.

Please, God, let there be something of him left in there. Please let this work. Please let my brother come back to me!

Alex hung her head as silent prayers went out to no one from an anguished soul who didn't even believe in a god, but wished for some divine intervention regardless. If God was out there, he didn't care—she knew that much by now. Still, her spirit called out for help, because she felt all out of answers. Eventually, the intensity of her crying faded away as her drained and exhausted state rendered her barren of tears.

One question resounded in her mind: what now?

Just then there was a tiny little kick inside the wall of her abdomen, like a sweet little call for her attention. Fierce love and deep anxiety surged as Alex touched her hand to the place where her son had just said hello. A bittersweet smile helplessly softened her face. Constantly with her day and night, this new little person growing underneath her heart who would soon grace planet earth. She wondered about him all the time, worried about him constantly—and remembered with great profound fondness and amazement the time she had gotten to see him as an adult. Not many mamas could say they had first met their child through the paradox of time travel. From what she'd seen of him that day, he seemed to have turned out all right—and that gave her hope.

"You're gonna be okay, little guy," she whispered. "Somehow." She hesitated, caressing against a couple more little kicks and ignoring the pervasive back pain and overall discomfort. She instead envisioned the future—herself, holding a little blue-eyed boy's hand. It was a nice vision, and she relaxed a little, smiling softly. Then in the image she had conjured, she watched herself fade into nothing, leaving that little boy all alone. Her features worked hard against the threat of more tears and her smile erased away. "…I just hope I get to stay here with you," she whispered hoarsely. She shut her eyes and breathed hard with eyes shut—trying to get herself together despite all the swirling doomsday thoughts trying to engulf her thoughts.

After a minute or two more, she was able to dignify herself, wipe her face, stand to full height, and square her shoulders. She wasn't sure what to do or where to go, only knew she couldn't hide in the dark and cry any longer. Her most pressing instinct whispered that time was running down. So if that were true, she couldn't waste it being sad.

---

Like a magnet, she ended up right back where she'd been an hour ago: the holding room where Dean was imprisoned. There was no clear reason why in her mind, just a basic instinct. A raw compulsion. But instead of finding her father there, she arrived to a dark and quiet room. Dean was alone—and the duct tape was no longer on his mouth.

Cool and low across his shoulders and top of his head, the dim light cast an eerie mood across the scene. Lingering in the doorway, Alex contemplated her brother with a sick stomach. Dean's energy seemed to have totally shifted. He was no longer raging and out of control. Instead he was calm, collected, and distinctly foreboding. His head raised slowly from where it had been bowed. His keen, sharp eyes met hers.

"Well well well…" Dean greeted in an ominous, leisurely drawl. "Heya, little sister." Her nausea kicked up a notch. With a tight jaw, Alex moved into the light, studying him ruthlessly and refusing to be intimidated. At her continued silence, Dean's eyes lazily wandered her body. There was a distinctly threatening aspect to the way he said next. "Any rounder and you'll pop like a balloon."

Feeling devastatingly powerless in addition to emotionally frayed and very afraid, an outburst came easily. "Just be quiet, idiot!" she snapped. She was torn between two things: kicking his chair over and stomping the demon out of him or wrapping herself around him while begging him to please, please come back. As she took in her brother's smirking bravado, the heat of anger cooled into deeply forlorn sadness. The familiar green eyes, the handsome careworn face—the person tied to a chair in front of her looked just like Dean. He was right here—and also nowhere to be found. It hurt deeper than deep and didn't feel entirely possible.

Trying to see into him hard enough that maybe she could identify even the smallest trace of the man she loved more than almost anyone else in the world, she grew emotionally compromised. It was easy to do. After all, the face in front of her was as familiar as her own. As constant as the sun and moon. And she had let him die thinking she despised him. Her regret went as deep as the sky went high. And right now, it felt like nothing could ever make this right.

"I miss you," she whispered abruptly through a tight throat, fully aware of how pathetic this was. But she couldn't help it, and the words came right out: "And I really fucking need you right now."

For the most torturous second, his expression was sort of borderline contemplative. Then a smirk materialized and Dean chuckled pleasantly. "Aw well isn't that so cute." Morale boosted and chest puffing up, the demon's eyes almost sparkled with cunning delight as he figured it out. "Look at you, having a morality crisis over your long lost brother Dean." His eyes were cool and celebratory as he studied her all too knowingly. "I bet you tear yourself up at night wondering if you're to blame in some way for this situation, huh?" He leaned forward as much as his confines would allow, his words freezing her in place as the ropes creaked. "I know you, Alex," he reminded ominously. "Because he knew you. Better than anyone else. You wanna know the truth, little girl?" He delivered the words with a triumphant sneer. "He never got over the fact of you abandoning him that year after Sam died. Leaving him to rot all by his lonesome with those losers Lisa and Ben." Her heart twisted painfully with shame and dismay. "That sad bastard would never have done that to you had the shoe been on the other foot. And now? Well, he saw how little you needed him these days too." Raising his chin up, the demon remained lofty and cynically triumphant. "Dean Winchester was nothing but loyal. Willing to do whatever and no matter what for his own. Can't say the same about his good for nothing brother and sister." The knife went in deeper and deeper to her gut, making her temper soar and heart plummet at the same time. "So yeah, I'd say you and good ole Sammy and all the constant issues and pain drove him right toward this little twist in destiny, aka, me." A wicked smile curved his mouth as he lowered his chin. "Can't say I mind where things led—but gotta be honest, this being tied up thing's pretty lame." He studied her wolfishly. "Lemme out," he urged in a dark whisper full of evil promise. "We'll play."

Unable to listen another second, Alex grabbed the roll of duct tape up from the table nearby and ripped off a sizable piece then smacked it across his mouth with a shaking hand, her inhales and exhales hard, short, and agonized.

Dean didn't rage at what she did. He just watched and waited, the defiant glimmer in his eyes subdued but still present, like he knew her next move before she did. With blessed silence settling over the room, Alex was helpless against what happened: it hit her with certitude. Dean really might be gone forever—she might never see him again. She'd known this for days but it was unbearably real now. And her already broken heart shattered into a thousand more ruined, aching pieces.

Her personal failures with her brother mocked her anew: the love and acceptance she should have shown, the loyalty she owed, all the attempts she should have made to reconcile, the fatal flaw of pride she'd let fester—all resulting in a sibling she had let down and distanced from. To stand in front of him now—a full couple heads taller as he sat bound in place and no longer even human—it was like their entire relationship flashed in front of her eyes. The tragic ending made no sense. He was her first true protector, her very best friend, one of the best people in the world if not the best. And she'd left him alone and let this happen to him. He would have never done this to her. The demon he'd become was right. More tears came, threatening to spill.

Silent, contrite, and remorseful, she couldn't let it end the way she very clearly had. But reality was reality. She'd squandered all her chances. Finality sat hard on her. Maybe her father would succeed in curing Dean. But the odds were not in their favor. Dean wasn't a regular demon. And if Alex died giving birth before Dean potentially got cured… it got worse: he'd come back to a world without her in it. So what was she supposed to do in case of that outcome, write a letter? Beg his forgiveness from beyond the grave?

That's when she realized. There was a way to leave him a message that didn't involve paper and pen. And she could do it right now.

She swallowed and exhaled, bracing herself because now that she'd thought of it, she knew she had to follow through. With very slow movements, Alex went to the back of the room and got an extra chair out, deliberating the entire time. She set the chair back-to-back with Dean then took a seat. She couldn't see his face, but she didn't want to either. She just wanted to be close enough that the warmth of his body reassured her that he was there—close enough that their shoulder blades lightly brushed. At the very least, this was his body. The same shoulders she'd perched on when small enough to go for galavanting rides. The same hands that had stitched up too many injuries to count. The same arms that had welcomed her close for the kind of tender hugs he didn't really give anyone else. The same legs that raced her and Sammy both, going slower than their actual ability—all to let his kid siblings feel like they won.

A very long, conflicted silence stretched out as memories rolled over. The quiet was comforting and agonizing all at the same time. Alex closed her eyes and let herself feel her big brother's presence, basking in it like the sun. She thought of him at his best: jamming to a song he loved behind the wheel of his car, windows down, wide road ahead. Sam beside him, her just behind. The contentment of being together. They'd taken it for granted too many times.

When had things changed? What exactly had happened? And more scary still: where was this path they were all on leading to?

That was the kicker. The reason behind the lump in her throat and the doom in her heart. "Dean… I don't know what's about to happen to me," she finally whispered, and her eyes came open to look at the dark ceiling. "And I don't know what's about to happen to you. But I do know both things are happening soon." She pushed away ghoulish imaginings of herself dead and bleeding on a floor or at a hospital coding as Cas stood nearby holding a baby and crying for her. She didn't let herself think of Dean dead or worse after a failed cure attempt. She couldn't stop what was coming, whatever it was that was headed their way—so she had to hold out hope that somehow in the eleventh hour, they'd find a way through impossible circumstances yet again.

Eyes sidelong as she turned her head just enough to faintly make out Dean's familiar profile on the watery edge of her periphery—she let herself believe she was speaking directly to him. "So I just want you to know… just in case we don't make it… how much I love you, okay?" Her voice wavered as emotions rose higher. "And how fucking sorry I am that I didn't show it when it could've counted." Her head hung briefly as the pain from saying everything temporarily paralyzed her. The more she let herself feel, the harder it got to speak at all. Everything was hitting home full force, and what she felt for Dean—an indescribably fierce love that existed from birth to the grave and beyond—ripped her in half down to her soul.

In her mind's eye, she saw the two of them in younger years. Him tall and quietly heroic in Dad's leather jacket with her standing much shorter at his side—his silent, constant shadow. Home had never been a place on a map or a building on a street. It had been her brothers. It had been Dean. No one else could ever come close to being what he had been for Alex, not even Cas. Not even Sam. And that's why she viewed what she'd done to Dean recently as full on betrayal of the sacred, irreplaceable bond they shared.

"You've always been my best friend," she reflected, a hot tear spilling out onto her cheek. She smiled to remember, even though it hurt like hell. All her life… without fail… the one constant had been him. "You always put me and my safety first, you never let me down." Her chin quivered as she remembered being silent and unseen by so many. But never by him. "You heard me even when no one else could. Or would." She choked on that last part, the fullness of their attachment crashing over her like a wave. How many times had the two of them had a one-sided conversation where Dean intuited what she was feeling and walked her through the learning process known as childhood? How many times had he advocated for her even when she tried to disappear into the background? And he had done it willingly, with nothing but the truest and strongest kind of love as his motive for why.

"I wouldnt've made it without you," Alex rasped out softly. "Dammit, I still can't," she admitted, then became quiet for a very long moment as her throat grew tighter and voice grew softer still. She touched her belly with a slow, mournful hand, convinced that the end was near for her. "And I don't know how you'll make it without me." Because this wasn't a one way street. Who had been at Dean's side without fail the longest in life? Who had been his ride or die? Alex. Until she hadn't been. She thought of the Lisa and Ben scenario with new, sharp pain. Her heart cried out in mourning as she thought about what demon Dean had told her: he'd never gotten over that separation. Well… he needed to know the truth. She hadn't either.

"I've thought of you every single day I've ever been away from you, even when I tried to act big and bad like I didn't care." Alex laughed weak, helpless, and cynical as she drowned in regret at the way she'd tried to deny away her truest feelings. "I guess I just always thought I should have outgrown this need that I have for you. And I just never fucking have." The outside world would never understand the Winchester dysfunction or codependency. And fuck it, they didn't have to. But Alex just wanted Dean to know the truest thing in her heart. "Life just doesn't feel right when you're not one bed over, or right down the hall."

She didn't even have to wonder if he felt the same… she knew he did. Their brother sister relationship wasn't comparable to many others. Their family wasn't like all families. And after years of trying to fight her most deep urge for constant closeness to his familiarity, it was time to give up the act and admit defeat. She turned as far as she could in her seat and carefully hugged her arms around his shoulders and upper arms, letting her cheek rest to the length of his neck. For whatever reason, he didn't struggle or mess the moment up for her. For a long moment, Alex breathed in his familiar smell and waded through the sorrow and grief that hung so heavy. She kept some hope alive so that she wouldn't give up completely. "If we both survive all this, I want us to make a promise," she finally said, voice a mere breath above totally inaudible. "Never to be apart like that ever again." It was a fanciful hope of a dying girl who'd always been cursed. But for a moment, it was a beautiful, comforting dream that lifted her spirits. She imagined living here in the bunker together with their own little families—brother and sister each knowing that the other was just right down the hall. The ghost of a smile softened her face briefly. She imagined their children growing up side by side—she imagined the kinds of memories a family should have. And then the smile faded away as realism demanded she get her head out of the clouds. "And if we don't make it back to each other in this lifetime…" she ventured morosely as her thoughts pressed onward, "…I guess I hope I see you on the other side." He shifted—turning his head toward hers maybe to look at her. And Alex didn't look back, because she didn't want to see black eyes or a baleful glower. She just held on to her big brother for a minute longer.

When ready, she stood up and nudged the chair away with a toe then rounded him, wondering what he was thinking as unreadable green eyes looked up into hers. This was goodbye, in some sort of way. Or it felt like that anyway. Gently, she touched his face with all the love and heartbreak she felt, then bent and kissed the top of his head with screwed up eyes. A tear ran down the curve of her nose and into his hair. She let herself stay there a second or two, and then she pried herself away, but not without a few tearful backward glances.

The demon with the name Dean watched her disappear, a strange sensation in his chest that he did not like. It was something that he kept noticing whenever around his old family… a sensation he knew was feeling. For a moment, he let himself take it in—the ghost of what he knew was love stirring deep inside. It interested him. It lured him. And then he realized he was being a punk. Disgusted, he rolled his eyes at himself, trampled down whatever that spark of emotion was, and began yet again looking the room over for a way to escape. He would get out of here, and he would fuck these stupid people up so they would leave him the hell alone. They were a threat to his existence as a black-eyed bastard. And that shit just wouldn't fly.

---

Doing her best to look terse again, Alex went into the main area of the bunker. Having swept her feelings under the rug again for now so she could function, she was on the hunt for her father—who'd very clearly been told to stay where he was, then had disregarded that. If she'd done that, there would've been hell to pay. So naturally, she was irked.

He wasn't in the library or kitchen or halls or control room. But one someone else was. Bobby sat with a tired face and a cup of coffee stationed at the security camera monitors in the command center. Alex didn't even have to say a word. On her approach, he glanced over. "Old man's outside, if that's who you're lookin' for." He motioned with the steaming mug in his hand to the grainy feed of John Winchester who was indeed outside. From the dim gray cast, Alex could tell the sun was beginning an early rise. With a weary exhale, she resigned herself to another long day of emotional turmoil starting with speaking to her father, whose behavior needed to be checked.

She put a hand on her uncle's shoulder in passing as she headed out. "Thanks, Bobby."

Slowly, she climbed the stairs, mind dense with swirling thoughts and body nagging her with inconvenient aches and pains. She didn't even know what to say to her dad—all she could feel was resentment and disappointment. His choice to greet Cas that way hurt and angered at the same time. She struggled to reconcile the more vulnerable John Winchester she'd met in Hell to the cold, hostile one here today who'd tried to pick a foolish fight like a punkass kid. She was tired of looking for specks of gold in piles of shit when it came to the man who was her father and over his way of thinking he could call all the shots.

Crickets chorused pleasantly as Alex exited into the dawning morning and picked her way along the side of the bunker through overgrown, dewy grass. Around the corner and against the exposed concrete bunker siding, she found her dad seated on the bench-like ledge that ran the length of the building. Beside him there was an open flask as well as a pack of smokes. In his hand, a cigarette perched with a lazy gray ribbon of smoke dissipating into the warming air. She'd never seen him openly smoking like that before. John barely acknowledged her arrival, giving off the impression that he didn't want to be disturbed. Well too fucking bad. Alex set her father with a baleful look when she came to a stop a few feet off. "I told you to stay in place," she said gruffly, already knowing this was going to go sideways.

Sidelong, John considered her blandly before taking another drag off his cigarette. "He's not goin' anywhere."

Teeth grinding briefly, Alex let out a hard exhale from her nostrils while her restless eyes searched without focus. Whatever. She let it go, because she had other bones to pick with him. Like how he'd baited and then attacked her husband. "So do you have anything to say for yourself or what?"

He let a sheath of smoke blow out of his mouth, eyes distant in front of himself for a long moment. "If I start, I'll never stop," he said mildly, mystifying her with the blasé tone. He studied his cigarette thoughtfully then glanced at her as if something were just occurring to him. "You're not supposed to do this crap around pregnant women, are you." He stubbed it out and flicked it off, then studied Alex without saying anything else. Was that his way of showing some care and concern? Or was this his stupid little way of finally admitting to his secret habit?

It almost felt like he was playing some sort of game. And Alex wasn't in the mood. "If you're waiting for me to ask when you started doing that, I've always known," she said in a very short tone.

He acknowledged the news like it didn't matter much to him either way. "And here I was thinking I had everyone fooled."

The reply was rather mediocre, and Alex let her unimpressed feelings show fully as she shifted her weight and crossed her arms. John clasped his hands over his knees and cleared his throat awkwardly, seeming to realize she wasn't going to leave without talking. Resigned, he indicated the spot near himself. "Have a seat." Alex was immediately disgruntled and just about two inches from cussing him out. She really wasn't into being bossed around anymore, especially not by him. "…Please," he added grudgingly. Alex considered for a long, doubtful moment. And then making herself promise herself not to get her hopes up, she decided to go with it.

With another sigh she suppressed, Alex hoped she didn't regret this and sat beside him without much grace, feeling quite huge and ridiculous as she did so. For a minute or two, the father and daughter were in mutual silence—John leaned with elbows on his knees and hands clasped, Alex leaned back-first into the wall with a hand on top of her little belly-shelf as a tight low back continued to bother her. All of her organs felt too tight and crammed inside of herself.

Finally, John spoke. "Look, I shouldnt've blazed up on the angel like I did," he said gruffly. His non-apology way of apologizing.

That only pissed her off. "'The angel' has a name, Dad."

"Which I'll know when he introduces himself to me correctly," John replied obstinately, looking at her for emphasis.

Alex met his eye contact with brass. "Get over yourself," she countered. "And introduce yourself first if you're such an etiquette enthusiast, my god." It was enough to make her roll her eyes.

There was the softest chuckle at her comments. But it wasn't patronizing. It sounded fond and rueful. Softening at the unexpected reaction, Alex studied her father apprehensively.

"You got a point," he acknowledged to her surprise, then took a swig of whatever booze was in his flask and offered her some—earning himself another withering look. Really? He realized his mistake in offering a pregnant woman alcohol and took a second to visibly kick himself before he sighed. "I'll give that bold little choir boy one thing," he commented dolefully, eyes contemplating the flask. "He's right. I was a terrible father."

Alex felt irritated again. "Yeah, and?" She wasn't going to pity him because he was feeling down and out—he wasn't the only one having a hard time. "Stop being an ass, will you?" It was lunacy because if it weren't for Castiel, John Winchester wouldn't even be here right now. Maybe he needed a reminder. "And I guess you forgot, but he's the one who dragged you out of Hell so maybe you shouldn't be such a punk."

John eyed her briefly, then surprised her. "He dragged you out," he corrected. "And you grabbed onto me. I'm clear on who brought me back, Alexandra. It wasn't the angel." Alex jolted and gaped. She hadn't really thought of it that way, and it kind of shocked her into dumb silence as she realized he was right. "Look. I dunno what you're expecting out of me here kiddo but…" His eyes, hollow and haunted, searched the scenery mournfully. "I'm just here to get things done."

Another sledgehammer to the heart. Alex waited for him to say something else about mending relationships or spending time with his adult children. But he said nothing additional. "And then what?" she pressed, needing him to say more. Hoping he just needed a little prodding. But he didn't seem to know what to say and it broke her heart. "We don't just need some… hunting partner," she pleaded without pride, trying to cajole some deep part of him back to life. "We need you."

He avoided her persistent gaze and there was a cynical, weak laugh. "I got nothing to offer, and we all know that." But she heard the pain in his voice. The agony over his own choices… maybe even including this one.

Alex swallowed, and it hurt. He'd already decided it was over before it began and that broke her. "Dad, please," she begged through a constricting throat, heart pounding pain with every beat. "Don't do this." Not again.

Dad looked at her finally. He was apologetic, guilty, and pained. "You've always wanted me to be someone I don't know how to be," he said softly. "And I'm sorry for that. I really am."

So much got left out of the equation when he said that. No taking responsibility for the things he could change but had never tried to. No mention of being their one and only father or of mending all the broken bridges—no mention of taking the second chance given. No belief that it could be different this time. Discouraged to her soul, Alex felt bitterness rising. It made her want to hit him where it hurt. Make him feel as low as she did. In the past she'd always been relegated to passive aggressiveness—she would lash out in anger by setting a fire or breaking shit, vandalizing something, stealing belongings from a classmate or inventory from a gas station to try and distract from her internal pain. But today and now? She could speak, and she knew exactly what to accuse him of. "Were you always this way, or did you turn into a heartless machine after Mom died?" It was a serious question. A pointed jab. And an off limits topic.

John darkened immediately, stiffening. "Don't talk to me about your mother."

Wounded and infuriated, Alex didn't know how she could go back to feeling like the useless burden of a daughter so instantly. "Of course," she muttered sarcastically, hovering between outrage and heartbreak. "Can I talk to you about anything that doesn't have to do with the goddamn 'job'?" She indicated herself, her feelings quickly shifting to dismay. "Dad, I'm pregnant—don't you have anything to say about your daughter having a child? This is your grandchild for fucks' sake!" He did look guilty, and could only glance at her from the corners of his eyes reluctantly. He acted like he was some stranger or something. Alex laid in, all of her emotional injuries making it easy to lob accusations. "All my life, I've been begging you to care! Do you know how much it hurts? Do you not understand how much pain you've caused?" She swept a hand out angrily. "Why'd you just disappear out of here three months ago, huh? I mean how hard would it've been to send a text? Leave a note? Make a call? Why are you so okay with leaving your kids in the dark, and sad, and scared? Not knowing when you'll be back? If you'll be back?!" This had happened so many times. And it had never gotten easier. Only more familiar.

In the face of her impassioned questions, John was dull. "Didn't think you kids would care either way."

His reply absolutely incensed and triggered, causing her temper to skyrocket with shocking speed. "That is bullshit!" she burst out, rocketing to her feet as quickly as her large size would allow. "Why do you refuse to try?! We deserve better," she insisted tremblingly. "Me and Sam and Dean, we deserve better," she repeated with rising turbulent emotion. He said nothing. Eyes glittering, she looked down at him spitefully with a broken heart. "Fuck you, John," she snapped thoughtlessly. "I didn't think you could disappoint me anymore than you already have." She tried to hide her pain behind an ugly glare. "So congrats on outdoing yourself yet again." She waited for him to yell, to accuse, to try and physically intimidate—all the things she knew he turned to whenever cornered. But all he did was look at her with sad, defeated eyes. He wasn't even going to try. His fight was gone. And that was what hurt the worst. "Coward," she whispered furiously, throat aching from the lump lodged in there. And this was when she really truly knew he wasdifferent than before. Because all the word did was make him look even more shut down. He apparently agreed. He said nothing else.

Feeling exactly like the angry, sad, scared little girl she'd been for years, Alex snatched his flask from him in a burst of defiance and hurled it with a shriek and all her strength. John blankly watched the metal glint as the flask took a nosedive into the treeline. He looked sad and uncomfortable. He kept avoiding her gaze. And before the tears could come in earnest, Alex whirled and stormed away with a crumpling face, rounding the corner back the way she'd come with a hurricane for a brain. Already crying—but this time it was angry tears—she came up short and went silent a few steps down the length of the front of the bunker. Because standing about six feet in front of her, clearly having heard some or maybe all of that very loud meltdown was her twin brother. His eyes were full of pain just like hers. For a second, the two silently looked at each other then with slumped shoulders and hesitant eyes, Alex approached in defeat, tears streaking a now blank face. Wordlessly, understanding all too well, Sam waited for her to reach him.

"How much of that did you hear?" she asked, her voice small.

Sam's expression said it all. "Enough."

Hard to say if she was the one who went in for the hug, or he reached for her first, but in either case, they ended up close as their emotions mutually reeled. It was her greatest flaw. The wound she kept going back to no matter what. The dream she couldn't seem to kill off no matter how hard she tried. And yet again, it was making her eyes fill up. "I can't stop hoping he'll change, Sam," she whispered, hating herself for it but wanting it so bad all the same.

If anyone understood… it was him. "I know," he replied hoarsely, just as sad as she was. "Me either."

Voice a mere rasp, Alex tried to find the positive in the situation. "At least we have each other, huh?" But all it did was make her sadness break over her like a storm cloud.

They hugged tight, Sam stowing his tears while Alex buried her face against him and let them come. Devastated that he couldn't do anything for her, Sam squeezed his sister harder and shut his eyes. "We have each other," he repeated almost like a vow, fierce despite his all-consuming sadness.

---

Not long after, Alex returned to room 15—aka home. Her and Cas's little piece of the bunker. He was there, pacing restlessly. He stopped when she entered, his expression concerned. A quick glance of the small space revealed that he'd cleaned up the spill she'd caused and even done some unpacking and sorting. Everything looked like it always did when his hand touched it: neat, orderly, and thought of.

Feeling bad about earlier and therefore a bit smaller and meeker, Alex's eyes flickered around timidly. "Hey."

He waited in place, exercising caution. Against her fidgety energy, he was constant."Hello."

She didn't go to him, top broken in that moment to feel worthy. "…I'm sorry," she whispered finally, shrugging shallowly because she had no idea what else to say. Her frayed emotional state had depleted her of everything except the desolation of sadness. "It… it just got to be too much for me."

His eyes were full of compassion. "Of course it did," he empathized readily, voice thick with kindness and understanding. "You don't need to apologize." He studied her with benevolent longing, holding himself back from approaching her. Instead, he quietly requested the following, visibly unsure if she would comply: "Come here, please?"

Relieved that he asked her she did, slipping into his arms and burying her face in the front of his shoulder. He stroked the back of her head and kissed her hair, breathing out in relief then holding her quietly for a long moment. "Alex I know how difficult all of this is." A thumb brushed against her hair sadly. "How much stress you're under." He sighed heavily. "I wish I could do something," he whispered, guilty and conflicted.

Over his shoulder, Alex noticed he'd taped a few photos of them to the exposed brick wall that hadn't been there before. Such a sweet, significant gesture. "I know that feeling," Alex whispered back, and the two fell into silence as they held each other. Looking around their room as he continued to cradle her close, Alex saw a different life that was coming fast. The little crib in the corner, the baby items littering surfaces and corners and ledges—it wasn't a far off dream anymore. It was right around the corner. And at the beginning it had felt like they had all the time in the world. Now… they just didn't.

She knew he had to be feeling all kinds of ways about what she'd said about dying in childbirth. And it was time to talk about it. "…Aren't you scared too?" she finally asked.

He drew back to look her in the eyes and held her head with two hands. His expression was mournful and significant. "Of course I am."

Which only prompted one question above all others. "What are we gonna do, Cas?" She had nothing—no ideas, no hope. Only a clawing dread. "What are we gonna do?"

Cas faltered, clearly in the same boat as her. His hands drifted down from her head to gently rest on her arms. "I… I don't know," he admitted in a gutted whisper, stress making his features tense. He visibly cast around. "I hope Hannah makes contact soon."

Alex didn't know how to hold out hope for that. "She might be dead, Cas. They all might be dead." He'd thought of that—she could see it in his eyes and the way his shoulders deflated. And that made Alex feel even worse. But at this point, she wanted to be numb—she wanted all of it to just stop. "Maybe it always ends with me dying this year," she suggested wearily. "And maybe it's better to be dead instead of used by Lucifer, huh?"

Cas's glum energy shifted as he bristled. "Alex, we still don't know if he's really back or not," he pointed out, becoming intense. "And if he is, I will not let that happen, do you understand me?"

It almost seemed like he was trying to convince himself. "I know," she replied quietly. He would do his best. But he wasn't infallible. And maybe not even the surviving members of Team Free Will could change fate this time… if they had ever changed it at all. Alex wet her lips, barely able to say what she needed to. "But if things don't go right for us—" She stopped, swallowed painfully, and studied his eyes deeply as the strength in her voice faltered away. "You have to promise me you'll take care of our son." She knew he would. But she needed to hear it.

Rattled by the direct request and everything it implied, Cas had difficulty responding. He was in denial. Trying to process the unthinkable. When he finally spoke, he sounded close to tears. His shoulders were caved. His head almost hung. And he didn't look her in the eye. "This is all my fault."

Immediately, Alex shook her head, full of compassion and love for him, the urge to comfort. She touched his face, raising his gaze to hers. "Cas, it's not your fault—" she insisted tenderly. "We didn't know." His hesitant eyes looked into hers, full of burdens and pain she understood too well. "Just promise me," she requested pleadingly.

Tears were gathering in the cobalt depths. "I promise," he murmured huskily, his emotions rising. He held her more closely and traced hair back from her face. "It doesn't even need saying. You know I will." He grasped hold of her by the back of the head as they pressed close, wrapped in a tearful embrace. "…I can't lose you, Alex," he whispered after a long moment, a broken heart in his voice. Like he was begging her not to go.

And she couldn't promise him anything. She went quiet for a long moment, defeated over this. "Let's just be together now," she finally said, blinking against heavy, grainy eyes that were tired from crying. "My brain needs a break from all this or I'm gonna go insane." She took stock of herself for the first time that day, and realized she needed to give herself some attention. "I need a shower… and something to eat… some sleep… and my back is freaking killing me." Everything daunted her. The thought of even slapping some peanut butter between two pieces of bread felt impossibly complicated and demanding. So she nestled close to her angel again, putting it all off a bit longer. "I just need to be close to you awhile."

His downcast voice reverberated through her. "I need that too."

---

Meanwhile
The Basement

Sam entered into the confinement room warily with slow, doubting footsteps. Dean's head raised—and with only his eyes as mode of expression thanks to the silver duct tape across his mouth, Sam was unsure the reaction to his appearance, if any. Lingering at a distance, he almost left the room. But then he noticed the empty chair randomly sat a few feet off from Dean and decided to put it back where it belonged. But once he went over and took hold of that chair, he changed his mind. For a second, he told himself not to do what he was thinking about doing. Then figured what the hell and carried the chair to face Dean and sat himself down in it. About six feet of distance stood between the brothers. And for a long moment, Sam just studied Dean. The demon was mildly suspicious, but didn't move save for a few, subtle movements of his eyes as he studied Sam right back.

"Man, I don't know how you do all this," Sam confessed momentarily, unable to keep the sadness out of his voice as he searched the familiar face for signs of his dead brother. "Could really use your help right about now." Somber, he chose his words carefully, willing them to magically somehow be heard by someone he was pretty sure didn't exist anymore. Still. Just in case. "Dean… if you're in there… I won't stop until we have you back." A painful silence. "We need you, man." Sam's mouth twitched. "I need you." He bowed his head and exhaled hard, leaning his elbows on knees briefly before clasping his hands and peering up at Dean again.

Things he'd never said and kind of expected that Dean just knew had all been weighing on him lately. And Sam just found himself saying it all. "You know, when I went to Stanford… for a little while, it was like I was this different person. I could blend in with everyone. Pretend I didn't come from the background I did. But I was missing two pieces of what makes me who I am." He looked deep into Dean's eyes, unable to keep the pain off his face. "And right now, I'm still missing one of those pieces." Too sad to speak any more, Sam's eyes weakened away. A few more tense moments of silence went by as he looked at the floor and mulled over how exactly to say such big things in things as small as words. He finally looked up again. But now, his eyes were glassy with emotion.

"Dean… I took for granted the kind of brother you are, over and over again all through my life. I guess I thought I was too good for the help, or that you were holding me back, I don't—" Sam stopped himself mid-sentence, kind of flustered, then let out a soft laugh of air. "I was stupid." Letting himself be one hundred percent vulnerable, Sam met Dean's eyes and did not look away. "No one will ever replace you for me. Ever. And it shouldn't have taken all this for me to see that, but here we are." There was a significant, weighted pause. "So that's why I'm gonna make sure we get you back. If it's the last thing I do." The soft, bittersweet ghost of a smile briefly softened his face. "We've gone through too much to let it end like this." His expression became earnest and bereft. "This family just doesn't make sense without you in it."

---

A Few Hours Later

Cas sweetly brought Alex food from the kitchen, rubbed her shoulders while she ate, then took a shower with her like they did sometimes—and she leaned on him back to his chest while he washed her hair languidly. They'd discovered this relaxing and sweet little pastime when they'd lived at their apartment in town. After rinse off, they stayed under the water a little longer just like that as Cas held her protectively, hands sometimes pressing against little kicks from the abdomen as the two shared whispered conversation. After that, Alex remembered sleepily dressing with his help and practically falling into bed already asleep. In her dreams, she'd felt him crawl into bed behind her and settle in, drawing her close to nestle. Cocooned by him, deep sleep had let her fade into restful oblivion.

And now suddenly this: she was being jostled and shaken, then suddenly transitioning from peaceful nothingness to awake and bleary-eyed. It was Cas doing the shaking, and something was wrong—she could see it immediately.

"What is it?" she asked, grogginess falling away as adrenaline began to course. Before Cas could respond to her, all of the lights suddenly cut off, plunging the room into pitch black darkness. Before the shock of that could even register, two other things happened at the same time: metallic alarms began to scream and red running lights began to pulse slowly, washing everything in a shade similar to blood.

Cas was already on his feet, angel blade in hand as Alex threw the covers off, struggled up against her own body, and swung her feet over the bed. Her feet hit the floor right as Cas turned around at the doorway and held out a silent hand that said to stop. "Lock the door and stay here," he said strongly, then left before she could say anything else.

Already on her feet with a hammering heart, Alex took a couple disoriented seconds to frantically debate herself—stay here? She quickly decided fuck that. She put on shoes (which was almost impossible for her to manage on her own at this size now), snatched up her angel blade, then took a deep breath. Carefully she opened the door, looked both ways, and began to creep down the hall quickly and furtively. She had a theory about the alarms. Dean.

---

…A Few Moments Prior
The Library

It was early afternoon now and the bunker was quiet. Peaceful, even—on the surface at least.

Sam glanced up from the book that laid face up on the table in front of him. He was having very little luck paying attention to the words on the pages. A few hours ago, Dad had re-entered the bunker and tensely shared a brief moment of reunion with Bobby—ignored everyone else—and then disappeared back down into the basement. Alex hadn't appeared since this morning and Sam couldn't blame her. After this morning morning and then overhearing his sister's confrontation with their dad, Sam had given John a wide berth and decided to leave it alone. In his mind, being civil and cordial would be best until Dean was hopefully cured. After that…? Who knew. But Sam wasn't going to hold his breath for some sort of magical family reunion or rosy future for the four of them. Honestly, he kind of just wanted his dad to get things done then go away so he could stop inflicting this extra suffering. And Sam felt guilty for that thought.

The distress he felt was almost beyond description. Seeing Dad alive again was surreal, and he thought he should feel happy—but all he felt so far was angry, confused, and sorely slighted. Alex had described her time with Dad in Hell in such a way that Sam had thought their father had possibly changed. All signs pointed to that being untrue. And Sam could swallow that bitter pill down—but it was so hard to watch Alex hurt about this. That he could not abide. Therein laid the feeling of powerlessness and frustration.

His mind turned to other worries boggling his mind day and night. Namely the information about Lucifer being back. The internal debate over if it were true or not preyed upon Sam day and night. He was out of his depth and in a state of constant terror. For now he hid his feelings and put them away as best he could. But one thing was for damn sure… he really, really missed his brother. Without Dean's indomitable resolve to always see the tough times through, Sam was left out in turbulent waters with no life vest. Although it was true that his brother had betrayed his trust like never before, as the proverbial floodwaters rose, all Sam could do was wish for him back—imperfect or not. Problematic or not.

Like he'd said to Dean earlier in the basement that same day: he would live to see Dean cured… or die trying.

Tiny chubby baby hands abruptly smacked at the pages in front of him and Sam came out of his thoughts to bittersweetly smile down softly at his six-month-old niece who sat on his lap. Her mother was nearby, curled up on the couch taking a nap—Jamie hid her exhaustion well, but Sam knew she was having a tough time adjusting to being a full-time mom. Case in point how fast she'd conked out after Sam had offered to hold the baby for awhile.

"Pfffbt," Rose sputtered happily, smacking the pages full of ancient text again and letting out a brief peal of mirth. She was so happy and sweet. Such a reminder of good things that still existed in life. A reason to keep believing that things could somehow be okay again. But then Sam's gentle smile faltered as he thought of her father downstairs. He needed to see Dean be the father that he was supposed to be.

And Alex. Sam worried about her without pause, especially these days. He knew the supposedly fatal nature of her pregnancy, and it petrified him. She was clearly close to the end. Closer than she acted or would acknowledge.

Growing upset, Sam realized he needed to stay out of his deeper and darker thoughts. He cleared his throat and sniffed, trying to jog his system away from all the morbid thoughts. To redirect focus, he took inventory of his surroundings. His bunkmates. Behind him, he could hear Bobby's low, familiar gruff voice as he talked on the phone, pretending to be the FBI for a hunting buddy in the control room. Across from Sam at the rows of books, Molly was making notes on a clipboard as she took a thoughtful and thorough inventory of the library—a painstaking process, but something she'd seemed enthusiastic and even excited about. She glanced at him, feeling his gaze, then offered a little smile. Sam smiled back in kind, before realizing Rose was about to rip the pages of the book in front of him.

"Whoa whoa whoa, easy there little Destructor!" he chided affectionately, shifting her away. She whined halfheartedly and reached for the book in vain, her fun taken away.

"Heads up," Linda said, and chucked a freshly washed stuffed block at him from where she was folding some laundry at the end of the table. She said it too late, and the soft toy hit Sam's head, resulting in both Linda and Molly hiding a laugh as Sam sighed in mostly good nature.

He didn't so much as move his chair back before Kyle, who was inside for a brief moment to eat, scooped the object up and handed it over as he passed by with a plate of sandwiches. "Thanks," Sam mumbled, handing the squishy block over to his niece who forgot her prior displeasure and enthusiastically smashed the toy into her face and drooled all over it, another happy squeal emitting.

"No prob," Kyle said, flopping down beside Kevin at the table just a couple chairs down. He raised a sandwich at Sam. "Want one?"

The ex-Leviathan was kind of a hard one for Sam to figure. But his stomach was growling. "Yeah sure," he decided, feeling a little awkward. He was still on the fence about the guy, but Alex had been clear about giving him a second chance. So Sam was going with it. And truth be told, the guy had proved pretty helpful for errands, an extra hand to get things done, and playing lookout. Kyle brought a sandwich over then resumed his position near Kevin, where the two of them ate sandwiches and peered at the laptop together.

Sam picked the sandwich up and eyed it. Looked fine. But he never got to take a bite, because at the back of the library from one of the side entrances, movement preceded a booming announcement: "Well! Gang's all here!" And in sauntered a keyed up looking Dean—no ropes, no chains, no handcuffs—just a hammer in his hand.

Everyone reacted in sync:

Sam shot to his feet clutching Rose and knocked his chair over.

Molly gasped and dropped her clipboard.

Linda jumped in fearful surprise, laundry toppling over.

Kevin gaped in terror and froze stiff as a board.

And Kyle, after a millisecond of shock, slammed the laptop closed, grabbed it like a disc, and vaulted over the library table to slam it into a caught-off-guard Dean who stumbled back then roared and doubled forward, swinging the hammer blindly and catching Kyle hard in the stomach.

Pandemonium broke out as Kyle hit the floor in a screaming ball. Kevin ran at Dean who stood over Kyle with the hammer and wound up, no doubt about to make his first kill. As Kevin body-slammed the demon full force, Linda snatched up a chair and bellowed, running into the calamity to break the furniture over Dean. The hammer went flying away as Dean nearly lost his footing and flailed backwards.

It was at that moment that the entire bunker went dark, red running lights switched on, and alarms began to blare. Thinking quick, Bobby had initiated bunker lockdown—a process that needed a key to initiate, and a key to disengage as well. Unseen to the others, he did that then took off at a sprint down a hall in search of a weapon.

Disoriented in the dark, Sam clutched onto Rose, stumbling across the library toward where Jamie and Molly were as his frantic mind screamed at him to do the following: keep Rose safe, protect Molly, stop Dean from hurting others—but Sam had no weapon, and a superdemon was mere feet from him. Sam cringed as he heard Kevin and then Linda get thrown into things with shouts of pain.

Rose was now wailing and Sam desperately tried to shush her—and then his stomach plummeted as he suddenly found himself face to face with Dean. The demon had snatched up one of the swords on display. It glinted in the pulsing light. His eyes were black.

Horrified, Sam took a step back, his adrenaline so intense he thought he could pass out. "Dean, please—!" he began, not even sure what to beg. Strangely enough, Dean visibly hesitated, looking at the screaming baby in his brother's arms—his child. The black eyes returned to a normal appearance, but they glared at Sam harshly as he clenched his fists harder and prepared to attack. And then without warning, he was hit in the head by a huge flying book. Annoyed, Dean's head whipped sidelong to see who'd done that. Very close by, illuminated by the steady beating red-to-black light and dark pulse, Molly was wide-eyed and plastered back-first against a bookshelf.

"Molly, run!" Sam screamed, and this is when he learned that Dean didn't necessarily even need to be close to someone to inflict harm. The demon raised a hand, gestured harshly, and the bookshelf Molly was alongside suddenly went collapsing down—making her disappear with a squeak underneath an avalanche of books and the heavy wooden shelf.

Before Sam even had a chance to react, Dean slashed at him again with gusto. The baby screamed bloody murder, and again, Dean was visibly perturbed by the sound. Unnerved, even. "Would you make that thing shut up?!" he snarled.

Bear hugging Rose into his side with one arm, Sam positioned his body so that the baby was as far away from danger as possible. He panted in terror, a hand held up defensively toward his brother as he backed away rapidly. "Dean, stop! I don't wanna hurt you!"

"Don't wanna, or can't?" Dean challenged through a breathy grin, giving his sword a flourishing twirl as he advanced. Sam continued to stumble back blindly, the only thing on his mind to keep the baby alive. The demon pressed in, punctuating his next question with slashes Sam narrowly dodged. "What—did your father—always—say, Sammy?!" Dean taunted in a commanding bellow, asking the exact thing Sam was killing himself for: not being armed. "Where's your weapon, huh?" Dean gloated, taking another swipe. "You've gotten lazy, kiddo!" And then he landed a blow.

"Ahh!" Sam cried as he was fractionally too slow and his arm was cut open. His arms clamped around Rose as pain sang.

And then someone leapt into the space between Dean and Sam, hand outstretched. "Pu—!" Jamie started, then screamed as Dean slashed her palm open, cutting off her attempt to cast. He used the opportunity to charge into her space and crush his hand around her throat. He begin to drive her down toward the floor—and for the briefest second Sam thought he was about to see Dean kill her. Sam prepared to put Rose down and jump in.

But at that instant Dean flew sideways as a loud explosion of buckshot sounded. Frantic, Sam looked to the direction the shotgun blast had come from even as Jamie doubled over and coughed and gasped, her throat already bruising. Bobby strode in, breathless from running to grab what he now aimed directly at Dean and fired again mercilessly. Dean roared angrily at the direct hit and seemed to decide to retreat for now, running off back the way he'd come… deeper into the bunker.

Jamie stood up shakily, disbelief at what had just happened visible on every facet. But with her wits about her and the ability to breathe back, she grabbed her daughter from Sam and sagged with relief, verifying that Rose was okay even as she urgently soothed her.

Sam darted over to the collapsed bookshelf, not even sure where to begin. "Molly!" he called urgently, shaking hands pulling at books uselessly in the huge pile. He thought he heard a faint response.

"We'll get her, you stop him!" Bobby shouted, and without a choice Sam followed the command instantly, catching the shotgun his uncle tossed a second later. He gave chase, barely avoiding tripping over an unconscious Kevin and Linda, plus a severely injured Kyle. Even as he ran, no trace of Dean in sight, he realized all this shotgun was capable of was pissing Dean off more—not actually stopping him or recapturing him. That made him think of something else: What had happened to Dad? Sam almost went to the basement then realized with another rush of horror: No wait—Alex and Cas! Sam turned and raced to their room, finding the door wide open—neither of them were there. No signs of struggle or anything—maybe they'd gone into hiding. He could only hope.

Sam knew he needed a different weapon. One that would actually do some damage. He tore down the hall to his room and switched the shotgun for the demon blade, his skin crawling with sick adrenaline the entire time as he thought about possibly having to do the utterly unthinkable.

He could hear Dean's calls echoing through the neighboring halls, and it was impossible to tell exactly where the demon was, except close.

"You know what?" the familiar voice boomed. "I'm in a real bad mood all the sudden—you people are a pain in my ass! I was just gonna have some fun, rough you up a little! But you had to go and piss me off!" There was an ominous pause. "So just for that, I'm not leaving 'til you're all dead!"

Sam swallowed against a fluttering heart beat, his sweaty palm a vice lock on the demon blade. Slowly, he edged down the hall, not even sure of his plan—or if there was one.

---

A couple halls over, Alex heard Dean's promise to kill everyone way too close for comfort as she leaned palm-first against a cool wall and gritted her teeth against another cripplingly intense Braxton Hicks. The timing was more than inconvenient… it was dangerous. With a double-down she made herself keep going, convinced she could soldier through. But Alex didn't feel good, and the steps she forced were increasingly sloppy and feeble. Her back complained more and more. Jesus Christ.

She stopped and grimaced against her physical discomfort, needing to lean on the wall again. If this kept up, she'd be more of a liability out here than anything else. Short-winded, Alex stayed on the wall, uncertainly looking at the hallway ahead that curved to the side diagonally. The halls were suddenly a maze she didn't remember how to find her way through, and the loud alarms and pulsing red light was disorienting.

The pain in her abdominal area continued to intensify, making her body beg for relief and vision temporarily waver. A feeling like a rolling hot flash broke over her head and raced downward uncomfortably, quickly followed by the realization that she was sweating. In her hand, the angel blade felt slippery in a clammy hand.

Shit, I really should go back to the room.

Just as she thought that, Dean strode into view empty handed. Fuck! Eyes bulging and adrenaline spiking, Alex nearly jumped backward, too shocked to know what to do for the first few seconds—and in pain the entire time. Dean didn't miss a beat though.

"Well if it isn't my biggest fan!" he greeted with a broad grin as he sauntered closer. He paused when she started edging away, and there they came to a standstill about ten feet apart. He eyed the angel blade at her side and the hand wrapped around her stomach before looking into her eyes. "I got a question, baby sister," he said in a smooth, low voice. "Did you really mean all that about being together forever?" His smile suggested he was joking or making fun, and he came a little closer, testing her. Alex remained in place, refusing to show him how scared she was—even while her heart beat faster. "'Cause y'know, we could keep the party going no problem," Dean continued in a cunning murmur. He was close now. Too close. "Why not try some black eyes on for size?" Her hand clenched tighter into the hilt of her knife and despite her best attempts, the pain she was struggling with revealed itself on her face. That was when Dean took notice of everything she was trying to hide, a deep furrowed, confused scowl descending.

Taking maybe the only opening she'd get before he attacked her, Alex's face twisted up as she wildly lunged and slashed clumsily, giving a shout that sounded more wounded than anything else. Dean barely reacted—because her slash hadn't been committed. She only wanted to scare him off.

"Really?" he asked insolently, then lunged into her space. His hands crushed at her fingers into the cool metal as he joined her in grabbing the knife at the hilt. At the same second he used the momentum to whirl her and slam her back-first into the wall, where pain exploded. Alex howled, eyes shutting briefly as teeth bared. "Pregnant or not, we both know you're a better fighter than that, Al," he said, putting sarcasm on her name. Eyes flashing open, she watched as Dean pulled the tip of the knife toward his own chest with so much force that Alex's heart flew into her throat and by instinct, she pulled the opposite direction, desperately trying to keep the tip from stabbing into him. She could barely hang on, breathing raggedly in noisy gasps as the pain kept intensifying still. Sweat was now pouring.

Dean was having the time of his life, and the knife shook as the two of them fought for dominance. "Do it, if you're so big and bad," he goaded before his voice rose to a thundering, triumphant gloat. "You're a hunter! You kill demons! And baby, here I am!" The knife almost vibrated between them at this point and Dean let lose a cold laugh at her unwillingness to kill him. "That's what I thought," he said through a gleeful, triumphant grin, then let this next word so close to her that she felt his hot breath hit her skin. "Pathetic." His eyes plunged fully black—then in a desperate, senseless, last-ditch effort, Alex pulled down hard to change the angle of the blade and shoved with one hand while driving the heel of her other into the butt of the blade—stabbing the demon deeply and non-lethally in the shoulder. With a furious roar, he clobbered her in the side of the head and she went skidding to the floor, arms wrapping around her belly. She couldn't get up, and knew it the second she collided with cold, hard ground. Her own heart thudded dull and fast in her ears as the intensity gathering in her midsection began pressing downward so hard that her eyes squeezed shut and a cry came out despite her best efforts to keep it quiet. At first, she thought it was because she'd fallen.

Dean stood over her, thrown off at her agonized display. And then a tall figure rounded the corner at a full run, demon blade in hand. "Hey!" Sam bellowed, bombing into the scene. Dean barely dodged the messy swipe his brother aimed at him, but quickly regained control when he uppercut Sam in the jaw. The demon blade clattered away as the two brawled, grabbing onto each other and beating each other as nearby, Alex laid on the floor in excruciating, continuing pain. This contraction was unlike any other she'd ever felt. It was combined with that incredible new sensation of pressure—she couldn't even take a full breath in—and it was beginning to feel like she had no choice but to bear down on something. And that's when she realized this wasn't a Braxton Hicks contraction. It was an actual contraction. Mouth open in a silent exclamation of agony and terror, her eyes stared at the ceiling in horror as everything began to spiral and a single thought ran through her mind: no, not now! Please god not right now! Her brothers carried on, but she only faintly registered it as she helplessly endured, teeth bared and eyes screwed shut as guttural groaning screams cried out deep in her throat.

Sam collided with the wall nearby then collapsed, rolling over onto his back right at her side, groaning and too stunned to get up.

Dean stood over them, Alex's abandoned angel blade in his hand. He looked it over approvingly then down at the twins, lit ghoulishly by the intermittent emergency red lighting. "It's kind of sweet, isn't it?" he asked patronizingly as the sirens continued to blare. "You two idiots came into the world together. Now you can go out the exact same way. Who's first?" He advanced and Sam managed to move exceptionally fast despite his new injuries, quickly shielding Alex with himself. And then without warning, a tall figure streaked out of the connecting hallway. A solid metal pipe swung like a baseball bat, hitting Dean in the face so hard skidded backwards and fell onto his back. A seething John Winchester towered over him—bloodied up no doubt from an earlier encounter.

"Not on my watch!" he thundered then limped toward Dean, who seemed to decide it was time to flee. Because flee he did. Without hesitation John pursued, sprinting with his limp and all.

Alex barely noticed—the pain was ramping up past anything she'd ever felt before. Her hands clutched her enormous belly and tears streaked out of the corners of her eyes as her face contorted into a desperate, terrified, anguished cry. "Ahhh!"

This was the moment Sam realized something was wrong—he hadn't even had a chance to look at his sister until then. Instantly moving up onto all fours, Sam frantically looked her over for injuries. "Alex, Alex, what's happening?!" No answer came—she couldn't even take a measured breath in, much less speak—all she could do was pant as her lungs prepared to burst and clutch at herself with wild eyes. Her body told her to push, and she resisted terrifically. Intense pressure built and built, from her back wrapping all the way to the front and downward. Another raw cry came screaming out.

"Sam?! Alex!" a familiar female voice called urgently just before Jamie skidded around the corner with Rose held tight, a disheveled Molly right at her side. The two women rushed over, and without a word Jamie handed her daughter over Molly, who understood instantly and readily helped.

"Al, Alex, breathe, please!" Sam begged, frantic as he looked at Jamie, who'd dropped down to her knees at his side. "What's wrong with her?! Is this labor?!"

"No, no!" Alex managed to get out, terror clutching her anew. "It's not!" Her face was turning red from the effort it took to get words out—and her expression broke. "I'm not ready!" But even as she tried to will herself out of whatever was happening, another wave of unbearable pain and pressure struck. Not able to hold it in, Alex's head fell back, eyes screwed shut, and an anguished, animalistic scream tore out of her mouth. "Aaaahhh!"

Stunned, Jamie remained frozen. "Yeah, I think this is definitely labor," she replied in a breathless whisper, and Sam let out a soft helpless sound, too stunned momentarily to do anything but drain of color.

Wordlessly, Alex shook her head no as another impossible spike of agony slammed into her. Nearby, Rose cried and Molly shushed and bounced even as Sam stood up, clutched two hands to his head and staggered back a couple steps in absolute aghast shock. "Who do we call? What do we do?!" He was quickly devolving.

Decisive, Jamie got her head on straight and locked into action. "We deliver this baby," she barked, then started to roll her sleeves up and tie her hair back as fast as possible. Sam just went more wide-eyed and terrified.

Freaking out, Alex shut her eyes again and desperately tried to breathe steadily through more and more misery. Inscrutable shouting came from a direction Alex wasn't even clear on and she heard her brother cry out, "Cas!"

Thank god. Unable to stop another wretched cry of pain tearing from her vocal cords, Somewhere nearby, his familiar voice was alarmed as he audibly jogged up. "What's happened?!"

Sam's voice replied, and he was in rare form—absolutely losing his shit. "She's in labor, fix her Cas! HELP her! You can't just let this happen to her!"

"Will you shut up?!" That was Jamie. "Get it together, NOW!"

The alarms continued to wail at top volume.

Alex's eyes remained shut and one of her hands reached blindly, trying to find Cas's in all the chaos. Rustling noises of clothing and several pairs of shoes scuffing against the floor could be heard. And then Cas's hand was suddenly there and Alex shut her hand like a vice, refusing to let go as her eyes finally opened. At her side, his expression identical to Sam's, Cas braced her with his free hand and clutched back. "I'm here, oh Alex, I'm here—" he said, frantically searching her face, beside himself with worry. He had a gash on his head that hadn't been there before.

Consumed by fear and pain like she'd never felt, Alex felt herself shaking her head rapidly as tears burned her eyes. "I can't do this, I can't do this—!" she gasped out, then immediately squeezed her eyes shut as another indescribably wave of enormous pain and pressure descended. "Ahhh!" she rasped, sobbing against the terrible sensation. Cas didn't know what to say—he was panicking just as badly as she was.

And then a firm hand took hold of her upper arm. "Yes you can." Disoriented, Alex found Jamie's severe, determined, worried face in her field of vision, lit red by the flickers of light. Knelt between Alex's legs, she seemed to will some strength into her. "Think of your son right now Alex," she commanded intently, "and focus on your breathing, we're gonna get you through this, hear me?" There was something about her tone that sort of slapped Alex out of her own hysteria.

Realizing she had no choice but to do this, Alex nodded weakly even as another raging wave of pain bore down. She gritted her teeth, a scream sounding deep in her throat.

Sam was nearby, asking over and over "what do we do? Oh my god what do we do?!" Molly could be heard trying to calm him.

"I need a knife, I need a knife!" Jamie shouted, then spotted the demon blade at the same second that Molly did. Like they'd practiced it, Molly kicked the blade over and Jamie stopped it in its tracks with her hand, snatching it up quickly.

Sam was still going on and on, having a nervous breakdown and contributing to an atmosphere of pandemonium. Red-faced, suddenly so angry she couldn't think Alex snarled like a rabid dog at him because he wasn't the one enduring this agony. "Will you shut the fuck up and come hold my hand you asshat?!"

Sam went silent immediately and complied, pale as a ghost. His hand was clammy when it grabbed onto hers, and Alex was already crumpled and sobbing as the pain rendered her nonsensical. "Sorry, I'm sorry," she apologized in a wail, even as Sam shook his head and shakily smoothed the hair on her head in a desperate attempt to impart some kind of relief or help.

"No I am, I am," he insisted, trying to hide his fear for her sake.

All this while Jamie tore into Alex's jeans with the demon blade as quickly as possible, then ripped the garment apart at the crotch with her hands and practically sawed her underwear off. There was zero room for embarrassment or modesty—all Alex could conceptualize was the pain. And then she heard Jamie's startled announcement: "Oh my goodness, I think I can see his head—"

Sam, Cas, and Alex reacted in exact astounded unison: "What!?"

Even as she panted a dumbfounded swearword out, Alex's head fell back again as another excruciating wave crashed over her. "I can't, I can't," she cried weakly.

"This is too fast—!" Cas protested as she screamed again. He was more and more distressed by the second.

"Just breathe, just breathe!" Sam repeated, and Alex was unsure if he was saying that to her, him, or someone else. The red-to-black light continued on sickeningly, alarms refusing to stop.

Alex clung onto the hands in both of hers harder, silently begging for relief that didn't come. In delirium, she managed to look to her left as she continued to sob uncontrollably and cry out in pain. Cas held her hand and cradled her shoulder and back with his other arm. His hand dug into her shoulder hard as he essentially laid right on the floor with her—he was almost in tears. If he'd tried to help take some of her pain or something, his injuries must not have let him—because Alex was in beyond excruciating territory. "I'm right here," he whispered fiercely as his chin began to quiver and fear, love, and desperation all made him gaunt. "I love you so much." His hand gripped hers tighter and she realized this was it. She was about to die. They both knew it too. Despair began to flood. Paired with the mind-shattering pain, it left Alex fully weeping. I'm about to die, oh god, I'm about to die.

Her face crumpled even as pain screamed in every last atom she possessed. "I love you too," she rasped through a sob, barely able to manage a coherent sentence. "Be strong, Cas, be—strong!" she insisted through the terror, then had to scream again, legs clenching up and feet pushing into the floor weakly as another contraction bolted through her. Panting like a dog, she looked to her right, where Sam hung onto her just like she held onto him. "Sam, don't let—him die—a demon—" she begged in breathless staccato, gritting her teeth against another scream. Alex felt like she could pass out. "Promise, promise!" she begged, shouting noise incoherently after she spoke.

Sam was nodding over and over, ready to vow anything she asked in that moment. "I promise!" he insisted tearfully, and his chin was shaking as his face contorted. "Don't you give up, Alex, don't you do it—" he commanded and begged at the same time, holding onto her harder.

The red lights and alarms suddenly stopped and the regular dim, pleasant warm lights switched back on. The most anyone acknowledged it was a brief glance up.

"I really think it's time to really push, Mama," Jamie said, stressed out and clearly sweating, then realizing she hadn't thought it through the whole way: "I'll need something to dry him off with, and wrap him in!"

"Aahhhh!" Alex screamed again, tearing in half. Beside her, Sam tore his flannel shirt off without a second through and passed it over with shaking hands, then resumed gripping her hand as tight as possible. He was nearly crying, unable to stand seeing her in that kind of pain. Nearby Molly hovered and shushed Rose, then decisively dashed into the door next to them, re-emerging with a bunch of additional shirts for cleanup—and this was when Alex realized faintly huh, that's Dean's room isn't it—so that meant those were his shirts.

Dean. I wish you were here with me. Oh my god. Another scream echoed and she felt herself tearing in two, falling off the planet, losing her mind. A faint thought: Someday, if the cure worked—which Sam had promised—Dean would hear this story. He'd pass by this section of hallway everyday. And she didn't want him to hear that she'd sobbed and screamed like a little pansy bitch the entire time. She didn't want her son to hear anything except she'd faced her last task like a champ. So with the kind resolve she didn't even know she had, she realized she had to finish strong. She gritted her teeth and faced her last job with a sudden new grit of fuck you energy.

Pain so intense she could pass out coursed through her—but Alex held the vision of her son in her mind. She began to breathe hard and purposeful like she remembered on the videos Cas had subjected her to. She dug her feet into the floor and began to do what her body already knew how to do—push with all her might, accepting the excruciating pain and refusing to think anything except pushing. She heard deafening, animalistic screams—her own—but barely registered that it was her making sound anymore.

Whatever everyone around her was saying—she couldn't understand. Eyes on the prize! She could hear Dean saying it to her, a memory she couldn't place. Eyes on the prize!

She dug in with everything she had and pushed one final time with every last ounce of everything she had—then clearly heard Jamie say, "I've got him!" and some gasps and exclamations. She would never have thought it possible, but to hear those words spoken made a relieved smile spring up—despite it all. Aching, spent, hurting so badly and weak beyond compare, Alex tried to hold herself up—but she collapsed, Sam and Cas only just barely bracing her. But even then, she couldn't even hold her own neck up or even keep her eyes open. Everything was slowing down… fading out. All she wanted to do was see her son—and she didn't hear him crying yet. Her smile erased away. Why isn't he crying? She tried so hard to summon the strength to raise her head but she couldn't.

"Alex, stay with us!" someone begged. Cas? Sam? She couldn't even tell. Her hands were losing their grip on hands, her heart was about to give out. She could feel everything shutting down.

Her last words barely made it out: "I… can't…" she managed weakly. And then all the strength in her body failed and she sank away into nothingness with one final breath out. Her last thought was my son… let me see my son.

---

There was darkness and nothing… then a sudden transition into midday brightness so intense that Alex threw a hand up, taking a second to squint and grimace before she could see where she was. A run down gas station in the middle of nowhere—from the looks of it maybe in the Arizona wilderness. Barren desert stretched all around, sandstone mountains small in the distance. A strip of road went left and right, and a sign stood beside it, labelled Route 66. No signs of life showed anywhere. No breeze stirred. No sound at all could be heard. It immediately felt dreamlike. Not entirely real.

Dazed and disgruntled Alex looked down at herself. She was not pregnant—seemingly alive—and wearing a silver whistle around her neck. She raised the curious object up, studying with bewilderment. Like I used to wear. Before everything changed. She let it go and studied the gas station she was outside of. No cars were parked, no people milled around. It was deserted. And very familiar looking too—but all gas stations looked the same, and Alex had been to thousands. She walked out into the long, straight stretch of asphalt punctuated by yellow road lines and turned in a full circle.

"Hello!?" she called, looking around for any sign of anything.

Nothing. No one.

And then behind her, a voice spoke that she knew but couldn't place at first. "Hola!" She turned quickly, and her expression dropped when she saw who it was. Because standing there with an irritatingly pleasant, moony smile was none other than… Gabriel?! He chuckled easily, enjoying her befuddled surprise. "The look on your face. Confused much?"

It took Alex a long two or three stunned seconds to know how to respond. "…You're dead." Wasn't he?

Gabe shrugged breezily. "And so are you, but I don't let it get to me." Alex's ire began to rise, and the archangel sighed, his fun ruined. "Hey hey hey—slow your roll," he cajoled impatiently. "Everything's fine."

"I'm pretty sure it's not Gabe!" Alex snapped, starting to get really upset as the bizarre scenario continued. "What the hell is going on here?!"

Gabe made a face, thinking it over. "Difficult to explain…"

Alex's shoulders sagged and emotions sank as she decided she knew what was happening. "I'm hallucinating," she said numbly. "My last moment of life… and I'm hallucinating your stupid ass." Agonized and hurt by the cruelty of this, Alex's spirit and soul begged for one thing and she walked off a step or two, looking into the desert longingly. "I just wanna see my son," she whispered, heartbroken.

Gabe sighed. But this time, he sounded compassionate. "And you will." That got her immediate, intense attention—and she turned, but she didn't let herself believe him. Not yet. As he approached by a couple more steps, Gabe smiled at her in a way that could be called fond. "Why do you think I'm here, dummy?" he teased affectionately. "To make fun of you in your last moment on this mortal coil?" He paused and a brief thoughtful expression came over his face. He sighed. "Okay fine, I can see why you'd think that." He postured himself casually, making the boy scout's sign as he became goofy again. "Hand to Dad, I'm here to save you." He let a beat hang and then got sort of sly and teasing. "As usual."

Mistrustful, Alex had gone very quiet and uncertain. "What's the catch?" she asked suspiciously, still not sure if this were real or a hallucination.

"Catch?" Gabe repeated with goofy incredulous affect. "Pfft!" He waved that aside before he suddenly put a pointer finger into the air. "I do still have work for you to do, but… ah, I'm getting ahead of myself."

A sudden new theory came into Alex's mind and she looked at Gabe closely, gone still and quiet. "Gabe, are you… God?" she asked carefully after a long moment, absolutely serious about it too.

The question clearly delighted him. Mirthful, he wiggled his eyebrows. "Not yet." He offered nothing else, then sauntered closer. "Now go back. And forget aaaalll about this little encounter."

"But—" Alex protested on instinct, her ingrained sense of adamant curiosity kicking in.

But his two fingers touched to her temple and his eyes twinkled at her, even as his words accompanied a fade to black. "Seeya soon, buddy."

---

Alex was dead. She remembered dying. But then somehow, inexplicably, she was alive again, racing back from somewhere far away. Faintly, she heard the sound of sobbing as she rocketed upwards in some sort of total darkness. And then everything came rushing back with clarity and Alex felt herself slammed back into her body—she gasped loudly, chest first up even as her eyes shot wide open and slack limbs leapt back to life.

She sore and aching on the bunker floor—and someone had just been clinging onto her while crying. Her shoulder plus neck were both soaking wet from tears. That someone was Cas. His distraught, tear-tracked face hovered a mere few inches away from hers as he clutching her like she clutched him. "...Alex?" he breathed in a hoarse whisper, confused joy beginning to spring up.

"Yeah," she answered, equally dazed.

On her other side, Sam practically threw himself on her in a hug. He was crying too. Automatically, she circled her arms around his neck. "What happened?" she asked Cas, stumped and fuzzy.

"You died," Cas said, clearly not understanding it either and very traumatized by it. "Or—or we thought you did."

That was the moment that mental clarity returned hard and fast. Alex pushed at Sam with abrupt urgency, struggling to sit up against the soreness and pain. She urgently looked down the length of her body where Jamie stared at her in startled relief and knelt with a bundled shape of flannel held in her arms. Dean's old t-shirts were scattered around, smeared with what Alex could only guess was amniotic fluid.

Expression breaking, Alex began to breathe hard. "Is he okay?" she asked urgently as panic quickly returned. "Why isn't he making noise?!" The second she asked that, a terrific wail sounded—the unmistakable sound of a newborn baby crying. The tense way her body had been poised melted as Alex's face crumpled into relieved, amazed tears to hear that sound for the first time. With Sam helping get her seated upright and leaned against the wall just behind, Alex reached for the bundle even as Jamie carefully handed him over and settled him into her arms.

Swathed in Sam's shirt, clearly having been quickly rubbed clean hastily, the tiniest little guy hollered his displeasure at leaving the womb, tiny fists at the ends of tiny arms punching into the air as he squalled with strong, healthy lungs. Love exploded to see his face for the first time—and the sensation was euphoric, it was profound, it was instant and infinite. He was beautiful, and perfect, and here. Life changed instantly, forever. It was both easy and hard to put it into words: "Oh my god, I love him so much," she whispered to everyone and no one at the same time. His squalls calmed into halfhearted whimpers when she spoke, and her heart burst like fireworks. Exhaling in staggered amazement as tears flooded her eyes, Alex Winchester smiled with overwhelmed tenderness at her newborn son, eyes spilling over with endless excess from her overjoyed heart. "Hi, baby boy," she greeted, and finally looked at Cas—her state of mind indescribable. And she saw he was just as speechless as she was. He reached over and softly touched his son for the first time on the head with his left hand—wedding band catching the light. Cas's hand dwarfed the baby's tiny head, touching reverently and so carefully.

"I think he recognized your voice," Sam said softly, his face wretched with fatigue, relief, and emotion. Alex looked over at her twin, grateful and euphoric and emotional in a way she'd never been before. His eyes were full of tears. She reached for his hand and squeezed tight in answer, too overcome to reply with words. Immediately returning her attention to the newborn, she traced fingers across his impossibly little face, enraptured. Everything from his teeny ears to the thicker-than-expected soft brown hair, his little button nose, the intricate, minuscule eyelashes fanning out—it left her with only one stunned thought. He was incredible. She swore herself to him for the rest of her life without question, more than ever.

She looked at Cas, who was still quiet and dreamlike. His eyes were full of affectionate admiration as he studied his baby—near disbelief. "So what do you think, Dad?" Alex asked softly, and his gaze came to Alex's before he kissed the side of her forehead hard and fervent, then bent his head and kissed his son's head, eyes falling closed—and then it really seemed to really hit him.

The angel's face crumpled as his pursed lips stayed against the damp baby's head. He shook hard, tears building, and when he pulled back, the angel gasped in an overjoyed, ragged breath, teary eyes bright and never leaving his son. "He's… so wonderful," was all he could say thickly before looking at Alex again. "Our son." He was past words for the moment and could only manage to tell her, "I love you," again. Alex struggled against a face that wanted to crumple, nodding wordlessly. Cas kissed her again in the same spot on the head, harder this time as he clung to her even more fiercely, his emotions too much for him to even convey aloud. She clung back as best she could, never taking her eyes off their baby. Cas's arm came to rest alongside hers.

Against the wall beside Dean's room, they huddled together, curled around their son as Jamie put one of Dean's shirts over Alex's lower half and then sat on the floor, taking up an exhausted slump right beside Alex's leg.

Alex sent the other woman a sincerely grateful smile, coming out of her euphoric fog momentarily. "Thank you so much," she said meaningfully before sending a significant look over to Molly, too, who'd successfully kept Rose pretty calm the entire time somehow.

"Don't thank me until we get the placenta out and the cord cut," Jamie joked. "There's still time for me to mess something up."

"Seriously," Alex insisted softly, and reached a hand out as far as she could. Her emotions were haywire and endlessly clamoring. Softening, Jamie reached out and squeezed briefly as they traded a significant look. Hunters together—now mothers together. Not many people could say their friend delivered their baby either, could they?

As she held Rose with one arm a couple steps away, Molly dabbed at an eye—a sympathetic feeler and cryer. "So what's his name?" she asked through a teary-eyed smile when no one else said anything for a long moment. The question prompted both Sam and Jamie to look instantly curious about that too.

Cas looked at Alex, and she smiled down at their son, knowing the name they'd privately picked was right now for sure. "This is CJ."

A tiny, kind of amused smile popped onto Sam's face. "What, like… Cas Junior?"

Alex looked at Cas to answer. When the angel spoke, it was in a sort of dreamy tone. He watched his son the entire time, taking in his features with warm, shining eyes. "Castiel James—which is quite formal, we know," he mused, putting his hand on his son's head again. "Which is why we'll call him CJ. Or alternatively…" his expression softened into a reflective, bittersweet smile as his palm gently stroked his son's head. "…Jimmy."

Surprised, Sam nodded soft and thoughtful, making the connection: The name was in memory of James Novak—better known as Jimmy. The one who had made it possible for any of this to happen. He would never be forgotten. His legacy would be honored the best they knew how.

Alex traced baby hairs along the shape of baby CJ's head, watching as his eyes searched without coordination, then stopped on her. She knew he couldn't see far yet. But she swore it was like he was looking right at her—and as a result, she melted. "Hey buddy," she whispered, blown away all over again as he blinked slowly with furrowed brows, his little eyes sort of confused and stern all at the same time. "Mama's got you."

Already, it was different than she'd ever known it could be. The love she felt was indescribable. Yes, the pain of bringing him into the world had been the most excruciating she'd ever experienced—but he was worth every bit of it and more. She would never forget this moment as long as she lived.