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.

150. Runnin' With The Devil

Song Remains the Same

150 / Runnin' With The Devil

"They say one time around is all you get,
but I'm still dancin'… so you lost your bet."
— Aerosmith

---

About Two Months Later
October 26, 2014

Up in the north-facing watchtower, two heavily armed people stood vigilant.

The woman heard the telltale sound of an oncoming threat a microsecond before her brother alerted in an urgent murmur: "Mook, ten 'clock."

Already sweeping the sights of her sniper-style assault rifle across the veil of lightly falling snow, she spotted the rampaging Croatoan almost instantly. Brainlessly charging from the tree line opposite of the compound they guarded, blood streaked from his incoherently screaming mouth. Already achieving deadly aim by tracking with his approach, the woman in the watchtower waited for the exact right moment—then acted. Three loud reports cracked loudly across thin air. About seventy yards off, the rabid Croat jerked thrice before collapsing back-first into the ground. Eerie silence returned as blood seeped into pure white snow. Alex's eyes lingered on the body for too long of a beat as she made the mistake of wondering who he'd been before the all this happened.

Tensely making herself scan the area for any other threats, she found nothing and dragged her eye away from the AR sights. Her breath made a vapor in the harsh morning air as she exhaled and glanced at Dean grimly. He'd already been looking at her with a tight expression. Her brother was obviously wondering what she was: when and if this fucking shit would ever end.

Visibly devoid of anything but exhaustion, he pulled his ham radio out of a jacket pocket to call the incident in. "Safehouse, this is north lookout. Grub down. All clear. Over."

A beat of silence passed before Linda Tran's digitized voice answered. "Copy, north lookout. Over."

The Winchesters exchanged another charged glance. With a metallic click, Alex repositioned her weapon to the familiar diagonal hold across her body and tense hazel eyes resumed their dutiful study of the snowy Kansas landscape.

What a nightmare.

Beside her, Dean returned his radio to a pocket then shifted his SR-15 across his body as he frowned off into the landscape. His red nose and ruddy cheeks matched his sister's almost exactly, and like her, he wore a knit hat, fingerless gloves, and extra layers to combat the unseasonably freezing cold. His usually clean-shaven face sported a light beard and his once-neat hair was becoming overgrown. Appearances mattered very little these days. What mattered was what threats you could stand against. And like Alex, Dean was ready for all manner of threats: in addition to the huge machine gun, he carried a Kimber .45 pistol, a long-barrel Ruger .357 revolver, and a huge glinting knife. Various ammo and other smaller weapons littered the tactical vest underneath his dark green jacket, and military-grade night vision goggles circled his neck. He didn't look like a casually-dressed road-tripping hunter anymore. He looked like a desperate, emotionally-haggard survivor who'd found himself at the end of the world. And that's what he was. What they all were.

With an uneasy stomach, Alex found herself staring at her most recent kill again, thinking the forbidden thought: who were you before all this happened?

It didn't get to matter anymore. And wondering wouldn't help anything. That's what Dad told her the time he caught her contemplating a slain Croatoan's identification card, anyway…

Suppressing a stressed exhale, Alex's eyes searched upward to the bleak gray sky for a ray of metaphorical light. This was absolutely unthinkable. The situation still didn't feel real. But this abysmal, endlessly bleak day would end the same way all days ended now: with the gathering and burning of the Croatoan dead. It had to be done in hazmat suits and the smell of burnt flesh lingered over the entire compound, a constant reminder of how twisted the world had become.

"Zachariah was right, huh?" Her soft, sudden question startled Dean. Alex glanced over when she got no reply and saw confusion on his face. "About twenty-fourteen."

Darkening when he took her meaning, Dean contemplated the scenery with resentment for a long moment. "Honestly, his version of that crap was better than what we ended up with." He considered that statement briefly before souring further and firing off a careless insult, because what else could he do? "Dick."

Alex nodded faintly as unfocused eyes drifted over nothing specific. This version did feel worse, but at least they had each other. For now. There was a single pessimistic conclusion her mind kept coming to that finally slipped out into the nakedness of air. "Maybe some things never fully derail." The cold stung her numb cheeks and nose. Saying it aloud sank her spirit like a stone. "No matter how hard you try to change it."

Dean didn't reply. He instead silently contemplated her words then retreated back to unsettled brooding with a single disquieted head shake. His cryptic silence stung. But Alex gave him a pass. After all, what could he say to make a single damn thing better? What could anyone say?

It's not that she'd given up. Why would she be out here in this freezing cold with a gun protecting the group of people behind the wall if she'd given up? But the powerlessness was very real. And so was the rage. The emotional agony and the intense dread. It made her want to give up—and she wasn't the only one who felt this way. After what happened two months ago, it was a wonder anyone had any kind of hope left at all.

It all started with Chicago abruptly disappearing into a freakish, supersize sinkhole that spanned nearly three hundred square miles. Media scrambled to understand. Shocked scientists could not explain what had happened or why, but they did label it the largest single-incident loss of life in human history. Dismayed authorities had no idea how to even respond, and the stunned world could not believe it and began to grieve—but a short day later, everyone realized Chicago had been just the beginning.

A sudden worldwide sea level rise of more than two hundred feet hit all low-lying coastal areas on the planet. Every continent began scrambling in unimaginable crisis to send aid. Then came total annihilation everywhere else. Las Vegas was torn apart and buried in a super-powered sandstorm. The entirety of Florida flooded and disappeared. California burned to the ground. New York City collapsed into the Atlantic. Japan and the Philippines plus parts of China and the Koreas were ripped apart by tsunamis the likes the world had never seen. New Delhi crumbled in a series of magnitude ten earthquakes, Venice sunk beneath the ocean, Mexico City was flattened by a super-hurricane. Asteroids pelted the UK to bits. Volcanoes decimated Santorini, Managua, Puerto de La Cruz, Shimabara, Naples, and all of Hawaii.

Billions perished in a matter of days, from major cities to small towns as the lottery of freakish natural disasters relentlessly pelted the planet. Earthquakes, tornadoes, wildfires, hurricanes, monsoons, tsunamis, landslides, volcanic eruptions, solar flares, avalanches, plagues of crop-destroying pests, dust storms, asteroid collisions. Nowhere was safe. Everything broke down with shocking speed: law, order, society, technology. By the time Yellowstone erupted like some sort of sick finale and left more than a third of the US covered in ash, humans were an endangered species left on their own to survive in an unrecognizably desolate world. Then the brutally low temperatures began to descend. At first it seemed season-appropriate. But then within a day or two, the bunker and surrounding area were sealed into a prison of frost, ice, and snow.

The Winchesters sheltered in place when everything went to hell, unsure of what else to do. Tensions rose, panic grew. Every passing day the terrified group did their best to be brave and conserve resources as they waited for their assured destruction. But that hadn't come yet. And neither had Lucifer.

Instead, the Croatoan virus made its return with a vengeance, threatening to erase surviving humans from the planet completely. That's why the bunker had now evolved into a full-out compound: the refugees. They'd started showing up soon after the outbreak of disasters, trickling in for a few weeks in various states of alarm and injury. They were old hunting friends, people the Winchesters had saved, and civilians who had unwittingly stumbled onto the bunker as Armageddon unfolded. In total, they'd taken in almost eighty souls. All in need of food, warmth, and shelter. In effect, one thing had not changed for the Winchesters even after most of the world was destroyed: they were still in the business of saving people (or trying to). However, they were now the hunted. Or so it felt.

Circled loosely by a rough perimeter that was guarded day and night, the bunker and its immediate surrounding area were walled off from the outside world by a mixture of stacked shipping containers, piles of junked cars covered in barbs, and razor-wire topped chain link fences. Tents and small fires littered the enclosure with one central, large bonfire that stayed lit night and day. A small convoy of beat-up vehicles clustered near the gateway out. Overlooking the tents, the upper level of the bunker was no longer empty and abandoned. The industrial brick and concrete space had once been a power plant. Now it served as an indoor shelter for however many refugees could fit. Tents and fires in barrels gave the large football-field sized space a claustrophobic, cluttered feeling. It wasn't nice, it wasn't insulated, and it made the bunker look like the Ritz-Carlton in comparison. But it was shelter, it was warm enough, and it was better than being outside the walls at the mercy of both the elements and the Croatoans.

Needless to say, the overall mood of everyone was mistrustful, high-strung, and afraid. While Alex wore a resolute and courageous outward front, it was all a lie. Inside, she felt like she was going to snap from everything she was trying to hold together and believe in. She woke up every single day holding her now two-month-old baby boy close while locking worried eyes with her spouse, convinced that today could be the day they would finally all be torn apart and killed. It was very possible she wouldn't be able to protect her child, and that single thought haunted her the most deeply—made her cry in the darkest and quietest hours. Cas cried too. They often woke up in the middle of the night from restless sleep, weeping and clutching each other. Because what could be said? Truly? What on earth could be said?

"You still there?" Startled by the jostle back to real life, Alex's eyes darted to Dean sidelong. He showed her his watch and she stared blankly. "Shift's almost up. Made it another night." Oh. Alex nodded wanly. Maybe he was trying to be lighthearted, but she just couldn't really get there anymore. Somehow he still could. Yeah, we did make it another night, she reflected glumly. Into another dismal, hopeless, god-damned day. Studying her stony silence with thinly veiled concern, Dean took a second then reached into his jacket. "Hey, I got something that'll knock the cobwebs off."

Alex's eyebrows rose in semi-disbelief as his silver flask came out. Was that actual booze? They'd run out a month ago. Doubtful, she waited for the punch line. "…For real?"

Clearly proud of himself, Dean was already unscrewing the cap with a rare little grin. "For real." He offered it to her first. "Been saving it."

Alex hesitated and almost said no. Because if that was his end-of-the-world stash, she wanted him to have it for himself. Then she realized fuck it—this could be the last time she ever got to taste alcohol, and he was offering… it would be rude to say no, right? So she took the flask and told herself to commit every part of this experience to memory. Carefully, she took an experimental sip, wondering what it would be. Gin? Vodka? The aroma told her just before her tongue confirmed it: whiskey. A genuine and relaxed smile came as her eyes briefly closed. The beautiful harsh burn slid down her throat making warmth radiate into her chest and stomach. It was a taste that immediately called her back to so many memories and better times. For a minute, she let herself enjoy the way it soothed her hard edges and allowed her to unclench her shoulders. And then her smile faded away in such a way that it prompted Dean to become concerned. "What is it?"

She almost said 'nothing.' Or 'everything.' Because either one would do the job. But then the dismal truth came out as she continued to stare at the flask with a sinking spirit. "Every time I eat or drink anything… all I can think about is when it'll run out." She handed the flask back woodenly, biting the inside of a cheek for a second as she fought the anxiety tightening her chest. Her mind just didn't stop anymore. There was always something to ruminate over. "Supplies are getting low."

Dean was silent for a long moment before answering, his troubled eyes studying the distance. "Yeah well, we'll find more. Kansas is a big state, Al." He took a carefully measured swig from his flask then pocketed it reluctantly, saving the very little remaining amount for later. Yes, Kansas was a big state, but most of it was destroyed.

"What happens when we can't find anything new?" Alex pressed, her anxiety making her sound semi-confrontational. He wasn't acting as worried as he should be. Scavenging trips were conducted every couple days, and their radius grew bigger and bigger as findings among the wreckage became less and less. Eventually, there would be nothing left that wasn't ruined, looted, or rotten. "It's a when, not an if."

His face tightened, giving away how loathe he was to think about it. "Just like every other time you ask… I dunno, Al." Hollow eyes looked at everything except her. "We're doing what we can. Somethin's gotta give."

His non-answer only pissed her off. Because nothing had to give. The universe was indifferent and cruel. The odds were stacked against them like never before. And lately she got the feeling that their luck had run out. "Yeah we'll see," she muttered, hoping her bitterness wasn't too audible. She didn't want to fight with him so she held her tongue. It took a lot of effort to do so. With tensions as high as they were, arguments were frequent and Alex felt herself getting more and more reactive each day. Almost everyone and everything irked her except one person who could do no wrong, ever. CJ was the single thought remaining in existence that could instantly put sunshine back into her bones and hope into her heart. He was irrevocably pure and beautiful, and he had grown so much in two months, delighting his parents. But as always, thoughts of their baby boy made Alex sick to her stomach with questions about how she'd keep him safe.

Her brain was constantly running a grotesque picture show she couldn't seem to stop. In it there were visions of everyone starving to death or freezing if the temperatures dropped more. There was fear of Croatoan infection. Obsessive worry on how to keep her child fed—worry about Cas's mental state—worry about Sam's wellbeing. The list went on and on.

She saw the same emotion that she felt constantly on the faces of the others in this camp, but especially the other parents. Things could get unspeakably bad. Naturally, ideas for a way out of this hell on earth had all been exchanged until everyone was blue in the face:

Try to find God yet again and beg his help.

Lace a bullet with holy oil and hope they could at least paralyze the devil until they found a better solution.

Find the lost Archangel Genesis and hope she still had some power left or some way of defeating her brother Lucifer. Half of Hannah's angels were still out there searching for her to no avail. The other half of her angels were divided by watching over the camp and spending time trying to track down Lucifer. So far without any luck.

It was a huge dead end. Hell was closed, Heaven was empty, and God was gone. Alex felt that the only thing they could do was stand and fight when the time came. And who would win against the master of all evil? The one who had turned the world into this?

What if two months from now, this current situation looked good in comparison? What if Lucifer swooped in and stole Sam and actually accomplished his plans? On the flip side, what if he never showed and they were left to die slowly of starvation or freezing? What if Croatoans surged in and turned everyone inside this safe haven of theirs? And one of the worst what-if's of all: What if they had to opt out of life to avoid suffering? What if it came to killing each other to save each other?

…These were not the kinds of thoughts a new mother should have to be weighing. But Alex was weighing them all the same. A lump slowly rose, thick in her throat. It took a long moment to find her voice. "…I just want this shit to end," she whispered. The stress levels were unbearable. Beyond what humans were designed to endure. She was going to break in half if this kept up much longer. "One way or the other."

Dean agonized right along with her. "It will. It has to." But he in no way sounded convinced.

A sudden small beep beep politely sounded, alerting the siblings that eight in the morning had finally come.

Dean checked his watch with a distracted frown. Their conversation was still muddying his mind. "Relief's late."

Just as he said it, the top of the ladder nearby began to shake, indicating someone was climbing up. A second later, Sam's head appeared and he hauled himself up, his footsteps clomping loudly on the roof of the shipping container they stood on. Like Dean, he had stopped shaving regularly and instead constantly sported a five o'clock shadow. His collar-length hair was visible underneath a knit hat pulled down over his ears. He wore several smaller weapons and a vague, grim expression. "Morning, troops," he greeted pleasantly enough—you had to really know him to catch the stress and dread underneath the shield. "Everything good?"

Dean answered for himself and Alex both. "Good as it can be."

Sam had noticeably shut down and emotionally withdrawn since Chicago. He either threw himself into endless tasks or was nowhere to be found. Molly let it slip to Alex one day that he had nightmares every night and wouldn't tell her what they were about. Alex could easily intuit the subject matter—it didn't take a rocket scientist to know his deepest fear. But Sam had never mentioned his nightmares to his family, and still hadn't. Dean and Alex worried over him constantly, knowing all they stood to lose. After all, they had been through this before—however, this round made the first apocalypse seem like a kid's birthday party.

Dean had actually begged Sam not to do watchtower shifts—and to avoid leaving the compound at all, for any reason whatsoever. While Sam had brokenheartedly agreed that leaving the compound wasn't a good idea with the devil prowling around out there, he had insisted on manning the watchtower and doing his duty to protect the group 'just like everyone else.' Dean hadn't liked it. But had agreed.

So that brought them here to now. Alex handed her rifle over to Sam. "Only five tonight," she reported, catching her twin's gaze meaningfully.

"Hm." Sam took her meaning: there weren't many humans left anywhere, or Croatoans. Population was shrinking toward zero. "Less all the time." His mouth formed a thin line.

Less all the time maybe should have felt promising. But it just meant they were more alone in this desolate world than ever. Alex joined her brother in briefly looking out at the seemingly innocent, quiet landscape before them. Pine trees dusted by white marched as far as the eye could see. It was serene—if you looked out beyond the five bloody spots on the snow and could ignore the sickly gray cast over everything. Alex glanced at her twin questioningly. "How many you think are left out there?"

A dismal beat passed before Sam gave the slightest shake of the head. "Not many."

She thought the same. Planet earth was increasingly empty of everything except cold, evil, and pain.

Dean made an aggravated huffing sound. "All right, enough with the depression session." He pointed vaguely at the both of them. "You two gotta keep your minds right if we're gonna beat this thing."

That earned him a surprisingly knowing, amused glance from Sam. "What, your mind's solid?"

Dean grumbled and rolled his eyes. "Come on Sam, bite me—I'm just trying to keep spirits up." He watched as his brother checked his weapon over. "Who's your watch partner today, anyway? They're late."

Deep in concentration as he inspected the chamber and safety of the gun, Sam briefly glanced at the ladder. "See for yourself."

The ladder was indeed shaking again as someone ascended. A second later, up popped a goofy grinning face and Dean gave Sam quite a look. Because it was none other than Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth.

Hauling himself up in a gangly mass of long limbs, the dweeb in question wore bright colors in contrast to the Winchester's dark, steely outfits: a rainbow toboggan hat with a knit pom-pom, orange gloves, and fuzzy ear warmers (because of course he wore ear warmers). Even his weapon choices were odd: a sack of throwing stars accompanied a huge swashbuckling sword on his belt. He'd shown up not long after Chicago with his 'real good newbie hunting bud' in tow, a young woman named Charlie Bradbury. "Well buenos días, muchachos!" he greeted warmly. "Dean, Alex—you're looking swell."

Garth's good mood annoyed Dean like always. "We look like a couple underfed freezer burnt popsicles."

Alex found the energy to contribute a sarcastic followup. "With guns."

Garth giggled, shaking his head. "Classic D and A, you two so silly. Now, gimme." He motioned eagerly for Dean to hand over his SR-15, which Dean did very grudgingly. They had a shorter supply of long guns, so watchtower volunteers had to trade off on weapons. When the firearm transferred hands, Garth held it correctly and demonstrated excellent safety protocols as always—even while delivering a ridiculous comment to his more reserved partner. "All right, Sam-bo! Them Croats better watch out. The Garthinator is feelin' reeeal deadly today." He wiggled his eyebrows at the crew. "Pew pew!"

Dean watched with a confounded expression. "How the hell you always in such a good mood? It's the goddamn apocalypse, Garth!"

A modest shrug came his way. "Even more reason to keep smiling—otherwise, a guy'd just go crazy!"

Dean muttered something about already being there then clapped his brother on the shoulder. "He's all yours, Sammy."

Sam took his fate in stride, revealing very little of his mindset except steadfast weariness. "Yup. See you two later."

Tired and cold to the bone, Dean and Alex scaled down the ladder and began to make their way toward the bunker's main entrance. Getting there involved a lot of zigzagging through dirty packed-down paths that wound through a maze of tents.

"That guy is like coke personified," Dean mumbled, rubbing his hands together briskly for warmth. "Gives me a headache."

Alex agreed, even if she did generally like Garth and his odd ways. What she wanted to talk about was Sam. She opened her mouth—and then forgot what she was gonna say completely as they walked past the central bonfire. Sparks were spitting out of the top, prompting her to turn her gaze backward. A strange feeling of deja vu overcame her—or maybe it wasn't deja vu. There was something about those sparks that made her feel like there was a thought right at the edge of her mind, but she couldn't quite grasp onto it. She tried harder to reach for the thought, and she swore the thought moved further away, dodging out of her grasp completely. "Whoa," Dean said, grabbing her by the arm hard to stop her on a dime. She'd almost walked into a tent. "You good?" Seeing the confusion on her face he immediately grew worried and spoke more covertly. "What is it?"

Alex shook her head like that might knock the stupid off her brain. Nothing changed, and the near-gaffe embarrassed her—she'd had a couple other episodes like this of feeling suddenly blank and confused. Dean was waiting expectantly for her reply and Alex tried to brush it off and save face. "Ah, nothing, I just… I just keep feeling like I'm forgetting something, you know? Or was supposed to be doing something." She rubbed a fist into a tired eye, hoping he'd let it go. She didn't want him to know how much it was bothering her or how defunct she felt these days. Enough terrible shit was going on as it was. "It's nothing. Mom brain."

Dean chuckled and put his arm around her in a sudden moment of sweetness. It melted Alex. "Ah, must be kind of like Dad brain." He gave her a conspiratorial smirk and began to walk them toward the bunker again. "I was trying to put a shirt on Rose yesterday. Turns out it was pants." He chuckled ruefully. "She got real mad when I stuck her head into a pant leg. Baby clothes are weird."

The brother and sister shared a brief, rare smile. Their children were some of the only bright spots left in the world. Bright spots that could so easily be wiped out. Up ahead, a couple of kids under age ten ran across the path, sword fighting with sticks, their laughter and shouts making puffs of vapor. Dean and Alex's smiles wavered, replaced by tense worry. They wondered if their children would ever reach those ages. Dean's arm left his sister's shoulder and his hands shoved into his pockets.

The pair passed by a smaller campfire in front of Owen Solomon's tent—he'd shown up a couple weeks after Chicago all by himself. His entire hunting crew and family were gone. He was one of Jamie's old hunting contacts, one of Dean's too. A fierce and intimidatingly built Samoan man, Owen sized them up with inscrutable eyes before returning to hunching in front of the fire. He was not friendly, and barely spoke to anyone. Alex had shared a guard shift with him one night a few days ago. He'd spoken four words to her the entire twelve hours. Not that she minded. But she had noticed how hostile he felt.

Dean lowered his voice to a covert mutter. "Sometimes I get the feeling if this goes on too much longer, he's gonna be a problem."

Alex understood that fear. Every day there was tension between everyone here, and many relationships that had previously been good felt strained. The hunter refugees and the civilian refugees didn't entirely understand each other or the way they were handling the situation. Some of the camp inhabitants complained that the bunker should be offered to all of them, not just the Winchesters and their chosen few. After all, the bunker interior was the only place left in Kansas with electricity, all thanks to the built in generator that worked off the powerful river that ran alongside the structure. Lights and heating systems were highly valuable to survivors. So some sort of uprising or revolt wasn't too far out of the realm of possibility. Humans turned on each other in situations like this one—Dean knew that. Alex knew that. And it truly wasn't selfishness or greed that kept the Winchesters from letting everyone in to the increasingly crowded bunker. It was the fact that despite everything, they were still guardians of all the knowledge and power left within the supernatural fortress—and like Dean had pointed out, they couldn't trust anyone but each other. So the boundary had to stay.

As brother and sister got close to the promise of warmth and rest, a familiar patrolling camp member walked past with her long gun held tight against her body. Hawkish eyes and plain features were stark in the bitter cold. "Morning, comrades."

Dean nodded stiffly, his mood closing off a notch or two. "Gwen."

Another wildcard newcomer they were unsure about: Gwen Campbell. Their long-lost cousin had shown up with her hunter girlfriend Krystal, the two sole survivors of whatever hunting crew they'd been in prior. Both were cordial enough, but Gwen's connection to Samuel Campbell had given the Winchesters major pause. It still did. But what were they gonna do, kick her out because they didn't like who she was related to? They were related to Samuel too.

Up ahead, the bunker door abruptly swung open and out came a very pleasant surprise to greet Alex and Dean: Cas. The newly human ex-angel wore his new choice of outfit: a tan bomber jacket over jeans and a random band t-shirt (one of Dean's castoffs). In his arms he held what looked like a huge blob of blankets. That could only be one thing: their baby boy. Alex's mood surged upwards immediately, defying circumstance.

Grinning, she dashed across the rest of the short distance. "Hey guys!" First she found CJ's perturbed little face—his expression seemed to be wondering 'what the fuck?' and no wonder—they didn't bring him outside for more than a minute or two at a time because of the extreme cold. Chuckling, Alex dropped a little series of kisses on his grumpy face before hugging Cas and kissing him too. "Missed you guys." She ran a hand over Cas's unkempt hair. For just the briefest moment, the entire world was the three of them and nothing else. "Did you get some sleep?"

Although his eyes were tired and lined with under-eye circles, Cas's mouth lifted up into a crooked, endearing smile. His gentle nature had not been stolen away by circumstances, even ones as bad as these. "Well, let's just say I thought I understood the word tired before I became a human," he joked quietly before nodding back toward the bunker door and lowering his voice a bit. "I made us coffee—I found an extra can in one of the storage rooms."

The thought of a steaming mug of java, as simple as it was, briefly had Alex floating on cloud nine. "That sounds amazing." Dean was approaching steadily. Alex nodded toward the bunker door, throwing an arm around her brother as he arrived. "Let's get in outta the cold, huh?"

---

October 27, 2014

Having just woken up at whatever cursed hour it was, Alex trudged alone through the cold hallways of the bunker with aching joints, weary eyes, and a sore jaw from another night of clenching her jaw tight without meaning to. She would still be in the warmth of her bed if it wasn't for being on unload duty. Admittedly, she had a shit attitude about it too. But she had a shit attitude about everything these days.

The only times she ever felt happy or okay anymore were brief and stolen.

Like that moment yesterday when Cas greeted her after night watch.

Like a brief joke with Dean and a gentle shoulder pat from Dad.

Like little sleepy vignettes spent with CJ hiding away in their room—the only place that felt untouched by what had happened to the outside world.

Like a kiss, a whisper, a touch from Castiel. Like an urgent and breathy encounter stolen in the darkest hours of the night.

But in all other moments of the day, Alex dwelled on sinister things and grew increasingly hopeless and depressed. She was understanding more and more just how good things were before, and mourning for all that was lost. Civilization: gone. Food chain supply: gone. Peace of mind: gone. Hope: gone. Other humans: mostly gone. Instead, something big and terrible sat in power above them all, poising like a viper to strike at the crumbled ruins of humanity.

With thoughts like these constantly churning her mind into a frantic and paranoid wreck, was it any wonder how she was dealing with things? When Alex wasn't making herself report for duty, she hid in her room and let herself pretend the outside world was the same as it had been before. Their room was cozy and tidy, a tiny sanctuary. Cas pasted magazine clippings every time he found them to the walls, making it more welcoming for their baby: cutouts of cute animals, happy faces, and pretty nature scenes lined the walls in tidy rows. Items found while scavenging in the wrecked outside world had also slowly accumulated: a rocking horse. A fluffy round rug. Some little wooden building blocks. A tiny bookshelf. Some toddler's clothes. Alex kept those clothes put far away in the bottom of a drawer where she wouldn't see them. She didn't even know if she would live to see her baby's first steps—so hiding the outfits somehow gave her a small reprieve from stewing in frantic existential dread.

Conversations were few and far between. Silence felt easier and more familiar. The constant stress and anxiety made Alex's brain foggy and sense of time drift. Nothing felt right anymore. The only type of routine or dependable normalcy was accomplished by volunteering for watch shifts or going out on scavenging missions. Everything else was just upside down, and she questioned her sanity frequently—her ability to think was unraveling more and more all the time. For example, yesterday evening she'd found smelting tongs underneath her pillow for some reason. Cas swore he hadn't put them there, which left Alex to figure she'd done it while on autopilot at some point or something. But it made no sense as to why. The smelter was kept in the basement, and she had never used it. Alex chalked it up to her declining mental health and sleep deprivation. She did still have an infant after all, and between him and her other responsibilities, there wasn't much time for sleep.

However, exhaustion wasn't something new to her. Alex was used to running on fumes after a lifetime of doing exactly that. Cas however was not. His newfound humanity saw him struggling against constant fatigue and sometimes being reduced to tears because of it. He really was so tender-hearted and sensitive, and seeing him so despondent broke Alex on levels she could barely fathom. She felt to blame somehow. But either way and despite his challenges, Cas put his best face forward and did his share, mostly in the kitchen and pantry and with caring for their son. He had discovered a knack for organizing and planning, and always had a perfect running inventory of available items in his head. He didn't complain. Instead he endured quietly, constant like a star in the sky.

Alex suddenly found herself in the bunker's command center with little memory of walking there. Again, the weight of her thoughts scared her. Shaking herself off, she took in a deep breath. From where he manned the security camera monitors, Bobby glanced up at her and nodded ever so faintly. Sitting with a half-done ratty sudoku booklet he'd found on a scavenging trip, he looked both incredibly bored and extremely on edge. Something Alex relaxed to very strongly. Neither said anything. Alex was thankful for his silence and trudged across the space toward the stairs.

The command center felt chaotic and despairing. It was now a war-room: multiple maps littered the walls and tables, red marks tracking known Lucifer sightings and major disaster zones. A weapons cache sat near the staircase, and several written plans of action for contingencies were posted up near the old radar machine. Logs of what had taken place during each watchtower shift and scavenging mission stacked up high. Taped up beside the kitchen entry, a rations flowchart reminded people of what daily amounts of food were allowed. The low sound of static emanated from the radio console where Linda Tran currently posted up with a crossword and an expression of lethargic disquiet. Broadcasts from other survivor cells were fewer and fewer all the time.

Alex dragged herself up the metal stairs to the exit, bracing for the bone-chilling outside temperatures by zipping her jacket all the way up to her chin. Reminding herself how lucky she was to have shelter to return to at all, she pushed the door open and suppressed a shiver of both cold and distaste as the damp relentless chill hit her. The dull gray expanse overhead cast the world in a dirty monotone that immediately made Alex's already poor mood worse. Her spirit yearned for blue skies and sunshine—yet another thing she would never see again, apparently.

Nearby on an uncertain foot patrol, Charlie perked up to see someone. Underneath a warm winter hat with little knit animal ears on it, her elfish features hovered between nervousness and eagerness, even in these circumstances. "Hiya Alex!" Her greeting came through a breathy grin.

Alex immediately dodged. "Hey Charlie." Guiltily schlepping past, she tried not to make eye contact with the other woman—because then she'd have to see the disappointment on the redhead's face. The hacker-turned-hunter was a friend of her brothers and they'd both been very glad to see her alive and well and invited her into the bunker to stay. Alex still hadn't gotten to know her too well, but that wasn't anyone's fault but her own. She just didn't have the bandwidth. The ever-present feeling of wanting to hide continued, as well as the need to be left alone.

Lemme just get this crap over with then I can just go be in my room with my baby and my husband.

Today Alex had somehow ended up being on unload duty, and dreaded it like everything else. Scavenging was essential and frequent in this new world of theirs. Every couple days, a caravan of vehicles manned by armed volunteers would head out into the dangerous outside world to forage goods and dodge the roaming Croatoans. The times Alex had gone along on these missions were the stuff of nightmares: Demolished buildings and unrecognizable cities. Empty homes. Roadways covered in wrecks, abandoned cars, and all matter of debris. Sometimes, they found human remains.

Meg went on every single run and by this time had made claim on her favorite vehicle—a 1976 Ford F-150 with huge tires and midnight black detailing. That's where Alex was headed now. She scuffed across the dirty snow toward where all the vehicles congregated. Most of them were already being unloaded. Standing in the vehicle, Meg was busy throwing things off the end of the truck bed—a wheelbarrow and a dented up shopping cart waited to be filled then divided between bunker and power plant residents. As Alex arrived, Meg threw a huge sack of rice off the end of the truck bed to the ground. "You're late, sweetcheeks."

Alex ignored the irritating comment. Craning her neck, she could see various sized boxes, crates, and containers of dry goods haphazardly crammed into the truck in no semblance of order. Everything was pretty derelict, but it was a really encouraging amount of stuff. "Anything good?" In reply, a large, heavy box came flying at her without any warning. Barely catching it, Alex threw it down with a sudden burst of absolute rage. "Goddammit Meg, it's too early for this crap!"

Meg lifted a single, patronizing brow from where she stood on higher ground. "Mm. Your skills of observation need a little work these days, huh."

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Alex impatiently glared down at the box she'd tossed aside. Her stomach flipped and she went still when she saw the pastel box labeled with kiddy font. Baby formula. When she looked up with stunned eyes, she realized there were additional boxes of the same in the truck bed further back. Dumbfounded, Alex gaped at Meg.

"You're welcome," the demon said breezily, already back to dragging stuff down the truck bed.

Absolutely embarrassed, Alex stared at the boxes as her brain made the connection: She wasn't going to have to worry about feeding her son for at least a few weeks, if not longer. Her heart clenched and a flood of tears came. She blinked them away hurriedly, ears burning. "T-thank you."

"Mmhmm."

While Meg continued to work, Alex stayed in place fighting her emotions and an increasing confusion. Their ex-enemy had become one of the most integral parts of this post-apocalyptic camp. Alex had always figured it was because there weren't any other options. But maybe it wasn't.

Noticing the other woman's expression, Meg paused her work and frowned. "What?"

Alex opened her mouth twice to start to answer before a final third successful time. "Meg, you could literally be anywhere in the world right now. And you're here. Doing this. Why?"

Meg's scrutiny broke into a pleased little expression. "Now Ariel, a girl doesn't just go around spilling all her secrets." She motioned at the dog-eared boxes and dented cans she was pulling to the tail of the truck. "Now look busy, I don't have all day."

Pff. Alex almost retorted out loud about how all any of them had anymore was 'all day.' But she suppressed the urge and retreated into deep thought as she began to dutifully sort the stuff between the wheelbarrow and the shopping cart. Privately, Alex kept wondering about Meg. The demon kept her cards close to her chest, that was for damn sure. But so was something else, and after a minute of plucking her courage up to share the sentiment, Alex sighed with aggravation to herself and just came out with it. "Look, for whatever it's worth… it's good to have you on our side this time around."

That caused Meg a moment of genuine surprise and delight. She grinned broadly with sparkling eyes. "Aw shucks. A compliment! Didn't know you knew how! Makes me all warm and tingly!" Alex deflated with a sigh and an aggravated eye roll. Clearly, one serious moment without endless innuendos was too much to ask for. Surprisingly, Meg softened at Alex's exasperation. "Look, I got one schtick, okay? Don't knock it if it's solid."

Alex was already back to sorting cans, shaking her head ruefully and muttering back a reply. "I'll try not to." Canned clams, canned potato salad, canned bread among other oddities and some not so bad options. Grimacing, she resentfully tossed a plastic jar of pickled pig's feet into the pile of portions that would go into the bunker while mumbling an insult at the disgusting item under her breath.

Meg eyed Alex sidelong. "What's with the stick up your ass, anyway?"

Alex wondered if Meg really was that dense. "Look around, dude."

A pious smile came her way. "I have, and I see your family here with you, a sweet baby boy, your angel… and best of all, me! Could be worse, that's all I'm saying." Enjoying the expression on Alex's face, Meg's grin only got bigger and more teasing. "Don't get mad that I'm right!"

Disgruntled at the callout, Alex muttered tersely and said nothing further. Meg continued her work dutifully, but not without amusement.

For a minute, the two worked in quiet before Meg started bloviating again for whatever reason. "You know, I've been thinking. If the world doesn't go down the drain, I gotta get a new hobby." A trollish smile played as she shoved a box of canned beets down the length of the truck bed. "Seeing as I'm immortal and the equivalent of a human psychopath, I thought I'd try my hand out at Wall Street. Whatcha think?"

Finally, Alex felt a little bit of herself return. "Wall Street doesn't exist anymore, dumbass." Obviously, Meg knew that. The demon was chuckling, and Alex realized Meg was just trying to get her to lighten up. For a minute, she pictured Meg screaming about the dow plummeting or whatever in Times Square and had to admit—that was pretty funny, if highly absurd. It begged a genuine curiosity: "What would you do next if the world didn't end? For real."

Meg didn't like the question. Or rather, she became a little guarded and unsure. For a second, Alex could see the wheels turning and fully expected to get a worthless joke response. But then Meg answered honestly. "Ah. Maybe go home. Lay some old feelings to rest out there."

So surprised by the comment, Alex froze for a moment and her eyes darted over to the demon, wondering if this was some attempt to work up for a punchline. But Meg's discomfort told her it was an honest reply. Home. Feelings. Intrigued, Alex spoke cautiously, trying to sound casual. "I thought demons didn't have feelings."

A challenging glance came her way. "Yeah and once upon a time, you thought angels didn't have feelings either. Look how that turned out." Well. Touché. Alex hid her chagrin with a flustered smile and Meg huffed, turning a little prim and short. She'd finished tossing stuff off the end of the truck and jumped down onto the ground to help sort the remaining pile. "I do have feelings, okay?" She crouched at the pile and pawed through some cans, appearing distinctly uncomfortable. "Didn't always." She stood up and put cans into each vessel with loaded silence and for a second, Alex thought they'd just continued to work without words. And then Meg spoke again in a quiet kind of voice Alex had never heard from her. "I'm sorry I killed Ellen and Jo." Shocked, Alex's eyes flew to the demon and found her face a mask and her eyes unwilling to meet. "Think about that all the time. And… a thousand other things too." Obviously surprised at herself, Meg tried to regain her confidence, but she remained vulnerable. She threw a can down with more gusto than needed and huffed again. "What the hell. Since you had an honest moment back there, here's mine: I… really appreciate you giving me a chance. You didn't have to. And I won't ever forget it." She looked like she had a bad taste in her mouth. "So there." She resumed working with more force than needed.

Blown away, Alex knew she had to respond carefully—and decided on Meg's preferred method of communication: the shield of sarcasm. "Well look where that chance got you. Sorting disgusting canned food for a bunch of starving, mortal saps."

Grateful for the mercy of humor, Meg easily found her way back to being comfortable and cracked a playful grin. "Maybe I like it, you ever think of that?"

Alex should have left it there, but she couldn't. After a thoughtful couple beats watching the demon doing her work, she had to say it: "Somewhere along the way… Meg, you really did change."

A guarded flick of the eyes came her direction and for a moment, Meg worked quietly as she thought of how to reply. "Guess I've decided I like the Winchester way," she mused momentarily. "Fight the common problem. Strength in numbers." She paused significantly and that maddening coy smile returned. "And let's be real, I like how you have a habit of taking in strays." At that moment, she indicated Alex look with a thrust of the chin. "Speaking of." Kevin and Kyle walked by carrying milk crates full of supplies. As they walked away, a little glance and a telling sort of smile could be glimpsed betwen the two young men. Meg watched them moonily before giving Alex a knowing look. "They really think we all don't know, don't they?" She was grinning again. A puff of vapor escaped. "Adorable."

Eyes silently following after the boys for a couple beats, Alex hid a smile. So Meg had figured it out too. Alex had realized a week or two ago. After passing a storage closet and hearing a bunch of commotion in it, she had whipped the door open with a broom held high, thinking there were rats at war in there or something. Instead, she'd interrupted quite the passionate make-out session between the ex-Leviathan and the prophet. It was hard to say who was more stunned of the three of them, and Alex's jaw had literally dropped open as her eyes shot wide. Bumbling, Kevin had turned beet red and exclaimed in a huff, "well I guess I'm bi, okay?!" then yanked Kyle away with him—Kyle who had sent a goofy grin over his shoulder at Alex. Strangely enough, to know love was blossoming even in times like these… it had made her smile. Her eyes and thoughts returned to her demonic co-worker, who was dutifully moving cans around without complaint. Things really had changed around here. Kyle had found redemption somewhere along the way. And so had the demon once Alex's sworn and mortal enemy. Alex felt a fond expression on her face and found herself saying something she never would have imagined thinking, much less sharing. "Proud of you, Meg."

Meg halted mid-motion, startled eyes darting up to Alex's. Maybe she was looking for evidence that it was a joke. Or sarcasm. But Alex meant it and shrugged. She understood how weird it was. But with potential death on the horizon every day, Alex figured why not say the tough stuff? And anyway, it was true. She did feel proud, as odd and expected as that was. Meg let out a surprised, touched exhale—that she very quickly tried to cover up. She cleared her throat and tried for a cool, aloof smile. Alex expected some sort of irreverent reply. But what came was: "That's a very nice thing to say."

There was an unspoken question there. And Alex again found herself shrugging, uncomfortable, and unsure how to say it right. "Yeah well." She grabbed at some items, avoiding eye contact. "Friends say nice things about each other sometimes, I guess."

Meg's face changed. Her voice changed. "Friends." It was a question and a statement at the same time. Alex swore she saw more than just emotion in the demon's eyes.

Alex pulled a face to save them both from what was becoming incredibly uncomfortable. She rummaged through the cans to look busy. "Oh good. Canned herring." She tossed it haphazardly over her shoulder, and a yelp sounded from nearby.

Whirled, Alex saw Garth holding a hand to his head, wincing. "Oh, shit—!" Alex cringed. "Sorry!"

Garth straightened up, putting on a tough-guy facade. "It's okay ladies—please don't concern yourself. I'm right as rain. It'll take more than a recklessly thrown canned item to take ole Garth down!" He winked and tipped his head to both women before loping off… all while rubbing a hand to his head where he'd been hit.

"Whoops," Alex muttered, torn between laughing and feeling bad.

"What do you think would take him down?" Meg asked, back to her trolling ways.

Alex glanced over, the humor of it beginning to sink in. "Well we can take canned beans off the list."

A can came flying her way, and Alex caught it deftly. Meg smiled at her, and Alex swore there was a certain type of fondness there. "Back to work Winchester."

As they two of them finished up, Alex realized she'd just experienced another small instance of feeling okay. Of something similar to happiness. And as out of left-field as it was, she was grateful.

---

October 30, 2014

The melodic repeats of Rush poured out of the Impala's stereo. Intensely beautiful and semi-psychedelic chord progressions bookended nonsensical lyrics about Tom Sawyer, society, and 'the river.' With heavy eyelids at half-mast, Dean smiled to himself as the tune rolled over like a comforting, familiar blanket. Back in the day, Moving Pictures had always been one of his favorite cassettes to play when he was in a mellow mood with miles and miles of road ahead. There, it had all been a sacred harmony of music, wind, and the anticipation of arriving to a new destination.

Today, the car windows weren't rolled down to let in the fresh air, scenery wasn't whizzing by in a blur, and the engine's baseline of noisy vibration was not present. The car sat stationary in the Winchesters' newest discovery: the bunker's previously-secret auto garage. Packed to the gills with vintage cars, the industrial space was an auto-heads paradise. Dean and Alex had been amazed to accidentally discover it two days prior.

Today's spontaneous hangout had started when Dean found Alex listlessly listening to tunes in the Impala—hiding, he'd called it. And he was right. She was depressed, and it broke his heart to see. So he'd joined her and in the middle of idle half-conversation where they both commiserated and gotten more mutually depressed, he'd found a very old, very forgotten half marijuana joint in the glove box under some old tapes. At the discovery the siblings met eyes and had a silent conversation in seconds that ended with them agreeing hell yeah they were gonna smoke it.

When Sam stumbled upon his delinquent siblings blazing up, his request to join in had surprised Dean at first before delighting him. It was suddenly just like old times: The three of them pausing responsibilities for a second to share a fun little secret. It was a reminiscence that gave him the most beautiful light in his soul.

…But that was probably the weed talking.

Dean slouched irreverently in the front seat as he took one last long deep, long drag of sweet stinging smoke. He coughed as he tried to hold it in as long as possible, sputtering and wheezing out laughter as his siblings laughed—having just done the same thing. Sam sat in a comfortable lean in the corner made by the door and his seat. Alex was in the back seat laying down stomach-first, cheek resting against leather with feet casually kicking up into the air. Dean sighed as he looked at the joint, realizing that the spliff was all used up. But it had done the trick. Every last muscle in his body briefly happy and relaxed. Someone sighed contentedly.

Dean found himself yearning. Reflecting on things he didn't let his mind dwell on otherwise. A fond, bittersweet smile crossed his face as he thought of life before and how much he missed even the most banal things: complaining about gas prices. Keeping track of sports teams. Walking into a store to buy something brand new. Even being stuck in traffic sounded incredible right now. "Never thought I'd say this, but I miss society."

Alex sighed dreamily somewhere behind him. "I'd literally kill for a burger and fries."

Instantly, Dean smiled, his eyes scanning the car ceiling above sightlessly as he dreamed hungrily. "And a big slice of pie." He could almost taste it.

"With ice cream," Sam murmured, which got him two weird looks from the family junk-food addicts. "What?!" the health-food obsessed weirdo defended through a crooked, stupid grin. "I like stuff too!"

Dean scoffed even as Alex heaved herself up and plopped folded arms between the brothers. An overly suspicious and amused expression was aimed at her twin. "All you like is spinach and kin-owa."

Sam grew predictably lecturing. "It's pronounced keen-wah." Dean shook his head, thoroughly amused. Quinoa was rabbit food, and his brother was never gonna convince either of them otherwise.

"'It's pronounced keen-wah,'" Alex repeated mockingly—mostly out of love.

Dean chuckled again, delighted by how light and carefree the moment was. Sam ruffled their sister's hair with so much force that she ducked away and snorted, hitting her head on the car somehow in the process. She clapped hands to her face and smothered a giggle as Sam dissolved into a laugh of his own. "Nice going, space case."

"Hey, you two chuckleheads straighten up or I'm pulling this thing over!" Dean chided, his chest full to the point of bursting with love. He'd needed this moment more than he realized. He was pretty sure they'd needed it just as bad too. Alex dropped the copycat act and scrubbed Sam's hair instead, earning a halfhearted protesting sound mingled with laughter as he ducked away. Grin remaining, Dean felt younger for that small, blessed moment. "Ah, I miss the way things were," he sighed out, which got a mystified, confused grin from his brother.

"The way things were when?"

Dean snorted, because it seemed like a dumb question with all things considered. "Hmm. Lemme think. Oh I dunno. Anytime other than right frickin' now."

Sam was darkly amused. "What, like the first apocalypse?" he suggested. Dean's face fell and his eyes rolled as he realized Sam was gonna go technicalities. "Or maybe when I had no soul. Or maybe the time when—"

"All right, all right—" Dean sighed out rueful defeat, laughing a little despite himself. What an absolutely nuts life they'd led. "I get it. Shit always sucks if your last name's Winchester."

There was a contemplative silence. Then he heard the gentle and reflective smile on Alex's voice. "It didn't always suck." That sure was a nice thing of her to say. And she was right.

Dean reached a hand out and put it on the wheel, squeezing until the familiar creak gave. In front of his eyes through the windshield, his mind's eye could summon up every kind of highway and back road he'd ever driven this car down. Coast to coast, forest to desert to mountain to city and everywhere in between with these two clowns riding shotgun and taking up the rear. It made his heart soft and gentle. "Yeah, we did all right the three of us, didn't we?"

Sam sounded just as reflective as Dean felt. "We really did." The brothers exchanged a small smile. And then like a dark cloud, Dean saw the uncertainty and doubt coming over his brother's face. The memory of all surrounding circumstance. "How responsible was this of us?" Sam asked doubtfully. "I mean, getting high at a time like this?"

Dean tried to keep the fatigue out of his exhale. He should have known the family prude would strike again. "It's the end of the world, Sam," he reminded. "Gotta treat yourself while you still can."

There was a brief silence. "Yeah. It is the end of the world. Which means he could show up any moment."

He. Lucifer.

A muscle jumped in Dean's jaw, and the euphoria he floated on took a steep dive. He knew that. They all knew that. They all lived in fear of it. And Dean quite frankly didn't wanna talk about it. "Well at least you'd be nice and mellow for the show," he wisecracked evasively.

The words were sort of brusque, and the entire vibe inside the Impala began to shift. Sam's silence was heavy and charged. It went without saying that his fears were the most intense. Being Lucifer's vessel guaranteed that much. But sadly, Dean didn't know exactly how his brother felt this time around. Similar to his twin, Sam had shut down in a lot of ways. He had lost some weight, grown very haggard and quiet, and gave off an energy of hopelessness. Today, probably thanks to the pot, a vulnerable side showed. "Look guys…" he finally started huskily, "even if we do survive this…"

"Sam. Stop." Dean made his tone gentle but also firm. The brothers held eyes for a long, conflicted silence. "We don't know shit about what happens next. We don't. So let's not go there til we're there. We just gotta stick together where we can, and have each other's backs. Like we always have." He waited for Sam to nod or show affirmation in any other kind of way. But Sam was quiet and doubtful. "Deal?" Dean prompted a little forcefully. Maybe his brother needed another reminder. "We did it once. We can do it again."

Sam's tortured hazel eyes quietly pondered the windshield, a thousand unspoken heartbreaks making his shoulders slouch. "We did do it. But just barely." Miserable, he bowed his head. "…I'm tired, Dean." He studied the dashboard with blind eyes. "It's… it's just all too much for one person."

The way it hurt him to hear those words and the sadness behind them. Dean nodded heavily, regret coloring every atom as he tried to think of a way to respond. No wonder they all ran from conversations like this—it was too pessimistic. Too daunting. "I know, brother. I know." He grasped Sam's shoulder with a firm hand, forcing his own negativity out. "But it's not just one person—" he reminded, hoping the strength behind his words reached his brother. "It's us. And hell, it's more than us. A whole lot more." They had to remember that, because it was so easy to shut down and feel alone in this strange new world of theirs. Dean almost had to smile though when he thought of the tenacity of all those who had survived. "Y'know it used to be just us three suckers against the world," he reflected. "We were damn near all we had. Felt like it'd always be that way. Look at us now. I mean this is a whole operation!" Sometimes it felt like a burden to keep all these survivors alive and rallied. But end of the day, at least they weren't alone. Dad was here with them. Their children. Their romantic partners. Dean didn't let himself forget it for a second. "And what are we gonna do, anyway? Run away?" The idea was laughable. There was nowhere left to run—it was time to go toe to toe and see what happened next. In his semi-stoned state, he could have almost smiled as he shook his head ruefully. "This shit's destiny. Us and the fate of the world or whatever."

Some silence passed before a predictable grumble sounded. "Yeah well fate blows."

Dean glanced into the rearview mirror, finding Alex's familiar, sullen face. All he felt was love. The tiniest, most bittersweet smile appeared. "You said it, kiddo."

Her eyes caught his, and the measure of affection he'd said his words with hit home. She softened ever so slightly.

Sam watched the little interaction with a reflective smile of his own, and for a moment, everyone relaxed into a companionable silence. "I'm proud of you guys," Sam said presently in a hoarse murmur. Two surprised, intrigued frowns came his way. The middle Winchester shrugged, fidgeting with a gaze that avoided eye contact. "This crap's so hard. And you never quit." His eyes glittered as his smile stretched across his face in an attempt to hide the pain and defeat. He looked at each of them in turn. "You're both a lot tougher than me."

Puzzled and dismayed, Alex's face scrunched up. Dean deflated. "Come on Sammy, that's not true…" he protested, trying to think of a way to rally the troops.

His words fell on deaf ears. Sam was plucking up his courage. "Look… if somehow—" He wet his lips and tried again. "If somehow I don't make it, and you two do? Just want you to know I'm glad I got to have you two for a brother and a sister."

Those words struck him to the core. The desolate fear Sam clearly felt made Dean feel powerless, and his instinct was to bully his brother into either silence or a change of mind. But he stopped himself. That was old Dean. What Sam needed was for his sentiment to be heard, accepted, and requited. It was. And Dean mindlessly fell into an old habit of answering for himself and Alex both: "We're glad too." Dean let himself meet Sam's gaze, and the depth of emotion made the eye contact difficult. "You know, a lot of brothers and sisters just end up strangers after eighteen. Living different lives, going separate ways…" Dean felt a wavering smile on his face as his voice got all husky. "I'm glad we got to be together." He put a hand that lingered on Sam's shoulder. "I really really am." Deeply touched, his brother smiled back through watery eyes. And Dean suddenly needed to escape before he had a full on breakdown. "Jesus Christ, it's getting sappy in here," he joked weakly before he switched the music off, opened the door, and got out to lean on the car and drag a hand across his face. After a minute Alex followed his lead, and so did Sam, just more slowly. As the smallest Winchester leaned against the back hood of the car with a thoughtful, far-off expression, Dean eyed her. "Awful quiet, Mouse."

Her dodging eyes revealed little. "Just thinking."

"…About?"

There was a shallow, self-conscious shrug. She didn't want to go into it. "Depressing shit." Sam had finished exiting the car by this point, and his drawn expression was difficult to see. Alex hugged him wordlessly, and they stayed together for a long second, both of their worry about each other clear in the way they embraced.

Dean watched the two of them and privately had his own moment of pride mixed with sadness. They were being so brave. But they would always be his kid siblings who were scared of the dark and needed their big brother's encouragement to make it. "Look you two. We just gotta keep going. That's it. One foot in front of the other. The rest'll come."

Sam didn't look convinced, but he wasn't outright rejecting the idea either. Instead he tried to be positive. He and Alex broke apart and exchanged a sort of wan smile. "First step, gotta sober up," he said with a self-conscious grin. He abruptly became paranoid and his voice inexplicably dropped to a whisper. "…Do I look high?" Alex chuckled deep in her throat, which inspired Sam to forget why he was worried and grin sheepishly.

Off in his own little weed-inspired reverie, Dean contented himself to drift over to the nearby cream-colored 1950 Ford Club Coupe sedan. He ran a hand down the glossy body, wondering about whatever suit-wearing, mobster type had surely driven this beautiful beast.

Watching him, Sam had an epiphany that brightened his eyes briefly. "Hey, has it ever kind of occurred to you guys that the Men of Letters is sorta living on here with all this? I mean granted, in a very apocalyptic kind of way."

Dean contemplated briefly. "Pff. Men of Letters is old news. I don't see how a defunct secret society of uptight white dudes making hunting all fancy is relevant to what we got goin' on here." He could respect everything the organization had accomplished when it came to the things they'd done for the supernatural world. But he would never truly belong to a network like that. He was made for the salt-of-the-earth jobs and the do-it-yourself approach. The hunter underground. The family business. This wasn't the Men of Letters anymore. It was something else, and he started to think about what exactly that was. "We're… I dunno. The good, bad, and ugly all teamed up to face down shit no one else would even consider real." A title, quite graceless and obvious came to him: "Team Save the World."

Sam chewed on it. "Sure," he agreed. "I like that. I mean, 'Men of Letters' did always seem a little sexist to me. And 'People of Letters' doesn't sound right, does it?"

"I got it!" Dean snapped a finger. "The Rebel Alliance!"

"Calm down boys." Alex was shaking her head at them while hiding a long-suffering smile. "Wait to see if we survive the apocalypse and then rename your brainchild."

"We survive," Dean replied immediately, so strongly that the twins looked at him with surprised expressions. Dean was surprised too. But he felt it all the sudden, and realized how could it be another way? "You know why? Think about the odds we've beat up to now. I almost don't believe it. So for all the hopeless crap we've gone toe to toe with… all the impossible stuff we've somehow survived… I'm betting on us." He took a second and figured he better speak to the unspoken: "And hey, if we do go out… at least it's together." But Dean would do everything in his power to avoid that situation. To save his family. That included everyone. His little girl, his baby mama, his dad—his sister. His brother. The way he loved Sam choked him up so hard he had a hard time speaking this next sentence. "You're gonna make it, Sammy." He promised that with everything he had left. "You are."

This was the closest Sam would come to emotional transparency: the nearly imperceptible quiver of the chin. The sheen across his haggard eyes. The bob of his adam's apple when he swallowed hard. "I want you to make it too, Dean." Nodding, Dean worked overtime to hide the depth of his burgeoning feelings. Sam paused, and it was either for effect, or to gather his emotional strength. He pulled Alex close, not wanting her to feel left out. "I want all of us to make it."

It would be easy to break down at words like those. So Dean had to force a smile over his tears, and a chuckle instead of the lure of despair. He sauntered over to Sam and clapped him around the shoulder. "Don't you worry, Sam. There's no world where the two of you can get rid of me, I'll tell you that much, little brother." He met Alex's unsure hazel eyes and with a gentle hand, patted the side of her face, telling her everything with his eyes alone.

The Winchester three embraced after that, long and hard.

…The end was nearer than any of them knew.

---

October 31, 2014

Bleary-eyed and trying not to panic, Alex threaded her way quickly through the bunker hallways with her peacefully sleeping baby boy held close. She found the command center quiet and still, devoid of any occupants except two. At the security monitors, Kevin and Kyle's faces were washed pale blue by the grainy screens. The two of them looked barely awake, sitting side by side with heads leaned together in the darkness. When Alex marched into the room they snapped awake, especially Kevin, who jumped away from Kyle awkwardly to sit up straight like a ramrod.

Alex had other things on her mind and didn't bother acknowledging his lingering embarrassment. "You guys seen Cas?" she asked urgently. "I woke up and he was just gone."

Kyle indicated one of the screens readily. "He's out in my old spot." He offered a cautious smile as Alex breathed out a huge sigh of relief. "Best view of tent city."

Alex unceremoniously held CJ out at Kevin, who by now was quite used to having babies shoved at him for momentary safekeeping. "Be right back." Alex was already halfway up the stairs before she stopped and peered back down at the timid lovebirds. "And you guys can stop being all weird about… everything." She gave them what she hoped was an encouraging and affirming little smile. "Okay?"

She didn't hang around to see their reaction. As she bounded up the stairs and through the heavy metal doorway out, Kevin especially looked touched, if not still a little mortified. Kyle gave him a hopeful little smile that said 'see?' and Kevin shyly softened, then turned his attention to the baby he now cradled.

Outside, the dead of night was the type of silent that made ears ring. Looking up and to her right as she entered into the blistering cold without enough outerwear, Alex saw Cas and let out another relieved exhale. Shivering already, she cautiously made her way up the snowy embankment toward him, hugging her arms around herself hard.

Cas stood uphill at the far corner of where the bunker ended. His hands rested in his jacket pockets as he gazed upward into blank sky with sad eyes. The only thing making him visible was the dim flickering orange light of waning campfires down the hill.

He heard her approach, but didn't look at her right away.

"What are you doing out here, Cas?" She asked it gently, because her instincts said he wasn't okay.

The ex-angel dragged his unfocused, forlorn gaze away from the distance and noticed something that made him straighten and become more present. "Where's Jimmy?"

Alex came to his side, grateful for his concern. "Inside with Kevin."

His limbs visibly relaxed, but Cas returned to his more disconsolate state by looking down. Almost as if ashamed of himself. Upon closer inspection, Alex could see a tear-track on his face—and it almost looked frozen. Heart wrenching, Alex went close, reached out cold fingers to touch the tear, then leaned in and used the warmth of a soft kiss to melt the tear away.

Cas put his arms around her quietly, warming her shivering body with his. "I didn't mean to worry you," he murmured into the hair shielding her ear. He sounded so broken. "I just wanted to see the moon." The moon that was no longer visible. Oh Cas. Alex broke right alongside him. The moon was there, but no one had seen it nor the sun for what now felt like an infernal lifetime. Cas briefly pulled away to shrug his jacket off and put it around her shoulders, shaking his head no when she began to protest. His body immediately shivered and he tried to soldier through it. His bright blue eyes searched her eyes with great sorrow and feeling as his hands stayed on her, smoothing his jacket over her absently. His face was distorting with an utter tearful sadness that Alex could barely look at. "…I want our son to grow up, Alex. I want him to be safe."

Her heart broke again because she despaired for those things too. And she knew what Cas did: it might never happen. What were two parents supposed to feel or do in a situation like this? Alex hugged Cas tight, shaking her head against him in an attempt to keep herself strong. "Me too Cas, so bad." If love could keep them all alive, Alex was sure they would live for eternity… but this cruel world and oncoming fate promised the opposite, and she was just as agonized as Castiel felt. At her wit's end for a way to give him hope or at the very least temporarily make him feel better, her mind whirled and she came up with the following uncertain, halfhearted contribution. "An angel once told me to have faith."

Castiel took a long moment to reply, and when he did, he sounded very small indeed. "Yes. I remember him. I heard he lost that faith."

It was profound how mere words could sink Alex's heart like a ship. She nodded, understanding and tearing herself apart. Why did she feel so much guilt? So much pain as if it were her fault? It was a similar feeling to how she felt about their little boy. Alex could barely confess it, her voice shook and wavered underneath grief too much. "…I feel so guilty about bringing a child into this mess, Cas," she whispered, dashing a frigid tear off her cheek before it could begin to freeze. "It's like I'm doing this to him somehow."

Finally, some measure of clarity returned to Castiel's demeanor. He looked at her and shook his head, grim but sure about what he told her. "You're not." He touched the side of her head gently, his ice-cold palm gentle against her hair. "I know that feeling though." Cas put his arms around her again and pulled her close, and even though he said nothing for a long moment, Alex was comforted by the way he held her. His hands rubbed gentle patterns, and their mutual shivers spasmed through each other's bodies for a moment before he finally spoke again. "We have to fight like we never have before."

A defeated feeling rolled over and she didn't bite her tongue. "How do you fight despair? How do you fight the devil? And what are we even fighting for? The world is destroyed, Cas." She gave a sob and shut her eyes. He pulled her harder into his chest. She suppressed the breakdown she wanted to have, but it was hard. All her mind could envision was destroyed cities, wounded land, and the end of everything. Her family scattered and dead, the devil standing over them triumphant. Had the work of her life been absolutely pointless if that was indeed how the story ended?

Cas's low, familiar voice rumbled through her, halting the tracks of her thought. "Maybe the world is destroyed. But we're still here." He pulled back and looked at her deeply. "That has to count for something, doesn't it?" He wanted to know genuinely. And after a second, Alex nodded, trying to have some hope for him to cling onto. Every moment had to count. And she couldn't think about the future for one more second. Her hand found his. Cold fingers laced through.

In her life, there was one undeniable fact: there had been love. So much love. She would think about that instead of the darker things. And she would let herself experience it like tomorrow was the last day on earth. With her free hand, she touched his face in a way that drew his smoldering attention. "…Come inside?" she requested in a murmur. That murmur was unmistakable: she needed him, and he heard it. He kissed her hand with chapped, cold lips, studying her at length before kissing her under the seemingly-empty sky above.

As soon as they were back in their room and they'd settled their son into his crib, they shut themselves into the bathroom and shared a fiercely passionate and carnal encounter the likes of which only the end of the world could inspire.

---

November 2, 2014

The day that changed everything started normally rations were doled out, watch shifts changed, and then everyone fell into their own little routines.

Molly sat in the library by a pile of pencils with the erasers all chewed as she logged things endlessly.

Dean lounged with Jamie on the couch in the corner, cuddling Rose as The Three Stooges played.

Sam and Cas leaned over a map, debating on where the next scavenging mission should take place. Where might have the best haul and the least amount of Croatoans.

Alex walked and rocked CJ in a bouncing motion as she perused the library stacks in search of something to occupy her mind. She carried him in her little baby wearer, enjoying full use of her two arms. Nearby at the long table, Kyle whittled at a piece of wood intently and Kevin sketched something halfheartedly.

Charlie and Meg reloaded high-capacity gun magazines near the weapon's cache. Adjacent to them, Linda manned the radios as the following exchange came through across low bitrate:

Bobby's voice spoke first. "Wha'dya hear, John?"

A second later, the Winchester patriarch replied. "Nothin' but the wind, Bob."

And then the bunker door flew open with a bang, startling all.

Hannah rushed in and didn't even bother to descend the stairs or close the door. Behind her, wind whistled as she flew to the railing on the catwalk overhead. She was visibly shaken. "It's Lucifer," she announced breathlessly, two words that made everyone instantly freeze and forget what they were doing. "He's in Kansas City."

"What?" Sam had gone pale as a ghost at the command center table, his face a mask of dismay. "How do you know that?"

"My angels have intel that he's weakened and hiding in the Power and Light building downtown."

Castiel fell into his old role of commander instantly, his frown intense and his body language poised for action. "How good is your information?"

Hannah was grim and pale. "Damn good."

Dean had immediately come forward the moment Hannah entered and he made quick eye contact with Cas and Sam, silently coming to a conclusion in all of two seconds. It all happened so fast that Alex could barely comprehend it.

Dean was already radioing out with his handheld. "Dad, Bobby—we got a line on the big bad, and he's in state. Get your ass to the cars, and get everyone rounded up. We gotta burn rubber."

A small circle of freedom fighters quickly ringed around Dean for direction, because everyone understood that their chance had come. Posted on the nearby wall, a contingency plan labeled 'offensive' had already designed their response. Dean executed it without hesitation. "All right, everyone who's going get a weapon and get to the cars, we can be there in thirty with the holy oil." He was shaken up but had the look of total to-the-end commitment. "Let's go trap us a devil, huh?"

Linda was the one who grabbed a gun from the cache first, her determination making her face great and terrible. "Let's ride."

Flabbergasted by the suddenness and the realization that her brother and husband would be gone in a matter of moments and possibly never coming back, Alex felt the blood draining from her face. "Wait—!" she protested, wanting more information—more time—more warning.

But Dean wouldn't even let her protest. He was already at the weapons and handing them out then checking his own firearms too. "This is the shot we've been waiting for, and I don't got time to argue, now get your weapon." Alex went still. Didn't he realize…? She shook her head, her arms curling around her son protectively. An action that said it all. Dean's face fell and he visibly processed the fact that he would be going without her. For a moment, he was thrown off before he eyed Sam's pale face and found the positive angle. "Well that's actually better," he said, but he didn't sound so sure. "Now Sam'll have you here with him. James too." He forced a brief smile and then jumped slightly when a hand clapped down onto his shoulder strongly.

It was Cas. "I'm with you, Dean."

Softening, Dean nodded. "Sounds good, Cas buddy."

Selfishly, Alex wanted to beg Castiel to stay. He was already in front of her, his expression wordlessly conveying sorrow, conflict, and decisive resignation. Not knowing what else to do, Alex bowed her forehead into his and shut her eyes hard. "I can't stay here," she whispered, stricken and harrowed by the thought of being sidelined. Of not being there at his side. At Dean's side.

Cas understood, but held her eyes firmly. "And you can't go, either." He kissed CJ's face several times. The forehead, the cheeks, the top of his head, and tears began to stream down his face. He smiled and nodded through the tears, trying to be a rock. "I'll be back," he assured her. Something they both knew he couldn't guarantee.

Trying to be courageous, Alex held onto him as long as she could, shocked at how suddenly the moment had come.

All around them, chaos: people checking weapons, people making hasty goodbyes and decisions. Linda, Kevin, and Kyle were already heading up the stairs. Dean grabbed an extra weapon from the rack then motioned everyone who was going to go with them onward. "Let's roll." He strode over to a silent and stricken Jamie, grabbing her hard into a fierce hug before he kissed Rose and gave them an unforgettable look. "I'll be back," he promised.

Terrified, Jamie was in the same position that Alex was. "You better," she said weakly. She looked near tears. He kissed her brief and strong, gave her another lingering look, and swallowed hard, his fear showing.

"Take care of our daughter," he whispered. "No matter what." Jamie nodded automatically and too many times, her eyes shining with terror.

Regretful and reconciled to his choice, Castiel kissed Alex on the forehead and then on the mouth lingeringly. And then he was getting a weapon, looking back at her with anguish, and suddenly gone.

A moment later, the only ones left in the bunker were Alex, Sam, Jamie, Molly, and Meg. Questioningly, Alex looked at the demon. She was able-bodied, yet had stayed behind.

The demon looked like she was building herself up to be courageous. "What? Someone's gotta stay behind and look out for you chumps," she explained before hefting up the largest machine gun she could find and offering a thin, stressed smile. "I'll post up outside."

Alex watched her climb the stairs. "Meg, you don't have to."

Meg turned around halfway up the stairs. Her features were soft. She looked steadfast and at peace despite everything. "I know." She resumed climbing the stairs.

Alex held her son hard and exchanged a petrified look with Jamie, who clearly felt the same as she did. Staying behind felt wrong. But leaving their children would have been wronger.

After Meg exited, restless and terrified silence blared. The bunker felt like a tomb.

Little did they know, soon it would become exactly that.

---

Ten excruciating minutes later under a darkening sky, the Impala followed Highway 10 eastward, closing the distance between them and Kansas City as quickly as possible.

At the wheel, Dean gripped tight with deadly resolve in his eyes. Beside him, his father stewed silently, a soldier preparing for battle. In the back Cas was silent, but his silence was fierce. Ahead, the convoy of other vehicles led the way, all packed with the people who would stand and fight until whatever bitter end. In the trunk, they had enough holy oil to trap the devil, and a revolver full of holy-oil laced bullets waiting to be put to the test. Dean refused to think about failure.

However, the same old questions swirled as he raced them toward destiny: Why me? Why us?

Dean still didn't understand why Heaven and Hell had chosen his family. Why Lucifer had chosen his brother, why Michael had chosen him, why Alex had been left out of the equation completely. But whatever the answers were, he didn't plan to do anything but give his all. For humanity. For Rose. For CJ. For his family and loved ones. This had been a lifetime in the making. No. More than that. And he was gonna stand strong for whatever this showdown brought.

One person burned brightest of all in his mind. I'm gonna save you Sam. If it's the last thing I do.

Even as he had the thought, a sudden and terrible possibility dawned out of nowhere and so surprised by it, Dean let his foot off the gas as it descended on him. Fuck! His resolve instantly swung to the opposite end of the pendulum when he realized his shortsightedness. "Son of a bitch." The words hadn't even finished leaving his mouth before he abruptly cut his hands to the left and floored the brakes, sending the Impala into a screeching spin that slammed the car to a stop a hundred and eighty degrees from where it had began. Dean was already gunning the engine at top speed to race them back the way they'd come. "This has setup written all over it!" he shouted, cursing himself. "We just left the bunker sitting ducks!" He slammed the heel of his hand into the wheel as the car engine roared. "Dammit!"

Everyone was dead silent as they realized Dean was potentially very correct. John was already trying his radio. He pressed buttons, put his ear to the speaker, then jostled the device and hit it against a hand a couple times. "Son of a bitch. It's not working anymore." Blankly, he looked at the useless technology without comprehension.

With a great and terrible expression on his face, Cas clenched a hand onto the car door siding. "Drive faster, Dean."

---

Meanwhile

After the group left, Sam became increasingly restless. He started pacing and running a hand through his hair as he wrestled himself for the self-perceived cowardice. Left behind with the women and children? He felt absolutely humiliated and powerless, not to mention enraged that he was so trapped inside of himself. So cursed by circumstance. It wasn't right. But it was still his reality. And he still just didn't understand it.

Alex marched over and berated him forcefully under her breath: "You gotta get it together, you're making everyone nervous!"

Sam snapped. "Well then everyone can go to their rooms and stop looking at me!" His unhinged outburst startled everyone, including him, and Sam was instantly mortified. "S-sorry," he mumbled, unable to look at anyone as he shook his head as if to fling off water. Jamie kissed Rose's head anxiously and turned away as Molly lingered at the library's edge with visibly hurt feelings. Near the staircase, Sam turned his back to everyone and took a moment to compose himself before he re-engaged with his nearby sister hesitantly. "I just can't shake this feeling." He felt powerless and utterly sad, forever sinking further into the depths of despair. Alone. Always so alone. Finally, the reality he'd been privately experiencing could stay secret no more. "You know, every morning, I wake up thinking… today's the day. The day it all goes to hell. And then, night comes and I start to think… maybe there is hope. Maybe we do get through this. But… the nightmares I have. The dreams." He swallowed through a dry throat, choking on a sudden, embarrassing flood of tears. "I'm scared, Alex."

Petrified as she was, Alex still somehow found it within herself to console him. "This is all about to end Sam—for good this time."

He looked her dead in the eyes, almost angry at her attempts. "You don't even believe that!" His accusation visibly rattled her. "And it was 'for good' last time!" he pointed out with rising distress. He shut his eyes at and took a second to recompose. He really was losing it, and made every effort to get himself back together. He breathed in and out several times until he could word himself calmly. "Look, if what Lucifer planned happens… what I told you about… I'll kill myself. I'll throw myself into a volcano, I'll—" he stopped at the colorless, horrified look on his sister's face. Why didn't she get it? Sam felt more and more trapped. "All I want is for you to be safe," he insisted pleadingly, just wishing he could make them understand. "For all of us, to just be safe." He grew intense and dark, his gaze going off to the distance as he thought about taking care of the problem sooner rather than later. "Maybe I should stop waiting around."

Some sort of primal terror overtook Alex, such that she bristled and her expression became dangerous. "Sam—"

A sudden huge boom startled everyone in the bunker. It sounded like cars outside had collided, or a shipping container had crashed into another one.

"…What the hell was that?!" Alex whispered, gone still.

Pale as a ghost, Molly pointed at the security camera feeds. Static showed on every screen. "Cameras are out."

Alex's eyes popped wide when she realized. "Meg's out there!" she shouted, and impulsively made to head up the stairs, baby worn on her front and all. Sam's quick grip on her arm stopped her—he opened his mouth to tell her he'd go check on her. But that's when the lights abruptly went out, plunging the bunker into a sudden pit of darkness. The red lockdown lights began to pulse, and the alarm wailed as the secondary backup generator kicked on. Chaos descended, and both CJ and Rose began to cry loudly.

Sam went white as a sheet as he felt it down to his bones. His voice failed. His limbs lost strength. His heart felt weak flighty, like it could drop out of his body. "…He's here."

Alex's bulging eyes came to stare at him in rising terror. "What?!"

It was like his senses were closing down slowly, like a weighted velvet curtain descending toward the stage. "I can feel him," Sam whispered blankly, shaking his head and falling back a step without realizing. He was numb. All of the nightmares he'd tried to fight off, all the sickening dreams Lucifer had plied him with relentlessly for the past two months now locked down on him, rendering him into an almost out-of-body state. "…It's too late."

Alex grabbed her brother by both arms hard and shook. "Don't say yes Sam! No matter what he threatens, no matter what he says!" Sam couldn't respond—he didn't even meet her gaze—his eyes stayed locked on the doorway as his lungs remained faint and shallow. He swore he heard the faint sound of gunfire over the buzzing in his ears and the pounding in his heart. "Sam!" Alex shouted, spittle flying as she demanded his attention. He finally looked her in the eye. "Even if it's just the two of you left here on earth—don't say yes! Promise me!"

Sam met his twin's despairing eyes. He could barely speak. His gaze briefly went to sweet, frightened Molly nearby, who hovered in the flashing red light with terror making her features haggard. Sam swallowed and looked at Alex again. "…No matter what?" he asked in a near-whisper. They both knew how bad it could get. What Satan would do. The ways he would try to get Sam to comply.

Alex nodded bravely even through the terror was making her eyes spill over with tears. "No matter what."

Sam nodded, trying valiantly to hold his tears inside. "…I love you," he whispered fiercely, like it was some sort of goodbye. Maybe it was.

Either way. That was the last thing he said to her before the door flew inward like it was made of cardboard.

---

…One Moment Prior

Dean was in fact very correct about his assumption, and at the very moment he swung the car around, Lucifer boldly approached the bunker alone. His power was incredible thanks to all the humans souls he'd struck out of existence, but his inferior vessel was slowly rotting. However, he wasn't concerned. It wouldn't be too much longer until he was finally where he belonged. He'd cat-and-moused with Sam via dreams. He'd kicked the world's ass and let the Winchesters survive to see it—survive and then stew in a nice marinade of terror and dread.

Now, his triumph was assured. Destruction would continue to reign. Lucifer was so confident of his endgame that he'd left every single last one of his loyal angels at Power and Light to the mercy of whatever force the Winchesters sent. They could die for all he cared. He wouldn't need those ancient winged morons anymore after today. His prize awaited. His precious Sam, who would be waiting behind in the angel-warded bunker. Where he was 'safe.' Such an adorable and naive viewpoint to take.

Overhead, lightning and thunder were beginning to gather in the previously-dead sky. Lucifer stalked through the pitiful arrangement of dingy tents toward the bunker doorway. And then he saw her: A single, short figure standing in a bold stance directly between himself and the doorway in. The demon Meg, holding a machine gun that looked too big against her small stature. Pathetic. Another unfaithful, worthless, double-crossing ingrate. So much like Death. Fuming silently, Lucifer kept his emotion restrained. "Traitor," he greeted. The word was dangerously soft and cold as ice.

She stood firmly rooted with her chest held strong and defiant. Her eyes glittered, and her feet remained rooted in place. She stood no chance against him and they both knew it. The sheer spite radiating off of her was her last dignity and message. A small, almost pleased smirk grew on her face to accompany the single word she spoke: "Proudly." She raised her gun and opened fire, knowing it was useless, but smiling piously the entire time. Bullets ripped through Satan's vessel—mere annoyances—but it was the thought that counted.

When had she become such a stupid bitch? It infuriated Lucifer how she stood so boldly and defied him without fear. She would regret it, and he would make sure of it. His face twisted hard with seething malice as his hand shot up outstretched toward her, commanding her end. The raining bullets went silent as she exploded into a symphony of blood and guts. The gun dropped to the ground, useless. Already having erased the damage she'd done to his vessel away, Lucifer disdainfully brushed at a bit of gristle that had flown up to stick to his leather jacket. He scowled pridefully down at the pile of bloody remains on the dirty snow. "Not so proud now, are you?"

In one smooth motion, he stepped over her remains with eyes locking on the bunker doorway. He was so close to his end goal that he could taste it—he was practically salivating. But he restrained himself, imagining all the legacies that would be told about today in his new world order. All the fear and awe his cleverness would inspire.

After years imprisoned, fighting, and scheming, finally it was here. His new world's beginning, here and today. Everyone who had ever stood against him would fall.

"Some say the world will end in fire," Lucifer quoted in a soft, mocking murmur. "Some say in ice." He came to the door, eyes gliding over the angel wards. "And me…?" A wicked smile grew on Adam Milligan's face. "I hold with those who favor fire." He snapped his fingers and wicked flames blazed to life across the entire expanse before him. With a wave of his arm, the reinforced door blew open and fire began to crawl inward, burning away the angel wards. Lucifer could feel people's fear building in the air like pressure even before he heard their panicked shouts of reaction.

The dress rehearsal had been fun. But like he'd told them before… 2014 would always be his year.

With prideful purpose that had been designed in the most ancient of days, Satan stepped across the bunker threshold and into the inferno to take what was his.