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.

151. Epilogue: Things We Lost In The Fire

Song Remains the Same

Epilogue: Things We Lost In The Fire

"There is no real ending.
It's just the place where you stop the story."
— Frank Herbert

…May 2nd, 1983
Lawrence, Kansas

---

In labor and delivery at Lawrence Memorial Hospital on a sunny Monday afternoon, an exhausted and happy new mother of twins nestled in bed with her two new babies cradled close. The brand new infants wore matching long sleeved white onesies and little knit caps provided by the hospital.

Mary Winchester studied their sweetly sleeping selves with fierce, vulnerable tenderness. She traced their faces and their cheeks, memorizing delicate eyelashes and little noses and the tiniest of movements and sounds. Humming Hush Little Baby softly, she briefly remembered when sweet little Dean was this small. A bittersweet pang struck her. Before she knew it, these two would be running around and be getting into everything. But for now… they slept snuggled up to each other, comforted by the other's closeness. She smiled—a weary, peaceful little turn of her lips upward. "Angels are watching over you, my sweethearts…" she whispered softly, transfixed by their perfection. Protective feelings welled deeply over the precious little new lives she'd loved since the day she found out they were coming.

There was a little knock at the door, and in came a handsome dark-haired man carrying their four year old son. "Hiya honey," he greeted with a big grin, then looked at the boy in his arms. "Someone order a big brother?"

Mary smiled back at her husband John and son Dean. This moment was the moment all mothers dream of and worry over. The moment when they would introduce their child to the new arrivals. Mary wasn't too worried though—Dean had been more than ready to be a big brother ever since John and Mary first told him about the twins. "Hi Dean baby!" Mary greeted brightly. "Wanna meet your brother and sister?"

John was already setting him onto the small empty space on the bed beside Mary. "Oh my gosh Mama!" A delighted Dean exclaimed reverently, reaching out to touch them gingerly in turn. "They're so little…!"

"Yeah buddy, they are," Mary said, pressing a kiss to her oldest son's head. "They're gonna need their big brother to look out for them, huh?"

"I can do that, Mom!" Dean said confidently, keenly examining his new siblings with bright eyes and a huge smile.

John settled in beside his family on a chair, studying the babies. "Which one is which, Mary?"

"This one's my brother," Dean said proudly before Mary could answer, touching his hand to one baby. "And this one's my sister."

Mary looked at her husband briefly in surprise, then stroked her son's head once. "Wow Dean, how'd you know that?"

"I can just tell," Dean replied matter-of-factly, finally looking away from the twins to give his mom a very pleading look. "Can I hold them? Pleaaase Mom?"

Mary fixed her son with a pointed, playful look. "That's a pretty big job. How about sit nice beside Mom and I'll help you?"

"Yeah!" Dean was already eagerly wiggling himself into the space beside her, holding his arms out. She carefully lifted Alexandra first, nicknamed Allie—she would only go by this nickname for the first year or so of her life, but Mary didn't know that. She let the baby lay across Dean's waiting arms, then she set baby Sam into the place where Mary and Dean were snuggled close. Mary kept an arm around Dean, just in case—but he was being very careful, impressively so for a four year old. It was obvious that he knew, even in his little mind, how important and special the moment was. "Mom, I can't believe this!" Dean said in his sweet little voice, staring at his sister then his brother in total gaping awe. "They're so… so… beautiful!" He carefully patted his little sister's head with all the finesse a four year old could muster. She grunted in response, her face wrinkling up. "Aww!" Dean exclaimed. He leaned a little closer and whispered, "I'm gonna be your big brother forever, okay?" Her arm flailed and her hand grabbed his pinkie finger hard. Dean got extremely excited and looked at Mary with a little gasp. "She's grabbing me Mom!"

Mary's heart could have burst watching her son with the twins. "That's 'cause you're the big brother, Dean honey," she chuckled. "They already love you."

Dean put his arm around Sam too. "I love them too," he said, then put his face close to his brother's. "I'm always gonna take care of you Sammy." He kissed his brother just above the eyebrow, and smiled down at him proudly.

Mary reached over and squeezed her husband's hand as tears filled her eyes. She dreamt of the years ahead: birthdays and boo-boos, school, sports, holidays, vacations, family time, love. So much love. She shifted, maneuvering her arm to lift Sam so that she could lean down and kiss his little forehead. Dean mimicked her, leaning down and doing the same to his sister. John watched with a smile rooted in his heart, and he ruffled Dean's hair lovingly, then mouthed, "I love you," to Mary. She mouthed it back and they held each other's gazes tenderly, catching each other's hand to hold.

None of them knew how brief and precious this time was. How the events that would take place six months from now would destroy the man John Winchester was that day and set their children onto a path they could never step off of.

Only one thing from that day remained solid as the foundations of the earth: Through it all, Dean would make good on his promise to always take care of his brother and sister.

---

Present Day
November 2nd, 2018
(About Four Years After the Angels Fell)
The Bunker

The morning is overcast and quiet. It rained during the night, leaving the ground wet, the oaks dripping, the air thick and cool. The landscape is that of late autumn: trees are mostly bare with a few straggler leaves remaining—a mellow blanket of chalky fog lays over lower parts of the mostly-unremarkable Kansas landscape, and there is a certain chill in the air that only comes when winter is around the corner. The sun hasn't quite risen, but very soon will.

A tall, dark-haired woman with fair skin stands alone in the clearing not far from the bunker's silent entrance. The woman is deep in thought. She's thirty-five today, but her eyes seem older than that. She's dressed plainly, in jeans and hiking boots that are designed for function. Her hands hide in the pockets of her worn-out dark green bomber jacket as her long brown hair tumbles down in a mess of natural waves. Around her neck a delicate chain glints. On it rests a single shining penny.

A sigh of wind stirs the skeletal branches overhead and they creak like the hull of a ship at sea might. Somewhere, a crow caws. A lonely and strange call that goes unanswered. Loose hairs stir around the woman's face and she blinks a few times but otherwise doesn't really respond to the external stimuli. She's not very present in her physical surroundings. She's momentarily lost in memories—thinking of all the things that once happened yet now are just distant memories that could be very well dreams.

The crow cries again, then leaps from a branch overhead into the gray sky. Hazel eyes flick upward to watch the bird disappear from sight, beating its wings with great powerful swoops as it rises up, up, and away.

Alex Winchester's gaze returns downward, where she continues to contemplate the two gravestones in front of her. The headstones are only a few years old.

The wind shivers through the trees again, rattling branches momentarily like wooden wind chimes or old bones. Alex wonders pensively: If she were to tell her story to someone from the outside world—the entire thing from beginning to end—who would believe any of it? Nothing about it sounds true. Ghosts, spirits, witches, monsters, demons… angels. Alex's eyes rise from the tombstone again to the gray, birdless sky. Spells, magic, curses… people dying and coming back from death, wars between dimensions, the salvation of the world. Heaven. Hell. God. The Devil. A girl who spent twenty-something years of her life mute. An angel plummeting from grace when he made the mistake of falling in love with that very girl.

It's all incredible and unbelievable. But it happened. Alex lived every bit of it. 'Unbelievable' is her biography. A thought that makes the softest rueful smile play on her face. But perhaps the most unbelievable thing of all? A little boy named CJ.

As if he knows she's just thought of him, just as she is turning her head toward where she knows he is, he calls out to her. "Mama!"

He's dressed for the chill in tiny jeans, fur-lined booties, and a bomber jacket with a hood—there's little animal ears sewn on. Everything about him is painfully cute at the age of four: his tousled hair and huge crystal blue eyes framed by thick dark lashes, the little freckles scattered across his rosy cheeks. She crouches down to meet him with an easy smile as he runs up to her. It's hard to describe the way she feels about this little guy, but she never knew a capacity for love in the specific way she loves her son.

"These is good?" CJ asks in his sweet little voice, revealing his fistful of little yellow flowers which he gathered as told. They might not even be flowers—they kind of look more like weeds on closer inspection.

Alex studied the yellow buds with a bittersweet smile. "Yeah buddy," she says, giving him a couple of light squeezes on his arm. "They're perfect."

"Okay Mama," he says, then hesitates, looking at the nearby gravestone. "And I put thems on that one, Mom?" He's pointing to one in particular.

"Mmhm." She stands up and watches her son take the little gathered flowers over to one of the gravestones. He squats and puts them where the stone meets earth, then comes back and stands at her side, glancing up at her and then solemnly looking at the gravestone like she is—mimicking her. Castiel James, or Castiel Junior depending on who you ask—is an incredibly intelligent and sensitive child, with an ever-present impish streak. Always in trouble, always climbing something or taking apart a device he shouldn't. Add to that the developing Nephilim powers and it's quite the job to parent him. He is, of course, just a kid. But not a normal one. Not by a long shot. His father… after all… was an angel. Today, so far at least, little Jimmy is tuned in to his mother's more somber energy and hasn't started with his constant antics... yet. He hugs her leg and lets his cheek press in. A moment that fills her heart. Alex touches the top of his head softly, struck by the realness of him. The love inside of her for him that goes beyond everything.

Alex looks at the headstones again. CJ doesn't really understand death quite yet, or what these gravestones represent. He was there, four years ago. But he was just a baby. Alex picks him up and holds him close to her, pressing her cool cheek to his warm one. Just a few years ago, the idea of motherhood would have sent her running for the hills. Today, her life is changed in the best of ways. No, it's not easy. Yes, it's harder than hunting ever was in some moments, somehow. And yet it makes sense.

"Mama?" CJ asks softly, drawing her close attention. "Don't deaded people come back? Does the stone means forever?"

Her heart aches at the innocent question. She kisses his soft cheek, then snuggles close to him. If only. "Not always, baby." How do you explain this to such a young person? She can barely explain it all to herself. She holds him tighter, her permanent losses running through her mind as they often do. "Not always."

---

The Bunker
Four Years Ago

Panicking, Alex inhaled a sharp gasp. She was already jumping back with a twist to protect her front, narrowly avoiding the falling chunk of ceiling that had suddenly smashed down and sent rubble spraying. Alarms screamed, electricity flickered, and sparks hissed down like acidic rain. At this point, she didn't even know which direction she'd come from just a moment ago. Alex coughed, squinting her eyes against the smoky, disorienting air as she stayed stiffly frozen against a wall where she had momentary illusion of safety. She tried to catch her breath as arms remained tightly clutched around her precious cargo.

She'd just been with Molly and Jamie—until she hadn't. Calling for them, her hoarse scream was lost in the other noise. The smoke was so thick that it was impossible to see with any clarity. The only person Alex hadn't lost was bundled against her chest, clutched close while snug in his carrier wrap. Alex cursed herself over and over again.

We should have known this was a trick!

Sam, where are you?!

Was he even still alive?

Trapped like a rat in a maze, Alex's frantic mind screamed at her that if she didn't do something fast, she and her son would burn to death. Only one way out, and Satan would surely be waiting at the exit. Alex gasped and hiccuped racing breaths, almost hyperventilating as she shook like a leaf in a hurricane.

CJ gave a soft distressed moan and Alex cradled his head closely, mouth and nose against his head in a hard kiss as she murmured rushed, almost intelligible words of soothing to him. He smelled like fresh baby shampoo and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to lose herself to the rising panic. She had to protect her baby! She had to find her brother! Tears pricked her closed eyes as her spirit begged to see a familiar face—Dean, Cas, Sam, Bobby, Dad, Jamie, Meg, Molly—anyone!

When Lucifer entered the bunker, Sam had been the first to see him. He'd shouted at everyone to run. They had scattered without a thought, but when Alex realized Sam wasn't with her, she'd panicked, tried to go back for him, then gotten turned around in the smoky hallways that all looked so alike. Then she'd… wait. She didn't remember what happened next. Her eyes opened and she gasped out of a new kind of fear and disorientation.

She was suddenly in the basement level without explanation and no memory of walking there. What the hell?! She looked down the clear, smokeless hallway, her stomach plunging out of her when she saw that Crowley was no longer in the imprisonment cell—the door was wide open. Her confusion kept mounting as the alarms shrieked. And then she realized that there was something weighty in one of her hands. Her eyes followed the sensation and found something that made a ripple of shock shoot up her middle. The Colt…?! What the hell? Alex didn't remember even picking it up, much less where she had gotten it. Turning it over, stunned eyes recognized the beautiful long-lost silver pistol. The intricate swirling designs all over the silver body—the pentagram etched into the handle—and on the barrel, a Latin quote from Psalms: Non timebo mala. Translation: I will fear no evil.

Alex stared, her heart hammering wildly as adrenaline and confusion rose all at the same time.

…Why am I carrying this? Where did this even come from?

Go now, her inner voice urged. It's time. It was both her own thought and a thought that had been put in her by an outside source. Inexplicably, she complied. She knew exactly where to go. It was as if someone else were guiding her. She jogged up the stairs and followed the hallways quickly, no longer hyperventilating. Just going, and going with purpose. The heat became stronger. The thick smoke returned, making it hard to see. Soon, she was coughing and squinting, holding CJ closely inside her jacket in an attempt to shield him however she could. And then she nearly tripped over something on the floor. As she caught herself, her heart shot out of her throat. Jamie. Dead on the floor. Even as she heard herself scream no and reach down to shake her friend, Alex saw Molly's lifeless body. In her arms, the child she'd clearly died trying to protect. Rose was dead too.

The animalistic bellow that screamed out of Alex was so loud and terrible that CJ began to scream right along with her. It was too horrific to process, and Alex stood up, stumbling back and colliding with a nearby wall, barely shielding her son from hitting into the surface too. "No, no, no—!" she repeated over and over. The hyperventilating returned, and Alex sank down the wall, unable to stand, breathe, or even comprehend.

Get up, the voice inside urged. You have to get up!

So she did. But not easily, and she vomited immediately, having to catch herself against the wall as her stomach emptied. Spitting out the sour bile once she had retched everything out, Alex stood there sagging into the wall for a long moment.

I can't. I just can't.

She thought of her own mother, dying in a fire trying to protect her children. She thought of the destroyed outer world. She thought of Sam. In her arms, CJ moaned and cried, and Alex wiped at her mouth then pulled him close. For a moment, she gave up and surrendered. Thought about using the Colt to give them both a merciful end.

And then clear as a bell, she felt a shift inside. That same sensation from downstairs: Purpose. Inexplicable, focused, relentless drive.

Yes I can.

Nauseated and shaky but suddenly filled with a rage and determination she didn't understand, she skirted past the dead, shoved the Colt into her waistband then dropped to her knees and began a clumsy, fast, hobbling crawl toward the command center—all while shielding her baby's face the best that she could. She hacked and coughed as she crawled blindly.

When she finally came to the library, she found it somehow intact—only parts of the ceiling were on fire, and it was a slow, lazy burn. There was little to no smoke. Finding her feet as her knees ached, she rose to her full height and took in the damage. It appeared like a tornado had blown through: everything was overturned, smashed, broken. Books scattered across the floor so thickly they might as well have been carpet. Carefully wading out onto the uneven surface, Alex's heart pulled when she saw another dead body up ahead nearby the splintered library table: Crowley. Had he stood and fought too?

Alex held her baby tighter as she edged toward the command center. Her vision stung and blurred, requiring her to blink and dash a fist at her didn't see anyone. Not Sam, not Lucifer, not Meg. The feeling of being lost and afraid rammed her heart hard. Her gaze turned upward as she reached the threshold into the demolished control engulfed a good part of the ceiling far above, licking at the expanse in angry hot orange. The burn was slowly creeping downward toward the command center floor, lighting the space garish orange.

Does everything always end in fire for the Winchester family?

"Alex—" croaked a familiar, weak voice nearby.

Alex whirled to her left, already moving toward his voice, then rushing once she saw him on the floor near to the kitchen entrance. He was pushed up onto an elbow. "Sam!"

Freaking out, she fell to her knees beside him and grabbed onto him. He was bloody, severely injured, and gashed all over. Another groan sounded nearby—and Alex looked over with confusion. To her horror, it was Dean and Cas crumpled in the corner by the stairs, both barely conscious and bloody. Oh no… oh God no! When did they come back?! Close to them, Dad sat against a wall, bleeding profusely from a huge wound in his middle—clearly dying. Alex wasn't even given a chance to react.

"B-behind you—!" Sam rasped, an attempt at a shout that was barely a whisper. He floundered on his elbow and clutched at her while looking fearfully at something or someone behind her. Alex's head whirled, her senses going razor sharp even as she shot back up to her feet and turned to face the adversary. In the center of the room, where there had been nothing and no one a moment before, he stood. His back was turned to her, but she recognized him immediately. Deep sadness and tragedy harmonized with dread and horror as he turned slowly with a certain grace and commanding ease, eyes reflecting the flames eerily. It was Adam in appearance… but in no other way at all. His hair was slicked back in elegantly. He wore all black—black jeans, black boots, black shirt, black leather jacket. His once-youthful skin was grayish. Strange veins and sores crept up his neck toward his jawline.

Alex's heart felt like it could stop. "Well hello kiddo," Lucifer greeted in a softly pleasant tone. "Long time no see." He glanced upward briefly, then feigned concerned thoughtfulness as he looked back at her. "Gosh. Your life seems to have a theme around fires, doesn't it?" And then he smiled, chuckling at his joke.

Alex remained in place, however, her breathing was coming hard and shallow again. "Lucifer." Tear tracks stained her sooty face. The only thing standing between the devil and her family was her—a small, hopeless human versus an immortal archangel bent on destroying the world. Alex held her son tighter, swallowing hard. Last time she saw Lucifer he was possessing Sam, years ago. She had died that day beneath his hands. Facing this enemy again—this enemy who felt unstoppable, invincible, all-powerful—froze her blood to ice. I don't have a chance against him! I didn't last time, and I don't now either!But it was too late to run away. Lucifer had already won. She was at his mercy. And so was her innocent baby boy.

"Well." Lucifer commented in that same soft tone, his eyes betraying his malice and cruelty. "Hasn't this just come full circle."

She helplessly flashed back to when he possessed her. How cold and dead that presence had felt in her bones. How evil. We're doomed. That was the only thing she could think at the moment. That, and desperate half-witted ideas of how to save everyone who was still alive in this room.

"Alex, get outta here," Sam wheezed. "Go." She chanced a look back at her twin. His face contorted in pain, and without meaning to, her expression echoed his. Dean and Cas looked at her pleadingly, blood streaking their woozy faces. Alex held Cas's gaze for the briefest and longest of moments. There was love, despair, and pleading there. I can't go, she thought, shaking her head ever so faintly no. I'm so sorry, Cas. Escape had never been an option. It was stand and fight or nothing.

"She couldn't leave even if she wanted to, Sam," Lucifer said easily, then clasped his hands behind his back as if at leisure. He walked a few slow, calculated steps forward and to the right, looking at Alex and her son from the corner of his eyes. "Congratulations are in order, I see." His eyes flickered over the baby with obscene wolfishness. "Such an intriguing creation." When Alex covered her son's head with a hand and turned enough to obscure him from sight, Lucifer's eyes flicked up to Alex's again. Chills ran down her spine even as helpless rage boiled her.

Sam struggled with labored sounds to get up behind Alex, but did not succeed—he was much too hurt. Lucifer feigned sadness softly at the attempt, an almost tender expression—but it was marred by a scoff. "Now don't get up on my account, Sam. Just… sit back, enjoy the show." He looked around briefly at the dead and the dying. Dean rolled onto his side and panted like an animal—Cas moaned softly, trying to move and finding himself too weak to do so. John winced against the wall he was slumped on, a hand pressed against his stomach uselessly. "Huh, would you look at that," Lucifer commented offhandedly, enjoying himself as he looked around. He ended with his eyes locking to Sam's. "The whole family's here, Sam! To see this historic, glorious… inescapable moment. It's fitting, isn't it? Only one's who's missing… is your mother."

Dean made a sound like a sob mixed with an angry groan.

"Fuck you, you son of a bitch!" John managed through teeth gritted in pain.

Lucifer was unimpressed. "Says the dying man." He turned and walked off a few steps, then gave a lengthy look around the entirety of the bunker. He chuckled faintly, pleased with himself as he faced Alex and Sam again. "Y'know gang, our first run-through of this whole thing was a little different—but I have to say. I actually favorthis version. Even if you did close Hell, which puts a dent into my plans but don't worry. I'll reverse that little party trick of yours real soon." He fixed his vessel with another intense, cool gaze. "So, let's go over the numbers here, Sam. I've killed almost everyone you know and love. And whoever I haven't gotten to yet… I will." His eyes slid to Alex chillingly. "It's too bad you won't be around very long to see all the things I'm going to do to this planet, Alexandra." He began to grin widely, spreading his arms. "You guys thought I was done with the renovations?" His voice raised to an almost shout. "I'm just getting started!" Flames leapt up in response to his voice, giving a roar and influx of heat—a theatric gesture, but not without effect. Alex had to force herself not to cower even as CJ wailed. Lucifer relaxed, his gaze intent on the infant. He toyed with her salaciously. "Oh look, I've made him cry. Let Uncle Lucy hold him, will you?"

Alex's jaw clenched tight as every muscle in her body vibrated with protective, vigilant rage. "Don't talk about my son, asshole!"

Lucifer stopped short and finally showed a glimmer of displeasure. "You seem pretty confident for a bitch whose house is burning to the ground around her." He began to move forward, so much so that Alex had to give ground by moving to the side then backing up.

They effectively switched places, with Lucifer now being closer to Sam while staring Alex down. The light hit Lucifer differently, and for a second… he could have been the person Alex had initially known him as. Young, attitude-riddled, prideful, wounded, mistrustful, human… Adam. Alex remembered him vividly from their short time together and felt a pang of emotion. Another person lost because of Lucifer, Michael, and the angels insistence on using the Winchesters as pawns. It wasn't fair. It never had been. But especially not to Adam Milligan, who never asked for what happened to him or what he became part of. He had no chance. And because of that, Alex found herself whispering, "Adam… if you're in there… I'm so sorry."

One of Lucifer's eyebrows raised nearly imperceptibly. "He's not." The smallest of smiles crept across his lips. "Sweet of you to think of him though." Lucifer turned his attention to Sam, who remained on the ground in growing pain. "You can make this all go away, Sam. Say the word and the fire's out, you're better, and maybe I don't kill your whole family as you watch."

Sam was in emotional anguish, but he shook his head no through tears. "No. No. Never. I don't care how many people you kill."

Lucifer's eyebrows rose mildly. "Let's put that theory to the test."

It happened before they could react or even understand. Lucifer's expression became severe as he shot his arm in front of himself, making a hard, twisting fist. John clutched his chest, crying out in pain. Near to him, Dean called out, "Dad!" even as John slumped down sideways, dead. Dean began to protest with a weak scream of "no!" but he was next, his neck snapping gruesomely. And then, just as he was getting to his feet by some miracle, Cas's neck snapped too. His body hit the floor.

No. No. No! Someone was screaming. Is that Sam? Is that me? Alex's ears rang. Things were happening in slow motion, the world spun, she couldn't even feel her body. She could barely see—she had stopped breathing. All she could do was cling to her son with weak limbs and struggle against a closed windpipe. Dead. All of them, dead. In the span of seconds. Her entire world laid motionless rag dolls on the floor. The home they had shared was now a graveyard.

Now Alex. Now, Alex! She heard it over and over again in her shellshocked mind. Now what? She wondered blankly, understanding nothing as she remained still as a tomb.

"Let's see," Lucifer was saying calmly as Sam wept openly and Alex remained a statue. "That's three more…" he gave Sam a plaintive look. "Care to make it four…?" He indicated Alex, who was staring at Cas and Dean as she clutched her son in horrified, numb shock. Sam gritted his teeth against the pain and the weight of his choice to say no, tears making his cheeks shine. Lucifer patronized him further, indicating the ceiling. "Should I put her up there to die? Just like mommy? Or maybe I should rip her apart piece by piece while you listen to her scream…"

Alex stayed stock still, her teeth gritted so tight it felt like they could explode from the pressure, her breathing coming fast and hard through her nose. Her heart was lava, screaming in her chest, thumping so hard it could break through her skin. She couldn't think a coherent thought at all, except no. And even though the state of shock, and dismay she was in… the same words kept repeating: now Alex, now! Still, she couldn't find the ability to move.

Sam shook his head over and over, his tearful expression that of a scared kid. He knew he was signing Alex's death certificate by refusing to be the devil's vessel and that at any moment he would watch her die too. At this point, Lucifer was just playing, enjoying the emotional torment. "Please, no…" Sam sobbed wretchedly. "Please, please…"

And suddenly, Alex's senses all focused in as she connected back to reality. To Sam, begging and pleading on the floor. Purpose began to sing through her so loudly no other thought or feeling could come through. Only righteous anger and the commitment to retribution. She felt herself bristling and poising, her single thought inside this: No. Not my brother. You don't get to have him.

The noise stopped. The uncertainty fell away. Protective and fuming, it was like she felt herself rising up inside. She remembered. And she acted. With speed she didn't even know she possessed, the Colt flashed out of her waistband.

"Leave him alone! Turn around right now!"

Her voice created utter silence. Lucifer blinked twice, as if he could not fathom who would dare tell him what to do. He turned slowly, a dangerous look in his eye, followed by genuine surprise at the gun aimed squarely at him with a clenched hand. And then he relaxed into a patronizing laugh. "Aw look. Baby sister is gonna save us all!" He remained gave her a condescending wince. "Didn't we do the whole Colt thing a few seasons ago?" He was fully amused at this point. "…You do know the only way to kill me is with an Archangel's blade, right?" His tone implied that she was beyond stupid. He reached into his jacket then held up his gleaming blade and came a little closer, his wicked smile cold and sharp as the knife. "Only one left, right here." Alex's blood grew thinner. He waited a couple seconds longer, almost like he was baiting her to try for the weapon. When she didn't, he returned his blade to his jacket and shook his head at her. She was still aiming the Colt at his chest. He gave a lengthy sigh. "It's cute, Alex, honestly, but haven't we been through all this? You don't have a chance against me. Not then, and not now."He scoffed irreverently. "Especially not with that old trinket."

On the floor, Sam was excruciated and hopeless, as well as confused by Alex and the Colt. He clearly expected to watch Alex die in front of him. But she clenched her jaw, shaking her head no. Her expression was brutal. "You can't have him. You can't have any of us."

Lucifer peered at her through narrowed eyes. "Adam's mine. Your son is mine. Your brother is mine. Your family is dead, your friends are dead. What, you think you're gonna stop me?" An inconvenienced scoff and a slight roll of the eyes. "Please." He was high on ego and pride. "We both know how you trying to play hero ends." He drifted a fraction closer, lowering his voice. "This is fate," he assured, barely able to contain how delighted he was. "Unstoppable, cruel, inescapable fate." He drifted a little closer, his voice a low, malevolent whisper. "No matter how many times you try to stop me, I will always claw my way back up here to fuck your shit up." Fire danced in his eyes. "We always end up here, Alex Winchester. Always. The writing's on the wall, the script's already written, the song remains the same." And then he quoted himself, taking Alex back to the 2014 she and Dean saw. "Whatever choices you make… whatever details you alter… whatever games you try to play… we will always end up—right—here." Lucifer moved in even closer. "I win, Alex."

On the floor, Sam feebly held himself up on his arms, his warm hazel eyes pleading with his sister's matching ones. He could sense something was about to happen, but he thought that something was Alex being murdered in front of him. I hope he's wrong about that she thought somberly. Their gazes locked, and Sam wordlessly begged her. For what, she didn't know. But in that moment she saw him so clearly… and not only him, but their entire lives. Her brother—the one she came into this world with, the one who grew alongside her not only in the womb but in their crazy, bizarre childhood. It wasn't perfect by any means. But it was theirs. The endless gallery of gas stations and shitty motels flicked through her mind like pages of a book; its chapters full of uncertain days and long nights, the endless road, a never-ending barrage of new schools and no lasting friendships. But each other—they always had each other—whether they wanted that or not. Even when Sam tried to opt out, fate had other plans. Who could have ever known, ten years ago when Sam came out of his apartment on Halloween night to a resentful sister and a brother begging for help to find their dad… that it would all crescendo to this moment here? The years of pain, tests, problem after problem, death and loss and heartache and growth and impossible task after impossible task—it all rushed through Alex's mind like a train passing at top speed. All of it leading here.

And despite all the hell between then and now—what she remembered clearest of all was love. The feeling when Dean put his arm around her shoulder and ruffled her hair, saying 'that's my girl.' Sam's gentle empathy and kindness, his silent support of just sitting with her and putting a hand on her back when times were hard… paired with the understanding that he'd destroy anyone who dared hurt her. It was the fact, feeling, and knowledge that no matter what, every single last time until death and even beyond, the Winchester siblings would always, always save each other. And right now, it was on her shoulders to save them all.

Alex didn't drop Sam's gaze that entire time—it was perhaps a second or two, yet it felt like a lifetime. She felt herself giving him the smallest of smiles—oddly peaceful and resolute given the circumstances. It's gonna be okay, big brother. She met the devil's gaze again. This time without doubt.

Lucifer made his final step up to her where his chest brazenly touched the barrel of the gun. And with that, Alex knew that Judgment Day had come. Everything else closed out in all of her senses and sank down an octave. His voice dropped to a murmur as he reached up to ever so softly take her chin in his hand. Ice spread at the touch of his hand—an almost tender expression if it wasn't laced with so much foreboding and chill. "Any last words?"

This was the entire meaning of her life, this moment right here. With the flick of her thumb, Alex pulled back the hammer of the gun. A swift, precise motion she'd performed on a hundred guns a hundred times before. It took a fraction of a second. Even as it clicked into place and sent the bullet into the chamber, she whispered back a fierce: "You first." She pulled the trigger. With a deafening bang!, with absolute finality, with no guarantee… the gun fired.

The hollow-point bullet—made of a melted-down archangel's blade that was not destroyed as Lucifer thought—ripped into his chest. Lucifer stumbled back from the force of the gunshot and looked down at himself with an agape expression—brilliant blue-white light was screaming out of the wound, causing the air to fill with a high-pitched, deafening ringing noise. "No… no!" he screamed, panicking. His body began to spasm even as he clutched himself uselessly, looking at Alex with absolute fear and utter confusion. She approached him at a severe march, vengeful murder in her eyes. One hand held her child against her, and the other shoved the gun back into her waistband.

This was the enemy of all people, all angels, and all demons. He had been an unstoppable force of corruption and evil. He had threatened everything and everyone. He had taken everything from humanity. Until today. Until her. Alex grabbed him by the front of the shirt and yanked him toward her. "Go to hell," she seethed in the most fierce voice, teeth bared and face mere inches from his, "and fucking stay there you little bitch." She shoved him with brutal force thanks to the adrenaline. He screamed rage and pain and even as he hit the ground back-first, light exploded out brighter than the sun, causing Sam and Alex to shut their eyes and throw hands up against the light as they tried in vain to escape from the intense blaze. The ear-piercing zinging sound intensified, threatening to explode eardrums, and Lucifer gave one last enraged bellow—a sound that seemed to come from everywhere all at once. Then there was something like a small sonic boom—sending a shudder through the entire space before a gust of powerful wind blew most of the fire out, knocking Alex over onto her butt as she shielded her son.

All went silent and dark. Weak daylight filtered in from higher places where the ceiling had caved, cascading down in hazy shafts of light in the swirling, settling smoke.

The twins were left to blink against the darker interior of the bunker and breathe hard against the shock as their eyes adjusted. Lucifer laid dead with wide open eyes—midnight black wings burned onto the floor on either side of him. Shakily, Alex stood up, looking at him with a hard to read expression as her breathing finally began to slow down. She waited a long couple of seconds then reached down and took his blade, observing it carefully from handle to tip before putting it into her jacket.

Nearby on the floor, Sam was trying to register what just happened. "H-how did you do that?!" he asked in shellshocked daze. "What kind of bullet was that?!"

Alex didn't answer. She had rushed to Cas, dropping down to a knee while holding CJ with one hand against herself. She shook Cas hard, calling his name frantically, then shook Dean, calling his with rising despair. Neither responded. They were both dead. Alex looked over at her father, who was the same. For a brief moment, Alex looked like she was going to collapse. Then abruptly, her expression changed.

Without explanation, she came over to Sam who had just managed to sit himself up against a table leg. She dropped down and hugged him tightly for a long couple of seconds. They were both shaking, holding on as if afraid to let go. "Y-you okay?" Sam asked as they pulled apart.

She shook her head no and handed CJ over. "Hold him."

Totally confused, Sam was already weakly holding his nephew against himself with two bloody hands. "O-okay."

Alex held Sam's gaze intensely for a moment, her face in an expression he'd never quite seen before. She touched the side of his head, then cupped a hand to his cheek gently. "I love you Sam, all right? It's gonna be okay. Promise. I remember now. Or, I remember enough."

It was like she was in some kind of mania, and his face only showed confusion and pain. "I don't…" Sam started, but Alex was already standing up, and her energy was… odd.

She stalked off a couple steps, ripped her baby wearer off, then looked upward, shouting at the ceiling. "He's dead, you son of a bitch, now where are you?!" Nothing happened. Sam followed her gaze, confused and marginally horrified as again she bellowed at the top of her lungs in an animalistic shout, "WHERE—ARE—YOU?!"

There was a long silence in which Alex looked around with growing frustrated anger. And then, a voice Sam hadn't heard in years:

"Geez, impatient much?"

Sam gaped, following the sound of the voice. There he saw a below average height man with combed back brown hair, a clean shaven face, and an impish expression. He wore jeans, a rugged jacket, and a cocky little victorious smile. The man came out of the shadows with arms spread wide and a huge smile, kind of like a rockstar greeting his fans.

Sam's eyes went wide as a satellite dish. "…Gabriel?!"

It was him. And if looks could kill, Gabriel would be six feet under thanks to Alex's angry stare. As soon as Gabe was close enough, Alex grabbed a turned over chair then full strength slammed it into the archangel, head first. The chair broke and Gabriel's smile dropped in favor of an insulted expression. "Ow-wuh!" he exclaimed, putting a hand on his head. "I give you the weapon to kill Lucifer and this is the thanks I get?!" He dusted himself off with a put-on expression. "Tough crowd."

Alex tried to shove him. "You crooked, fucking, bastard!"

"Hey, it worked didn't it?" Gabriel asked, even as Alex was picking up a chair leg and hitting him with that. Gabe ducked and held a hand up defensively even as she grabbed yet another chair and smashed him. "Stop hitting me!" he protested in a rising voice.

"Maybe don't use me as your fucking puppet and get my family killed and I won't!"

Gabriel held a finger up to clarify. "Hey, in my defense, 'puppet' is a strong word—"

"You used me!" Alex spat out, red in the face. She looked ready to grab another chair.

Gabe pulled a face. "Uh, duh! And it worked, didn't it, so geez, put a tampon in it will you?"

Still on the floor holding his nephew, Sam was completely agape. "W-what the hell is going on here? You're dead!"

Gabriel looked at Sam in playful challenge. "All signs point to that being false." He chuckled then paused, taking in Sam's injured appearance fully. "Hmm. Also…" He snapped his fingers and suddenly, Sam's injuries were gone and he was cleaned up. "You're welcome," the archangel said, giving a humble little bow. He turned to Alex, who still seethed in front of him, barely holding onto her temper. Gabriel held his hands up in a calming gesture and began to explain a bit, mostly for Sam's benefit. "Look, I always knew crazy ole Lucifer would present problems as long as he existed, right? So when I heard he was back, again, I saved all our asses by giving your sister my blade a few days ago." He turned fully to Alex and gave her an approving expression. "Nice touch too with melting the blade into a bullet, kid. I did not think about that option. He never saw it coming!"

Alex was stony. "Well thanks to whatever the hell you did to me, I don't remember doing that."

Gabriel looked absolutely thrilled with himself. "Sweet, right?"

"Not sweet. Not!" Alex replied in a near-shout.

Sam stood up, holding his nephew to himself carefully. He fixed Gabe with a threatening expression as he came to stand protectively beside his sister. "Explain. Now."

Gabriel arched a brow and rolled his eyes then sighed. "Okay, tough guy." He paused and frowned thoughtfully, steepling his fingers then pressing those fingers against his mouth briefly. "Now I, uh—how do I say this?—I put a very special, rare spell in place. A spell that only works on… a chosen few." He wiggled his eyebrows, as if this should have excited them. "It removed memories of the blade tradeoff from her, and kept any memories of the blade at bay until the time was right. She knew enough to prepare the weapon and hide it for the right moment, and even enough to go back to where she hid it today to find it—all without knowing what she knew until baaasically the last minute. Cool right?!" From Alex's expression, she did not agree. Gabe sighed patronizingly. "Look, Al. You were my sleeper agent, and I know you're pissed right now, but if I let you remember everything we agreed to the whole dang time—if I gave you the opportunity to have this weapon and the knowledge about the plan, you might've shared that with your clown brothers or dingbat husband. Lucy over there might have read it from your mind too, and where would that have gotten us, huh? Timing is everything. No one knowing about me, the weapon, or the plan had to be the approach. Not even you knew until the time was right, and look. It worked!" He gave her a pout, then a questioning gaze. "You agreed to it, remember?"

Alex took a long, reluctant moment to answer. "Yes." She huffed. "Now." It was foggy, but she did remember enough—him appearing when she'd been on foot patrol alone a few days ago. She remembered agreeing to it but being very wary. Now, she didn't think he represented everything honestly in just how much meddling would be done to her mind and memory. This was just a bunch of bullshit. But she did remember something else. Something Gabriel still didn't know…

"Well then why aren't you thanking me?!" Gabe asked with a huge grin. "Al… the kid sibling is always written off, right? Always. It's always oooh Michael and his sword this and wow Lucifer the bringer of light that, with me sitting in the corner like chopped liver as they make fun of me and my horn—" He looked genuinely angry for a second. "Well, screw those a-holes. Overrated pricks if you ask me. In the end? We're the king and queen of this story." He scoffed and gestured at Sam, with a shake of the head. "Not Sam and Dean or whoever else. You and me, kid." He was desperately trying to get Alex on the same emotional page of zeal. "You just saved the world from the devil!" he exclaimed passionately, then held up a finger like he remembered something. "With my help of course." Alex was tired and annoyed in the face of his attempts. Gabriel smiled empathetically. "You wanna know why I picked you, right? Well it's because I didn't. This is just fate."

Alex exhaled heavily, a sour expression etching onto her face. "Oh spare me the fate bullshit…" she muttered. First Lucifer, now Gabriel.

"You think it's BS?" Gabe prompted, then gestured. "Come on, dude—Alex." He was looking at her like she'd lost the plot. "Do you seriously not get it? Your oldest brother was Michael's sword, your twin was Lucifer's vessel…?" He trailed off, but when Alex and Sam just glanced at each other in a way that silently implied Gabriel was nuts, the archangel tried again. "You're in a three piece set, what, you spent all this time thinking Heaven didn't have a special role for you too?!" He grinned widely at Alex, and almost giddily announced: "You're my horn!"

A long, befuddled silence came from Alex. "Uh. What?"

"The Horn of Gabriel!" He mimed playing a horn to the twins increasing confusion. "That horn of truth thing from back in the day? Just a souvenir I picked up from a crazy night in Bangladesh a few centuries ago." He winked, then grew fractionally more serious. "My horn has, and always will be, the person fate chose to carry out my message. To announce Judgment Day." He regarded Alex with mischievous fondness. "A.K.A… you."

Alex grew incredulous and skeptical. "You have got to be kidding me."

"So not," Gabriel replied lightly with a shrug. "I mean why else would you have had a guardian angel all those years, huh? God didn't do that." He smiled knowingly, revealing quite the plot twist: "I did. Insurance!" Alex's mouth dropped open. Gabe leaned in a bit, lowering his voice conspiratorially into a mock whisper. "You're welcome. On multiple levels." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Alex couldn't reply. She was trying to process. Gabe however wasn't done listening to himself talk. "I know what you're thinking. 'Well if that's the case, then why didn't we just kill Lucy last time he was out here screwing with the world and bringing the apocalypse down on our heads'? Well, given the fact that I was, y'know, mostly dead at the time was a biiit of an issue. Got a little ahead of myself there with that stunt I pulled at the god-hotel back in the day, heh."

He paused, even as Alex wondered if this was one of the reasons she was so strongly driven to try and destroy Lucifer before—an internalized knowledge that she was supposed to be the one to kill Satan. Gabe was still talking. "Look—CliffsNotes version. The horn symbolizes a whole bunch of mumbo jumbo I could care less about, but basically—it's Judgment Day bitches! And look who came out on top." He drew in a deep breath and let out a satisfied sigh. "I used to be a punchline to the archangel's jokes. Now, thanks to a few strategic genius moves, I'm basically god." He saw how Alex was still not excited about anything he was saying and he came a little closer, trying to convince her. "Al! Your brothers, Cas, a million other dumbasses, hell even you've occasionally believed you're not capable of getting shit done. I'd like to see them try to take this away from you. Everyone's always underestimated you and me, and look at us now!" He grinned shamelessly, coming off as ridiculous and out of touch.

Alex gave him a wan little false smile, a nod… then in an absurdly quick flash, pulled out the Colt and thumbed the hammer back even as the barrel lined up directly with Gabe's chest. Her face went hard. Gabriel's expression dropped. "Wait… what?"

She was composed to the point of being unnerving. "What were you just saying about people underestimating me?" This is what he didn't know: That she'd had the presence of mind somehow, even under his spell, to make more than one bullet in case she needed it. He may have been able to erase her memories and program certain things in, but he couldn't wipe out her self-protective instincts or her more cunning side.

Gabriel realized what happened and took a couple dumbfounded seconds to respond. "Well. Touché." He tried a cajoling smile, even as he raised his hands under the aim of the weapon, which he eyed apprehensively. "Alex… buddy…"

"I'm not your buddy." Alex paused for effect, meaning every word. "I want you to be very clear on something, Gabe." She held his gaze firmly and his eyes narrowed slightly, his expression hard to read. "You and I had a business arrangement—an unclear, dishonest, misleading business arrangement. So as of right now, we're settled up, understand? Whatever Heaven wanted with me or my family in the past is taken care of today. You, and anyone like you, better not ever darken our door with your apocalypse bullshit ever again, got it?" She began to show a little more emotion through her steeliness. "I am getting pretty sick and tired of angels fucking with shit around here!"

Gabriel was measured with his response, but there was warning in his tone. "Careful sweetie. You might just piss off the new god." He said that with his hands still raised in a 'don't shoot' position.

Alex regarded him mildly. "No. You be careful. I have a gun full of archangel killing bullets and Lucifer's blade in my pocket. What have you got?" Gabriel's expression faltered. Alex pressed the point home. "So the 'new god' is gonna listen to me very closely, because any 'god' who can't do his own dirty work is just another super-powered jackass in my book. And you know what me and my family do to super-powered jackasses, right?" She pulled a meaningful face even as Gabe grudgingly remained silent. He knew. The entire world knew. "Yeah." Beside Alex, Sam looked at his sister sidelong, completely taken back and even a little awed at what was happening. Alex wasn't done. "So this is what's gonna happen right now, Gabby. You're gonna bring back all these people—even that damn demon over there. And especially the one outside." She jerked her head toward Crowley's body, clenching her jaw as she thought of Meg who had surely been first to die. "You're gonna fix the mess your brother made of this planet, all of it, you hear me? And then you and everyone like you, leave us alone. No more angels, no more demons, no more humans being the middle man, no more apocalypse shit. Heaven and Hell are closed for business, forever, you hear me?"

Gabriel let out a breath of air that made him sound prematurely exhausted and overwhelmed. "Tall order, but, seeing as all the trouble that's been caused the past, oh, zillion years by all this apocalypse BS, I don't disagree. So yeah. It's a deal." He lowered his hands, but Alex didn't lower her weapon. He looked at the gun pointedly. "Can you stop pointing that thing at me?"

One of Alex's eyebrows twitched. "Ask me another stupid question."

Gabe pulled a disgruntled face. "Geez, when'd you get so sassy?" he muttered sullenly. She made a face and he conceded with a roll of the eyes. "Okay, okay fine. Fine. I do my part, I clean up Lucy's playtime mess, then go KonMari Heaven and stay the hell outta your hair down here." He folded his arms and fixed her and Sam with a curious, joking expression. "What's that mean for you and this ragtag group of army rejects?" He grinned preemptively at his own joke. "What, you gonna go get a job as a sandwich artist or something?"

Alex narrowed her eyes. "Do you wanna get shot…?"

Gabe rolled his eyes. "Forget I asked," he said under his breath. He sighed again. "For what it's worth, kiddo, I get it. I've fucked with you since day one and I disappear for years at a time between the oddly helpful moment. Why would you like or trust me?" He shrugged irreverently. "No skin off my back." He raised his index finger. "But… just saying… if it wasn't for the apocalypse and all the crap that came along with it… you would've never met your precious Castiel." He spread his arms in a knowing little shrug before he pointed at her again with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm basically the world's best matchmaker and the guy who figured out how to kill the devil forever. So put that in your pipe and smoke it!"

Alex tried to hide her disgruntlement. He was right, which was highly annoying. She didn't say as much, but she did finally lower the Colt to her side. A small act of truce. "Listen," she insisted. "You still owe me. And if you have any decency at all, you'll remember how much I risked." He made a face, which only served to flare her temper. Alex had just put her life on the line, not to mention that of her brother, her son—and she had watched everyone else she loved die doing it while being mostly robbed of her knowledge of what was going on and what she'd agreed to until the very last minute. It didn't matter that it had gone well. Her family was dead, and she had been through enough trauma to last a lifetime. The sight of her niece dead in Molly's arms made white-hot rage charge through her veins. "This was never a sure thing," she insisted in an increasingly trembling voice. "You didn't know if it would work, which is exactly why you had me do it!"

Gabriel pulled a face. "Dramatic."

"I risked everything because you couldn't or wouldn't," Alex insisted. "So there's one more thing I want."

The archangel became flabbergasted. "Geez Louise! This isn't your Amazon wishlist! You can't keep adding things on!"

Like hell I can't. "Adam." She said his name with a slight waver, and her voice grew softer. "…What happened to him?"

Gabriel looked like maybe he didn't hear her right. "Uh, you killed him when you killed good ole Loo-Loo, I thought that was an obvious one."

"His soul," Alex clarified tersely.

"Ah." Gabriel became light and playful again. "Somewhere in Albuquerque?" At Alex's unamused expression, the archangel became more appropriate. "Pretty sure I know what you're getting at, but unfortunately, no can do. His soul and Lucifer's got melted together like swiss cheese at some point in the Cage. So when you killed Lucifer… you killed Adam too. Like forever-ever."

Alex was crushed. "You just called yourself the new god, and you can't bring him back?"

"Hate to tell you, Al, but this is one Winchester who'll never come back. Adam's soul is gone." He smiled with surprising gentle empathy—a rare moment of real unguarded emotion at her expression—the realization that in killing their greatest enemy, she'd also permanently killed her own flesh and blood. "Don't feel bad kid. This is just the way the cookie crumbled. If it's any consolation, he's not suffering anymore. You ended that for him. You made it stop. I think he'd say thank you if he could." And then that glimpse into the unmasked Gabriel was gone. He reached a hand up and snapped his fingers—and then Dean, Cas, Dad all began to stir. Gabriel looked at Crowley, who laid nearby. He was beginning to stir too, confused as to why he was suddenly alive again. Gabriel sauntered up to the demon with a wily expression. "Now you belong… 'down unda!'" He snapped his fingers again and Crowley disappeared—to Hell, presumably. "Buh-bye now!"

Alex had already ran over to Cas and Dean, and the three of them held onto each other hard in an awkward sitting, crouching clump on the floor. Alex pressed a small series of relieved kisses against Cas's temple and held his face. Vast relief and tearfulness she'd held at bay crumpled her features. Dean stared in confusion at the archangel over her shoulder. "Gabriel…?"

"Yep! TL, DR," Gabriel replied, waving a hand because he obviously didn't want to explain it all.

Briefly drawing back to hold eye contact with Alex that conveyed the emotional height of everything they just went through, Cas nodded quietly and touched her face softly, telling her without words that he was okay. He turned his attention to Gabriel, who Dean was questioning again.

"How the hell are you here?" the oldest Winchester demanded.

Gabriel indicated Alex lazily. "Ah, she'll explain later," he said even as Cas got up, his expression thoroughly perplexed and questioning. "I don't have long," Gabe continued airily. "Weeelll, actually I have all of eternity, but I'm tired of the melodrama around here."

Cas approached Gabriel hesitantly. He was clearly confused about how Gabriel was there, but he didn't ask questions. Just greeted a long lost friend—there was slight suspicion there though. "Gabriel." Dean and Alex fussed over each other briefly as the angels spoke.

Gabe smiled softly. "Cas." They shook hands. "You smell awfully human these days."

"That's because I am."

Leaning in conspiratorially, Gabe studied Cas with interest. "I could fix that, you know. Just say the word."

Cas shook his head. "What about the rest of the angels? They're mostly wiped out."

Genuine sorrow crossed Gabe's face. "I know buddy." He drew in a deep breath and shook his head ruefully. "Look, I can fix a lot. I can't fix that." He studied Cas closely. "Now what about you?"

Castiel looked back at his family. Which wasn't just Alex and CJ—but Sam and Dean too. Alex and Dean were still holding each other tightly, watching Cas and Gabriel. A bit further off, Sam held CJ while helping his dad up. For Cas, the choice had already been made. The road had always been leading here. He looked back at his waiting angel brother, voice full of depth in emotion. "The way things are is good with me."

"Predictable, little brother," Gabriel said, but not without deep fondness. He put a hand onto Cas's shoulder as a genuine careworn smile crossed his face. "Well, there'll be a special place in my neck of the woods for you and the missus when the time comes," he said, then curiously studied CJ, who remained quiet with eyes that were watchful—especially for such a young baby. Gabe pointed at the infant with a studious, perplexed expression. "Can't say about that one though, he's… different." He shrugged his eyebrows once. "Fun stuff." He then frowned hard and put a hand on his hip. "Wait… am I his uncle? Now that's just freakin' weird." He gave Cas quite the look. "Do not call me when you need a babysitter, dude."

Of another mind, Dean Winchester had been watching the exchange in a bit of a daze. "How're you here, Gabriel?" he asked, coming to join Cas with a hard, shrew expression. "Seriously. We saw you die."

Gabriel remained mysterious and sly. "And I just saw you die too and yet… here we all are. FYI, next time, it really will be permanent so… you schmucks better watch your asses."

John and Sam drifted a little closer and Alex took her son back from Sam so that he could help John better. Dad seemed to have taken his resurrection a little harder than the others and was moving stiffly. John had no idea who Gabriel even was and remained silent, letting his kids handle things. However it was clear he had questions—and lots of them.

That was the moment in which Molly and Jamie appeared at the library entrance, baby Rose with them. All three were alive but confused and scared. Seeing Lucifer dead on the ground, their confused eyes searched for answers even as Sam and Dean rushed over and shared brief, tearful reunions.

Gabriel meanwhile eyed John, gaze dropping to the bright red raised Mark visible on the patriarch's forearm. He cringed. "Ohh. Yeah… about the Mark of Cain. You're gonna want to get Grandpa out of the general human population with that thing hanging around. Or things will get preeee-tty ugly." He smirked at John. "Some people, gluttons for punishment huh?" Frowning, John decided against a reply.

The archangel seemed to be leading into his exit, looking at Alex again. She held CJ closely to her chest. Cas was with her. Gabe smiled in that maddening way. "Look. Alex. I know you're pissed at me. But I want you to think about it this way. If I hadn't done what I did, would you be looking at a peaceful future life and Lucifer gone forever?" He was glib and gleeful, satisfied. "Doubt it, my sweet little horn." He got quite the face for that last comment, which of course he loved. "Anyway, things to do, a shattered planet earth to set right, universes to run—seeya later, fam!" He winked, waved, snapped a finger, and then disappeared.

Immediately, Cas turned to Alex and looked her over thoroughly, taking hold of her with both hands. "Alex, what happened? Lucifer… did Gabriel kill him?"

"No." Sam answered for his twin in a tone that was mildly reverent. He and his brother plus their partners were rejoining the group with stricken, relieved faces. "She did."

Everyone reacted with stunned brief silence. Then Dean did a double take. "Dude, how?"

"I thought you kids said the Colt didn't work last time," John said, spotting the familiar gun in his daughter's waistband.

"It didn't," Dean said, honing in on what his dad did—and questions aimed at Alex were silently pervasive on his confused face.

Alex held a hand up to all the questions both asked and unasked while shaking her head no and brushing out of Cas's grasp. She handed her son over to his father. Overwhelmed and shattered, her brain had started going to mush. "This… is gonna take a minute to explain," she said heavily as it all sank in. She wasn't going to address it at all yet. She couldn't. Her gaze softly, somberly, painfully turned to Adam's body. He laid in a broken way, his shocked face and wide eyes staring up into nothing. A shaft of light illuminated him as if on purpose, and dirty air moved in little swirls of dust above.

Alex went to him and hesitated, then sank to her knees, the material of her jeans darkening into the sooty wing marks underneath her half brother's body. She gently put a hand over his eyes, closing them. Her hand then drifted to rest over his heart. She studied him sadly, bowing her head as she sat down on her heels, unable to move. Did it really have to end like this? Did she do the right thing? Behind her, she felt her family coming to stand, then Sam dropped down to be beside her and held her tight in a sidelong embrace, giving her silent comfort. He saw everything that just happened, so he understood what she was feeling more than the others did. Dean came to Alex's other side and he crouched down to put his arm around her back, grasping onto Sam too. A reassuring gesture. Cas stood behind Alex, one arm cradling their son, his other hand reaching down to touch Alex's head as tears for the dead came. Jamie and Molly embraced, still shaken up from what they had gone through. John stood back from the group with shining eyes as it all sank. His son Adam was gone. Killed by his daughter.

As that fateful day continued onward and Alex felt able, she explained what had happened. Gabriel's plan, her part in it, the Colt, the archangel's blade, her choice to melt it down—how she didn't remember any of it until the moment came. She would heavily relay the news that Adam was gone forever. After that, John carried his son's broken body out of the bunker with a face of stone and began building a pyre. His other children silently joined in. Together, they sent Adam off with somber words, burning flames, and broken hearts. Even though their victory was immense, the feeling of loss that remained was heavy. Alex particularly would struggle with it for a long time.

The group of freedom fighters living in the bunker would soon watch as the world miraculously returned to normal over the next few days—Gabriel made good on his promise and somehow resurrected billions, reversing all the natural disasters and taking away the memory of what happened from almost everyone on the planet. It was as if nothing ever happened—but the Winchesters and company would never forget how close it came or those two months spent living in hellish stasis.

Alex would go on to keep Lucifer's blade as her primary weapon for the rest of her life, and legends would be told about the woman who took the Devil's sword. The Colt was kept in a secret, protected place deep inside the fortress walls of the bunker.

John Winchester stayed with his children, helping with repairs and rebuilding of the parts of the Bunker that were damaged. But, like Gabriel said, he found himself unable to handle the Mark in the way that he did before. It began to corrupt him, causing more and more outbursts of violence and rage. He tried for awhile to hide it, but it became apparent to all that it was far beyond him. A looming, harmful problem for everyone.

So in early March of 2015, John and his children gathered at the two headstones they had erected across from the bunker entrance. One for Adam. And one for Mary. On that day, John Winchester announced he was taking the Mark and himself into the wilderness to live in solitude. His children protested, but John eventually convinced them around to what he had been privately considering. He called his choice his penance and his purgatory—his sacrifice, his payment for Dean's life. A price he paid gladly. He would soon pack his things, spend a few more days making good memories with his family, then hug his tearful children goodbye slowly early on a cold morning, taking time to tell them each in turn about how proud they made him—ending with his youngest. He left her with a final comment made through shining eyes. "Who knew I'd raise the girl who saved the world. Your mother would be so proud. You've become ten times the person I ever was. No dad could be prouder, sweetheart." And then he released her from the prison of guilt about Adam. "You did the right thing. I hope you never forget that."

He told his kids to keep taking care of each other. To be brave. To keep doing what they'd always done: Saving people. Hunting things. Continue onward in the family business. He left them to watch as he shouldered a single bag, waved goodbye with a bittersweet smile, and started down the lonely road to who knows where. Somehow, no matter how bittersweet... it felt right.

---

Back At The Graveside
2018

It was four years ago that this happened. Both an eternity of time and a mere blink of an eye. Alex studies the headstones in front of herself quietly, still holding CJ as she thinks back to the day that Lucifer died. Life hasn't been the same since. So much has changed. But in good ways, mostly.

Adam Milligan - Always Remembered
All Give Some, But Some Give All
1990-2010

Mary Winchester - Loving Mother and Protector
Remembered - Missed - Loved
1954-1983

Words on stone and memories in minds. That is what remains of these two all-important people. Both who Alex barely knew, yet played the most significant roles in her life and perhaps in the fate of the entire planet. She still carries ghosts of guilt for Adam's death, and probably always will—but she no longer tears herself apart inside over what happened.

There's another name that lingers in her mind, and Alex looks down the gravel road that leads to the nearby rural highway. That's the very road that he went down the last time they all saw him. Dad. Walking tall, proud, resolute into his chosen fate, John Winchester did what he felt was right for not only his family, but for humanity. Yes, he left his kids behind, but in a different way than before. That time, they'd understood why and had been able to say their goodbyes and have some closure. Alex holds her son a little closer and kisses his hair. Finding their new normal afterward was a process. Hell, it still is. Stationary life isn't what she's used to, but the bunker has provided a place that feels right to her. To all of them.

Hunting is different now. The life still exists, but it's not the mess of Heaven and Hell that it had once been. It's more like the first days of werewolves, vengeful spirits, ghosts, Wendigo, cursed objects. Dad closing Hell meant demons don't come out anymore—and the few that remain above ground are either hiding or not problems. Some are even friends. Alex smiles to think about Meg, who visits from time to time. She still wonders what happened to Crowley, and who let him out on that fateful day. Oddly enough, she hopes he's happy, wherever he is.

Heaven is quiet and has ceased causing problems. Alex constantly wonders if this will remain the norm forever, but for now, it's enough. Dean took Sam and Alex aside in early 2015 and made them swear to always stay sharp, ready, and trained—just case. And additionally, to make sure their children and romantic partners knew enough to be able to stand a fighting chance of survival. The twins had readily agreed.

At that moment, CJ suddenly picks his head off her shoulder where he'd been cuddling and squirms with sudden excitement like he sees something. "Daddy!" he shrieks.

Alex is already setting him down and he even before his feet touch the ground, he tears out of her arms at an exuberant run to the call from a familiar, beloved voice.

"Good morning!"

Coming out of the bunker, a familiar sight as she turns around: Castiel. Her heart blooms.

He looks similar to how he always has, yet very different too: the same is that he is tanned and handsome with tousled brown hair. But he doesn't wear the business suit and trench coat much anymore, and he sports more of a stubbled look rather than clean-shaven most of the time—he's even grown a beard a couple times experimentally which Alex always enjoys. He wears John's old wedding ring as his own. He looks ordinary. Human.

"Morning!" Alex returns, helpless but to smile at the sight of him. It never gets old.

Today, he clearly woke up not long ago—he has that look of slight grogginess and his hair is a little more wild than usual. He's in well-worn jeans, a dark gray and yellow Led Zeppelin v-neck tee, and an unzipped tan hoodie. All of that is paired with… fluffy bunny slippers. Alex's fluffy bunny slippers. The ones she never would have bought for herself, but CJ begged her to get. She does things for her kids that she'd never do otherwise… including those dang slippers. Cas's big feet don't even fit into them really. He wears them when he'd rather not put on his own shoes which is quite often. I really need to get him his own pair of those things... Alex thinks idly, a faint smile on her face. To make the sight even cuter, he's carrying their sleeping daughter against himself—she's in a patterned onesie her uncle Dean got for her—it's heather gray dotted by cartoon pies with various crusts. Novak Grace Winchester, better known as Nova, was named like her brother, in part to honor the memory and importance of Jimmy Novak. It was a decision Cas and Alex felt fitting. Her middle name of course is a reminder of her father's angelic origins. Little Nova will be one year old before long. She apparently looks just like Alex did at that age—dark-haired and fair-skinned, only she has her father's bright cobalt eyes.

CJ's hugging his dad's legs tightly and preventing his father from moving for a couple quick seconds. Their son has developed normally for the most part since being born, but he's incredibly strong, and only gets stronger as time continues. "Hi Dad!" CJ yells up with a toothy grin. You'd think he hadn't seen Cas in years, but it's only been since last night's bedtime.

"Hello, son!" Cas greets back in an easy, carefree tone, chuckling and ruffling CJ's light brown hair affectionately with a free hand. There's a crooked grin on his face. "You certainly are strong." Just as quickly as CJ latched onto Cas, he darts away, starting to transition to his more normal energy (which of course is insanity).

Cas watches CJ frolic as he comes to stand by Alex, putting a free arm around her in a soft hug she returns with both arms. He presses a kiss into her hair. "You okay?" he asks, giving her that open, observant, caring gaze he's almost always looked at her with. She'd gotten up early, unable to sleep—and left Cas with a kiss snoozing peacefully in their cozy bed with Nova nearby.

She's not sure if he's asking about her emotions regarding Mom's death anniversary or just in general, but the answer is yes. She feels good. And most days, unbelievably, are like this now. "Yeah," she says, smiling at him easily as he returns that smile gently back. She still finds him so beautiful and special. Watching him age and live a human life is one of her favorite things. It's something they share together, it's something they help each other through. It's quiet and mundane compared to everything before, but it's welcome. There's things like glasses for aging eyes (Cas needs them to read these days), grocery shopping, laundry, sore knee joints, making meals while they wrangle noisy kids and tired nerves. But there's something so gentle and right about this more stable, predictable life they've found. Of all the possible outcomes, Alex thanks the stars every day that this is theirs.

Cas's brilliant blues are searching her gaze with clear love and affection, and it's like he knows what she's thinking. And just like that they're drawn into a brief kiss, neither one sure who leaned in first. A habit they've never grown out of even after almost ten years together now. His hand touches the side of her head, the sweetest reminder that he will never stop adoring her. As she pulls back, she gives him a teasing little smile and a tap of a finger on his chin. "Nice slippers, babe." He grins—and something about the humor there makes her think maybe he wears the slippers to make her laugh. She smooths his hair for him then leans over her daughter and strokes Nova's head gently, giving a little kiss to the dark brown hair of her head. "Still sleeping huh?" she asks, even though it's clear the kid is out like a light. She's so beautiful. Lashes for days, huge eyes, sweet little features.

Cas smiles down at their daughter, peeking at her face. "Like granite."

Alex glances at him, a little grin popping up. "Rock." Cas still doesn't get his jargon right all the time, which she kind of hopes will never change. But he's asked her and everyone else to always please let him know when he makes blunders like that. So she clarifies: "Like a rock."

"Ah. A rock." He gives her a surprisingly sassy little smile. "Sleeping like a rock. Thank you." Cas gives her a little squeeze. Then he turns his attention to CJ, who's been standing in place and flapping his arms at his side for no reason for upwards of ten seconds now. "Did you pay your respects to your grandmother, son?"

CJ stops flapping and looks up at his father with a funny look on his face. "Pay? I don't gots money Dad."

Alex snorts and shakes her head at Cas and his mini-me. "You two are the same person," she jokes.

This disgruntles their little boy. "No we're not, Mom," CJ says very matter-of-fact, almost upset by the thought. "I'm not Dad!"

Alex sighs. You can't reason with a four-year-old. It's best to just admit defeat. "I know sweetie, I know."

"We would never imply such a thing," Cas assures… and from the way he glances at Alex, it's clear he's being playful too.

CJ has already forgotten what he was upset about, squatting down as he exclaims, "ooh, a snail!" He holds his hand out carefully, trying to get his new little friend to crawl on his hand. "Heyyyy little guy…"

Cas and Alex exchange another look. Exasperated. Amused. Knowing. Loving.

Funny how they used to barely understand each other and now, they can communicate volumes with mere glances. Becoming parents had something to do with that. The shared responsibility of raising these little ones has been tough, weird, challenging, exhausting—but they've always done it together. This has deepened their connection. Solidified it. Grown them past what they were before. Alex knows many people fall out of love once the initial roaring blaze of the fire and attraction is gone. And while she wouldn't characterize their dynamic as quite as up-and-down and all-or-nothing as before—not as wild or as raw—she wouldn't say the fire has died down at all. No... it's strong. It's steadfast. And it's forged them into something unbreakable in this life or any other.

Seeing Cas become a father has been something Alex will never know how to describe. All she knows is that she thought she loved him before... but new depths were built when they learned they would be parents together. The way Castiel is with his son and daughter is everything Alex always knew it would be and more. Gentle, consistent, present, giving, so very loving—he is interested in their every moment of life, he is intensely protective of them, they bring out a side of him that is ever-evolving. He writes them poems, he sings them songs (badly), he makes them things, he gives everything he has to them and more. CJ and Nova are his favorite things in the world, and this heals Alex, it grows her, it gives her something every day to never stop feeling grateful for.

Cas and Alex return to looking at Mary's headstone together, content to be in a comfortable quiet together. After a moment, Cas rubs Alex's back softly. "I wish I could have known her."

Alex wishes the same thing—both for herself and for Cas. Mary's death will always be a sore spot and a tragedy. A huge loss that Alex knows she'll never even come close to comprehending to magnitude of. "Same here," she murmurs. She doesn't remember the night of the fire, but there are a few impressions of Mary left. A snatch of a hummed song—the crinkle in the corner of an eye as a smile is given—the sound of laughter—the feeling of being safe and loved. Alex was six months old when her mother died—so close to the age that little Nova is right now. That really brings it home for Alex, makes her understand her own life a little more and hold her children closer at certain times. She often has moments with her daughter and son that feel like connection to Mary through this shared experience of motherhood. Pride and sadness at the same time swell in Alex's chest. She's regularly struck by awe that this is her life now. Someday, when the afterlife comes, Alex hopes she can meet her mother again.

"Yellow flowers," Cas observes softly, noticing what his son left on Mary's grave.

Alex follows his gaze, knowing what he's thinking. "Yellow flowers," she echoes.

Cas kisses the side of her head at that moment, and Alex closes her eyes blissfully.

"E-www!" CJ squeals in response at top volume, but he's grinning when Alex pops an eye open to squint at him. This is new—the pretending to be grossed out by his parents' more affectionate moments. She shakes her head at her silly kid even as Nova begins to stir at the loud noise, making protesting sounds as she opens her eyes with a distinctly grumpy expression. Oh boy, Alex thinks with fond resolve. Here comes another day of my crazy ass kids ganging up on us with their shenanigans.

Knowing what she's thinking, Cas rubs her back again briefly. "You stay here and wait for your brothers," Cas says, then nods back toward the bunker. "We'll go see about making some coffee for everyone. Sound good?"

Bobby and Jamie would definitely go for some java. Alex briefly pictures Rosie and her little two-year-old brother Robert John (aka Robby) getting into the caffeinated bean water and going bananas. She chuckles softly. Dean isn't here right now—he's gone on a small hunt with Sam somewhere locally. They were supposed to be back last night, but got behind. They're apparently en route now and will be here soon. Coffee for all is definitely going to be needed. "Sounds good," she confirms, thankful for Cas's caring insight. He's a leader in ways a lot of people aren't: always thinking of the needs of others, anticipating what will help in any given situation and then seeing to it.

"Coffee yuck, I like chocolate MILK!" CJ insists emphatically. Nova giggles throatily at her brother. She thinks anything he does is funny for some reason.

"It is quite a delicious drink," Cas says, giving his son a smile and eye contact before he turns his attention to his daughter and nuzzles his nose to hers. "Hello Nova, my girl—did you sleep well?"

"Da, da, da," she gurgles, sucking on her fingers and grinning at her dad. CJ starts dancing around, making faces by pulling on his cheeks and mouth to catch his sister's attention. It works, as always. Nova laughs heartily, and Cas holds out an index finger for her to grab onto. When she does, he dances around with her, making CJ laugh and jump while calling, 'me next me next me next!' with hands outstretched. Alex knows that's her cue and holds her arms out to him. He leaps for her to catch him, and they dance too, Alex kissing CJ's hand and swinging him around and dipping him down fast so he'll laugh. Such a little daredevil. The more dangerous it feels to him, the more he likes it. She tosses him a couple times before she's winded and puts him down, telling him, "Mommy's old, whew."

Luckily he's fine with it and just squeals and runs around in non-distinct patterns, pumped up from the dancing. Cas and Alex catch each other's gaze again and she reaches for him, pressing into his space, grinning stupidly. Words aren't needed. They lean in again and they kiss softly, briefly. A familiar, affectionate act. He runs his pinky finger down to hers and squeezes. Their special little thing, their constant reminder to each other that they love each other. Alex squeezes back. Human. Hers. Always. They draw apart just a little and hold each other's eye line. It's a miracle they made it, but for all the heartache, all the pain… it's been worth it. Cas nuzzles his forehead to hers… and then Nova whacks them both in the side of the face with her hand and arm. Not on purpose, just… being a baby with no real control or understanding of her own limbs. She's cooing and slobbering, sputtering happily. Cas and Alex, who at this point have learned quite a lot about how life with little kids is never too fancy, exchange a look that can only be described as amused and resigned. Both laughing softly. Then Alex grabs Nova's little hands and kisses a bunch of times, making her daughter laugh even more.

CJ is in a frenzy, hyped up and yelling about chocolate milk over and over, and Nova begins bouncing in Cas's arms, grinning as her brother chants about "chaka-mik, chaka-mik!"

Alex chuckles, a contended yet defeated sound. These kids are nuts, but it's fun. And disastrous, messy, chaotic, insane...

"You sure you don't need me?" she asks her husband. "They're gonna be in rare form today, just look at them."

Cas gives her a look. "I once commanded a legion of thousands of angels. I think I can handle these two."

Alex pulls a doubtful face. Their son has dropped to all fours and is currently ripping grass up with his mouth like an animal. "Look Noah! Raaaawr!" he spits grass everywhere, and she's shrieking happily, loving it. "I'm a zombie!"

Cas looks a little less sure of himself. "Emphasis on the word think."

"God kids are weird," Alex mutters to herself in helpless humor as she scoops CJ up to make him stand. "Ceej, we don't eat grass," she reprimands firmly. "And zombies don't eat grass. Whose kid even are you?" She plops him onto his feet after a quick kiss on his cheek. "Go with Daddy, you can have breakfast okay?"

As CJ is overcome with delight and exclaims "yay breakfast!" at way too high a volume, Alex is leaning in and kissing Cas's cheek briefly. "Love you," she says so soft that he might not have even heard.

He did. She hears his reply, just as soft. "Forever."

CJ is pulling on Cas, urging him to "come on, come oooonnn!"

And they're off. Castiel walks away, carrying Nova in one arm and holding a hand with CJ. "Good luck, Dad!" Alex calls teasingly after them. He looks back at her briefly, sending another tender smile her way. She feels her chest constrict a little, watching the three of them disappear into the bunker.

That's her entire world, right there.

Well... almost her entire world.

As if on cue, she hears telltale sounds. Gravel crunching slowly underneath car tires. Alex looks down the little driveway to see the Impala approaching from the main road, teeter totting on the rough and uneven roadway as it carefully navigates in. Finally. She's relieved and excited at the same time. The car's engine is a familiar thick, mellow purr. The sun is beginning to rise a warm pink and orange, casting color across the fog and causing the two figures inside the car to be silhouetted. Familiar shapes to her in any context—recognizable at once without seeing anything but their vague outlines. Her brothers. Her heroes. Her best friends.

Alex smiles bittersweetly, a gesture so vague it barely shifts her lips, and she raises a hand briefly as a hello. In her chest, there's an unexpected swell of emotion that affects her everywhere, even her eyes. She watches as they pull up just a few yards away from her and stop. The engine turns off and the brothers get out at almost the same time, and as the doors slam shut with that familiar creaking metallic sound, Alex thinks about how this car is almost the fourth member of their family. How this sight of them and the car is the feeling of being home for her both now and always.

Sam and Dean look similar to how they always have: Dean is built smaller and more thickly than Sam, keeping his hair cut short and well-barbered—however he has some grays coming in now, and his face shows a slight stubble. He's also finally got all the tattoos he wanted—working on a full sleeve on his left arm currently. The designs include his siblings birthday in roman numerals, his children's initials, and a variety of meaningful things to them: an Impala on a highway, a cemetery with three distinct silhouettes standing in it, demonic looking designs giving way to more heavenly elements and of course, on his bicep from years ago, there's the name "James" in a red heart that his artist blended into his sleeve.

Sam also looks near to how he always has though his hair is cut a bit shorter than it used to be, leaving him looking distinguished or laid back, depending on the outfit he wears. He's in strong and shape as always—heavier and healthier than in 2014 when he was thin and sick. He still dresses the same as his siblings: flannels, a rugged jacket, jeans. There is one slight major difference though. On his left hand, his shining gold wedding band.

"Morning!" Dean greets Alex as the brothers approach. His voice is still rough, like he hasn't been awake long or hasn't slept. Either are likely.

"Sorry we're late," Sam apologizes as he reaches his twin first and pulls her in for a one-armed hug and gives her a quick kiss on the head. "Got caught up in it last night."

"Still made sunrise," Alex replies with a squeeze, then quickly hugs Dean hello and ruffles his hair as he grunts a half-protest. She's sure she'll hear details about their hunt later.

They've gathered here together every year since 2014 on November the second to memorialize their mother's anniversary of death and the day the world almost ended—so today is pretty important. Sam moved out of the bunker a couple years back to go to grad school full-time—plus, he'd been spending so much time with Molly at her apartment it just made sense to move out completely—so having him here feels extra meaningful and special. He's not present as often as Alex wishes, but she accepted it a long time ago and just does her best to enjoy the times he is here. Dean, however, is as regular a fixture in Alex's life as he's ever been. And that's how they both prefer it. They're kind of like a pair of shoes in that way—no good without the other one.

"Everything good?" Dean asks her. He and Sam have been off the grid for almost two whole days on the local job they did, which may not seem too long, but even two days feels like a lot to them both.

Alex nods briefly. "Yeah, you? How was the hunt?"

Dean shrugs as if he's being humble (he's not). "Iced that baddie like it was nothing."

"It was awesome," Sam says, nowhere near as cool as Dean played it. He's grinning in a way that makes him look twenty-something again and giddy. His statement and the way he says it makes his siblings smile back at him. He's been busy with the pursuit of a more normal life, but hunting still calls his name—hell, it keeps calling all their names. They just don't answer the call quite as often as they used to, but the life comes for you once you're in it. Without fail. Thankfully it's a much more tame scene out there now. Manageable, especially when compared to how bad it got for them and the shit they went through when angels started showing up.

Dean pats Alex's arm briefly then jerks his thumb toward the bunker doorway. "Listen, lemme go say hi to the fam then we're going for a ride."

"Oh we are?" Alex asks, a cross between amused and confused at his declaration. Dean's already on his way inside and Alex glances at Sam to see if he knows what's up. He shakes his head nope, already way ahead of her. Hmm.

Dean remains mysterious, tossing back over his shoulder: "No questions, just trust me."

"Let Cas know not to make the coffee!" Alex calls after him. "And tell him we're gonna be gone for however long…!" She gets a thumbs up in the air above Dean's head right before he disappears inside. The bunker entrance used to be sort of severe and industrial looking: now it's been overhauled. The cement surrounding the rounded brick that borders the doorway has been pressure washed, leaving it a crisp gray bone color. The surrounding brick is painted white, and the doorway is a deep navy color. Potted plants are on either side of the door—Cas's doing. A wrought-iron W hangs above the door, and the boys put in an inlaid stone pathway from the gravel parking area to the entrance. Basically, it looks as much like a home as it can. But make no mistake—there's quite the state-of-the-art security system built in, plus devil's traps, angel wards, and a number of other safeguards.

The twins are left in the warming morning air to wait for their brother, and Alex turns her attention to Sam. They're closing in on thirty-six now and she sees how he's toeing the line between young man and middle age. His skin is changing, the lines from smiling and frowning are more pronounced, his face shape is a little more chiseled. Just yesterday it seems he was babyfaced and a boy. Now he's a grown man. They're both grown. Life comes at you fast, she reflects bittersweetly, and gives him a smile. It seems like just yesterday they were kids without a clue. "It's really good to see you, Sam," she says—because what do you say to someone you've been through everything and then some with? Alex hugs his middle, tucking her head against his chest for a long few seconds, her squeeze of him saying more than words can.

She can hear thick emotions in his voice as he hugs her back. "You too, Mouse."

She pulls back to look at him in the eye. He hasn't called her that in forever, and she must be looking at him some kind of way because he laughs in his easy way hugs her a little tighter. Nothing more really needs to be said—she knows he's in a reflective state of mind too. They stay close, her arm loose around his middle, his slung across her shoulders. They look at the headstones together, quiet for a long few minutes. Each lost in their own thoughts but glad to have the other one near—silence is easy for them to stay in together. And they both know talking will come later.

The banging of the bunker door alerts them when their brother returns. That, and his declaration of, "All right clowns, let's roll." He's got his index finger pointed skyward and he makes a couple huge circles. The classic 'move out' signal.

Sam and Alex are curious, exchanging a cursory glance at Dean's seemingly purposeful vagueness. But without asking where or why, they get in the car and into their respective seats. Alex sits behind Sam instead of the dead middle, looking down at the floorboards as she does. There are a couple of Dean's kid's toys on the floor near Alex's feet, and a little decorative bauble hangs from the rearview mirror—it says "Willingness." There's also a little photo of Jamie and Dean holding their two kids, leaned close while smiling wide clipped to the sun visor near Dean's head—in the picture they're a little bit sunburned and on a motorcycle together. Other than that, the car is just the same as it's always been. Taken care of, well loved, and almost every detail identical as Alex remembers it from her whole life. Even the smell of it takes her back.

Dean starts the car up and they roll out. The Impala glides its way slowly down the gravel road over the bumps slow and steady, and then they hit the smoothly paved rural highway and the windows go down, the ride really begins. Dean slides a Def Leppard album into the tape deck with a familiar analog click, and Hysteria begins to play. It's an instantly soothing, familiar landscape of sound that Alex can lose herself in completely, a thousand memories of childhood and young adulthood running through her mind to the tune she's heard so many times. And just like that, she could be in any given moment on the road fifteen years ago. No voice, and no life besides the road, her brothers, this car, and the next job. Damn. Times have changed.

On a whim, Alex nudges the floorboard carpet up, peering down to verify the place where she and her siblings carved their initials in secret so many years back. Still there. Scrawled in rough capital letters huddled close together, she sees the familiar sight:

A.W.
D.W.
S.W.

Us. Emotions rise unbidden, and she lets the carpet fall back down as she thinks back on the past remembering oddly disjointed things. The smell of gas stations, the sound of the Impala's turn signal, the constant groggy feeling from an abnormal sleep schedule, shitty motel after shitty motel. Life always on the move, always on the run. No true constants except her dad, her brothers. This car.

"You good back there, Tiger?" Dean asks, and Alex looks up to see he's glancing back at her in the rearview. She can tell without asking that he's feeling the same way that she is, remembering the old times, the way things were. She answers him by doing something she used to do back when she didn't have a voice. Two thumbs up, right near her face. He smiles, and there's a careworn tenderness, a bittersweetness there that appreciates the nod to the past. Alex reaches up and squeezes Sam's shoulder in front of her, and he covers her hand with his, squeezing back. Dean briefly grasps Sam's other shoulder, giving a rousing little smile before he lets go. No one needs to say it aloud, but they all feel it: they're all so glad to be together like they used to be, in a rare moment of just them.

Dean turns up the volume to the loudest it'll go and speeds up, settles into the driver's seat with one arm relaxed onto the windowsill. He looks calm, content. Sam turns his head to look out his window and Alex is struck again by how grown up he looks. How at peace. Hopeful. His hair flies around his face as the car hums along down the highway. Dean drums along to the beat of the song on the steering wheel with his thumb, singing softly along to certain parts. Complete, Alex leans her head out the window, the chilled air whipping her hair around, but the rising sun kissing warmth onto her face. Her eyes fall closed, and her lips pull upward in a gentle smile. Def Leppard sings straight to her, the mellow jam making her feel home.

Shadows from trees overhead mixed with patches of bright sunlight cause an almost strobe-like effect against the insides of her eyelids as the car makes quick time down the road it travels. Sitting there like that, it's like nothing ever changed. Some moments, you never want to leave behind, and for Alex, this is one of them. The familiar backseat, her brothers close by in their regular spots. Safety, contentedness, and peace surround her, and her heart feels heavy and light at the same time. Were those the good old days? In some sort of twisted way? She'd loathed so many things about the life, resented being mute, always had a bad attitude about one thing or another. Now, there's only a feeling of fondness about the way things used to be: A wistful longing sense in her soul for the way things were, despite how much she loves the way things are now. Strange how that works.

The car ride is peaceful, quiet. The energy in the car between the siblings is reflective and comfortable. Easy. Alex spends a majority of the time with eyes closed, taking in every other sense and losing herself in thoughts, memories, emotions to the tune of whatever classic rock song plays. She doesn't try to figure out where Dean is taking them. Just trusts and waits.

After awhile, the car turns, and the road switches from paved to bumpy gravel again. Alex feels the car moving up a slight incline. She opens her eyes, curious. She doesn't recognize where they are—it looks like a small grassy hill in a rural residential area. There's neighborhood roads nearby, houses lining pleasant tree-lined roads. Civilians, Dean used to call people who lived normal lives in normal houses.

He pulls up onto the grass past the gravel's end then parks the Impala just under the shade of a large old oak tree. There's a jogging trail that winds through here and an empty playground a few hundred feet off. "Everybody out," Dean says, and they still don't ask questions, even though the twins exchange a look as they get out. A—where are we, do you know? Nope, not a clue—look.

Dean leads them a few steps out in front of the Impala and he stands there with his hands in his jacket pockets as he looks at the neighborhood in front of and below them. Alex comes to stand beside him, and Sam takes up his other side. For a minute, no one says anything.

"So… where are we?" Sam asks when Dean offers no explanation.

"You don't recognize it?" Dean nods at the homes. "Look. That house right there. The greenish one."

The twins follow his gaze. It's a house that looks like a million others. Two levels, a front yard with a big tree, a couple cars parked in the driveway. "What about it?" Sam asks when he and Alex come up with nothing.

Even as he asks that, Alex realizes that she does remember it. Ten years ago or more, they all came here on a job, she's sure of it and suddenly quite surprised if she's right. "Wait is that…?" she hesitates, doubting herself. It doesn't look like she quite remembers, maybe she's wrong. "Was that the house?" Meaning their house. The one Mom died in. The one that Dean carried them out of at six months old.

The answer is one soft, somber word. "Yeah." Dean is looking at it with an unreadable gaze. "Been awhile since we've been here. Felt like time to visit again, you know?"

There's a silence for a long moment. Surprise, maybe, that Dean brought them here. He had sworn in the past to never return. But he's not who he's always been—none of them are. Alex remembers coming here shortly after Sam rejoined them from Stanford while on the search for Dad. Sam had prophetic nightmares that had brought them here, where they found that a poltergeist had been terrorizing the house. A single mother and her two children had been nearly killed, and while attempting to save them, Sam and Alex had become trapped inside under the vengeful spirit's hold—Dean had hacked his way in with an axe, just in time to see Mary's spirit materialize and protect them all in the last moment. She sacrificed herself to save them all and kill the poltergeist while her children watched. That job had haunted Alex for so long—she still remembers her mother's beautiful face and serene presence. Her fierceness.

With that in mind along with today's date, it feels strange to be back here. Such a meaningful place in the Winchester story but it feels distant from her somehow. Hard to grasp, difficult to completely understand. Alex remembers feeling this sense of strangeness last time she was here too. The house seems too ordinary to be what it is in her mind: the mythical place where this entire life of angels, demons, and ghosts began. This was what Dean and Dad had referred to as 'home' all throughout her early life, but it has never felt that way for her. Home is family. Dean, Sam. Cas, her children, the people living in the bunker. It's Bobby playing catch with CJ and Rose out under the oak trees outside, including Robby even though he's two and not good at anything yet. It's Dean teaching Cas how to change spark plugs on the Impala and forcing himself to be patient when Cas goes into tangents about the dawn of mankind and how it relates to the engine they're working on. It's Jamie and Alex bitching about life in good nature as their kids drive them nuts. It's watching Sam and Dean with her kids—there's no describing seeing one of them scoop her son up and toss him laughing into the air or cuddle Nova just because. It's Cas's little garden he's growing just outside the bunker, and finger-paintings by the kids taped to the walls and family photos scattered throughout. It's visiting Sam and Molly in town at a restaurant like a normal family, and going on sibling trips for concerts when they can. It's celebrating Christmas with their family, both chosen and blood, and not constantly living in fear of everything crumbling around them. It's the bunker, the Impala, the road, the auto shop Dean and Bobby opened together. Money still needs to be made, after all—and life needs to be spent doing things. Home is all of this and more.

But, Alex does look at the playground that's not too far off, so close to their childhood home. We would have played there. She can envision it now. Mom and Dad happily watching as their kids clambered all over the playground when small. Maybe Mom would be pushing me on the swing. Maybe Dad would be helping Sam on the monkey bars. She looks at the house, wonders which room would have been hers, what windows they would have snuck out of to go get in trouble together. They'll never know.

"November second," Sam says softly, his face flickering with thoughts about the past.

Dean nods, his face similar as they look at their childhood home. "November second."

There's another long silence, half a minute or so in which the siblings all look at the house with their own thoughts, feelings, and emotions coming up. Sam is the first to break the silence. "You guys ever think about how different things would be if that night never happened?"

What a question. Obviously they all have, but it's not something they've really spoken at length about. Dean lets out a sharp huff of air, the shadow of a laugh. "We'd be three different people, that's for goddamn sure."

That's putting it mildly. "I used to obsess over that," Alex adds thoughtfully, trying to remember the last time she thought about it deeply. "I haven't in…" the truth surprises even her: "years." She used to wish so badly that November second of 1983 had gone differently. She'd cursed that day since she was old enough to understand it and what it had done to them all. She grew up knowing that was the day her ability to make noise left, the day her mother died, the day the life on the road began. And it used to be a constant resentment in her mind. You can't change the past, she thinks idly, then corrects herself. Well… you can. But it's probably not a good idea. These days she's accepted that the past, as bitter and terrible as it was, is the past. It's written, it's happened. She's made peace with it, seen it as what she had to live through to get to now.

Sam squints as a little smile peeks out, as if he's seeing particular memories flash in front of his eyes. "You guys remember how much we used to fight?"

Dean and Alex look at him in tandem with similar facial expressions. You'd have to hit your head hard and get permanent brain damage not to remember the way the three of them used to clash. They all chuckle at the same moment because what else is there to do or say? Because damn, it really had gotten rough there sometimes. Like, contemplating disowning each other and never speaking again rough.

"Man," Alex says, shaking her head as she remembers fondly, despite everything. "And here we are."

Dean nods softly, somewhere far off in his thoughts again. "Here we are."

Three words that convey how miraculous their situation. How special. They're all so grateful that they made it and survived, but most of all, that they're still friends. It was very hard at times—very trying. They're all three so human and flawed, and none of them were unscathed from living this life nor the decisions it required them to make. In late 2014, after Lucifer died and life was finding a new normal, Sam started going to therapy regularly—at first in secret. Then, after he told Dean and Alex about it, he requested his siblings join in a few times, and that's where a lot of work was done to forgive each other and move forward from grudges. Here we are indeed, Alex thinks, and goes deep into reflective thoughts as her brothers exchange a few more words. She spaces out, thinking about how insane it is that life is so good now. It's not without challenges or stress, but it's worlds apart from what she always knew before. It almost feels too good to be true. But it's not. It's real, it's hers. She will never take it for granted, ever.

Alex follows after her brothers when they decide to go sit on the car and have drinks. They sit on the hood, Alex in the middle flanked by a brother on either side. Dean brings out the cooler full of everyone's favorites. Alex selects a sprite, and Sam chooses bottled water of course. As he screws it open, he grins sideways at Dean, who's cracking open an unsweetened seltzer water—berry flavor. "How's your disgusting bubble water?" Sam jokes.

"Shut up, dude," Dean says, taking a sip and sounding like he has a mouthful when he continues. "It's an acquired taste."

"Yeah, for psychopaths," Sam returns in growing amusement. Dean rolls his eyes. Sam chuckles a bit, then contemplates his brother's choice of drink more sincerely. "For real though… I'm—I'm proud of you." He gives his brother a meaningful look.

Dean's gaze is somewhere into the distance and he's nodding faintly, a grateful note to his expression. "Two and a half years." He chuckles briefly, shrugs, and takes another drink. "Miracles do happen," he jokes. Yes they do. Who in the world ever thought they'd see the day when Dean wasn't drinking whiskey like it was water? Who knew in the future he'd choose to be completely sober, for two and a half years straight now? It had been very surprising when about three years ago he'd suddenly, moodily announced to his brother and sister he was going to Alcoholics Anonymous and, "if you want to please come to my first friggin' meeting with me that'd be great goddammit." After a lifetime of abusing alcohol and other substances and becoming dependent on them and addicted to the point of not being able to be okay without them, Dean had finally decided to get help. Alcohol had been testing his relationship with Jamie, and he hadn't liked the way it made him feel about himself as a father. It all came to a head when Jamie left with the kids temporarily. Dean decided he needed help, even if at first he was very unwilling and prideful. Somehow, those meetings and rooms had been exactly what he needed. Six months later, he stopped drinking for good. He kept going back faithfully, reading the Big Book, and working the steps. He came out on the other side of the work a changed man. He still attends meetings and has become a sponsor for others who are working on their recovery. Dean is of course the same old guy he's always been—but there's something more gentle to him now. Less harsh and less quick to make judgments. More at peace with himself and the way of the world, more open minded. After all, he hung an AA "Willingness" reminder in his car non-cynically. That's pretty deep for Dean.

"She would've been proud, too," Sam is saying. His jaw clenches as he contemplates the house where their mother died. And then he turns to Alex, who hasn't said a word for a minute or two and is off in her mind. "You're quiet, everything okay?"

Alex smiles at him after a brief surprise at the question. Sam has always been so intuitive and observant. "Just thinking." She eyes the house again, remembering walking up to that door with her brothers ten plus years ago. "Last time we were here... I couldn't talk." Sometimes she forgets the way her life used to be. The prison her mind kept her in. The urge to say things always coming up against the realization that she couldn't. It had made her feel so irrelevant and useless throughout the years. So fucking angry. So frustrated. Dean wordlessly puts an arm around his sister and squeezes her a little closer—a strengthening, comforting, reassuring touch that says more than words can. Sam touches the back of her head, rubbing his thumb against her hair. They know how tough it was for her, how sad she'd been for so long. It had been really hard on them too.

"Good ole Cas," Dean says quietly. Alex smiles to herself. Yeah. Good ole Cas. Dean and Castiel get along famously now, which is such a wonder when she remembers the hostile start of the relationship. They've essentially become brothers, sharing a special bond of their own. Dean lets his sister out of the embrace with a playful ruffle to the hair on the back of her head and she protests with a put-on groan. His revenge for earlier, she guesses.

"Things are so different now," Sam says, still contemplating the entirety of their lives and the outcome they've arrived at.

"Yeah, finally," Dean replies in lighthearted sarcasm which makes both of his siblings smile a little.

"I mean, yeah, but sometimes… I… I miss it," Sam admits haltingly. "The hunting life, I mean. Is that fucked up?" He looks across at his brother, grinning self-consciously and lopsided. "I mean the job we just did Dean, ganking that vengeful spirit… it was like old times."

"Old times sucked," Dean reminds, but he has a little smile there. They laugh a little.

"Yeah maybe..." Sam admits before he sobers a bit and his voice softens a bit. "But we always had each other."

Alex looks at her twin gently. "We still do." It's really important to her that he knows that and feels it. He will always have them, no matter what. He calls, they'll answer. He needs something, they'll do whatever they can. Ever since he moved out, she and Dean have made sure to remind him that he is welcome and wanted back—with Molly—any time. She reminds him again now. "Offer still stands, Sam."

"Yeah, always, brother," Dean confirms without hesitation. "Just say the word and we'll have Cas bake you a welcome-to-the-Bunker pie."

Sam chuckles ruefully. "Chef Cas strikes again."

Cas cooks and bakes regularly with a passion, and no one is complaining, least of all Dean: "Lemme tell ya: guy could be a professional," he boasts on his behalf. "The way he gets that lattice stuff on top or whatever is so perfect—pretty sure it's witchcraft." Dean pauses and lowers his voice. "But, I tell him it's all just 'okay' so he doesn't get an ego." He taps the side of his head and wiggles his eyebrows, indicating he's a genius. Everyone chuckles again.

"You know, we didn't have much time to really talk yesterday with the way that job went," Sam says to Dean. "How's life? The auto shop doing good?"

Winchester Auto is part real auto shop and part hunter's stop off—it's just a few miles away and Dean spends a good chunk of time there running it. They specialize in classic cars, but service all kinds. Alex works there too when the job load is heavy sometimes. Even Cas has learned a few things about being a mechanic's assistant.

"Dude—it gets boring sometimes," Dean replies offhandedly. "Do you know how awesome that is?" He grins, totally okay with what he says next: "I bet I'll be coaching softball before long and getting a damn minivan, and, hell. Trying this key-toe diet thingy I keep hearing about when I get fat." He takes a sip of his seltzer water and fixes Sam with a proud little gaze. "How's being a big-shot lawyer?"

Sam tries to be humble. "I dunno about big-shot, but it's… definitely different. And really, really good." He looks satisfied. Happy. "I help people, the salary's good… it just feels right, you know?"

Dean and Alex catch each other's glances. They've talked quite a few times about how proud they are of Sam for going back to finish his pre-law work, then completing the other two years of education required. Sam finished what he started, and it's badass.

"And how's married life?" Alex asks, a lightly teasing touch to her tone as she leans her shoulder into his playfully.

Sam becomes a little bashful, ducking his head down as he turns a little redder in the face. He's grinning. "No complaints."

"That's my boy!" Dean says, purposefully trying to make it awkward.

Sam's wedding last year was so beautiful and sweet. It's been nice to see their brother end up with someone like Molly. She's just wholesome in a way Alex can't quite define, and so kind. She accepts Sam and supports him completely. They really do love each other. For their little garden wedding last year, Molly had included Jamie and Alex in the planning process and made them bridesmaids (one of the oddest things Alex ever did but it was the thought that counted), and Molly surprised Alex with a brother/sister dance during the reception—Dean had cut in half way to dance with her after Sam's portion. It's one of Alex's favorite memories, believe it or not. Who would ever have thought I'd willingly dance in a public setting like that? Life can surprise you sometimes. However, what didn't surprise Alex is how much she'd hated that damn chiffon bridesmaids dress. Dean still texts a picture of her in it, carrying flowers and giving a middle finger to the camera to their group chat with Sam a couple times a year for a laugh.

Dean meanwhile is ribbing his brother. "You two gonna pop out some kids soon though or what?"

Sam is put on the spot and flustered with that same goofy grin on his face he tries to hide by ducking his head and batting his hand at something invisible. "Come on man."

"Fine, be that way," Dean says, also trying to hide a smile, then failing. He hesitated, then decides to go for it. "I uh—I actually got some news in that department though…" he trails off meaningfully, and his face says it all.

Alex's eyes widen. "Wait what?"

"Yup," Dean says, proud and bashful and a little sheepish. "Again."

"Aw D, congrats!" Alex says, punching him in the shoulder playfully even while thinking very briefly that the bunker is soon going to be more kids than adults.

"Yeah man, congratulations, that's great!" Sam says, reaching over and patting the back of Dean's shoulder as best he can.

Dean waves them off, but he's enjoying the attention. "Thanks guys—James is gonna kill me though. Loves being a mom, hates being pregnant." Dean gives Sam a commanding look. "Told me this is the last damn one so I'm counting on you, Sammy."

"I'll… see what I can do," Sam jokes back, shaking his head in mild chagrin that he's stooped to his brother's level.

The group falls into another brief quiet moment again. Alex smiles to herself as she pictures Dean with three kids. He really is the best dad. He's obsessed with his kids, and when she sees him with them, it makes her think of how he was with her and Sam growing up. He has this silly and fun side that his kids bring out of him, this tenderness that he doesn't keep a leash on or try to stow away. He sings to them, dances with them, dotes on them, is fiercely protective of them. Puts daily effort into teaching them, noticing them, hearing them. He lets them do things no one else could ever do: like decorate him with stickers, draw on him with markers. Rose recently painted his nails pink and put hair-bow clips in his hair for a tea party she insisted on having. Dean didn't even blink, just sat down and let her doll him up then complimented her skills and offered to braid her hair—a trick he still remembers how to do from when Alex was little. You can see when Jamie watches him with their children how much she loves him. Not just as her partner, but as a loving father to their kids. They haven't married and have never mentioned the idea of doing so, but they might as well be hitched at this point. It's really hard not to tear up when Alex thinks about Dean's happy ending. She always thought they'd all die young in violent ways. She'd spent a few months about ten years ago thinking Dean was gone forever after his soul deal came up for collection and he went to Hell. But here they are, living, growing. Raising families together. Getting wrinkles and sore joints and needing naps as they move toward middle age. It's terribly boring, mediocre, everyday stuff. And it's everything. Her soul is satisfied, whole, and at peace. It's more than she'd ever hoped for.

"Hey uh—anyone heard from Dad recently?" Sam asks offhandedly, distracting Alex out of her thoughts.

She frowns, thinking about when the letter had come. She sets her can of sprite down behind herself. Hmm. "Last May?"

"Yeah, last May," Dean confirms. It had been a letter addressed to the three of them—the postmark was from Callao, Utah, an isolated city adjacent to the Deep Creek Mountains—a remote, vast wilderness. The siblings have theorized that John is living there somewhere, completely removed from civilization. His letter hadn't been long. It had simply stated that he was at peace, living well, and remembering them all often. He told them that he had begun to meditate to cope with the Mark's negative effects, and that he passes his time by living on the land.

"Wonder what he's doing right now," Sam says quietly, his eyes on their old house.

Dean contemplates for a few beats. "Honestly, I think the old man got what he wanted in a weird way," he replies slowly. "I mean not like at the start of his life but… he's making up for all the stuff he never wishes he ever did." He shrugs, maybe talking to himself more than Sam and Alex. "He's doing something important. Something good. Hell. Call it redemption."

"Yeah maybe," Sam replies, but he doesn't sound totally convinced.

"Bet on it," Dean says. "John Winchester was never made for the normal side of things."

"Were any of us?" Alex counters, both good-natured and cynical at the same time.

The brothers both indicate she has a fair point with their body language and chosen facial expressions.

"Life's frickin' weird as fuck," Dean said. "That's all I know."

The twins definitely agree. A moment later, Sam breathes out long and heavy. Almost a sigh. "Still can't believe we made it out to the other side," he says, eyes locked onto their old house again. "Sometimes… I feel guilty about it, you know?"

Dean makes a pffbt sound. "I could write a book about the guilt," he says wryly.

"Same," Sam says with a rueful little huff. Alex studies him closely, feeling like he's about to say something really meaningful. "It just… never fully goes away," Sam says, his tone giving away how true this is for him. "I used to think I could leave it behind but… guess you just gotta learn to carry some things." Simple words, but deep impact. Alex feels that sentiment in her bones and wishes she could fix it for him. For all of them.

Dean's eyebrows raise up briefly, a reaction to his own feelings being spoken out loud by someone else. "No kidding," he agrees in a reflective tone, lost somewhere in his own mind.

"Helps that I know there's two other people who feel the same out there," Sam continues, looking at his siblings with an emotional expression on his face. He tries to smile it away, and Alex puts her hand on his shoulder then squeezes reassuringly.

"We did what we had to do," Dean says, and his eyes are seeing a million memories all starring the three of them. "And no one but us will ever get what that was like."

The three of them exchange looks that don't need words to accompany. What Dean said is one hundred percent right, and it's comforting, not disheartening. He finishes his drink and crumples the can, then tosses it back into the cooler haphazardly, deep in thinking mode. Sam sets his water bottle down and pulls a knee up, loops his arms around it, also deeply thoughtful. The Impala's radio is still on and Alex hears a familiar Kansas song playing faintly behind the sounds of birds, breeze, and neighborhood life. With the sun shining down on them as just the three of them spend time doing nothing—something they used to do all the time—she feels longing and wistful. Which is strange, given the fact that this current moment is so perfect.

"I miss you guys," she hears herself say out loud. Then she realizes that sounds weird—she sees them all the time, well, Dean anyway. And she sees Sam pretty regularly and stays in constant contact but… she shakes her head rapidly, trying to find the right words. "I mean… I miss… I dunno."

Dean glances at her sidelong, a knowing little sad smile on his face. "No, yeah. I get it Al. So do I."

A brief pause. "Me too," Sam says. He sounds slightly mournful. The three of them exchange looks, and none of them is sure how to put it into words.

"I mean, I love life now," Alex says honestly, not sure why her throat is suddenly a fraction tighter. "But it's… it's not the same."

Sam shakes his head, swallows. Looks almost like he's going to get emotional. "Nope."

"Okay okay okay, the sad squad act needs to go," Dean says authoritatively, but it's clear he's feeling a lot just like his brother and sister. The twins don't say anything, but the point is taken and they both cover up their sadder feelings with little smiles at the same time. Dean clears his throat, and something about that simple sound catches both of their attention—he sounds like he's about to say something very important. The way he hesitates indicates that he's nervous about saying whatever it is he's about to reveal. "So look…" he starts, visibly working through some mental roadblocks. "I uh, I brought us here today 'cause…" he pauses, takes in a deep breath, then follows through purposefully. "Today of all days guys, I need you both to know that as crappy as life got there sometimes, as bad as things were… you two made it better. Without fail. Always."

Touched, the twins find themselves smiling in heartfelt response as he makes specific eye contact with each of them in turn. His seriousness and deliberate vulnerability isn't something he could have managed in years past. "We lost more than most people ever will," he says, then indicates the place they came to see with a brief nod. "And it started thirty-five years ago, right there. In that little house." His expression is intense as he looks at the home they left behind. "The road, the job, the life… it took away a whole helluva lot." His seriousness is suddenly interrupted by a little smile. "But we always had us. Then and now. And hopefully for the rest of our lives." He looks at them again. "I'm damn thankful for that. Wanted you to know. How much I love you both." He smiles, but its through vast, raw emotion.

Some moments, it hits you harder than others. This is one of those moments for Alex where she sees Dean in slightly new light. He's grown up so much more than she realized. Matured. Worked past so many personal demons and grown into himself. He just said those things to them without an agenda and without a fallback onto humor or cynicism to escape the more tender, personal things. That's huge for him.

"Me too, Dean." Sam says softly, his voice catching. He's always been the one who's best at heart-to-hearts and putting himself out there. Alex can tell he's similarly surprised and touched by Dean's positive changes. And she suddenly feels her heart in her throat as emotions wash over.

Her brothers. Life dealt them bad hands, but look how these men turned out. They're warriors, they're legacies, they're incredible people who have protected the world, laid down their lives, and sacrificed it all. They have found themselves, they have never given up even when circumstances were impossible. And they have never let her fall too far. She's overwhelmed with the way she loves them, the way she'll always need them, the story of their lives up to this point. She has seen them at their worst, their best, and everywhere in between. They've seen hers, too. It feels like they're truly invincible—that their bond will never be broken. Barely able to speak as her eyes become watery, she manages to get it out in a distorted voice: "I am so, so proud of you guys."

Sam puts an arm around her and he doesn't let go. "We're proud of you too." His heart and soul are laid bare in his voice.

Dean nods his agreement, his voice growing rougher with emotion—he puts a hand on her head affectionately, rubbing a couple times. "Damn proud." His hand comes down to rest on her shoulder that's further away now and he looks at his kid siblings, all grown up. His eyes are shining too now. He grins through it. "This has been one hell of a ride, huh?"

Sam snorts softly, clears his throat, sniffs, grins through the emotion as he looks off into distance. "Damn straight."

Alex pulls Dean in close on her other side, unable to find words. No one else I wouldn't rather taken this ride with than you two. She squeezes them inward in a hug as she covers up a weepy sniffly sound. "Aw man," Dean mumbles, as he sniffs loudly, dashing at his eye and clearing his throat.

"Allergies again?" Sam teases, which is real funny given the fact that he's crying too.

Dean smiles through his tears, pulling a put-on indignant face. "Shut up, bitch."

Sam is smiling through the fierce feeling in his chest—he hasn't forgotten how this goes. "Make me, jerk."

It's so cliché that she wants to laugh, but she's currently too emotional to pull that off. With a whisper of, "C'mere, losers," she pulls them even closer, never wanting to let go of their safe, strong presence at her sides. The brothers lean their heads against Alex's and they stay like that, arm in arm, looking at the house they might have grown up in together if it wasn't for greater, more fated things life had in store. Nothing more needs saying out loud for now. The moment is absolutely complete—a poignant instance closure. Alex already knows she'll remember this day and the way she feels right now for the rest of her life.

We lost so many things in that fire, she reflects, eyes scanning the shape of the house Dean carried them out of. So much burned away in those flames. The future they might have had. The people they might have become. Their parents. Their childhoods. It all went up in the blaze and became mere possibilities of what could've been. But the fire gave things to them too. It showed us who we are. It put us onto this road, it gave us the purpose we live with even until today. We were forged in that fire. And now that the smoke's cleared all these years later… we're absolutely unbreakable.

Siblings. We know one another's faults, virtues, catastrophes, mortifications, triumphs, rivalries, desires, and how long we can each hang by our hands to a bar. Our brothers, our sisters. They resemble us just enough to make our differences confusing, and no matter what we choose to make of this, we are cast in relation to them our whole lives long. We travel life together, even when we're apart. Through the good and the ugly, to the ends of the earth. Brothers and sisters are forever. The Winchesters know this in ways most of us don't.

Endings are hard, aren't they? They come with a feeling of loss, of discomfort and change. They force us to move forward to somewhere else. To another beginning. So it is for the Winchesters. They don't know what else life has in store for them or where the road will lead. They do know that undoubtedly, always, without exception: no matter what comes their way, they will have each other's backs every single time. And that will always be enough.

On the radio in the Impala, that familiar song still plays faintly… something ending in words that go something like, "lay your weary head to rest… don't you cry no more."

The sun continues to rise overhead… another day comes to pass... and life goes on.

---

Kripke's Hollow, Iowa
Time and Date Unknown

It's the middle of the night, and Kripke's Hollow is quiet.

Everyone is asleep in this quiet, small town.

Well… not everyone.

An old house lurks on the edge of the tiny township—a ramshackle, rotting home that was condemned years ago and isn't livable anymore. On the mailbox, faded and aged so much you can barely make it out: C. Shurley. According to the city records this house has no electricity or tenants, and hasn't for years. So why are the windows glowing faintly with lights…?

Inside, the house doesn't match the barely-standing appearance of the outside. It looks exactly like it did the day Cas and Alex were married there—messy and unkempt, sure… nothing that would ever make it into a Better Homes & Gardens spread—but it's functional and safe, a normal house. There's definitely something magical or supernatural about the way the interior of the house doesn't match its rotten, condemned exterior.

A few lights without lampshades dimly light the cavelike, book-packed interior. A small man with unkempt hair and glasses sliding down his nose sits in a dingy bathrobe, working intensely at a very old typewriter. 'Writer's block' is apparently not in his vocabulary. Page after page after page flies off the machine, summing into the hundreds. It's almost finished now. His mouth is hanging open slightly, his eyes are glazed over. He looks focused… and also a little insane.

Clack clack clack. Clack clack clack clack clack! Clack. Ding!

Chuck Shurley pauses briefly and lets out a tired sigh after he gracelessly wracks the typewriter back to begin a new line. With his free hand, he reaches out for his mug. He grimaces against the horrible taste of cold coffee brewed in an old machine that should be washed more regularly and beans that have gone slightly stale. "Never was good at making this stuff," he mutters to himself as he pours generously from a half-empty bottle of bourbon into the coffee cup. He sips again, winces, and then smiles against the strong alcohol. That's better.

He returns to his furious task of writing it all down. Scenes and characters and feelings and moments all swirl in his head, pouring out as he brings these things to life with words on paper. Beginning, middle, end. Setting, theme, characters, symbolism, tension, conflict, resolution, subplot, cliffhangers… it's all there. The mute hunter, the fallen angel—the unbreakable bond and unstoppable love story. And it's not just a love story. It's the brothers and their sister, an absent, damaged father who in turn damaged his children and left them with a legacy of fighting each other and fighting evil at the same time. It's God and Lucifer and Angels, Demons, werewolves, ghosts, witches, Heaven, Hell, and the unbelievable lives of all who got caught up in this surreal reality.

The story is everything. Writing it down makes the experience all the realer, more sacred, more complete. It makes moments that would otherwise fade into obscurity immortal.

…Or maybe that's just one insane author's feelings on the matter. Up for debate.

Stories take forever to write—so much work and brain power and time and headache. Chuck knows this. Hell, he doesn't remember the last time he's been outside! It's just been writing, rewriting, editing, and more writing. He's consumed by it. But no matter what, always at last comes the inevitable. After weeks—months? Years?—of committing this story to paper… the last word is written. Chuck is done. His shoulders relax and he softens into his chair—a slow, bittersweet smile crosses his face as his expression changes from concentration to relief. His eyes grow soft on the typewriter and the last page. This is always such a beautiful and poignant moment for him: Another story complete. What a satisfying feeling, what a sad and equally happy moment. He lingers on the last words on the page: "The End."

He hesitates as he always does. But it has to be done—he pulls the last page off of the typewriter and gently lays it face down onto the stack of the rest, then flips the thick stack so that he sees the title page resting on top.

SONG REMAINS THE SAME

He smiles fondly, brushing a slow thumb over the four words. Why'd he choose that name for this story? No real reason. Just a tune he enjoys by some obscure band called Led Zeppelin. Maybe you've heard of them.

Books and stories can become a dear old friend, Chuck thinks tenderly. There is a certain attachment for Chuck to the stories he writes, and the people who have created them with by simply living their lives. But he can never stay with one story forever. An ending is an ending, a conclusion is a conclusion. And when a story is finished, it's time to put it on the shelf and go onto the next one.

He flips through the pages of Song Remains the Same, the story rushing through his mind as he does, the feelings and emotions so close to his heart. Then he breathes in deeply and exhales, stands up, taking the manuscript with him—it's huge, one of his longer ones. With care, he takes the story of Alex and Cas and Dean and Sam and so many others to where all the stories go when they're done. A door, unsuspecting and common, awaits at the end of a hallway. He turns the brass knob and opens the door to what would be the basement - if - this house was actually a house.

Instead of perhaps wooden stairs that would match the home he dwells in on earth, there is polar, heavenly, shapeless white. He descends downward easily on all-but invisible stairs. Before him stretches an immaculate white glowing hallway lined with pristine shelves. On these shelves, trillions of stories line the endless rows that stack out on either side into infinity. This is the library where Song Remains the Same will live for all eternity among all the others.

The scruffy man slowly wanders down the rows with his latest manuscript—he needs to find the perfect place for this book. Each and every one he writes always feels like his heart on paper—but he's convinced that this one really, really is (and yes… he feels this way every damn time). He lovingly gazes at the thick volume for a long moment. It's his creation. But it's their story. It's hard to explain these things.

He continues to wander. Infinite amounts of manuscripts nestle in their places for all of time on either side of him. Everyone's story, no matter how brief or seemingly meaningless or non-consequential is here. Noticed, written, seen. Every single one so, so important.

Finally, Chuck finds the perfect place for Song Remains the Same. He holds the stack of paper for one more moment, gazing at it as a father might look upon his beloved child… and the stack of paper is suddenly transformed into a thickly bound leather book—its final form. Chuck then lovingly tucks this latest story into the row.

He exhales a healthy breath, looking around with pride and emotion at all these stories—some names that most would recognize like Neil Armstrong, Mahatma Gandhi, Harriet Tubman, Joan of Arc—and many others about people no one has ever heard of, or ever will. The common thread between each of these books, each of these people no matter how famous or how unknown, is that all human beings who have ever existed and ever will exist have an all-important story. And here those stories are. They are written.

Chuck reaches out and softly touches the spine of Song Remains the Same. Before he goes onto writing the next story, he wants to go back to the start of this one, one last time. He vanishes from the celestial library, willing himself back in time easily in the same way you or I would get up to walk to the next room.

He's now in Stanford, California. The year is 2004. It's Halloween. Chuck knows this night well.

Dean will have just snuck into Sam and Jessica's little apartment to go see if he can talk his brother into coming back to the hunting life to find their missing father. Dean only does so after a couple of hours hemming and hawing and trying to decide if he really can do it or not.

Alex will be waiting at the Impala, smoking a secret cigarette in a foul mood as she emotionally stews over Dean's insistence at getting Sam to come on the search for their dad.

Chuck rounds the corner, staying invisible to the sight of humans. And there she is. Lanky even when slumping with a clearly bad attitude, younger in the face and much less sure of herself than she will be later in life: Alex Winchester. A silver whistle is on a chain from her neck. She waits for Dean to come back out while smoking in a comical way: taking a drag then putting the cigarette far away from herself while waving her other hand in front of herself to fan the smell away. Chuck finds himself smiling at this twenty-something girl who lives in a world the same size that everyone else lives in, yet barely has experienced any of it the way you or I have. She has no idea what the future has for her, or the forces at work. She's just doing what we all are: living our life from moment to moment. Oh, the things ahead for her. The things ahead for all of them.

It's an especially dark night, and you can hear them speaking before they show up: Dean's deeper voice, Sam's tenor. Alex's cigarette goes flying as she flicks it off into obscurity and straightens up, fanning herself fast, hard, and brief before settling into a try at looking tough and unreadable. The two figures—one tall and slender, the other one shorter and more compact—are coming up out of a stairwell to the waiting Chevrolet Impala parked in the alley behind the apartments. Dean is wearing his at-the-time signature leather jacket and talisman necklace, speaking to his brother. "So what're you gonna do, huh?" he's asking. "Live some normal, apple pie life?"

They're approaching the car where Alex waits leaned leisurely against the trunk, silent and watchful with crossed arms. You can see her apprehensiveness paired with her attempt to look cool and detached.

"No," Sam is answering. "Not normal. Safe." Sam then turns his gaze to Alex and smiles tightly, acknowledging his twin sister who he hasn't seen in at least two years. Guilt, doubt, and nervousness flash briefly across his face. "Hi Alex." He sounds uncertain. She puts her hand up just barely in a brief return 'hi' and, equally awkward, returns the tight smile—it's more like a grimace. She too is feeling nervous, weird, and unsure. She took his departure for college hard and personal. Chuck knows, of course, how she truly feels at the moment: vulnerable and afraid.

"Look," Dean glances between his siblings briefly, seeing the tension there, but focuses on Sam. "You left years ago and we haven't bothered you once." He pauses and fixes his brother with a significant look and lays it out there. "I need you on this. We need you."

Sam considers a brief second, then scoffs like he thinks he's being pranked and his brother's suggestion is stupid. "You guys don't need me."

Dean smirks, going into sarcastic humor mode. "True. The two of us are the best of the best, and your aim sucks."

Sam's face shifts to a classic bitchy expression. "I can shoot better than either one of you."

"Yeah, maybe four years ago, chump," Dean jokes, then becomes serious, drawing a deep breath. "Look, Dad's in real trouble right now. If he's not dead already. I can feel it. We don't wanna do this without you, Sam." He's obviously having a hard time asking this and struggles with the emotions. "You're our brother." He hits Alex on the shoulder, which gets him an unamused scowl. "And hey! She misses you." Dean did that a lot growing up: projected his feelings and thoughts onto Alex instead of speaking them for himself. Sam knows that. Alex is side-eyeing her oldest brother briefly, shaking her head in annoyance. It's obvious she'd have a lot to say if she could. Her point is taken, either way. Dean rolls his eyes, huffing. "Fine. I miss you."

Sam hesitates, studying his brother and sister slowly in turn. The ones he shared such a wreck of a childhood with, the ones who remind him of who he really is and the life he doesn't tell his friends about. It would be easy to walk away and ignore all this. But something there, the indefinable thing that makes Sam Sam, drives him to hesitate. Contemplate. Then take a deep breath and give in, saying the words that will change his life forever: "What was he hunting?"

Chuck smiles fondly as the scene continues to unfold—brothers and sister opening the trunk. Dean showing Sam the news clippings, the audio recording, the maps. Alex looks on skeptically, afraid to trust Sam, worried about this farfetched attempt of Dean's to rebuild the family. Sam, knowing how bad this could get, allows himself to take the chance anyway. These three have no idea what's ahead, or how much life is going to change as they hurtle along the tracks fate has laid out. But they will always have each other. Always. From birth to old age, completing each other's lives, having each other's backs, fucking up and forgiving each other… every single time.

Chuck begins to step back and as he does, he fades away and wills himself into another reality—another slice of dimension in the multiverse. It's the same setting. The same night. The same story. But also... not quite. It's the same dark alley behind Jessica and Sam's apartment and the same waiting car. Only, no one waits at the car this time. Alex is nowhere to be found. Chuck watches Sam and Dean climb up that same stairwell to ground level and go to the same car that he just watched them go to a moment ago. But in this version of reality, it's just them.

The brothers are having the same exchange:

"So what're you gonna do, huh? Live some normal, apple pie life?"

"No. Not normal. Safe."

"And that's why you ran away."

And so it goes, unfolding as it always does and always will: similarly, but differently. Essentially the same… but also not at all.

Here, in this version of existence, there's no permanent third wheel, no silent watchful presence, no sister. She doesn't exist in this version of the world. Chuck watches Sam and Dean bicker. He isn't supposed to be biased, but of course he is. He already knows that in this version of truth, at the oddest of moments, the brothers both have instances of feeling like the space beside them is oddly empty—missing something. He knows that they can't put their finger on it, but something's not totally right to them—and that they'll never know what—or rather who—that feeling is about. A bittersweet reality, but reality all the same. The details change, the storyline deviates. And craziest still: this version of things is just as real as all the millions of others.

Yes. Millions. Strange, isn't it? There's versions of reality where it's just Dean and Alex, no Sam. There's universes where it's Sam and Alex, no Dean. There's universes where it's just one of them, no siblings at all. And all of those all need to be written too. Challenge accepted, Chuck thinks to himself with a knowing smile.

No one reality is truly better or more superior than another—or, it shouldn't be—but he personally does feel that the one with all three Winchesters is the most whole. The most complete. The one that he prefers over the rest. The one that would make for the best TV. Comparing this version with Sam and Dean to the one he just finished writing, he thinks of how Alex's absence changes so many things. Not just events, but people. Outcomes. Arcs. Endings. These brothers in this particular universe will never have even a clue. The author lets out a soft sigh. It feels sad. But, such is life.

There is one last thing for Chuck to do before he moves forward into writing the next story.

He visits Heaven, and observes the place he's prepared for Castiel and Alex.

It looks curiously like the cabin they shared in that vision of 2014 that Zachariah showed them—a cabin in a lush wooded area—there's a lake nearby with mountain views and sunsets that are beyond incredible. Yellow flowers rest in a vase on the kitchen table, furniture is nestled into a home that feels welcoming, warm, and cozy. Outside, Chuck can hear their young children's laughter, and nearby, he knows Sam and Dean's Heaven will connect to Alex's. Not many Heavens do that. But the Winchesters have always been exceptions to the rules. And of course being all-knowing, all-powerful, impervious, etcetera, etcetera—Chuck knows that eventually, hundreds of years into CJ Winchester's life, he'll be the one who re-orders the workings of Heaven, making it so that all souls in Heaven can connect to each other—no longer isolated into their own pockets of eternity. But again… that's a different story. However, that does remind Chuck: he needs to go have a talk with his silly son Gabriel, who apparently fancies himself the new god in this universe. Manager in training is more like it, Chuck thinks in amusement. That Gabe has always been such a lovable knucklehead troublemaker.

But first. With him, Chuck carries an extra copy of Song Remains the Same in his hands. He gently places it on the table, where it will wait for Cas and Alex's arrival. Cas will arrive first. Chuck carefully straightens the hardback leather volume so that it's perfect, then puts a single yellow flower on top. With a lingering smile that is bittersweet, he stands back then disappears as mysteriously as he came.

Inside of the book on the first two blank pages, there is a handwritten message in deep cobalt blue ink. The penmanship is outstandingly beautiful and elegant.

Dear Cas —

Welcome to Eternity. You're here first, but it won't be long until your other half joins you. Please tell her that I hope she enjoys this sappy romance novel I wrote for her — I know she likes those. Perhaps you can look it over as you wait? :-)

Besides leaving this book for you to have, I also wanted to tell you some things that we didn't have time to discuss in person (you'll have to pardon me — I stay very busy). Firstly, I wish I hadn't disappointed you as much as I know I did. But you wouldn't have grown. If I had just showed up to fix all your problems, you never would have become all that you have. I hope by now maybe you understand my role better — all I do is set the pieces up. I'm not a puppet master or a chess player. I'm just a creator obsessed with my creation. That includes you.

Angel of Thursday — legend of Heaven and Earth — I am relentlessly proud. In millions of dimensions and realities, in a billion souls and creatures, you are such a surprise, such a delight. I forbid myself favorites, and yet here I am —helplessly endeared to my rebel angel Castiel. In every version of this universe and others that I have gone into thus far, you have always chosen to grow, reach, and become. You are beyond wonderful, and this little book is just one volume in the explanation of how much so.

Please remember that I had nothing to do with who you are — you decided that. Something about you, the inherent most profoundly part of you that makes you YOU — made you this way. If we're being completely candid here, I gotta say: This — specifically — this, was my favorite version of you. The you that lived into old age with your devoted wife Alex, raising a family, loving your children, figuring it out as you went, no instruction manual or guideline or roadmap. You loved with all you had, you gave everything you possessed. I know it wasn't always easy. Yet you did it. You chose to be brave, to run headlong into the challenge. To choose love. To defy everything that stood in the way of free will and choice. For doing that, look what you gained and experienced. Eternal things that are yours forever.

I've seen trillions of universes and realities. Time after time it's been confirmed to me: Everything and every ONE matters. No life is wasted. No experience is meaningless. Not a single person has been without reason. And every soul just is as important and special as the rest.

It's been quite theadventure, Castiel. I know you just arrived here to Heaven and that your Great Rest is upon you. The last song has played. The final chapter is written. All that's left to do is await your Alex and then spend eternity in peace.

However. Word to the wise… I wouldn't be so sure.

Maybe — perhaps — possibly — I'm just sayin' — your story might not quite be over.

But hey! What do I know?! I'm just God ;-)

Love always,
Chuck