Cairo presented itself to the tourists and passing riff-raff as a shiny metropolis, the sky scrapers framed against the horizon singing the praises of western influence and capital. Sam was taking his visit to the city off the beaten track of attractions and shops strategically placed to lure in foreigners and the money that came with them. He walked apprehensively down a street paved in beaten, chipped stones that could have been centuries old, lined with an eccentric mix of small houses. The people who came and went weren't as diverse here as in the busier, more modern areas of the city. A woman dressed from head to toe in pitch black followed his movement with eyes that peeked out past full niqab. Her eyes never met Sam's, but her scrutiny was intense and he found himself overcome by the desire to look away.

He directed his gaze to the scrap of paper in his hand and the address scrawled there. He could still feel eyes on his every move, but he did his best to shake off the shivers they sent crawling up and down his spine. He distracted himself by going over a recent memory one more time, taking one more shot at making sense of Castiel's mysterious call.

Not three days ago Sam was woken by his ringtone. He sat up with a groan from his reclined drivers seat, fished blindly through the mess on the passenger side until his fingers wrapped around his phone. It vibrated urgently, egging him to answer it faster.

"Hello?" he managed, voice deep and groggy, filled with the vestiges of sleep.

"Sam. It's time to stop fooling around."

Castiel's voice was the last Sam expected to hear. He tried to remember the last time he'd gotten a call from his brother's protector, only to realize that it had been never. Cas always conducted his business in person.

"Only for him, I hope."

The second voice was faint, off to the side of the call, but distinctly feminine and saturated with flirtatious intent. Sam's sleepy eyebrows shot up with intrigue while he rubbed his eyes and adjusted his chair.

"You're taking too long."

"Too long with...?"

"The task I set you to!"

"You mean... finding the keys?"

"Oh, smart boy figured it out after all," the woman purred in the background.

"Good, you know what they are. I assume you know as well that they are highly dangerous," Castiel continued, ignoring his female companion.

"I do. I gotta say, finding out wasn't a cakewalk. Have you... Did you know what they were this whole time?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"I did."

"What?! And you just let me chase my tail all these months working off your vague little tip? What the hell is wrong with you, Cas?" Sam demanded, anger and indignation waking him up the rest of the way as they surged through him.

"I had my reasons. I was... working around a promise I made to someone."

"What the-"

"Sam, there is no time for your quibbling today," Castiel cut him off severely. "Listen. Focus. Quibb... quibble... what an interesting word. Is it even a real word? Meg?"

"Beats me, Clarence. Just get this over with, it's my turn with the frosting."

"What... Cas, are you... have you been drinking?" Sam frowned, catching a hint of a slur in the angels unusual words.

"My actions are not of import. Sam, listen to me very, very carefully. You're not the only one after the keys. You need to get to them before she does."

"Wait, you know she's in on it?" the woman demanded. "How? Were you snooping on me?"

"Honestly, I just assumed your partner was a woman."

"Castiel, who else is after the keys?" Sam demanded, struggling to keep the conversation on track now that he realized its true gravity.

"It doesn't matter. Sam, write this down. I know where they are. I'm going to tell you. Are you ready?"

"Ooh, you're such a bad friend," the mystery woman giggled. "Don't you care that you promised me?"

"No, Meg, I do not care. I'm a bad, bad friend who has no regard for your feelings on the matter and my word means absolutely nothing."

"Oh, stop it! You're getting me all excited again, you dirty bastard."

"Yes. I am indeed an unwashed, fatherless-"

"Um, Cas?" Sam asked, cringing at the odd exchange and its strange sexual overtones. "Cas? Focus? Back on track? Please?"

"Of course. Are you ready for the address, Sam?"

"I'm ready."

"He's not as ready as I am," the woman giggled.

Castiel gave up the address while Sam scribbled furiously on the back of a takeout bag.

"Is this... is this an overseas address?" he asked, puzzled by the strange format.

"Use the google, Sam," Castiel directed him. "I have been a bad, bad boy and broken my promise."

"Someone needs to punish you for that," the woman rasped suggestively.

"I am not the only one in need of correction, you filthy whore of Babylon."

"Oooh, stop that!"

"Now, I must end this call. I have more... pressing matters, on my hands. Good-bye, Sam."

Despite the fact that he was still lacking a lot of prescient information, Sam breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the call ended.

"What. The. Fresh. Hell," he groaned. "Did I just listen in on?"

Back in the present, Sam wrinkled his nose and rolled his shoulders.

"Blegh!"

He put the incident from his mind again, convinced there was no more insight to be gleaned from revisiting it. Only trauma at the idea of frigid, trench-coated Castiel getting freaky with some random, kinky woman who was, apparently, super into dishonest dudes.

Sam followed the GPS on his phone to a small shop at the edge of the residential district. The building was squat and windowless with a thick wooden door and a single, colorful sign above the threshold announcing the name of the store in arabic that Sam couldn't read. For all the bright colors and stylized letters, the sign wasn't the thing that most effectively grabbed Sam's attention. The wooden door stood ajar, rocking slightly from side to side, pushed by a light, dry desert breeze that kicked up small, swirling pools of dust as it whistled past.

Sam glanced up and down the empty street one more time as he prepared to enter the shop. Apprehension filled him as he reached into his jacket, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the knife that was the only weapon he'd managed to secure upon his arrival in Egypt. Next to it was a flask of holy water. Sam was as prepared as circumstance allowed him to be, but he felt practically naked as he steeled his nerves, took a final breath and forged ahead into the unknown.

The inside of the shop was calm, dimly lit. Rolled and folded fabrics sat on display on shelves arranged throughout. The walls were draped with colorful tapestries, each bearing its own price tag.

"Uh... hello?" Sam called, advancing slowly. A few steps in, it became clear that something was wrong. Shelves were toppled, colorful fabric rolls unraveled on the tile floor. There had been a struggle here. Sam wondered if it had been a mistake to call out.

He pushed forward silently, looking for blood of any clues as to what had happened in the shop. The air back here was filled with the pungent scent of bleach, which almost completely masked another, subtler stench.

Sam drew his knife as he recognized the distinct odor of sulfur, still lingering in the air in the aftermath of demonic presence.

"You're late to the fight."

Sam whipped around, blade and guard up. All he found was a woman in black from head to toe, face covered by a veil. Bright, almost luminous blue eyes sized him up, but every other inch of her was completely hidden. Sam wondered if this was the same woman who'd passed him in the street, but it was impossible to say.

"The demon came this morning," the woman went on. Her english was perfect, but heavily accented. "She took what she wanted and left."

"I'm after the demon," Sam said. It was a half-truth, but until he knew more about this woman, he sure as hell wasn't going to explain himself to her. "How do you know what it was? Are... are you a hunter too?"

"I'm well acquainted with your world. And your kind."

Sam could tell from her tone that she had no great love of hunters.

"I'm here to help," Sam said, tucking his knife away in a gesture of good faith. Her eyes followed his movements closely, expression hidden behind thick black cloth. Even her posture was impossible to read, well cloaked by the billowing burka she wore. It was a long, tense moment before she finally spoke again.

"What dire day has come that I now accept help from Sam Winchester?" she sighed. "Such are the times. Desperate indeed."

"You... you know my name?"

"I know a lot more about you than your name."

"How?"

"For a year now you've sought an artifact possessed and protected by my family. We were watching you from the minute you started asking questions about Apep's Arrogance."

"You mean the keys."

"Whatever you think you know, you would be wise to forget," the woman informed him. "Calling it a key is... reckless. At best. Its not a tool to use as you see fit. It is damnation incarnate, temptation for the foolhardy and the well-meaning."

"I was told it could-"

The woman groaned loudly and threw her hands up in the air.

"He hears nothing I tell him," she exclaimed, stomping her way past Sam toward a doorway draped in beaded strands. Sam heard her muttering in a language he didn't understand, anger underpinning the harsh, fluid words.

"Alsayaaduwn aladhin yaetaqidun 'anahum yaerifun kula shay' satakun nihayatina!"

He followed her, poking his head cautiously through the thin curtain of beads into a room even darker than the one he'd come from. A single candle cast its light weakly from a low tabletop where the woman was seated. Sam's eyes adjusted as he stepped into the room, allowing him to make out a cot in the corner and the figure of a man slumped there, motionless.

"Is... is he alive?" Sam asked, taking a step forward.

"Stop! Don't touch him!" the woman snapped.

"I just want to help," Sam assured her.

"You can't help him," she sighed, words torn with quiet, resigned despair. "His fate is out of our hands now. Allah hu akbar."

Sam recognized the phrase from another life.

"You're Muslim," he observed, taking another step closer to the man on the cot. "I, uh... I had a friend once. In college. He was too."

"Stay back!" the woman hissed, rising and putting herself between Sam and the man on the cot. Behind her, he moaned and rolled, revealing his face to Sam. Intricate blue tattoos stood out, luminescent even in the dimly lit room. The woman quickly bent down, pulling a thin blanket over the man's face even as he groaned lightly in unconscious protest, but Sam had seen all he needed.

"A Djinn!" Sam exclaimed. The woman's bright eyes shot daggers at him, eyebrows furrowed angrily as she shooed him back to no avail.

"He's already dying! We've already lost everything! Just leave us alone!"

She put her hands on his chest, trying and failing to push him out of the room. One of her sleeves slipped ever so slightly up her wrist, just enough to show Sam the end of a flowing black design that cascaded gracefully down her arm.

"You're one too," Sam said, something close to awe creeping into his voice as his mind reeled and he struggled to grasp what he had walked into.

"Just leave us be!"

She pushed him with every ounce of strength she could muster, bracing against the floor and grunting as she struggled to make Sam move.

"Go! Go! Allaenat ealayki!"

"Whoa, whoa, stop!" Sam said, coming to his senses enough to give a little ground. She wasn't nearly strong enough to push him out, but he needed her to calm down. "It's ok! I won't hurt you, ok? Hey! I promise!"

She panted and let him go, collapsing into the chair with her head in her hands.

"I want to help you!" Sam told her from the doorway, giving her space to breathe. "I want to find the demon that took the keys, or... or whatever it is you had. I just... I can't help unless you tell me how."

He gave her a moment. She shook, breath coming hard as she rubbed her temples through the thick black of her niqab. Finally, she stopped and looked up again.

"Even though you know what I am? You still think you want to help me?" she asked, sharp cynicism cutting through her bereaved tone like daggers.

"It's my job to help people," Sam said. "All kinds of people."

"Is it? Or do you just need me to tell you where the demon took the artifact you seek?"

Sam sighed and took a cautious step closer. When she didn't react, he closed the distance between them, crouching down to put himself below her eyeline.

"You said to forget everything I thought I knew about it. Done. From now on, I assume nothing, ok? I want you to tell me everything I need to know."

"And you'll take my word for it?"

"I will."

"Why? What worth does a monster's word have to a hunter?" the woman challenged.

Sam took a moment to respond, choosing his words with the utmost care.

"I've seen a lot of monsters in my day," he finally said. "They don't talk to you. They just attack. You... I don't feel like you're a monster. I feel like you're... just doing the best you can."

She gave a small, dry laugh.

"I'm not a fighter," she informed him. "Don't mistake a lack of skill or strength for a lack of fire."

She sighed heavily and adjusted her veil, covering her eyebrows. She gestured to the second chair.

"Sit, Mr. Winchester. I can't make you leave, so we may as well talk."

Sam took the seat, wondering if he was making a mistake. Was her vulnerable appearance a facade? Maybe she was stalling, waiting for more Djinn to arrive. She couldn't kill him, but she could be waiting for the cavalry to come do it for her.

Deep seated instinct made that hard for Sam to believe. This woman held herself with the demeanor of someone who wanted help. She was crying out for it with every other word, desperation defeating pride and forcing her to accept that Sam was as good as his word. Her obvious disdain of him was no match for the fact that whatever her goals, she couldn't accomplish them on her own.

"First things first," Sam said. "Do you have a name?"

"Fatima."

"Well. It's nice to meet you, Fatima. Why don't you start at the beginning?" he urged her gently.

"The beginning is a little far back for our purposes," Fatima sighed. "Instead, I will tell you what happened yesterday."

"Fine then. Yesterday."

Dean and Alice lay tangled in the sheets together, breathless in the aftermath of their passion. Dean had never known Alice to be a cuddler, but there was something especially harsh about the way she turned away from him to sit up at the edge of the bed, already reaching for her clothes.

"That was sloppy. There's DNA all over this bed," she said, annoyance and superiority dominating her tone. Dean rolled his eyes at her back as she went on. "We're gonna have to-"

"I'll bag the sheets, Dexter," Dean chuckled, leaning up to play with her hair as she slipped into her underwear. "We'll take them with us, you can soak them in peroxide or burn them, or whatever psycho routine makes you happiest, ok?"

"That's not the point. We shouldn't have done that," Alice scowled, flipping her hair over her shoulder and out of his reach as she pulled her shirt on. Dean knew she wasn't talking about leaving behind evidence anymore. He sat up and scooted closer to her as she worked to get her shoes on.

"Hey."

He took advantage of the fact that her hair was pulled aside, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning down to lay a line of kisses on her exposed neck. She kept lacing her shoes, outwardly unaffected by the amorous attentions.

"I meant what I said, ok?" he assured her softly. She tried to stand, but he held her tighter with one arm. His other moved, his fingers nudging her chin until she was forced to meet his gaze. Her eyes were hard, almost glassy, but she couldn't hide the fear behind them. Not from Dean.

"I won't hurt you," he repeated.

"Dean-"

"Uh-uh."

He pressed his lips to hers. It was by far his favorite way to shut her up. This time, she wasn't having it. She growled and threw all her weight back, sending him crashing onto the mattress hard enough to knock the wind out of him. She tried to get up again, but he pulled her back down, wrestling his way atop her and pinning her hands alongside her head. She offered little resistance, torn between pragmatism and desire. She wanted to buy what he was trying to sell, but couldn't bring herself to make the purchase.

"I promise," he said solemnly.

"I don't accept that promise," Alice sighed, rolling her eyes at him. "I don't want a promise you can't keep."

"I can keep it!"

"You can't!"

"Alice-"

It was her turn to silence him with a kiss. He felt her laughing beneath him, but didn't get what was funny.

"Did I miss a joke?" he grumbled.

"If we were, ah... really fighting," Alice informed him playfully, "I'd have already kneed you in nuts, headbutted you and flipped us. You'd be super dead."

In demonstration, she brought her knee up softly, just missing the aforementioned jewels, tapped her forehead against his and rolled. He went along with a grunt, letting her reverse their positions.

"Good thing we're not really fighting," he pointed out. "'Cause I think we both know I'd never give you those openings if we were."

"Yeah, you are pretty good," she conceded with a smile. Dean knew she was deflecting and he wasn't having it.

"Come on, Alice. You know you miss this. I miss this. I miss-"

"Shh."

She settled comfortably onto his hips and put a finger to his lips. Dean had more to say, but he bit his tongue and waited. Alice thought her next words through very carefully.

"You're not wrong," she admitted. "I... I do miss... this."

She missed him, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. The best part was that she knew Dean understood perfectly. He understood what she wanted to say, understood why she wouldn't say it. He wouldn't hold it against her.

"But Dean, we're both... we're just so... we're bad together. We both know it."

"Alice-"

"Dean, shh!"

She covered his mouth with her hand.

"Please let me finish. Please?"

He nodded silently but she didn't move her hand. She bit her lip, breath coming harder as she leaned down, running her fingers against the grain of his hair, unable to help herself.

"I do want this again," she confessed at his ear, eyes sliding shut as she felt his breath hitch against her fingers. "I want you back, Dean. I want us back. I want to be bad together again, because it's better than being bad alone. But you need to understand that... this bullshit line you keep pulling out about how you won't hurt me... it's childish."

Dean frowned. He disagreed, but her palm pressed firm against his lips, forcing him to hold his silence. She sat up again, locking eyes with him.

"If we do this again, I can't promise I won't hurt you," she told him earnestly. "I can't promise it'll work out, I can't promise it'll end well. But... I can promise that I'll never lie to you. I can promise that this time around, I'll always have your back. And I can promise that I won't make stupid fucking promises I can't keep. Ok?"

She took her hand off his mouth and waited for his answer. Her heart pounded, her breath tried to stutter, but she forced it back into a steady rhythm. Why be nervous? He made the first move, after all. The thought did little to comfort her. Confident as she should have been, she had been burned by him before. She felt like the world stood still while he pursed his lips and considered the three vows she offered him.

"Sounds like a good deal," he finally said with a smile that was just a touch too seductive. She rolled her eyes at him as he sat up, assaulting her with a wave of kisses that, though far from unwanted, wasn't very well timed.

"Dean... you... blockhead," she managed between kisses. He was doing his damnedest to get her naked again and she was dodging his attempts.

"Mm?"

He hummed against her neck, fingers creeping under her shirt even as she squirmed and pushed him back.

"I want the same from promises from you!"

"I thought that went without saying."

Alice let it go, wriggling out of his grasp and rolling onto the floor. She grabbed his pants and tossed them at his head. He dodged the pants, but she got him with the shirt in the next second, jamming it haphazardly over his head.

"Get dressed," she chided, chucking shoes, socks and a belt his way while she gathered up their few bags. "We gotta get the hell out of dodge in case someone saw us fleeing the scene."

"No one saw us," Dean protested while he pulled the rest of his clothes on. Still, he knew she was right. Better safe than sorry.

Dean wasn't kidding about bagging the sheets and when he met her at the car, he tossed the bundle into the backseat. Alice shook her head at his lack of discretion.

"What?" he asked. "Come on, people take sheets and pillows and towels from these places all the time. They don't care. They work it into the budget and everything."

"Dean, I couldn't get all our DNA out of the room if I burned it to the ground," Alice snorted. Still, she knew he was trying to make her feel better by stealing the sheets and she appreciated the thought. "Don't worry about it. I'm not in any databases. As for you... well, let's just hope the FBI doesn't know where you've been living."

"Not a chance."

"Hey, what name have you been living under all this time?" Alice wondered for the first time.

"Uh... you'll get a kick out of this one. Sam's, actually."

"Hah! You're right, that is a kick in the pants."

"So, what are your plans now that it's over?" Dean pressed, keeping his tone carefully light in an attempt to sound casual. "Now that the alpha is dead?"

"I'm heading back to the house where they were keeping me," Alice said. "See if I find anything that points to there being more shifters still out there."

"Uh-huh."

"What about you? You're gonna grab Mary back from Bobby and then, what... just go home?"

"I guess. I have to... crap, I forgot about the cat!" Dean realized. He wanted to slap himself as he remembered that Shimmer existed for the first time in weeks.

"Cat? You have a cat?"

"Mary has a cat. Smug little orange bastard. I hope he didn't run away while we were gone. That's just what I need, on top of everything else."

"I hate to sound callous, but couldn't you just get her another cat?" Alice asked with raised eyebrows.

"I mean, I would, but it would still be rough."

Dean bit his lip and clicked his teeth together as he tried to picture the new life he and Mary would need to start.

"Nothing's ever going to be the same again," he sighed. "It's just gonna be me and her from now on."

"You'll be fine," Alice assured him. "Change always comes, like it or not, sooner or later. All we can do is keep pushing forward."

"Story of my life," Dean grumbled. "I just wish... I mean, all I wanted for Mary was... a little stability, I guess. I know I can't protect her from change, but I just... I really wanted her to have a normal childhood. At least for a little while. Now that Allison's gone, that's just..."

"She still has you," Alice pointed out. "If it's stability you want for her, you need to be that. You know?"

Her words did little to comfort Dean. She couldn't tell him anything he didn't already know. Still, he appreciated her trying. He smiled for her sake.

"Yeah," he said simply.