Chapter 10

Ninth Level, Hell

Ellie's chest constricted at the pain in his voice. He'd never believed in his own strength, had only ever looked at what he'd done wrong, not all that he'd done right. And even in the depths of his despair, he'd still struggled on, not even believing in the cause but still fighting for it. But he was still a long way from seeing the ways in which his family had been manipulated, in which his father had been goaded and driven, and the ways in which he and Sam had been forced to feel then act themselves.

"Bobby didn't have a demon hunting him," Ellie said, pushing herself upright and crossing her legs to face him. "He didn't have to face the knowledge that his wife had saved him from death only to give up her youngest child to a demon in return. Bobby didn't know that Sam had been poisoned at six months old and could turn into a monster on his twenty third birthday. He didn't have to face the choice of watching one son die, with the knowledge that he would possibly have to kill the other, when there was a way to at least save you."

As she spoke, Ellie felt the tension spread through Dean, saw his expression twitch. She didn't want to create another schism between them, but she couldn't leave it like this. He needed the reality of his father's life, not the mixed up memories and emotions of the child he'd been.

"Bobby had it easy with you and Sam, and he knew it, Dean. He could afford to be indulgent with you because it wasn't up to him to keep you alive. He loved you and Sam very much, but his love didn't come at the same price as your father's did." She held his gaze and refused to look aside, her voice strengthening, gaining an edge as she continued.

"Your dad didn't deal the hand he got, Dean. It was your mother's choice to save him, and your father paid for that choice every day of his life with her. He could have pretended that her death was a freak accident, and left Sam to turn into something else. He could have let you die and tried to live with that, knowing the whole time that Sam could go insane, or become a monster. He didn't do those things because he was thinking of the best way for you to survive, for you both to survive. And you have."

She rolled to her feet, reaching down to grab the strap of her pack. "Just do me a favour. Think about that. Think about all the things that your father had to go through so that you and Sam would live."

4:39 pm. September 6, 2012. Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. He'd been looking over Frank's shoulder for twenty minutes, barely following the information flowing over the screens in the office of the Airstream and getting stiffer as Bobby sucked more and more warmth from the area.

In the chair in front of the monitors, Frank shivered. "Bobby, you're freezing out my office."

"Get over it." The ghost hovered next to the programmer.

"I can't type if my fingers are too damned cold to move."

"You're freezing me too, Bobby," Sam added his mild protest to Frank's. He was only keeping his teeth from chattering by an act of will.

"Hmff." Bobby drifted down to the other end of the trailer, leaving a sparkling trail of frost on the shelving and its contents as he went.

"Well, you're right," Frank said after he found the reports. "It's a protein marker. They're trying to create a vaccine."

"Can we build—or create—or whatever you call it—the virus itself from that information?" Sam asked, leaning closer.

"Us personally? No. But I still have some contacts in bioengineering, they may be able to point us to someone who can." Frank said, typing fast. He'd need to grab all the files and encrypt them, send them to Ray for safe-keeping.

"Will the virus kill people as well?"

"Possibly. Depends on how it's engineered. What the parameters are." Frank shrugged. "Could be the virus has been around a long time and humanity has immunity. Could be new. Can't say until we get more data."

He frowned as another window popped up on the screen.

"What?" Sam looked from Frank's expression to the screen. "Something else?"

"Dick found whatever he was looking for in that dig." He opened the window and started reading the news report. "Says it was a fertility bowl."

Sam's brow creased as he tried to think of how Roman was going to use it. "Anything special about it?"

"Aside from being over four thousand years old and found under the Dead Sea? No, not that I can tell from this."

"Can you print that out? I'll show it to Baraquiel, he was probably around then."

Sam turned and looked down to the other end of the trailer. "Can you think of any reason Dick Roman would want a four thousand year old fertility bowl?"

"Aside from the obvious one?" Bobby's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"What's the obvious one?"

"To do a ritual to enable the leviathans to breed, idjit."

Sam's head snapped back to the screen. How he'd forgotten about that problem, he couldn't say. Might have been all the other goddamned problems that'd been floating around.

"Frank, find out everything you can about that bowl."

"Yeah, yeah, already on it."

The Cage, Hell

Dean crouched on his heels, sorting through the contents of his pack, tossing what they wouldn't need and repacking what they did. A couple of feet away, Ellie sat cross-legged on the floor, her bag emptied in front of her, its contents in neat piles around her. She was checking the four small metal bottles of holy oil. Most of what they'd brought had been used. The remains were the prosaic possible requirements for popping out of Hell into who-knew-where on earth.

"So, how do we get in?" Dean glanced at her as he closed the pack and got to his feet.

"I guess we use the key."

He frowned. "I thought the key would let us all out somewhere on earth?"

"Yes, if we're inside the cage, I think it will." She looked at the walls. "But here, I think it'll just let us in, hopefully without letting Michael out until we're ready."

She finished wrapping the bottles, stowing them at the top of the pack, except for one, left in the deep side pocket.

"How long do you think we've been down here?"

"No idea." Ellie stood, stretching upward. "I can't even guess. Nothing seems very linear down here."

"You feel okay?"

"Yeah," she said. "The muscles are still aching, but cold's gone and I don't seem any the worse for it. You?"

"Surprisingly okay." He wasn't sure how that was even possible, given where they were and how far they'd come but he didn't want to think too deeply about it. "Ready for this?"

Ellie nodded.

He picked up the pack and slid the straps over his shoulders. In his hand, the four rings had joined, and the key was ready. He took a step toward her and offered his hand, turning for the wall when she took it.

The last time, he'd just thrown the key. He tossed the rings against the smooth expanse of wall, the words he'd memorised three years ago coming back without a hitch.

"Bvtmon ... Tabges ... Babalon"

The wall disappeared and they were standing in a cave of smooth and translucent ice. It was as disorienting and unexpected as every other transdimensional portal they'd tried. On the ground, the four rings were still bound together and he stooped to pick them up, pushing them into his jean pocket.

"Dean Winchester. And friend."

The voice was deep and vibrant, a rich and full baritone with dark undertones. It echoed from the hard, cold surfaces, and whispered in repeating echoes through the tunnels of ice surrounded the cave.

Dean and Ellie turned together to see Michael standing behind them. The archangel was still in Adam's body, leaning casually on a four foot sword.

"Is this a rescue mission?" Adam's gaze—Michael's gaze, Dean corrected himself—shifted from him to Ellie, one brow lifted.

"Yeah, you could call it that."

His heart stuttered at the sight of his half-brother. Adam was taller and broader in the shoulder and through the chest than he'd been on earth, his eyes transformed from their natural light blue irises to vivid angelic colour, the heavenly shade of blue that lies at the heart of a morning-glory. Wherever Adam was, it was not here, now, with them.

"Something that requires my attention, in Heaven, perhaps?" Michael took another step closer to them, his expression twisting into curiosity as he glanced again at Ellie.

"The new management in Hell is planning on taking over the earth, apparently," Dean said. Michael's curiosity making him nervous. The angel's eyes had narrowed, as if he were trying to place her.

"Come on, Dean, you can do better than that. They're always planning on taking over the Earth." Michael seemed to collect himself, turning back to Dean with a mocking smile.

"Bitter much, Michael?"

"A little fucking bit."

The archangel swung away from him abruptly, his attention focusing on Ellie. "Now, we've met before, I think. I recognise that hair."

Ellie lifted a brow. "Yes. I brought you a message about the Others from Penemue."

"That's right, you did." The archangel threw a glance back toward Dean. "And you refused to give me my vessel."

Dean struggled to control his expression. He couldn't imagine the conversation the two of them had had about him, but he could tell that the archangel did not have fond memories of it.

Ellie's mouth twisted slightly. "Yes."

Michael made a sweeping gesture as walked around behind Dean. "Well, I did find another one, but Dean was my true vessel. He would have been better, stronger."

"Can't always get what you want," Ellie suggested mildly, turning slowly on her heel to keep the archangel in view.

"No," Michael agreed. He moved in a blur, one second facing Ellie, the next behind Dean, pressed close to him, his arm tight around Dean's neck under the jaw. Michael pulled Dean's head back, leaving the throat exposed to the long, silvery blade that rested against it.

"But sometimes you do get what you need."

"What the hell?" Dean struggled against the enormous strength crushing him. "Did you miss the part about us rescuing you?"

In front of him, Dean watched Ellie stare shift from the sword at his throat to the archangel's face. She started walking slowly around them, forcing Michael to keep turning, pivoting Dean at the same time, to keep sight of her. The circle was clockwise, he saw. Keeping her left arm hidden from the angel.

"But now I don't need to be rescued, because now I have the key," Michael said. "And the keybearer. I've been in here for a quite a while, Dean. Alone since my baby brother hooked a ride out with your baby brother."

"Uh—"

"Don't talk." Michael's forearm tightened the choke hold. "You know what I thought of? I thought about a man, an insignificant little human, who broke the prophesies, and broke destiny and fucked up my last chance to face my brother and kill him as he should have been."

Dean stopped struggling, the angel's hold relaxing a fraction. Moving incrementally, Dean concentrated on getting his hand into his pocket without Michael feeling the movement. His fingers closed around the key and he pulled it out slowly. If they were going to have any chance, she would be calling the play. He relaxed a little more, letting his weight sag against the archangel's hold.

"And I never thought I'd get the chance to kill that man, but look, here he is."

"Your Father went to a lot of trouble to keep Dean alive. Are you sure you would be allowed to kill him?" Ellie asked.

"You're still lit up like a star, Eleanor," Michael said. "Thanks to my Father. Did you know that?"

"Yes."

Against his thigh, Dean held the key tightly. Ellie would give him a signal. He was sure of that.

"Uriel told me that you were some kind of spoiler. Outside destiny, outside Fate. You were supposed to have died as a child? Something like that?"

"Something like that," she agreed readily.

"He asked me repeatedly to let him kill you, you know." Michael pushed the edge of the blade a little more firmly against Dean's throat, leaving a thin red line.

"Uriel was a dick," Ellie and Dean said at the same time. Her gaze shifted to Dean, the lid of one eye flickering.

"Yes, he was." Michael looked down at the sword. "A lot of them are."

Dean threw the key, an awkward underhand throw with little power. It didn't matter. Ellie was only a few feet away and her hand snapped out to catch it mid-air.

The angel's hold tightened around Dean's like a boa constrictor, the edge of the sword beaded with droplets of blood.

"Give me the key or I'll kill him." Michael's beautiful voice was distorted with rage.

"I thought you were going to kill him anyway?" She stopped moving, back where she'd started, the bottle in the hand she held behind her left thigh light and empty now.

"You—mortal!" Michael stared at her furiously, the brilliant eyes narrowed with malice. "Give me the key or I'll kill him, raise him up and kill him again!"

The small metal bottle dropped to the icy rock, clanging raucously in the silence. Ellie drew her lighter from her pocket, the spark catching and the flame steady as she dropped it. She smiled at the angel as a line of fire sprang up, the red-gold flames reflecting against the smooth ice walls. Michael's face was almost purple as he recognised, too late, the trap.

"Let him go, or you can spend eternity here, on your own."

The archangel stared at the flames surrounding him. His grip shifted on the sword's hilt, and another drop of blood beaded on its edge.

"If he dies, so do you, Michael," Ellie said, the edge in her voice as sharp as the blade. "Let him go."

She could see the fury in his face, could easily imagine how badly the angel wanted to draw the sword's edge through Dean's throat, to kill the man who'd ruined everything so comprehensively, who turned black to white and up to down. Warring with that fury was uncertainty. He knew she would put Dean above all else. She had before, she would again. He didn't want to spend eternity trapped in his brother's prison.

At best it was a stalemate. At worst, he would lose.

"What makes you think you could protect him if you let me live?"

"What makes you think he needs my protection?" Ellie fired back, relieved at the crack in his resolve. She switched tactics. "Heaven needs you, Michael. Lucifer is with the Princes, and they're looking for a way to bring his power back, but under their control. They will overrun this plane and destroy everything your Father created if you don't put aside this pettiness and lead the Host against them."

In the circle of fire, the archangel and man stood completely still and silent. The only thing Ellie could hear was the distant crackle of ice, her own pulse pounding inside her head. "That is your destiny, Michael: to destroy evil, to make sure the innocence of creation is preserved. Are you really going to throw that destiny away because you're pissed off at one man?"

Michael's stare seemed to elongate the seconds ticking past, even here in a place that might not even have been subject to time. It was the second time she'd stopped him, prevented him from doing something he wanted. Whatever his Father had left on her or in her when Raphael had tried to kill her, it was clearly still there, still visible, at least to some of his sons. She thought if he'd had a tail, it would have been lashing with his frustration.

He let his sword arm drop, and thrust the man he held away. Dean stumbled across the line of fire, one hand pressed against his neck.

On the outside of the circle, he gave the archangel an apologetic shrug. "She's hard to argue with."

"Yes, I noticed." Michael's mouth twisted slightly. He gestured to the circle of fire. "Well? Are you going to let me out?"

"Are you going to give me your word that you won't harm us if I do?" Ellie asked, wondering if a creature without a conscience could be trusted on their word.

Michael's expression became thoughtful. "You know, there is something about you that is very familiar, but I can't quite place it."

Ellie crossed her arms and waited. Michael smiled and gave a mocking bow.

"Very well. You have my word that I will not try to harm either of you, or yours, from this day forth." He raised an eyebrow at Ellie. "Is that good enough?"

"Yes."

She walked forward and broke the circle with her foot, smearing the oil from the ice. The heat seemed mild at first, then without warning it became intense, suffocating her. She stepped back, taking a deep breath. Beside her, Dean was rubbing at the oil with the toe of his boot. Ellie pushed aside the disorientation and did the same and the circle of flames died.

As he crossed out of the cold circle, Michael sheathed his sword and gave Ellie a sour look. "What are you waiting for? Open the damned cage so that we can get on with our lives, would you?"

She pushed aside her uncertainty and threw the key against the wall of ice in front of them. Dean repeated the incantation of opening and the cavern of ice disappeared in a silent vortex of darkness.

10:40 am. September 7, 2012. Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon

Mist still lay in the valley, the woods along the rising slopes tipped with the first colours of the season. Sam poured the last cooling dregs of the coffeepot into his cup then leaned on the kitchen counter, taking in the fall view. September already and no word from the angel or Dean or Ellie.

In the clearings and gardens around the house, he could hear the steady shots of target practice, voices and grunts from the sparring rings, the general hubbub of many people doing many things. Tricia had been right. The work and training had provided some purpose to their waiting and he thought they were all better for it, even him. He didn't want to face the moment when he had take charge and decide what to do about the Leviathan long term goals, or the increased surges in demon activity, or the plans he needed to make to keep his people safe from an apocalypse that seemed to be rocketing toward them.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. They had information. A lot of it. They had more allies and help than they'd ever had before. But he couldn't move forward, or sideways, or even backwards, until he knew what had happened to Dean and Ellie; until he knew if they'd succeeded or failed.

The Watchers and their children were bunked wherever they could find a space: in the basement, the attic, the loft of the clean barn. It was crowded but cordial, everyone highly aware of privacy and individual space. The hunters had trailers or had taken rooms at the motel in the town, all with their own vehicles. Another thing he needed to think about, teaching the nephilim to drive and getting them clean licences and cars. There were too many things to think about and not nearly enough time to do justice to each one, he decided irritably.

He knew Ellie had wanted to set up a real base for them, but he had no idea of how to go about that. His knowledge of purchasing or developing real estate was nil and Tricia had less idea than he did. The rental was big but not big enough.

"What's wrong?" Tricia asked, walking into the kitchen.

"What?" Sam tried to reorganise his features into a more pleasant expression.

"You were scowling at the window," she said, going to the fridge and pulling out ham, lettuce, cheese and mayonnaise.

"Too many wrongs."

"Take them one at a time?" She laid out the food on the counter and retrieved bread from its box and the bowl of tomatoes. "We can't do anything about the living arrangements until we've got a plan in place for the Levis, isn't that what you said?"

His expression screwed back into a scowl. "What are we gonna do about them? There are dozens and we don't know what they look like."

"Wasn't Ray putting together a missing persons list to narrow that down?"

Sam swore internally. Ellie had said she'd asked Ray to do that, months ago. Frank would have Ray's contact details. "Thanks."

Tricia smiled. "Anytime. Do you want a sandwich?"

He focused on what she was doing. "How many are you making?"

"A few dozen," she told him. "Trent and Twist are taking the nephilim for a woods course today."

"Monster hunting?" Sam wondered if the half-angels would get much use from the hunting lore.

"More like jungle combat, from what I heard."

"Uh huh. Uh, I'll pass on the sandwich, thanks."

"See you later," Tricia called as he walked out of the room.

9.15 am. September 8, 2012. Blackfoot Glacier, Glacier National Park, Montana

The mountains surrounded them in cold shades of grey and white, despite the deep blue sky arching overhead. Dean looked at Ellie, then at Michael.

"Where the hell are we?"

" Blackfoot Glacier, in Montana." Michael smiled. "And bearing that in mind … turn away, or cover your eyes."

The angel closed his eyes and raised his hands, and Adam's body began to glow, the light accompanied by a faint, high-pitched sound.

"What?" Dean squinted into the growing light. "Wait a minute! What about—?"

"Forget it!" Ellie grabbed his arm and pulled him down. "It's too late."

Cursing under his breath, Dean dropped to the thin snow layer with her, twisting away from the brilliant argent light that reflected a million-fold from the snow and ice of the glacier and mountain peaks.

When it no longer burned against his closed lids, Dean lowered his arm, cautiously opening an eye. "He's gone."

Ellie sat back on her heels, tipping her head to the sky. "I didn't think he'd stay long. Where's Adam?"

"Crap."

His half brother was lying crumpled on the snow. Dean closed the distance to him fast, kneeling to raise Adam's shoulders, and lay a couple of fingers over the carotid artery in his neck. The pulse was strong, Adam's breathing even, but he was out cold.

"How is he?" Ellie asked, kneeling beside them.

"He's out cold, but he seems okay," Dean said. Whatever Adam had been, whatever his personality had been like, he had the feeling that when the kid came to, that would be gone. "He's been an angel condom for three years, Ellie. In Hell."

"I know." She lifted Adam's eyelids. Both pupils were even, both contracting as the light hit them. "If he's lucky, Michael kept him out of it."

"I don't think 'lucky' is something anyone could use to describe this kid's life."

She lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. "Call Castiel. We need a ride."

"Right." Dean eased Adam back to supine position, then rose to his feet, throwing his head back as he shouted into the sky. "Cas! Come on, we've done it. We've freed Michael. We need a ride!"

"Thank you."

They both spun around at the low, gravelly voice. Castiel stood on the snow behind them.

"No problem." Dean shrugged, his gaze returning to Adam. "Can you heal him? Uh, you know, make it seem like none of it happened?"

Castiel crossed the ice and put his hand over Adam's head, his eyes closing. "I can heal any injuries he might have suffered. I can look to see if his experiences have left wounds in his psyche. I don't think I can make it seem as if nothing happened."

After a moment, Adam's body arched upward convulsively, skin thrown into translucence, glowing for the second time, bones and blood paths and muscles visible for a second before he slumped and the light died out of his flesh.

"Well?"

The angel lifted his hand but remained kneeling for a few minutes, a slight frown drawing his brows closer. "I'm not sure that worked."

"What do you mean...you're not sure?" Dean knelt beside Adam. "Is he good or not?"

Castiel's gaze lifted, his expression uncertain. "Physically, Adam is fine. Mentally, he seems intact. Emotionally, he seems stable." He shook his head. "But I'm not sure what happened, what he went through, has been reintegrated."

"What does that mean?" Dean looked from the angel to Ellie.

She shook her head. "It means we won't know if he's okay until he comes to." She stood up, and reached for her pack. "And it would be better for him, and for us, if we were in a secure, comfortable base when that happens, someplace we can get him to a hospital if we need to, don't you think?"

Castiel rose to his feet as well. "Sam is in Oregon. I assume that is where you want to go?"

Dean nodded. He dropped to one knee, clasping Adam's wrists together in one hand and lifting his brother into a sitting position. Tucking himself double, he got Adam over his shoulder and staggered to his feet. Ellie stood close beside him as Castiel reached out and laid his fingers on their foreheads.

The glacier and mountains and ice disappeared, and he lost the sensation of Adam over his shoulder or Ellie pressed against him or the feel of Cas' fingertips on his face. For once he was barely aware of the angelic transportation, his mind churning over everything else. They'd succeeded. Had freed an archangel from the centre of Hell and he felt no surge of satisfaction, just a dull worry that this was only the beginning, that something far worse was coming.

11:00 am. September 8, 2012. Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon

Too much coffee. Sam's stomach roiled at the thought of another cup. He stood by the kitchen window, looking across the valley without seeing the view, his head throbbing in a way that suggested it might get worse before lunch time. He was punchy from the lack of sleep.

"How many do you think we need?" Marcus asked, pouring a fresh cup of coffee from the pot on the counter.

Sam knuckled his forehead. The past twenty four hours of talking, reading and researching was still buzzing in his brain. "At least ten. For diversions as well as the main operations. Will the Watchers be ready?"

"For basic things, sure," Trent said, scratching at the pink scar than twisted across his jaw. "It would be good practice in any case—put a bunch of skills together in a scenario."

"Right." Sam turned from the window and nodded to the two men. "Let's get onto it."

"Holy shit—!" Marcus' mouth dropped open, his gaze fixed on the window.

"What?" Sam swung around, focusing on the yard outside. On the gravelled driveway at the side of the house, Dean stood with Adam over his shoulder, Ellie beside him and Castiel hovering behind them.

"They did it!" Trent whooped.

Sam didn't even realise he was moving until he straight-armed the screen door and heard it slam back against the side of the house. His brother's grin widened and the angel vanished as he hit the porch steps and ran across the drive. Footsteps crunched behind him and he ignored them, knowing Trent and Marcus would be on his heels. He slid to a stop in front of his brother.

"I didn't think you'd do it." Sam's gaze flicked from Dean to Ellie and back.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Ellie. "He didn't think we'd do it."

"Complete lack of faith. Shocking." She shook her head.

"What happened to Cas?"

Dean rolled his eyes and Ellie answered. "He had other things to do."

"Is Adam—is Adam, you know, okay?" Sam looked at the limp form over his brother's shoulder.

"Don't know yet. We think so."

"If Tricia's here, she can give us a better idea," Ellie added.

Sam looked around. "Trent, could you find Tricia and tell her we need her?"

Dean shifted from foot to foot. "He is getting heavy, and since we're just back and you've been lazing around for a while …?"

Taking Adam from Dean's shoulder, Sam pivoted for the back porch. "Spare bedroom?"

Ellie shrugged. "Do we still have a spare bedroom?"

"Yeah, most of these guys are bunked someplace else." Belatedly, Sam realised the edges of the yard and drive had filled with Watchers and hunters. "It's been—uh—hard to get organised. We've got a lot of news."

"Seems pretty organised." Dean looked around. "How long were we gone?"

Sam shifted Adam's weight and grinned. "Too long. Come on."

"I'm dying for a bath," Ellie said, walking up the stairs beside Dean.

He looked down at his clothes, torn and bloodied, reeking with the overpowering scent of brimstone. "I think I'm gonna have to throw these out."

She smiled at the regret in his voice. "We'll go shopping in Portland in a day or two."

Sam hadn't been kidding about the organisation. With the Watchers and their children here as well as Trent, Marcus, Twist, Roberts, Garth and Frank, the property was overcrowded and they made a tempting target for anyone, or anything, that wanted to find them. She thought she could probably find a better location in this area for them all, if she had some time.

As if he'd read her thoughts, Dean said, "Are we going to get time?"

Ellie realised he was talking about Portland, as much as the quick view Sam'd given them on the Leviathan and demon activity. "Yeah. We'll find a better base for all of us first. I don't like how easy we are to find here, all together like this."

"Can we sleep first?"

She laughed. "Try to stop me."

The water was faintly scented with something herbal, the heat penetrating deep into his muscles and Dean sighed with pleasure. Against his chest, her eyes closed, Ellie lay still, the steam rising from the surface of the big bath wreathing around them.

"I could stay here for a long time," she murmured, as his hands slid over her skin under the water.

"No argument." His head was tipped back, resting against the lip of the tub. It would be too easy to fall asleep here, he thought, the exhaustion of the past few weeks seeping away into the warm, fragrant water, her skin sliding against his.

His thoughts drifted, peaceful for a while then bumping against the question: the question he had no answer for.

Right up until the second he'd abandoned Meg and the circle to go to help his brother, he'd thought he'd known the answer, thought it was a done deal that his priorities had changed. But since then, he wasn't as certain. His whole life, he'd been his brother's protector, the one who'd made sure—or at least had tried to make sure—that Sam lived. It was only very recently that he'd realised that he didn't want that job any more. And very, very recently that he thought his family—Ellie and the child she carried—took priority, every time, over his brother. What scared him was the question. When it came down to it, would he act out of habit or would he chose the woman he loved?

He didn't know. Not for sure. And the only way he'd really be sure was if that test presented itself. He felt a shiver run up his spine at the thought of that, and pushed the thoughts away again.

"You okay?" Ellie opened her eyes, twisting a little to look up at him.

He sighed. "Yeah, just …" He hesitated, debating with himself over whether to tell her the truth, or fudge it, just a little. "Just a bad memory."

She rolled over, send wavelets over the tub's edge and onto the floor, her arms slipping around his neck, and she looked into his eyes. He wondered nervously if she could see that lie in them, could feel it in his skin. He bent his head toward her and kissed her, his arms tightening around her. It was the first real lie he'd told her, and he wasn't sure why he'd done it. To protect her? Or himself?

Ellie deepened the kiss hungrily, and he forgot about his doubt, sliding deeper under the water as he pulled her closer, desire and need crowding out his thoughts.

Three hours later

Dean found Ellie sitting on the broad window seat in their bedroom, her legs drawn up and arms wrapped them, chin resting on her forearms as she looked over the valley below.

"I'm sorry about Pen." He walked to over to her, and stopped, abruptly unsure of what he should do when he saw how still she was, how remote her eyes were, as if she'd left her body.

She nodded, her gaze remaining on the view.

"Do you, uh, need some time alone?" He backtracked to the bed and sat on the edge.

As sure as he felt of his feelings and hers, this was the territory of relationships he wasn't skilled in; the knowing when and where and how to offer comfort and when to leave someone to themselves. For him, he needed to be alone with his pain, needed to feel it with the guilt and the shame before it let go of him and he could accept others knowing, seeing. He thought that it was similar for Ellie, that her coping mechanisms forced her into solitude more often than not. He wasn't certain it was the best way for either of them.

Ellie closed her eyes. She'd always with dealt with her sorrow on her own. She didn't think it was especially fair on others, especially the man beside her, to have to bear the burden of her feelings. But she was willing to admit there were circumstances…scenarios…moments, like these when she wanted comfort, some warmth to stop the cold from spreading inside of her.

She unfolded herself from the window seat and walked to the bed to sit beside him, letting him wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her down until they were lying side by side, his arms encircling her, his body's warmth seeping into her, his breath on her hair.

It hadn't been hard to understand or to admit that here; right here, against this man, hearing his heart beating beneath her cheek, was where she felt the most comfort and safety. Without warning, her memories of the Watcher returned and finally the tears came: for the friend who had helped her with whatever she'd asked over the years, for the fallen angel who had truly wanted humanity to succeed, to be able to feel his Father's love.

The life was full of losses. Some were harder than others, but all of them were the cost of the fight. Those with the ability to do the job also had the responsibility to do the job. Her tension unwound gently with the release of grief. It wasn't just the loss, she knew. The journey through Hell, the fear that had been tightly bottled up inside her: fears of losing the man beside her, or the baby growing within her, fear of being found, fear of failing, they all loosened and fell away with her tears, bit by bit. Years ago, she would have released them with a hard sparring match and a tragic movie. She liked this better.

Dean felt the tears as they soaked through his shirt. He shifted his position to enfold her more closely against him, his cheek resting along her temple, his hand stroking her back as he tried to lessen the pain. He'd buried too much of his own grief to not know what it felt like, that pain. It had only been when she held him that the pain had gone.

Her strength amazed him when he spent time thinking on it. Seeing her weaknesses was also amazing, knowing how well it was hidden from their enemies, and the odd feeling it brought him, partly pride, partly protectiveness, when she revealed it to him. In some ways, it was more profoundly moving than anything else they shared.

Gradually she stilled, and the wound up tensions and stiffness disappeared from her shoulders, from her neck.

"That was some speech you gave Michael," he said, keeping his voice low. Her cheek lifted against his neck as she smiled.

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah, hey, I was impressed." He looked down at her. "Did you tell Michael to shove it, when he asked you to get me for him?"

"Well, not in those words, but more or less." She turned her head, moving a little to look at him. "He wanted to bargain. I don't bargain."

He snorted, two images overlaying each other in his mind's eye.

"You know what I'm gonna remember about you when I'm ninety?" he said, brushing his lips over her hair.

"No, what?"

"Lighting that holy fire, staring an archangel in the eye and telling him to let me go or you'd let him rot in there."

"That's what you're gonna remember?" She raised a disbelieving brow at him.

"Yeah."

"What about this?" Her hand slid under his shirt, then under the waistband of his jeans. "Or this? Or the time we did—"

"Aaahh…" He leaned down, his mouth just brushing hers, stopping her words. "Yeah, well, that too."

Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens.

~ Carl Jung

AN: Thank you for reading! The story continues in A Serpent Ascending, Lucifer's return to power, the coalition of fallen angels, half angels and hunters to defeat the Leviathan and Hell, and the struggles of the hunters to protect each other, love each other and find hope and peace for the future. (My apologies to readers for the mix up in character names, I'm fixing that now :))