Chapter 2

October 2, 2012. Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon.

"Cas, it's me, Dean to Castiel…come on down, man, we need to talk." Dean opened an eye and looked around hopefully.

In the garden, the morning air was cold, frost lingering on the grass and drifts of fallen leaves where the sunlight hadn't yet reached. Baraquiel had brought several carloads of reading material the day before, currently filling the livings areas of the house. They needed Cas sooner, rather than later.

"Dean, we are trying to prepare an army."

"Huh." The voice, right behind him, produced a jolt of adrenalin. Dean spun around to see Castiel looking at him tiredly . "Yeah, I know. Need some help."

"With what?"

"Can you make it to the church down near town on Sunday?"

Cas gave him a pained stare. "You really don't understand the definition of 'war', do you?"

"C'mon man, I'm asking a favour."

"What kind of favour?"

"To, uh, come to my wedding. Maybe give the bride away?" Dean smiled hopefully. He wasn't sure if Ellie wanted to be given away. Probably should have checked that first.

"Give her away to whom?" The angel frowned as he parsed the sentence.

"To me, I guess." Another thing he should have checked. Well, he'd work it out on Sunday if everyone turned up.

Cas closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes, if it doesn't take too long."

"Great." He waved a hand toward the house and started walking, the angel catching up and walking beside him. "Ellie has a couple of questions, and, uh, we needed to know if you know anything about Lucifer being ensouled?"

Cas came to a halt. "What?"

"Ensouled." Dean walked on several paces before realising he was alone. He looked over his shoulder. "Having a soul put into him. Or him taking over a soul. Whatever."

"Why are you asking this?"

The angel looked more than nervous, he looked rattled. "Because it's what we heard down in Hell when two of the Fallen were talking about bringing back the devil's powers."

"The Princes were talking about a soul—for Lucifer?"

"Didn't I just say that?" Dean scowled at him. "Are your wires delayed or something? Hurry up. Ellie can explain this better than I can."

"All right." Cas followed him up to the house.

The open plan living and dining area had been overtaken by the research materials of the Watchers, with every horizontal surface covered by books, stacks of papyrus, vellum, skins and scrolls, boxes of more taking up a considerable amount of the floor and stacked along the steps between the two levels, leaving only narrow pathways to move from the table to the exit.

At the dining table, Ellie and Baraquiel were talking quietly, their attention on an old, hand-drawn map of the Middle East covering the table, teetering piles of books to either side of them.

"This is Penemue's research, on Lucifer?" the angel asked as he entered the room.

"Castiel." Baraquiel acknowledged the seraphim with a nod as he rose. "Yes, some of it. The rest is hidden and sealed into the ruins in Jordan."

"Hello, Castiel," Ellie said, getting to her feet slowly.

Castiel looked down at the curve of her stomach. "Eleanor…that doesn't look comfortable?"

"It's fine at the moment." She smiled. "I'll give you a progress report in about four-five weeks."

"Penemue believed Lucifer was searching for a way to acquire a soul?" Castiel looked down at the map and materials, his expression worried. "And that's what the Princes are looking for also?"

"The Princes spoke of a soul with an angel's powers." Ellie raised a brow as she looked from Baraquiel to Castiel. "We thought it meant angel ancestry."

The face of the angel's vessel paled and Castiel pulled out the chair next to Baraquiel, dropping into it. "It was just a myth, even in Heaven."

The back of Dean's neck prickled with the first stirrings of alarm and he stood beside Ellie. "What myth, Cas?"

The angel shifted in his seat. "It was a bedtime story! A fable—"

"Cas…what myth?" Dean leaned past Ellie, glaring at Castiel.

"Castiel is right," Baraquiel cut in. "It was a tale, less than a rumour, not even worthy of the style 'myth'. We believed the followers of Lucifer put it into circulation to maintain interest in his cause." The Watcher looked from the angel to Ellie and Dean. "The story proposed when God's punishment had finished, the Morning Star would rise but fail to regain his power, would only be able to crawl around on the earth, like a worm. And he would not be able to return to himself unless he could take a soul that had an angel's power."

"But angels don't have souls," Dean objected.

"Their children do," Baraquiel said. "And all the generations born to those children do. And, as we've discussed before, to greater and lesser degrees, they possess the powers of an angel."

The Watcher turned to the angel. "Tell them."

"Yes." Castiel's expression was apologetic as he faced Dean. "You knew about your family, and that Heaven manipulated those in it to produce you and Sam for the sole purpose of releasing Lucifer. But Baraquiel is correct. There were twelve who Fell with their Grace, who took wives from humanity and produced offspring. There were three hundred and thirty three who Fell without their Grace, immortal in their constructs of matter, but without access to the power of Heaven. They too took wives and had offspring."

"How do we tell who has angel blood, Cas?" Dean grated. "And does it matter how much or how little they have?"

"The holy oil will reveal angelic blood," Castiel said, rising to his feet. "And no, it doesn't matter. A full blood angel will die. But a nephilim or anyone descended from the nephilim will be burned. Not killed but marked. Pure humans are untouched by the fire."

Baraquiel nodded, frowning. "Yes. I should have thought of that."

"Does this story detail the ritual, Cas?" Ellie leaned forward. "For taking the soul? Do you know if it's mentioned anywhere in the histories of Heaven, or anywhere else?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. No angel would use that ritual." He looked agitated at the thought of it. "I'll ask Michael."

"I'm going to need the rest of the research materials Pen was using. In Jordan." Ellie glanced up at Dean. "Not immediately; there's no room here, but in the next few weeks."

"I can retrieve them when you ask," Castiel promised. His gaze traversed the room. "Though, it might be easier to take you to the mountain."

"No!" Dean cut in, his voice a whiplash. There was no way she was going anywhere without him from now on and they had too much on to be taking jaunts to wherever the hell the Watcher had kept his library.

Ellie shrugged. "I'll try to find a place that's big enough."

"Even with the rumours and myths and legends Penemue collected, even with the ritual itself, we won't be able to find the soul that the Princes were talking of." Baraquiel's gaze switched from Ellie to Dean to the angel. "There could be millions."

"No, I don't think so." Ellie's brow creased and she glanced up at Dean. "They had a single specific soul in mind. Didn't you get that impression? That they already knew the soul they were looking for? The one they needed?"

Dean nodded as, in his mind, he heard them again. "Only a soul with an angel's power can do it," one had said."There is such a child," the other had replied.

"Yeah, that's what it sounded like to me."

Ellie turned back to Baraquiel. "So there must be other criteria, something we don't know, something that isn't necessarily in the general rumour but specific to the origins?"

"Then we'll never find it," Baraquiel said with certainty. "That myth is all that's left of those times."

"You know, there could be an outside chance the Colt would kill Lucifer now, because he's weakened." Dean sat down next to Ellie.

"Possibly." Ellie made a face. "Do you remember what he said, specifically, about the Colt when you tried to kill him?"

Dean shrugged. "I was out cold at the time. Sam said Lucifer told him there were only five things in, uh, all of creation that the gun couldn't kill. He was one of them."

"I'm willing to bet that Jesse is another. And God, and Death and probably Michael," Ellie said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, Jesse said it couldn't hurt him."

"But it could kill the other Fallen—it killed Azazel. Or any of the seraphim. Maybe just not the archangels."

"Or maybe Lucifer was making it up as he went," Dean suggested, his expression souring. "He did that, you know, threw in lies along with the truth."

"The Prince of Lies." Ellie gave him a rueful smile. "This is all going to be academic unless there's more we can find out about the ritual."

The angel got to his feet. "There was a society, Ellie, an ancient one—"

"Disciplina Pertitia Occultae," Baraquiel added.

"That's correct," Castiel continued. "They were collecting information, knowledge, really. Your friends in the Church might know where they are."

"I'll ask," Ellie said.

Cas looked at Dean. "Was there anything else, because I must return now."

"No, no. See you on Sunday."

The sound of wings was loud in the much reduced space of the room. Ellie turned to Dean. "What's Sunday?"

He looked at her innocently, lifting his shoulders slightly. "Did I say Sunday? I meant, you know, whenever." He got up. "I'll, uh, go see how Sam's doing."

Ellie turned to Baraquiel when he left the room. "What was this society?"

"The Disciplina Pertitia Occultae. It was created by scholars, before Alexander, gathering knowledge of the hidden world—magic, monsters, myths." Baraquiel got to his feet, as if restless. "I should have thought of them. They were—perhaps still are—like you, gathering the facts, the information, the artefacts and helping those who hunted in that world to do their jobs."

"They're still around?" Ellie couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice.

"That I don't know," Baraquiel said. "The society might have fallen apart, some going to the Church, some to form other societies. In any old organisation there are disagreements, yes? Splits? Factions? And many of the old societies fell."

"Where were they based when you knew of them?"

"Alexandria, originally, at the Library there. Then in Budapest for a time. Then we lost track of them."

The study of hidden knowledge, with insinuations to forbidden knowledge, to a society of learning as much as gathering, Ellie thought, turning the name over in her mind. If they were still around, the knowledge they held might be formidable. Leaning back in her chair, Ellie decided she needed to call Patrick.

October 3, 2012

Frank handed Sam the map and a handful of folders. "They're all there. Along with what could I find on what they're doing there."

Sam set the folders to one side and spread the map out on the table, sighing as he saw the distances. "This'll take a while."

"Not my problem," Frank growled then turned to Trent. "I'll be heading out now. I'll see you in Wisconsin."

"Yeah. We'll be there."

Sam watched Frank walked out, hearing the screen door slam and the older man's boots across the porch. In a few minutes, the big Dodge pickup roared into life and he saw it pull out, the Airstream following it up the driveway at a stately walking pace. He was going to miss Frank, not for the conversations, but for the man's priceless ability to cut to the chase for any given topic.

"When do you want to get started on these?" Trent looked down at the map.

Sam followed Trent's gaze. "How many teams could we field right now?"

"Two. Maybe three if I can ever get hold of Katherine." The older man rubbed his jaw, considering. "We lost a lot of hunters over the last couple of years – weird monsters, vengeful ghosts, demons everywhere. And I think there are some out there who are just keeping their heads down."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I know Ellie's been trying to get in touch with old friends as well. But we might have to face the fact that we're pretty much it."

"There's a cheery thought."

"Yeah." Sam hoped he was wrong about that. Even with trainees, what they needed more than anything else was experience and skill. "I know I said we'd go earlier, but I think we'll put it back to Monday and Tuesday. That gives us a bit more time training the nephilim."

"It'll take us two days to get over to Wisconsin. We'll be ready when you are." Trent shrugged. "You and Tricia should take Chaz and Anina. They already work well together and they've both learned fast. Twist and Garth are taking Shamsiel and Idan. The rest will be on rotational training here with Ellie and Dean for a while."

Sam smiled at Trent, seeing the same glint of humour is his eyes. No one had told Ellie about the arrangement yet.

"Don't get yourself killed working with Frank, okay?"

"Do my best." Trent grinned and left to find his team.

On the flat ground between the garden, the fields and the forest, Dean watched Adam as his half brother circled Sima, . The nephilim opposing him was taller, heavier, perhaps not quite as fast, he considered critically.

Michael had imparted some combat knowledge to his vessel; a knowledge of tactics, of strategy against an opponent, of how to gauge strength and weakness. But it wasn't enough, in Dean's opinion. His brother needed to get dirty, get experience. Both Adam and Sima were balanced, used to using their weight and knowing where it was in relation to what they had to do, but neither had much real time in hitting and in being hit.

"Anytime would be fine," he called out derisively. Neither looked at him, concentrating on finding an opening.

Adam moved in, aiming a blow for Sima's ribs. His forearm was swept aside as Sima turned, and he had to duck fast when the nephilim's elbow brushed over the top of his head. He staggered slightly, dropping to one knee and rolling backwards out of reach as Sima moved to take advantage.

"Yeah, okay. Look, this is all just awesome, but it's not getting the job done." Dean held up his hands and walked in between them. "You're facing a bad guy. Just get rid of him. Keep pushing until he goes down."

He swung toward Sima suddenly, his head jerking to one side slightly when the nephilim's fist came toward him, letting it pass by, turning while Sima was overextended, his weight too far forward to block. His fist jabbed into Sima's torso with the added momentum of the turn, his weight behind the jab, though he pulled it at the last instant. Continuing the turn, he dropped his shoulder and drove his elbow into the nephilim's jaw, packing his weight behind it, again pulling the full impact of the blow.

Sima staggered back and Dean closed in again, every sense alert and anticipating the moves coming toward him, the calculations of distance, force required, balance and speed automatic and instantaneous. Sima managed to get past his defence for a second, and Dean twisted away from the blow, riding it then dropping to the ground and scything the nephilim's leg from under him.

"You can't keep waiting for a good opening." Dean extended his hand to Sima, pulling him to his feet as he turned to Adam. "You have to make an opening and run with it."

He stepped back, and waved his hand. "Try again."

There's no substitution for real action. His father's voice murmured in his memories. Both Adam and Sima would see real action soon enough, he thought. Right now, he'd be happy if they worked on looking at their habits and made an effort to get rid of them.

On the other side of the house, across the hay field with its waist-high dead yellow grass, and near the barn, Sam and Twist watched the targets at the other end of the mowed range as their students fired shot after shot into them.

"They're accurate."

Twist glanced at him. "Yeah, they're good enough with the targets: short range, long range, any kind of projectile. Not sure how they'll do when it's the real thing and something's firing back at them, though."

"We could set something up in the forest," Sam suggested. "We should anyway. Use something non-lethal, but put them into hostile situations, where they'll have to act on the fly."

"Blanks?"

"No. You can't tell if you've hit or missed." Sam's brow creased as an old memory scratched at him.

"Something like paint-ball, maybe?" Twist raised his hand and waved the line in as the nephilim and Watchers finished their rounds.

"Yeah." Sam grinned, remembering a summer a long time ago. "Exactly."

"I can get down to Corvallis on Monday? Probably find what we'd need then?"

Sam shook his head. "Trish went to Portland this morning. I'll call her and let her know. She can find some gear for us."

He turned away from the range and pulled out the fresh burner. The gear had to improved since he last used it. It would give them a chance to work on running battles, guerrilla attacks and other stratagems at the same time.

Tricia rubbed her eyes as she drove back up into the mountains. It wasn't a long drive, just an hour, but she'd been gone all day, looking through the shops for what she wanted and all the walking around with other people, after the relative solitude of their base, was tiring.

She pulled into the driveway just on dusk, and dragged Sam down to the car to help with the bags. She'd found a place that specialised in paint-ball gear, and had picked up the markers, pods and harness second-hand.

"You look beat," Sam said, carrying the paintball gear into the garage, and dumping it there. Most of the available markers were a similar weight to the guns they'd been using. The main thing was to get them out, thinking on their feet, against opponents, instead shooting at static targets.

"I am," she admitted. "Must be getting old or something."

"You? You'll never be old." He smiled and returned to the truck for the rest of the bags. "What else you get?"

"Wedding stuff for Ellie and Dean mostly," she said, following him into the house. "The flowers will be delivered to the church on Saturday. The rings are in that bag. I've booked the Acorn and the caterers and there's a local DJ willing to do the job on Sunday evening."

"You're kidding! So it's this weekend?"

She laughed. "Don't sound so surprised! That's the deadline you gave me."

"But I didn't think you'd make it," Sam sputtered.

"Thank you," Tricia said, punching him lightly. "Be careful with those two: Ellie's dress and Dean's suit."

"What about my suit?"

"In that one," Tricia said, taking the other two bags from him. "You'll need to hang it up too."

"Where are you going?" Sam turned around as she headed for the hall.

"To give Dean his suit and get a song," she said over her shoulder. "Hang up it up, Sam!"

Tricia found Dean in the kitchen, sitting at the big pine table, surrounded by gun parts, brushes, files, cleaning cloths soaked in gun oil and solvent. He looked around as she came in, one brow lifting in query.

"Your suit." She hung his suit bag from the back of a chair. "And it's all organised. Four p.m. before evening mass on Sunday."

Dean grinned at her. "Wow. You're good."

"I am. Don't forget it."

He set down the automatic and leaned toward the suit bag.

"You touch that suit with gun oil on your hands and I will never speak to you again."

Dean sat back in the chair, hands raised appeasingly. "Sorry. No touchee, got it."

"I gave the rings to Sam; the flowers, reception and music is organised," Tricia continued. "But I'm missing one thing."

"What's that?"

"Your song."

"What?"

Tricia sighed. "Your song.

His expression remained blank. "A song?"

"Don't you two know anything about weddings?" Tricia crossed her arms in frustration. "I need a favourite song of yours and Ellie's, or a song that means something to you both, slow enough to do the bride and groom's first dance together as man and wife."

"Oh." Dean's gaze dropped to the floor. "There's a lot."

"I'm sure, but we only need one."

"Nothing Else Matters," Dean said, meeting her eyes.

"Never heard of it," she said. "Who's it by?"

"Metallica."

She ducked her head to hide the involuntary grimace. "It has to be slow, you know."

He got to his feet and walked out of the kitchen, weaving his way through the stacks to the living room's stereo. Tricia followed him, stopping by the speakers. For a long moment, they looked at each other in silence, then the delicate opening notes slipped from the speakers, intricate guitar that deepened and soared as the theme developed, sweet and intimate. The male voice that surged into the first verse was low, not a trained voice but in tune and surprisingly clear. The beat, she realised belatedly could support a waltz.

"Can you waltz?"

His gaze cut away sharply. "Maybe."

Trust I seek, and I find in you,
Every day for us, something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters…

The lyrics intruded and Tricia blinked at their appropriateness. For both of them. She dropped her gaze, when the music swelled toward the chorus, unsure if it was the music or the realisation that she envied them, Dean and Ellie, envied everything they had, everything they'd built…and that she wanted that with Sam.

Tricia nodded. "Can I have that CD?"

Dean turned to the stereo and stopped the disc, pulling it out and putting it into its cover. He handed it over. "I'll want that back."

She smiled, hoping her eyes didn't look as damp as they felt. "Of course. You're all set then."

"Thanks," Dean said. He glanced back to the kitchen. "Uh, so we have to dance…in front of people?"

"That's the price," Tricia said. "It's a beautiful song. Just focus on why you're there and don't think about anyone else."

"Sounds like you've done this before?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "Didn't work out, but that wasn't anyone's fault."

She turned for the staircase. "Night, Dean."

"Yeah, night."

As she walked for the stairs, she could hear his boots heading back to the kitchen. Had Sam ever heard that song? She'd had no idea Metallica was capable of music like that.

October 5, 2012

Ellie sat at the end of the dining table going through the research materials. She thought she might be finished by the time the baby she was carrying went to college. It was more sobering to realise these were only a small part of the Watcher's library in Jordan.

A large percentage of the documents were ancient, fragile and written in the original cuneiform or primitive languages of the tribes who'd lived in the fertile lands between the Euphrates and Tigris Rivers, thousands of years ago. She thought that they could probably all retire and live like millionaires if she sold a fraction of these to a private collector. It was a shame they were all much more valuable to them right here. But they needed to find a better place to house these books and scripts and materials.

So far, what she'd been through was only a couple of thousand years old. She had the unhappy feeling she would have to go a lot further back to find any information on what they needed. The problem with flood was that it destroyed most records almost as thoroughly as fire.

She glanced up as she heard someone picking their way through the heaped piles.

Dean squeezed between two stacked towers of boxes and grinned at her. "Having fun?"

She made a face. "Are you the relief shift?"

He looked around, a corner of his mouth lifting. "If only I could read ancient...what's this? Babylonian? Sumerian?"

She peered over the heap of loose papers in front of her to see what he was looking at. "Akkadian."

"Akkadian." He spread his hands out helplessly.

"Your education was sorely lacking." She huffed at the strand of hair that was hanging over her eyes and looked at her watch. "Have I missed dinner again?"

"No." He eased his way around the table and sat down next to her. "Sam said Trent and Oran have left to meet Frank in Wisconsin."

"Good. Although for the record, I think it would be better if we went to Wisconsin to look for that fertility bowl."

"You just don't like delegating."

"Neither do you, usually," she retorted, picking up a journal, written in Penemue's spidery, old-fashioned hand in a mixture of English, Latin and Enochian.

"Now I do." He leaned close to her. "Now, I have something more important to do here."

She turned to him, looking into his eyes. "Are you trying to sweet-talk me?"

He laughed, and got up. "Don't make plans for Sunday."

"Why not?" She managed to keep her face expressionless.

"We've got an appointment with the padre, down at the church."

"In relation to…?"

"Getting hitched." He turned and walked back through the boxes.

Ellie laughed. Tricia had dropped off the dress the previous evening, with the warning about Nothing Else Matters. Ellie thought she'd detected something in the other woman's behaviour, some hint or wisp of melancholy, not exactly melancholy but maybe just a wistfulness. She'd meant to ask Tricia about it, about her relationship with Sam. Time had, once more, gotten away from her.

Stretching upward, she worked the stiffness from her shoulders and neck. She missed the Montana house. The study and library, the big workrooms and acres of storage space had been the reason for buying the house. Spilt milk, she told herself. As soon as the Levis were set back a bit, she could look for a property to build their ideal base on.

October 9, 2012

Saturday had dawned fair and bright, a perfect crisp fall day. Dean and Sam sat at the big table in the kitchen, hunched over the last of the coffee from the pot. Breakfast had been hours ago, and Dean looked restlessly around the counters for something to eat as he listened to his brother's plans for training in the forest. The paint ball markers had tested satisfactorily, Trent and Twist adding weight to the structures to help mimic the feel of the real guns.

"Yeah, that'll work." Dean nodded. He got to his feet and went to the bread bin, pulling out a loaf and separating a couple of slices for the toaster. "Do we start off one against one or in teams?"

"Individually to begin with. Then with a partner. Finally, with a team, I think." Sam ran his hand through his hair. "You'll probably be on your own with this—although Trent did tell me he got hold of Katherine before he left. She's in Nevada, should be here tonight or early tomorrow morning, and she might be able to help with the training."

"That's okay." Dean pushed the toast and returned to the table, dropping into his chair. "By the time Frank and Trent get back we should have more useful people for them, and they can help out with the other labs."

Sam's expression was wry. "Doesn't feel much like hunting, does it?"

"No. More like we're in the army." Dean shrugged. "Whatever. We need time. Time to get the virus developed. Ray said the lab was reporting some initial success. Gonna be a waiting game."

"Yeah, not something we're real good at. How's Ellie doing with Pen's research?"

"Slow going. She's got Bezaliel helping." Dean got up as the toast popped up. "I wouldn't count on getting intel from it by the time we need it."

"No. Yeah, okay," Sam said. "You ready for tomorrow?"

Dean's breath caught in his throat with the question. He'd been alternating between anticipation and terror whenever he remembered what was happening the next day.

The part of him that still longed for family—for love and a life that wasn't filled with death and grief—was looking forward to the utter normalcy of the event, even if he did have to wear a penguin suit. The hunter in him, on the other hand, wished he'd never thought of it: it felt too exposed, too normal to even contemplate, especially now, juxtaposed between training half-breed angels and fallen angels in combat and weaponry, sending people out to bomb research centres, and worrying what the new management in Hell was doing to lift Lucifer to power again.

"Uh, yeah." He swallowed, turning away to hide his expression. "It's no big. Just a formality, right?"

"Uh, dude, you're getting married." The uncertainty in Sam's response made him look back. His brother's forehead was wrinkled up from brow to hairline. "You're going to have a kid in a couple of months. How is that no big?"

"Thanks for that."

"Bobby?" Dean put the silver flask on the round porch table, sitting down on the comfortable chair beside it. "You there?"

The temperature dropped, slowly at first, then suddenly as Bobby manifested in the chair on the other side of the table, frost coating the flask, table and the porch boards in a ten foot diameter around them.

"What's up?"

Dean shook his head. "Uh … I wanted to ask you something … personal."

"Sure." Bobby pushed back his cap, one brow rising as the seconds ticked on. "Whatever it is, Dean, spit it out."

"Did you, uh, like being married?" Dean glanced sideways at the ghost.

"You getting cold feet?"

"No. No. I don't think that's it." Dean leaned back in the chair. "I…just don't know if it's, you know, the right thing to do right now, with everything that's going on."

Bobby looked at him. "When I met Karen, she was all I could think about. Took me four months and about twenty dates to work up the nerve to ask her to marry me, though I knew from the beginning that I would." He rose from the chair and moved to the railing of the porch, the subdued sparkle of frost following him. "When the priest said 'you can kiss the bride'…well, hell, son, that was the happiest moment of my whole life."

He looked back at Dean. "I can't even begin to describe to you what it felt like that she said yes. That she loved me."

"Yeah." Dean looked down at the floor. "No, I know what it felt like."

"Times were different then. Didn't do the living together thing, so maybe that was a part of it. But while there's lots of things I'd do different if I had the time over, that ain't one of them, Dean. Being married was being free. It was having someone who knew everything about me, and still loved me. It was having someone who I wanted to be with—all the time—more than anything else in the world. Loving someone makes you stronger, makes anything possible. It felt…I felt…like I'd finally become a man, I guess."

He drifted back to the chair. "I don't think being married works out unless that's the way you feel. People rub each other the wrong way from time to time. Or keep a secret that other one needs to know about. Those kinds of things will destroy a marriage, unless you love each other so much that you can work through 'em."

The air warmed a fraction and Bobby faded a little, his expression distant. "Just before Karen got possessed, we had a fight. It was a big one. A really big one."

"What about?"

Bobby's face was filled with painful regret. Dean had seen that expression a few times, but never as strong.

"'Bout having kids. She wanted them—and I knew that when I married her—I didn't. But I didn't tell her because I was afraid; I was afraid she wouldn't marry me if I told her. I just let her go on thinking about it for years, until she couldn't wait any longer." The ghost blinked, as if shutting out the visions only he could see and turned to Dean. "It broke her heart. Two days later she was taken."

Dean's imagination all too easily gave him a taste of what that had felt like for the spirit beside him, the raw combination of guilt and shame and not knowing what to do.

"You know the worst part?" Bobby's mouth twisted, his lip curling in self-contempt. "When your daddy brought you boys to my place, that first time, and I was looking after you…I realised that I'd been wrong about having kids, about being a father. She'd been right about me; I'd been the one who'd been wrong."

The spirit shook his head, rising again restlessly. "All those chances are gone now. And yeah, I wish I could do that again. But the years I had with her, being married … those were my good times, Dean." He turned to look at the man sitting beside him, his eyes serious and a little troubled. "My mama said that if you have any doubts, don't do it. Saves you an awful lot of trouble down the line."

Dean looked at him, nodding slowly. "Yeah. Thanks, Bobby."

Dean opened the bedroom door and hesitated on the threshold. The room was dark and he visualised the furniture in his mind before he entered and closed the door behind him. He held his boots in one hand, and walked slowly toward the bed. He thought he was being silent, when he heard the rustle of the linen.

"Hey, you're up late."

Ellie's voice was soft, further to the left than he'd thought the bed was. He adjusted his direction and found the edge, dropping his boots.

"Just, uh, thinking about stuff, didn't notice the time," he said, sitting on the bed and pulling off his shirt and socks. "I'm sorry I woke you."

Three months ago, he could have driven a backhoe into the room and she wouldn't have woken. Now she was back to waking at the sound of a pin dropping. Or less.

"It's fine." She rolled over. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine." He grimaced at the brush off, standing to get his jeans off.

"You don't sound fine."

There was no rebuke in her tone, which made it worse. She didn't play the blame game or any game, so far as he'd noticed. Just laid it out and waited for him to notice.

"Are you, uh, nervous about tomorrow?" He lifted the covers and slid beneath them, the warmth generated by her body taking the chill from his skin.

"A bit."

He heard the smile in her voice, the hint of wry admission.

"Not about what we're doing," she added quickly, "but just…stage fright, I guess. I'm not real keen on doing something so…well, something so intimate, in front of a lot of people, not even when they're our people."

"Yeah."

He had no idea how she could see so well in the dark, but she found the side of his face unerringly with her palm, cupping his cheek. "If you don't want to do it, we don't have to."

He thought about that for a long moment. The trouble was he did want to do it. More than anything he'd wanted to do in his life, including saving his brother and finding a way to not go to Hell. From the moment he'd thought about them, in the cabin in Whitefish, had thought of what it would mean, he'd wanted to find out if he could have this life, this love, this family.

What lay between them was the more important thing, that he had made his commitment to her, to them, but there was an element of wanting it to be obvious to everyone else as well, of making the commitment in public, of announcing the bond was there. That it was unbreakable. He didn't have any doubts about spending the rest of his life with the woman beside him. None at all. He sighed and rolled onto his side to face her.

"I want to do it, Ellie." He smiled in the darkness. "I guess I feel like you do, uncomfortable about being in the spotlight tomorrow."

She wriggled up against him, settling against his side, her hand resting against his chest. "Too many years of keeping a low profile."

He snorted.

Well, he'd tried to keep a low profile. That hadn't always taken.