Chapter 3

2:35 am. October 8, 2012. Gleason, Wisconsin

In the deep of the night, just before dawn, Trent looked up at Oran, watching the nephilim at the top of the pole as he bridged the wires, disconnected them, installed the feed and then reconnected them, removing the bridge and pocketing his tools again.

The signal capture device was tiny, and designed to fit precisely between the connecting wires that fed data between security cameras and into and out of the building. It could capture any data that was routed through the wires or the computer connected to the wires or the cameras at the other ends. It might be noticed if someone went up the pole for a good look, but eyeballing it from the ground, it was indistinguishable from the run of the cable.

The camera's streaming data to the building several hundred yards distant would not even have flickered as the device was installed. Trent nodded to himself in satisfaction. This was the last of the direct inserts; they would have access to whatever the security office had now, and they could watch the damned things in comfort, several miles distant instead of in the constant danger of being discovered as they'd been for the past few days.

Frank's Airstream was parked in the next county, hidden in an abandoned barn that was itself a mile from the nearest road. From there, he could receive the signals that were bounced wirelessly across multiple satellites and back through several secure ground stations before reaching him again, and he would be able to transmit them to anywhere. The programmer called it data laundering, and he seemed sure it would give Sam and his team the best possible chance for a successful break in.

Frank, Trent thought, not for the first time, was a fairly useful member of the team, despite his personal peculiarities.

He watched Oran climbing down agilely, hiding his relief when the nephilim gained the ground, and they walked the mile back to the truck in companionable silence.

6.15 am, October 10, 2012. Scotts Mills, Willamette Valley, Oregon

Dean crouched in the forest, watching the dawn light seep through the trees, listening for sounds that were unnatural in the deep peace surrounding him. Sam'd promised him they'd be done before nine and he meant to make sure of that.

Snap.

He pressed back against the rough bark of the tree behind him, turning his head as a second rustle came from his right. In his mind's eye, the two figures crept forward, to either side of the tree he was using for cover. He counted off the steps then stepped out.

Splat.

Adam's eyes widened as the pellet hit him in the chest, fluorescent pink paint spraying outward with the impact. There was a second pop and Idan looked down, droplets hanging from his eyelashes.

Dean grinned at them. "You're dead."

He turned away and slithered down the hillside over the covering of pine needles.

Adam and Idan glanced at each other, dropping to the path and resigning themselves to waiting until the end of the game before they could move.

Check everywhere before stepping forward, Adam told himself angrily.

8:40 am

Ellie looked around the living room in frustration. She needed more room, and the house had it, a lined, clean and relatively warm basement under them, but it needed strong backs to set up and move everything down there and most of the hunters, Watchers and their children were away or out training. For the first time she cursed her state, the inability to see past the bulge of abdomen to her feet and stairs, the inability to carry things easily, and she thought furiously, wiping the heels of her hands over her cheeks and under her eyes, the way that even small setbacks could create a flux of teary feeling.

"We don't have any room for any more," Bezaliel said, staring diplomatically at the stacked boxes and piles of documents. "Where can we put them?"

Ellie made a sharp gesture at the floor. "There's a full sized basement down there, but we need to get it set up first. Tables, computers, scanners, printers, lighting, shelving to accommodate what we've already been through. We have what we need, I just need some muscle to help get it organised." She swung around to the table. "I drew up a plan yesterday, it's here somewhere—"

Her cell phone rang and she reached over a pile of leather bound books to reach it. "Patrick? Wonderful, give me a moment? Yes, it has."

She tucked the phone against her ear and looked through the papers on the table, finding the roughly drawn plan under the Persian scrolls. Handing it to Belaziel as she listened to Patrick, she waited until the Watcher gave a nod of confirmation before she turned away and walked away from the mess to the kitchen. She looked longingly at the coffee pot then went to the stove, lifting the kettle and setting it on the hob.

"He's where?" she asked the Vatican hunter, then realised it wasn't important. John's movements had always been erratic. She pulled a chair out from the scrubbed pine table and sat down.

"Patrick, I need some information about an old society, maybe still operative, maybe defunct?"

"What kind of society?" Patrick's voice was clear and steady in her ear and she leaned on the table to marshal her thoughts.

"It's called Disciplina Pertitia Occultae."

There was a long silence and Ellie wondered if they'd be cut off, then Patrick came back, his voice low and wary.

"That is an old society," he said. "Where'd you hear about that?"

"Does it matter?" she asked. "Do you have any information about it?"

"Ellie, this isn't a secure—"

"Please, Patrick, I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't very important."

"I can't. I'm sorry."

The phone went dead and she set it down. She'd known Patrick for nine years. He'd never once stonewalled her, no matter what the subject.

She startled when the kettle's whistle pierced her thoughts, getting to her feet then crossing to the stove to lift it off the heat and turn off the hob. The whistle trailed away and Ellie set it down absently.

Whatever the society was, it was still active, she thought, getting a cup and the tea without noticing what she was doing. Had he been about to say 'secure line' before she'd cut him off? What the hell kind of society was it that he needed to talk on secure lines and wouldn't say a word otherwise?

The answer came to her on the heels of the question. A very powerful and very active one.

Disciplina Pertitia Occultae. The very loose translation was a place or concept of learning, or perhaps a repository of, hidden knowledge, hidden skills or expertise. Carrying the tea to the table and blowing over the cup to cool it, she set the cup down then returned to her seat. The world had many myths and legends and rumours and even some truths about secret societies: societies that had unlocked the hidden knowledge of the pyramids, of the solar system, that knew the secrets of God and religions and many other wonderful stories. Most of them were fancies, grown like pearls around an irritant kernel of distant truth.

But this one wasn't one of those, or Patrick would have been laughing with her about it, not hanging up on her. She thought of Kasha and Yure, in Omaha, and the MacDonalds in Richmond, and Father Monserrat in Afghanistan. Of them, Katherine and Seb would be most likely to know about the society. She could call them later

"There you are."

Ellie turned to see Tricia and Bezaliel at the doorway. "Sorry, I needed a cup of tea."

"Don't apologise," Tricia said quickly. "I had a brief moment of panic, but Bezaliel said you must be here because you were looking for help to move stuff downstairs."

"You thought I might be running?" Ellie asked, with a slight grin.

"No…no, well, maybe," Tricia admitted sheepishly.

"We've got some help," Bezaliel cut in. "We need you downstairs to direct people."

"And then you need come upstairs for a fitting," Trish said.

Ellie rose and took her cup to the sink, pouring out the cooling tea. If she could get the basement sorted and get married today, it would be a productive day.

9.05 am

Sam looked at Dean. "I thought that went all right."

"You hit me deliberately." Dean reached up and felt the mess of paint on the back of his head, his fingers yellow when he looked at them.

"Yeah." His brother grinned. "Stop griping. It'll wash out."

Dean looked at his watch. "It better."

They met up with the trainees on the last junction of the paths leading into the forest, looking over the brightly-coloured hits coating them. For a first try, it really hadn't been that bad, Dean thought. He and Sam and Twist had gotten most of the hits, used to sneaking around in forests chasing monsters, but with more practice, their students would probably be up to speed in a few weeks. They were fit and strong, and there was nothing wrong with their skills.

He fell into step beside Adam, glancing sideways at his half brother.

"Just practice."

Adam looked at him and nodded. "Yeah, I know."

"Dad made us do this stuff all the time when me and Sam were kids. We grew up with it."

"How was that?" Adam asked, his tone casual.

"Hard." Dean flicked a sideways glance at him, working to keep the edge from his voice. "I didn't get any baseball games growing up, just hunting."

"But he relied on you; he took you with him, kept you with him. You two must have been close."

Dean looked down, trying to unscramble the words from the feelings. "Kind of. He took us with him and then kept himself distant. He couldn't help it, and I know he was doing the best he could, but it…it…" He shook his head, lips compressing. "It wasn't what you're thinking, Adam. He did his best and a lot of the time it fell short."

"You loved him," Adam said quietly. "And he loved you. Sam said that he died for you."

Dean felt his throat close up tightly. All these years and he still couldn't handle it. He nodded and lengthened his stride, leaving Adam behind. He couldn't deal with this today. Today was for the present and the future, not the past.

2.00 pm

Ellie stared at herself in the mirror's reflection. She barely recognised the woman staring back at her. The empire-styled dress was simple in design but rich in detail, and hid the high curve of the baby quite adequately, drawing attention instead to the long column of her neck, the delicacy of her collarbones, and the fullness of her breasts. It was cream silk, panelled loosely with antique cream lace, a style that was popular in the twenties. The colour was deep enough to provide a warm foil to her skin and hair.

She had to hand it to Tricia; she was certainly good at finding things to suit. "It's amazing. How did you find it?"

"Renaissance people in Portland. They hang onto everything." Tricia reached behind and gathered up Ellie's hair, leaving most of it loose but drawing back the front and sides. "I like that. Gimme a second?"

She let the hair fall and went to one of the bags on the bed. "I think that this will do."

The slender hair band was wrapped in cream silk, and held sprays of tiny roses, in shades of ivory and white and the palest tints of pink, around its edge. Standing in front of Ellie, Tricia brushed back her hair from the front and sides, slipping the band over and studying the effect.

Ellie's shining copper-red hair was drawn back from her face, the tiny roses framing it. At the back, it fell luxuriantly loose, a fall of rich, fiery colour.

"Yep," Tricia said, her satisfaction as smug as a cat's.

It wouldn't matter how long she looked at the woman in the mirror, she couldn't connect to the image. That woman wasn't who she was. It was someone else. She smoothed a hand over the baby bulge. She would soon be adding 'mother' to her view of herself. Was 'wife' any different? Choices made changes. She would never again be the woman she'd been before meeting Dean Winchester. Just as she would never again be the girl she'd been before Michael had been killed. It wasn't a premonition. It was just life.

"You like?" Tricia frowned at the silence. "We can do something else?"

"No—I'm sorry. I like it very much. It's gorgeous. Thanks."

"You'll knock his socks off." Tricia grinned at her. "Makeup?"

Ellie shook her head. "No. Absolutely not. I don't wear it normally, and I have a habit of rubbing it off when I do. I won't need it, will I?" She turned to look at Tricia. "I'd like to not have to think about things like that today?"

"No, your colouring is vivid enough without it," Tricia reassured her. "You know that's the first time I've ever heard you uncertain of anything?"

Ellie forced a light laugh. "Is that a nice way of saying I'm a bossy bitch?"

"No," Tricia said quickly. "I just don't think I've ever seen you this vulnerable."

Ellie turned away with a shrug. "We're all vulnerable to something."

3.55 pm

The small church was old, built at the turn of the previous century, its timbers hardwood cut from the forests that surrounded them. Tricia had come in early with Raz and Anina and Duvsha, and the pews and altar were covered with fall flowers: roses and asters, chrysanthemum and Russian sage, their scent spreading through the small area.

Standing stiffly near the altar in the new charcoal suit, Dean was aware of Sam standing behind him, his brother's bulk a reassurance he wouldn't have admitted to with a thousand years of torture. Despite fitting perfectly back at the house, his collar felt too tight here, cutting off his air. He watched the doorway nervously, listening to the rustling of the congregation, their congregation: Baraquiel and Talya, Sariel, Chazaquiel and Bezaliel, fallen angels and their families filling the pews; Adam, Twist and Garth with Katherine between them, sitting at the front, looking unfamiliar, and as uncomfortable as he felt, in their badly fitting suits. A slight chill manifested beside him, and he knew that Bobby was discreetly present as well. He shifted from foot to foot, restless with the dislike of being watched, being singled out, put into the spotlight. With an impatient huff, he forced himself to stillness. He wanted to be here, and this spotlight, however uncomfortable, was essential.

A deep longing passed through him and he closed his eyes, swearing internally at Adam's timing, bringing the spectre of Dad back to him today. The wish to have his parents there, to see this, to meet Ellie, filled him with a helpless ache.

The voices of the angels rose sweetly into the church as Castiel and Ellie walked in, the words lost in the harmonies and descant, a melody that seemed hauntingly familiar.

Dean forgot his nervousness as she walked slowly toward him, the silk and lace panels of the dress flowing around her with every stride, shimmering in the squares of sunlight from the windows that chequered the stone floor.

When she stopped with Cas, a few steps in front of him, she lifted her head, her face flushed over her cheeks and glowing, jade green eyes filled with a promise. Her pulse beat rapidly in the hollow of her throat and the sight reassured him almost as much as the feeling of Sam standing beside him.

The priest, Father Doherty, cleared his throat as the song's last notes died and took his place at the altar.

"We are gathered here today in the face of this company, to join together Dean Winchester and Eleanor Katherine Morgan in holy matrimony; which is an honourable and solemn estate and therefore is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently and soberly. If any one can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

Dean blinked at the priest's voice, the velvet baritone of a stage actor, reaching to the back of the church without effort.

Doherty waited for a moment, as custom dictated, then directed his attention to Castiel. Dean saw the faint shiver pass through the priest as he met the dark blue eyes of the angel.

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"

"I do." Castiel looked up at Dean, an eyebrow lifting slightly in silent query. It was the angel's only line, but he'd been worried about messing it up.

Dean gave him a nod of acknowledgement as Ellie slipped her arm free and took the two steps up to the altar to stand beside him. He held out his hand and she took it, her fingers lying in his.

He gave his attention to the padre when Doherty began to speak. "Dean, do you take Eleanor for your lawful wedded wife, to live in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love, honour, comfort, and cherish her from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only unto her for as long as you both shall live?

He looked into her eyes, his pulse racing. This was it and now that he was here, he realised with a measure of astonishment it was what he wanted more than anything else: to promise, in front of everyone they knew, how he felt out loud.

"I do."

Father Doherty turned to Ellie, and repeated the question, the words falling onto them, serious, important, life-changing. Deep in Dean's bones, something trembled with that import, with the knowledge of a vow he would never break, not, he hoped, even in death.

Ellie's gaze was on him, her regard steady and certain. There was a tremble in her fingers, but her response was just as sure. "I do."

"Dean, repeat the vows as I speak them." Doherty spoke very clearly but kept his voice low and Dean echoed the words, his nervousness vanishing, the meaning sinking into him, clarifying as he spoke.

"I, Dean Winchester, take thee Eleanor Katherine Morgan, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honour, and cherish, 'til death do us part, and thereto I plight thee my troth."

Ellie found herself glad she hadn't tried to alter the ceremony, hadn't looked for vows that would be more personal to them. The weight of centuries gave the words the priest spoke a gravitas she could not have matched. The church around them, the priest, the guests, their friends, all receded, leaving only the man in front of her, his voice, the words he spoke to her, the depth of feeling she could see in his eyes.

Her throat closed up and she caught her lip between her teeth, striving to push aside the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, and focus on the words she had to speak, on the promise she was making to him, as if there was no one else there. So much of their time together had been just that, she thought. Just them, no one else there and nothing else mattering.

There was no hardship to offer her pledge to him, she realised. It had always been there. To have and to hold. Loving, respecting, cherishing. She spoke a little more loudly, a little more clearly. The promise was to him, but the witnesses were all there. Till death do us part. That death might come to them a little more quickly than to others, well, that had always been a part of the deal as well, hadn't it? And she would take whatever time they had together than a century of time apart.

Sam swallowed, his gaze fixed on Dean's face. His brother's focus was locked onto Ellie. Sam'd seen Dean committed, determined, lost, despairing; through every emotion and every state of mind. But he'd never seen the expression on Dean's face that he could see now, a resolution that seemed immutable, and yet was filled with joy. Without warning, he felt a surge of envy, a fierce, private wish to have this too, to have what his brother had found.

He looked away, waiting for the emotion to wash through him. He and Tricia had the possibility of that kind of relationship. It would happen in time, and there was no hurrying it. A second yearning surprised him further, this one for their parents: the father he'd fought against and the mother he'd never known, for them to be here to see this, to watch their eldest son so deeply in love that his commitment was absolute, just as theirs had been.

"The rings, please." Father Dougherty looked at Sam. "Uh, Sam? It's time for the rings."

Sam started, and his hand dove into his pocket, pulling out the pair of rings that Tricia had given him earlier. Plain, pure twenty four carat gold, each had an inscription engraved around the inside. He handed them to the priest quickly.

"May this ring be blessed so he who gives it and she who wears it may abide in peace, and continue in love until life's end."

Dean took the ring and looked down at Ellie's hand. The emerald ring was, for the moment, on her middle finger. He slid the band on. "With this ring I thee wed. Wear it as a symbol of our love and commitment."

Doherty held out the second ring to Ellie. "May this ring be blessed so that she who gives it and he who wears it may abide in peace, and continue in love until life's end."

Ellie took the ring and slid it slowly along Dean's finger. Sam's chest tightened when he saw the gleam in her eyes. He couldn't see Dean's expression, just his quarter profile, but he saw his brother's shoulders hitch a fraction.

"With this ring I thee wed. Wear it as a symbol of our love and commitment."

The priest lifted his head, gazing over the packed pews, and drew in a deep breath. "May this couple be prepared to continue to give, be able to forgive and experience more and more joy with each passing day, with each passing year. In so much as Dean Winchester and Eleanor Morgan have consented to live forever together in wedlock, and this has been witnessed before this company, having given and pledged their troth, each to the other, and having declared same by the giving and receiving of rings, I pronounce that they are husband and wife."

He returned his attention to Dean and Ellie, his expression softening to a smile. "You may now seal the promises you have made with each other with a kiss."

Dean looked into the brightness of her eyes, fighting the flood of protectiveness that insisted he pick her up and carry out of this place, away from everyone else and give her the chance to weep and hold him in private.

Who knew that a few words would have such an effect? It was crazy—in a good way, kind of—but crazy nonetheless, that the ceremony had gone from something everyone did to something no one else in the entire history of the planet could have ever experienced the way they had. And it wasn't over, he reminded himself. They still had a whole lotta public crap to get through.

He pulled her close and brushed his lips over hers, feeling her tremble in the circle of his arms, feeling himself trembling as well.

It wasn't just a few words, it was the promise of a lifetime, for a lifetime.

He deepened the kiss and the world fell away. He didn't hear his brother's voice beside him, or Tricia's or the music and applause that filled the church.

The Acorn was full, music and chatter filling the low-ceilinged rooms. The caterer's staff moved busily around the tables, filling plates, taking away the empties, wiping, clearing, and making sure everyone's glasses were always full. The lighting was subdued, golds and reds and warm oranges, mostly, the small dance floor in front of the local DJ empty.

Ellie looked down at the food on her plate. It was good; she just couldn't eat it. She could feel the baby somersaulting inside her, and her emotions sat just below the surface, held in by a thread of control. Eating was simply out of the question. Dean's thigh pressed against hers, his chair close to her and she realised that in spite of the fact that they were surrounded by people she knew, people she cared about, she couldn't wait to get out of there and just be alone with him, just be themselves again.

A part of that feeling had risen in response to the vulnerability she'd felt, she knew. Being in love felt like being naked and armour-less. She wasn't convinced that wasn't visible to everyone in the room either. Did loving someone affect everyone like this? There was a sharp kick against the inside of her abdomen and she ducked her head, smiling at the reminder. Pregnancy was probably adding to whatever other vulnerabilities she was feeling. She should have remembered that. She drew in a deep breath, flushing the feelings of anxiety away, easing the tightness in her chest and throat.

Dean wiped the last of the steak's juices and mushroom sauce from his plate with one of the small dinner rolls, then washed the roll down with his beer. It hadn't been quite as good as the steak at Carlos' place in Manhattan, but it'd been pretty close—pretty damned close—and he reminded himself to thank Sam and Tricia again for the trouble they'd gone to with the evening's arrangements. Looking up, he saw Tricia tip her head in the direction of the DJ on the small stage and he felt his stomach dip.

For the last hour, he'd felt Ellie's discomfort, a mix of anxiety, unease and emotion radiating out from her. In some way, the ceremony had had an impact on her that he couldn't quite understand, couldn't get a handle on. They were surrounded by their friends, their family, but he wanted to be home, alone with her, with no more attention on them and he had the strong feeling she wanted the same.

"Ellie and Dean, this song is for you." The DJ's smooth voice flowed out of the speakers and Dean turned to Ellie, taking her hand, leaning close as the delicate, intricate guitar notes fell into the room.

"Come on, last public thing we have to do. Just you and me. Okay?"

She nodded, getting to her feet and following him to the middle of the small dance floor, stepping into the circle of his arms as the melody strengthened with the bass line.

He led, at first a little awkwardly, the steps coming back to him with the music. It was about as far from a waltz as could be, he thought, looking down at Ellie and seeing his delight echoed in her expression, but at the same time, it could be waltzed to, one-two-three, one-two-three and turn. When the drums came in, he spun her, and the room burst into applause.

"You will never stop surprising me, will you?" Ellie asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

"I'll do my best," he promised.

So close no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trust in who we are
And nothing else matters…

Dean ducked his head to whisper in her ear. "Are you okay?"

Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
And nothing else matters…

She smiled and the tears finally escaped. "Yeah. Just a bit—uh—a bit—I didn't think it would have this kind of impact."

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

"I know." He followed the pace of the music, his cheek against hers. The beat was so familiar, he could have followed it in his sleep, the lyrics piercing him again in the way the song had when he'd gone to see her, knowing about the baby, wanting to make it their life.

"I didn't think it would mean as much as I already felt, and in some ways, it didn't, it hasn't…but others, everything seems…bigger now. More important, somehow"

Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
But I know…

"You like the song?" he asked as she tucked her cheek against his shoulder. He couldn't see her expression.

So close no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trust in who we are
And nothing else matters…

She lifted her head to smile up at him. "Yeah, it's a good choice."

Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
But I know…

"I didn't ever think I'd get this, you know." He glanced around the room. .Sam and Tricia were standing next to Baraquiel and Talya, watching. Garth, Twist, Katherine, Idan and Anina, angels and half-breeds and hunters. "I never realised I could make it how I needed it to be."

Never cared for what they say
Never cared for games they play
Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
Oh…and I know…yeah-yeah…

The music swelled to a crescendo then fell into quiet and the delicate, intricate guitar and Dean drew Ellie in tightly.

"I know." He felt her sigh against his neck, her arms closing more tightly around him.

The music died to silence and the room erupted in clapping and hoots, then the sweet guitar of the next song came on, another favourite, another filled with memories.

"You wanna keep dancing?"

"Just to this one," she said, laughing. "Still surprising me, Mr. Winchester."

"My mission in life, Mrs. Winchester."

Sam and Trisha, Baraquiel and Talya, Twist and Katherine, Garth and Raz all joined them, followed more slowly by the others. Dean even glimpsed Adam, awkwardly leading Adina as the gentle song poured over them all.

Walking down this rocky road, wonderin' where my life is leading,
Rolling on to the bitter end,
Finding out along the way, what it takes to keep love livin',
You should know, how it feels, my friend

Their fingers were entwined, Ellie's weight over his hands, her hips moving faster around him as he thrust into her from beneath, in deference to the bump. He was drowning, his emotions caught and tangled up with the sensations that lit up every nerve, the inseparability of loving her, and loving her filling his chest until he couldn't breathe anymore.To have and to hold …from this day forward.

She tightened around him, and he reached for that point where they got closest to being one, the tremors surrounding him indicating she was almost there. He was suddenly aware of her as flesh and blood and bone, her face open and vulnerable in passion, and in her face he saw the mirror of that recognition. Like a volcano, she came around him and he couldn't hold on any longer, losing himself and revelling in that.

After, he lay on his side, his arms wrapped around her, his cheek against her hair, feeling the aftershocks trembling through her. Her breathing hitched, becoming ragged, then there was the splash of a tear on his arm.

"Hey." He pushed higher against the pillow, and she turned abruptly, almost scrambling over, her arms curling around his neck, one long leg slipping over his, pressing herself tightly to him.

"Don't let me go, Dean." The undercurrent of fear in her voice shocked him into stillness.

"Ellie, what—?"

She shook her head and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, a shiver racing up his spine. He closed his eyes, shutting out the thoughts of all the things that could happen to them, the things that didn't happen to other people. It might be a risk, being together. It was a risk he'd willingly take to have this. Somewhere, deep inside, he could feel the vow he'd made today burning on his soul.

"Never."

She didn't know where the feeling came from. It had hit like an avalanche, and she couldn't find a reason, rational or even irrational for it. The emotion was real, though. The fear that thrummed through her like a jangling misfingered chord.

Something to do with the pregnancy? Or the searches for Lucifer? For the arch-demons? The Leviathan threat? There were too many perfectly reasonable fears in their lives.

They would make this life their own, live it their way, just like Hetfield said, she thought. Being prepared was half the battle, and preparation had never been a problem for her. She could feel the question in Dean's hold, feel his uncertainty at her emotions. She had to find a way to keep the more melodramatic of the hormone-fuelled reactions from him. He didn't need to have additional worries distracting him right now.

As quickly as the fear had risen, it dissipated now, and she wondered if a part of it had just been hormones, her body mucking about with her mind. She would take some time for yoga and meditation, just in case. Even hormones found it hard to raise anxiety against the power of breathing. It was probably just that.