Chapter 16

Fifth Level, Hell

Dean scanned the black cavern fast as he walked deeper in, his heart pounding along with the headache at the back of his neck. He noted and ignored Michael in his battle with what could only be an archdemon at the far right of the columned black hall, and his brother pushing Meg down the length of the grand hall with the Spear of Destiny. He grimaced as their entry was seen by a number of soldier demons, the almost-invisible entities dropping from the ceiling and heading for them with squalling shrieks. He didn't want to waste the Colt's ammunition on them.

"Break left," Amaros said from beside him. "Drop and roll."

Dean took the suggestion, rolling fast across the slick black floor to the nearest column as Amaros and Araquiel lifted their angel swords and went head on for the demons. The Watchers moved together like a single unit, creating a kill zone between them. Using the column for balance, Dean pushed himself to his feet, scanning the long room. They'd passed by this hall on their way down, he recalled. The whole level had been empty then. He pivoted and saw the table; two archdemons standing to either side of it and, between them, Ellie lying motionless.

The exhaustion that had clung to him for the last four days fell away and he was moving before he realised, long strides that ate up the few yards between him and the dais, the Colt's grip already in his hand. The barrel rose smoothly as he got closer, its sight centred over the back of the fallen angel closest to him. He was still moving as his finger squeezed the trigger and the retort of the gun filled the confined space with a deafening crack.

His target remained standing for a second, then burst into unnatural flame, a fierce and twisting column of white and blue and gold light flooding out of the ragged black cloak and shooting up to the distant ceiling.

On the other side of the table, the remaining archdemon's head lifted sharply. Dean took the shallow steps up to the dais in a single stride, recocking the gun at the same time. The archdemon dropped Ellie's wrist and seemed to disappear, the air rippling where it had been. Illusion or real? Dean couldn't tell and he stopped by the table, staring at the walls. He didn't want the sonofabitch to get away—and at the same time he had to make sure he wasn't going to be ambushed by it when he moved Ellie. To all sides, the air seemed normal, the walls shining black, the columns hiding nothing. If it'd been a trick, it had worked, he thought irritably. Then his gaze dropped and he forgot about everything else.

Ellie lay naked and so still on the stone surface he couldn't tell if she was alive or dead. Covered in blood, the thick liquid painted on in a design that hurt the mind, her pale, creamy skin barely showed between the swirls and sigils, and he couldn't see her neck, couldn't reach it to feel for a pulse in the carotid or jugular, a thick dull metal collar fitted tightly there. Her eyes were open, fixed and glazing over, and he reached out hesitantly, superstitiously afraid to touch her, afraid he would feel her flesh cold and he would have to accept she was dead and everything he was living for was gone.

"Ellie?"

His fingertips brushed her shoulder, skating unevenly into the hollow beneath it, and he sagged against the edge of the table, his relief at the warmth of her skin taking the strength from his legs.

She was alive and everything else could wait. He set the Colt on the tabletop and pulled a clean rag from his coat pocket. He had to get the blood off her, wipe away that design.

"I'm here, okay?" he murmured. "We're gonna make it, gonna get home and everything's gonna be fine, you hear me, Ellie?"

Cut, parry, thrust and block. Michael drove Baal deeper into the cavern, the light turning from clear ruby to muddy claret as the great hall seemed to fill with shadows, Hell's heart beat slowing. He ducked under a sweeping blow, stumbling when he saw the angel, chained between two of the pillars, blood running slowly from his side.

Castiel.

The black blade rang as it hit his armour, and Michael's attention returned to his foe with a sharp internal curse. He couldn't afford distractions. Baal's blade was undoubtedly poisoned as well as lethally sharp. The Tainted had never seen the need for fair play in their doings. Argent fire renewed along his blade and he pressed the archdemon, pushing him with a flurry of blows along the length of the great hall, down to where the mock throne stood in black splendour.

To his left he heard the thud and grunts of another combat, risking a quick glance to see Sam driving Lucifer's demon vessel in the same direction, the Spear's greater reach making his brother's vessel leap and dance out of the way at every stride. Lucifer knew what he faced. Michael wondered if the younger Winchester had the skill to take the angel without help. He glanced back at the seraphim, hanging in the chains. Castiel had feelings for the brothers; even half-dead he might make the difference.

Twisting around, he sprinted for the shackle points. He would have a few seconds, at most. Behind him, he could hear Baal's steps, could feel the hunger and sucking power of the archdemon. He had to even the balance here. Had to give the humans a chance, at least.

He leapt, his sword cutting through the bronze chains easily, first one pillar, then deflecting Baal's attempt at engagement to dodge past him and around the hanging angel to the next. He landed a heartbeat after Castiel's body fell, saw the seraphim dragging himself to his feet, then turned to Baal. The black blade met him first. A flash of pain, sharp and bright under his arm where the armour joined. Heat followed by cold, intense and taking his breath, the poison was working on him and it froze the muscles and nerves of his construct.

Michael staggered forward, one hand going to the entry as the other held his sword in guard position in front of him. He strove for the calm of mind to reach for the power of his Father and the souls in Heaven, to call the songs of the Spheres to him. From the blackness of the archdemon's hood, he heard the rasping whisper of Baal's laughter.

"Pride was ever your failing, Michael," Baal crooned, his voice like shredded skin.

Michael forced himself to stand straight, staring at his foe. He felt nothing from the Celestial plane and struggled to hide his despair, his hand closing tightly around the hilt of his sword. If this was the end, he would make an end of it.

"As it is yours, Tainted," he returned, taking a step toward the archdemon. "You'll learn your error."

Baal laughed again, the sound like the scurry of rats on a polished floor. "And you will—tell me what you will do, Michael? Cut off my wings? Send me to the Abyss? Open the Accursed plane? We're here. We have walked this way before. You failed."

The archdemon rushed toward him and Michael fell back, the poison spreading rapidly enough to take the strength from his left side, forcing him to hobble. He parried desperately as the black metal hissed in front of him, the flames of his sword shrinking and dying. Baal's triumph screamed in every stroke, every cut and driving lunge. Michael dropped to one knee, barely able to hold off the archdemon's vicious attack, blade striking blade and the concussions making his hand ache and his grip loosen. The poison was eating through his flesh of his construct and travelling through his blood. He had moments, no more.

Then it came, intertwined ribbons of strength from the Watchers, each one fighting but singing at the same time: Baraquiel and Sariel, Amaros, Chazaquiel, Araquiel and Bezaliel; their Songs sung in unison called to and drew down the power from the Spheres and the woven ribbon wrapped around him and slid into him, a rainbow of light, lifting him to his feet. His blade burst into flame, white and pure, and Baal hesitated, then retreated a step.

The flaming white sword swung through the air between them, illuminating the archdemon's cloak and hood, revealing the skull inside, then Michael thrust it forward and the Tainted One burst into alabaster fire, burning fiercely for a moment before falling into ash at Michael's feet.

The Sphere's power encased him and the archangel stood, arms lowered and head back, the poison of the Fallen's blade drawn out, the wound closing. He opened his eyes as the radiance dimmed and looked around. The hall was the same, but something had gone out of it for good. Baal's governance had ended.

With Michael's blow, Castiel dropped to the floor, unable to break his fall, his arms in agony from supporting the weight of his body for so long. He rolled to one side and lay there for a moment, reaching for Heaven without thought, his faith faltering as he realised that the collar around his neck prevented him from being able to touch or even feel that power.

He opened his eyes and rolled onto his side, then got to his knees. To his left, Dean stood at the table, bent over the still figure that lay on its surface. To his right, Michael was flanked by Amaros and Araquiel, the Watchers guiding the power of Heaven to the archangel. On the other side of the throne room, Sam Winchester was holding a slender spear and driving Meg slowly but steadily in his direction.

The angel recognised the spear immediately. He had been, first in Jerusalem, then Golgotha, when the son of God had been murdered. His orders had been to observe only. At the time, the event had shaken his faith in his Father and in humankind, although he'd since recognised the broader strategy. He could recall too the Roman soldier who had driven the point of his spear into Christ's side, having met the wanderer some four hundred years later, the soldier's body and soul rent by that one unthinking action, unable to rest, unable to stop.

Castiel's breath hissing out as he tried to lift his arms. This was pain, as humans knew it. The excruciating torment of muscle and tendon strained too far, torn and shredded. He looked up and saw that Sam and Meg were closer to him, the devil too worried about the spear to look around for other dangers.

Closing his eyes, he put a hand on the floor, and his jaw clenched against the agonising bolt that seemed to explode inside of him when he shifted his weight to the arm and lifted his foot. The pain didn't diminish when he shifted it back, and he felt a monstrous wave of it roll through his body as he got his other foot under himself and rose, his vision narrowing down to a pinpoint. His vessel attempted to let him know of all its injuries, all at once.

It would pass, he knew. He'd seen the Winchesters endure as much on many occasions. They had managed. So would he.

Sam saw Castiel rise and stagger toward Meg's back. He kept his gaze fixed on Meg's face as the angel drew closer, weaving the spear head in front of Lucifer to ensure the fallen angel's attention remained on him. When Cas grabbed Meg's arms, the angel's face twisting into a rictus of pain, Sam drove the head of the Spear into Meg's chest, revelling in the grating sensation as the edge slid past the bone and into the muscle of her heart. He recognised the odd lightness in himself, a feeling of having let all things go completely.

Acknowledgement.

The red fire in Meg's eyes spread and glittered and pulsed violently through the blood vessels of her body for a moment, then red became silver-white, filling the vessel and spilling out through eyes and nostrils and ears, through her wide-open mouth.

Sam closed his eyes tightly. The Spear crumbled into ash and dust and fell from his grip, leaving him with the peculiar sense of it never having been there. A weapon out of legend, Ellie had told Dean and Dean had told him. Perhaps sometimes one only had to have faith. Heat rose through his body, a fever beyond his cells' ability to manage or withstand. It licked through him like a flame, burning his blood, burning through his mind...burning through his soul, it felt like.

Then it was gone.

He opened his eyes when the anger he'd always lived with disappeared with the last of the fading silver light.

Atonement.

"Thanks," he said to the angel, brow furrowing up as he took in Cas' state.

Cas stepped back from the cracking, crumbling body of the demon, his arms hanging by his sides. "My pleasure."

"You alright?"

"Not really," Castiel admitted. "But I think I'll live."

Sam nodded. There was something more, something he needed, needed to do, but it would wait, he thought. The most needful things had been done.

Dean cleaned the sigils and symbols from Ellie's skin, stopping every few moments to control the shaking in his hands. He wasn't aware he was talking to her, telling her to stay with him, that he wouldn't let her leave. She hadn't responded to anything, her eyes still staring at the ceiling, her body flaccid as he lifted her arms to wipe the patterns away.

In some other part of his mind, through his senses or his instincts, he was aware of the Watchers approaching. He didn't look around. Amaros and Araquiel moved to either side of him, silently watching. That other part of his mind wanted to ask them what was wrong, what to do, how to fix this…but he didn't want to stop what he was doing. He had to get the blood off. It was poisoning her.

There was a whisper of steel on leather as Araquiel drew his knife, and Dean's head snapped around, the Colt drawn without thought and pointed at the Watcher, his thumb cocking the hammer, his finger tight on the trigger.

Araquiel stilled, keeping his hands in view, his expression compassionate and calm. "The collar is holding her in thrall, Dean." He made a slight gesture to the metal band. "I'm just going to remove it."

Dean's gaze dropped to the dull grey collar that encircled her neck. He nodded once; the gun remaining levelled on the Watcher as he stepped back. Araquiel slid the tip of his knife beneath the thin, welded joints, breaking them. On the other side of the table, Amaros slid his arm beneath Ellie's shoulders, lifting her sufficiently to allow his brother to pull the collar free. The Watcher tossed it to the floor and wiped his fingers on his cloak, as if the metal had soiled them.

Amaros eased Ellie back down, and her chest heaved upward as she filled it with air. She blinked rapidly, tears spilling down the sides of her face.

A deep and involuntary shudder passed through Dean. He uncocked the Colt and set it down, ignoring the Watchers as they withdrew to the other end of the table. Past and present rejoined, the dissociation wavering, then dissolving with each sign that she lived, breathed, had not gone where he couldn't follow. Exhaustion and relief hit him in equal waves and he leaned over the table, one hand curving around her cheek, the other supporting him. It wasn't supposed to be this fucking hard, was it?

He sucked in a breath and shunted the tangled mess of emotion, thought and reaction aside.

"Ellie? You back?"

She closed her eyes, relief that she could finally do so by herself almost as great as the needed respite from the unrelenting light and dryness. Moisture trickled down her cheeks as her eyes overcompensated, and she hoped Dean would understand.

"Ellie."

Dean's voice had strengthened, insistence edged by relief. It brought a reluctant internal smile. She'd probably looked like a corpse, lying there completely still with her eyes fixed open. He was entitled to some fretting.

She blinked again, then opened her eyes and turned her head. He was leaning close to her, and she forced her stiff facial muscles to a smile when his eyes met hers, the worry in his expression dissipating. His hand was warm around her own, their fingers interlaced. Her body still felt as if it wasn't hers to control, throat dry, nerves numb and her muscles heavy, as if she'd been lying down for weeks, not just hours. There was a jostling kick in her abdomen and the movement brought more involuntary tears, this time from relief so fierce she wanted to scream it out.

"Mmm," she murmured. "M'okay. Junior too."

"Christ."

Dean lifted her hand, holding her knuckles against his lips, his eyes closed. She knew what he was feeling, the reactions that were kicking in. They were the same ones that were coursing around her mind and body, barely constrained; the could-have-beens and the might-have-beens, the what-ifs and the maybes. The things that frightened them the most and the things they could least admit to, ever.

The ability to pack away emotion and reaction during action was one of the things Michael had taught her, and something she had later come to realise was common to everyone who worked successfully in fields where danger and risk to life and the lives of others were givens. In the heat of the moment, there was no room for emotional responses and reactions had to be suppressed until the danger had passed. Afterwards, those emotions and reactions had to be released, or they would come out on their own, in psychoses and inappropriate behaviours, self destruction, worse traits. Now that it was over, they could let those reactions out, feeling the fear and the grief, the torment and the terror pass through them and dissipate harmlessly.

The tremors that shook and quivered through Dean's frame were mirrored in hers, muscle spasms and shivers as all the fear and anxiety and anger and doubt was released. They wouldn't speak of this moment again, nor of the events that led up to it, or the fear endured, or the relief in each other's survival. It had been too close.

Dean pulled in a long, deep breath and straightened.

"Let's not do this again."

Ellie nodded, clearing her throat to match his tone. "If you insist."

He looked around for something to wrap her in, and from the other end of the table, Araquiel removed his cloak and walked over, handing it to Dean. The cloak was soft and light, big enough to cover her from neck to foot. She felt the gaze of the other Watcher on her and raised a brow at him. Tall, with long copper-red hair and vivid eyes, jade green, rimmed in a darker green and flecked with gold. There was only one he could be.

"Amaros, I presume?"

He inclined his head with a smile, walking closer. "How did you know how to draw my power from me?"

Ellie felt as though she'd missed something significant. She glanced at Dean. "Sorry, I don't know what you mean."

"You drew off my power while you were held by the collar," Amaros elaborated, gesturing toward the lead collar still on the floor.

The sight of that abomination didn't help. She'd never felt so completely helpless in her life. There had been no power in her. "You must be mistaken. I was paralysed—I couldn't do anything, not even close my own eyes."

"Oh, you did." The other Watcher said.

Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, this is Araquiel."

"Travis' father," Ellie said, recognising the boy's eyes in his father. Dean and his father had also something of the Watcher's eyes, similarly shaped, the same dark green. "How is Rachel?"

"Very well, thanks to you and the Winchesters. I am sorry I never came to thank you in person."

She smiled. "There was no need."

"What you did here isn't common," Araquiel said. "It might come back to you later. If you have questions, Castiel will know how to find us."

The two Watchers walked around the table and down from the dais, going toward Michael.

"What was that all about?" Ellie said quietly to Dean. He shook his head, his expression unworried.

"I don't know." He tucked the end of the cloak around her feet. "Can't say I care. Wanna blow this popsicle stand?"

"Yes, please."

"Can you walk?"

"I'm not sure," Ellie admitted. She felt as limp as a piece of overcooked spaghetti. "Feels like I've been bedridden for a long time."

"See how much strength you've got in your grip," Dean suggested, holding out his hand.

Ellie tightened her fingers around his hand, her arms feeling weak and useless as she tried to squeeze harder. She made a face as he shook his head.

"I'll carry you. It'll be quicker."

He slid his arm under her knees and around her shoulders and lifted her from the table, walking carefully down the wide steps of the dais. He stopped, half-turning when he heard the footsteps of his brother and Castiel, walking up from the other end of the hall.

"Everything okay?" Sam asked, his gaze switching from Ellie to Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said. "She wanted the princess treatment."

Ellie let out an affronted huff as Sam grinned.

"You alright, Cas?" Dean looked at the angel.

"I need painkillers." Castiel grimaced, turning to look at Ellie. "I'm sorry, Ellie. You were right about Lucifer and the importance of the ritual."

She shook her head. "No one knew, Cas. Not until it was too late."

"Where's the spear?" Dean asked Sam.

"It crumbled to dust when it went into Meg's heart." Sam said, his eyes darkening with the memory. "What does that mean?"

"I think it means we don't need it anymore," Ellie said. She wasn't sure about that, yet it seemed likely. Penemue had been the only one she knew of who'd studied the lines in any detail. "Lucifer is dead. This line of destiny has finished."

"Did God do that?" Sam looked from Ellie to his brother.

"I don't know," Ellie said and Dean shook his head.

"Lucifer tried to destroy humanity many times—with the Leviathan, then with demons, with your family…it kept circling back, every time he failed, to a new start…"

"Not coincidental Jesse was born and could find the Spear?" Dean's expression was pained.

"No, I don't think so," Ellie agreed. "And not coincidental that my family was targeted by a witch. Or that Bobby's wife was killed by a demon."

"That's—" Dean scowled. "—that's too much."

"I know." Benevolent manipulation was no better than evil manipulation. It still made free will doubtful.

Behind them, there was a shout, and they turned to watch as Michael, Amaros and Araquiel pinned the last archdemon against the wall.

"I thought there were six?" Ellie said. Only three had been around the table that she could remember.

Asmodeus turned and kneeled as Michael stepped back.

"There were three fighting in the cavern above us when we came through with the Host," Sam said. "At least one of them died in the first attack. I saw Michael kill it before we came down here."

"Yeah, I saw another one get taken by four angels when I came through the Lawrence gate. And that reminds me, there were Leviathans in the cavern up there. Eating demons." Dean looked at Sam.

Sam looked back at him, his expression carefully blank. "Okay."

Castiel winced as he rubbed his arms. "Looks like Hell will go on."

"Why doesn't he kill that sonofabitch?" Dean's brows drew together when the archdemon grovelled in front of the Host's commander.

"Because Hell needs a leader. Asmodeus will swear to Michael to run it under Heaven's command…for a while." Castiel's mouth twisted as he turned away.

From the shadows between the columns, Baraquiel walked to Michael, Adam's body in his arms. The archangel looked down at the man and shook his head.

Sam exchanged a fast look with Dean, neither needing to say it out loud. Sam strode over to the archangel, pointing to Adam, his expression tight. Michael shook his head again.

"The hell—?"

Ellie felt Dean twitch. "Put me down and go help."

"You broke him! You fix him!" Sam's furious shout was clearly audible, echoing around the cavern.

"Sam seems to be doing okay," Dean remarked.

Michael nodded to the Watcher, who laid Adam on the floor.

Ellie could see Sam moving closer to the archangel and saying something else. The archangel had capitulated more easily than she'd expected, but perhaps that had been due to what Sam had achieved. There was a stiffness in the archangel that even at this distance seemed pronounced, she thought. Perhaps he just didn't like having his orders questioned—and by a human.

Michael knelt beside Adam and laid his hand over his forehead. The light emanating from the archangel's hand was soft, a silvery grey. It appeared to stick to Adam, spreading from his head to his toes, wrapping around his body and enclosing him for several minutes, then withdrawing gradually back into Michael's hand.

Sam knelt beside his half-brother, his hand on Adam's shoulder. Adam stirred, rolling onto his side, then sitting up, one hand pressing against his head.

"Cas, what happened to him?" Ellie asked, her gaze on Sam as he helped Adam to his feet, both men turning to walk slowly toward them. What she had seen in Adam's eyes hadn't been possession, at least not in the usual form, and Adam had passed every test they had when he'd come to live with them. It wasn't possible to hide anything through those tests.

"I don't know," the angel said, his expression uneasy. "Not really. It's possible Michael might have left some kind of…suggestion…in Adam's mind." His gaze dropped from Sam and Adam to the ground. "Or that Adam perceived a hole in himself when Michael left him. A hole that could be filled by another's control."

"That standard procedure for you guys?" Dean scowled at him. "Fuck up the vessel after you go?"

Castiel made a rueful face. "No."

"Is that a—oh-oh…" Ellie sucked in a deep breath. Inside, a rippling sensation filled her pelvis.

Dean turned his head to look at her. "Oh-oh…what?"

"It's time to go," she said, her voice low. She searched her body for other signs, breathing a little more freely when it seemed to be isolated. But even if there was nothing else now, it had been the beginning. She was going to give birth early. "I think that was a contraction."

"What?" He looked around, and it took her a few moments to realise what he was doing.

"Dean, I am not having our baby in Hell," she said firmly. "Get me out of here. First-time labours always take hours."

"Right. Of course. Sure. Sorry. " He turned his head to call back over his shoulder. "Sam, Adam, get a move on; we're leaving."

Castiel looked at them. "I'm not really strong yet, but Michael could probably—"

"No," Dean and Ellie said together.

Dean started to climb the stairs, Castiel walking behind them, Sam supporting Adam, coming after.

They came up the stairs into the upper cavern. There were no demons in sight. A few hundred of the angels and nephilim were sitting or standing around, talking quietly or healing themselves, waiting for further orders.

As Dean began to cross the cavern to the stairway that led out, Dick Roman emerged from the shadows on one side of the cavern and walked toward them. The Leviathan had returned to his human form, but the suit he'd been wearing was filthy, torn and covered in slowly drying dark liquids.

"You boys really get around," he said, his gaze shifting from one to the other. One manicured brow rose speculatively when he saw Castiel.

"What are you doing here, Dick?"

"Having lunch." Roman smiled, brandishing a finely gnawed bone and picking his teeth with it.

"Right," Dean said as Sam and Cas walked closer to flank him.

"Just enough room for dessert, too." He took a step closer to them, and several other Leviathans detached themselves from the shadowed walls, their expressions gleeful as they approached.

"Leviathan."

Roman's gaze moved past Dean to meet Michael's as the Host's commander came up the stairs behind them, Watchers following.

"Archangel."

"You've been very useful." Michael's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the gesture unmistakable.

"Well, we do try to be good neighbours."

"Aside from the tendency to eat the pets," Ellie murmured against Dean's neck.

Roman's hearing was good, and he laughed. "Yes, aside from that."

"The crisis is averted and you are free to return to Purgatory. Now."

"And if we don't choose to follow that path at this particular time?" Roman looked at the archangel, his tone light but his expression threatening.

The angels rose together, the sound of wings rustling loud and echoing in the rock chambers, combined with the singing of angelic blades being drawn from their sheaths.

Almost like a flock of birds, Dean thought as he watched them spread out around the group of Leviathans, at first only a few, then more and more, coming from across the cavern, from the tunnels leading into it, until the circle surrounding the monsters was fifty deep.

"God put you into Purgatory once. I'm sure He won't have any trouble doing so again." Michael reminded Roman mildly.

"But he hasn't, has he?" Roman's gaze moved around the angels surrounding him, then returned to the archangel. "Why is that, do you suppose?"

"Perhaps He's been busy."

"Or perhaps destiny indicates that it's time for another extinction and we were meant to escape, meant to rule." The Leviathan stared at Dean.

"Perhaps. But it will not start today." Michael shrugged. "And it will not begin with these humans."

The archangel's voice held an implacable warning. Roman's gaze shifted back to Dean. "I wouldn't count on a Get Out of Jail Free card coming along too often."

"I never do," Dean said with a crooked smile.

He turned away and walked up the stairs leading to the ground, Ellie in his arms, Castiel, Sam and Adam following him.

Above ground, the smoke wall that had formed a barricade around the city and state was dissipating and patches of blue sky were visible overhead. Dean wondered if it meant the forces that had held the pall in place had been destroyed, or just subdued for the moment. The air smelled slightly cleaner, the scents of brimstone and decomposition being swept from the area by flowing wind. He couldn't imagine what the media response would be to the devastation in the state, or how the people here would ever go back to their lives. If they even had lives to go back to.

The Impala was waiting patiently for them, sleek beside the boxy black four-wheel-drives the Levis had driven here. Dean settled Ellie into the back seat, climbing in beside her, while Sam and Castiel got in the front.

"We have to get Trish," Sam said, turning the key and wheel and putting his foot down. "She can drive the Camaro back."

"Where's the nearest hospital?" Dean asked, watching Ellie's face. Her attention seemed turned inward, focusing on the changes inside her body. He wasn't sure he liked the look of that.

"We'll need to go outside the state—"

"From here, we'll get Trish and go south," Ellie said, the words coming out fast as she panted through another contraction. "Oklahoma. It'll be quicker."

"What if we get caught by the media on the border?" Dean asked.

"They can help deliver the baby," Ellie growled. "Can we go a bit faster?"

"Sure," Sam said, glancing back at his brother through the rear-view. "Pedal to the metal."

The angel's encampment at Hutchinson was empty, the tents flapping in the light breeze that brought the smells of death and smoke across the state. Trish heard the roar of the Impala and ran outside, her breath hitching in her chest.

She saw Sam behind the wheel, and Cas riding shotgun, and her happiness fell apart as Sam swung the car around in front of her.

"Where's—?" The car came to a stop, and she saw Dean in the back. "Oh—Ellie?"

"Having a baby," Sam said through the open window. "Get the Camaro, Trish, and follow us. We're heading to Oklahoma City. Do you know where there's a maternity hospital there?"

She nodded, digging in her pocket for the car keys. "Yeah. How fast are the contractions?"

Sam looked at her blankly, then turned around to Dean. "Uh—"

"Every fifteen minutes," Ellie answered. "Water broke five minutes ago."

"Shit. Okay," Trish said. "Get going. I'll be right behind you."

She turned away, then spun back. "Sam, you might not make it to the hospital. Be prepared to pull over."

"Really?" Sam said unhappily.

"What did she say?" Dean asked from the back.

"Nothing," Sam said, putting the car into gear and turning for the road.

Tricia ran to the tent and grabbed her pack, tossing it into the back seat of the Camaro, and climbing in the front. The engine started with the first twist of the key and she put it into first, following the dust cloud of the car ahead of her to the highway.