In Sioux Falls, the Smiths met up with with Sam and the nervous teenage girl he had in tow. The kid struck Alice as an odd sidekick.
"Hey, you found her," Allison said, initially pleased with Sam's compassion.
"Yeah, I caught up with her earlier this week," Sam explained. "Took me long enough. Had to call in some favors in high places."
The girl looked Allison over critically while Sam spoke. She had a grim, serious countenance, sunken pale cheeks and enormous green eyes bordered with dark, haunted circles. Those eyes left their examination of Allison to confront Alice, silently demanding to know what she was looking at. Alice frowned right back at her, uncowed. There was something about this girl... something familiar that she couldn't out her finger on.
"Alice, this is Anna Milton. Anna, Alice Smith."
"Milton," Alice mused, chewing the name over as she racked her brain struggling to place it. "Milton."
Anna leaned close to Sam to ask a soft question. Despite her lowered voice, Alice was able to clearly make out what she was saying.
"What's wrong with her?" Anna asked, looking Alice over with a disturbed expression. Alice crossed her arms over her chest and glared.
"Uh... lots of things," Sam whispered back.
"Hey!" Alice scowled.
"What? You want me to lie to her?" Sam demanded.
"You can't wait til I'm out of earshot to tell her how I'm such a shitty person?" Alice shot back.
"That's not even what I meant! I was talking about the whole... you know. Ghost-shifter thing."
"Oh."
"Are you ok? You seem a little on edge," Sam observed. "A lot on edge, actually."
"I'm not feeling so hot these days," Alice admitted.
Allison had been forcing holy water down her throat morning, noon and night, and the unwelcome tonic was taking a toll on Alice. Physically, she constantly felt like she was a stone's throw from losing her lunch. Her skin itched and her head pounded and she felt like she was always out of breath. Her physical state was making her irritated and short-tempered, even more so than usual.
Still, the times Alice didn't manage to keep the holy water down, her bile seemed to be less black and sulfurous with each dose. Allison took it as a sign that the water was purifying her from the inside out, purging the effects of hell on her soul. Alice couldn't dispute her conclusion, so she kept her mouth shut and kept playing along with her sister.
Sam took a good look at Alice, finally realizing it had been nearly six months since the last time he'd seen her. The fateful night when Danny managed to escape felt like a lifetime ago. Since then, everything had changed time and time again. For all the drama Sam had been subjected to, those six months might as well have been six years.
Alice's changing figure wasn't the first thing to catch Sam's eye, but once he noticed it, he had to do a double take.
"Wait a minute, is that... are you...?"
Lost for words, he just pointed at the her belly and the baby bump that was ever so subtly beginning to show, even under her loose clothes.
"Well, it's not a beer belly," Alice snapped. "I don't wanna talk about it."
"Uh... ok."
Still, the math was simple and Sam couldn't unsee something so big. He scrambled, mind blown by the possibility he realized he was looking at. Questions popped up one on top of another in his head, but one loomed over all the others, its weight pulling him back down to reality. Alice seemed ready to kill him if he didn't drop the subject, but this wasn't something he felt like he could let go so easily.
"I'm sorry, I just... I gotta ask, is it- I mean, the timeline kinda means it would be... Dean's, I guess?"
"Dude, it's not even mine!" Alice shouted in frustration. "I am so sick of people asking me about this. I swear to god I'm one more conversation about this away from cutting the damn thing out!"
"Alice, it's ok," Allison soothed, recognizing that her sister was a hairs breadth away from tackling their ticket to getting their hands on Bobby Singer's bullets. "Sam, take a walk with me so we can talk about this gun."
"Hold on a minute, I want-"
"Sam! Take. A. Walk. With. Me," Allison insisted through gritted teeth, eyes wide with an urgent, silent message.
Relectantly, Sam stepped away with Allison, glancing back at Alice.
"Could you have any less tact?" Allison demanded, hands on her hips.
"What?"
"Have a little sensitivity, why don't you! I thought that was your thing."
"Allison, just tell me if that's my brother's baby," Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked back at Alice again. She seemed to be having a staring contest with Anna.
"Hell if I know," Allison shrugged. "Alice doesn't want to answer questions about it. I've respected that. You need to do the same. You understand me?"
"I just... does Dean even know?" Sam asked, still struggling to wrap his head around the situation. He remembered a call Dean had gotten from Bobby nearly two months ago, back when they were still working the Big Bird case. He remembered overhearing enough to know that Bobby had lost a shapeshifter. He remembered Dean admitting it was Danny and he remembered being confused about why Bobby would have Danny Brontely on lockdown in his basement. Dean shrugged it off and at the time, Sam had bigger things to worry about so he had let it be. Now, the pieces started to click, but there were still gaping holes in Sam's knowledge that were nagging him like a leaky faucet in the back of his mind.
"Hell if I know! Sam! I'm serious! Leave it alone! It's none of your business, ok? Look, Alice isn't doing so good these days. She's in a bad place. Between you and me, I don't think she can handle the conversation you want to have with her. Anyway, we have a job to do."
Sam scoffed and shook his head.
"She can handle it," he insisted. "She's just being difficult, like always."
"What, you think you know my sister better than I do?" Allison asked with raised eyebrows.
"If the shoe fits. Look, I don't know what Alice was like back when you knew her-"
"I know her," Allison insisted. "She hasn't changed that much."
"You sure about that?"
Allison pursed her lips, took a breath and restrained herself from snapping at him.
"Look, do you wanna kill Lilith, or keep banging your head against this wall?" she asked. "I thought you said you had a plan to find her."
"I do."
"So, pay Bobby a visit, get the bullets, and let's take this bitch off the board once and for all."
Sam set his jaw, searching Allison's expression. She was resolute. He wanted answers, but he wasn't going to get them. At least, not while she was around to get between him and Alice.
"Fine. You're right," he conceded. He would need to bide his time. He wasn't giving up, just picking his battles.
Behind them, Alice and Anna stared at each other for the longest time. Finally, Anna spoke.
"What are you?" she asked with a deep frown.
"I'm a hunter," Alice replied. "What are you?"
"What?"
"Doesn't feel good, does it?" Alice said pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest as she examined the kid.
"It's just... I've seen a couple demons by now," Anna explained. "You look... different from the rest."
Alice narrowed her eyes at Anna, rage rising in her.
"Yeah, that's 'cause I'm not a demon!" she snapped.
"So what are you then?"
"You first. Sam's obviously keeping you around for a reason besides conversation or company," Alice scowled. "You're too rude for it to be either of those. So what's your deal?"
"Don't know. I hear voices and see demons," Anna shrugged. "Now you."
"Oh, bite me."
"Ok, knock it off," Sam said as he and Allison came back from their short walk. "We've got work to do. Anna, you're staying with the Smiths. With a little luck, I'll be back soon."
"Wait, where are you going?" Anna asked, sounding a little panicked. "Why can't I come with you?"
"I wanna keep this as simple as possible," Sam explained. "Bobby's gonna ask me a million questions as it is, and if you're there, it's not exactly gonna shorten the visit."
"I don't want to stay with them," Anna said unhappily.
"Yeah, well we're not thrilled about babysitting either," Alice snorted. "Just put your head down and get through it with us."
Castiel was growing ever wearier as he manned his post with dogged, single-minded determination. He had not received revelation for over a month and not for lack of trying. Heaven was silent, his questions left unanswered, his urgent requests for backup seemingly ignored. He started to feel like he was the only angel left on Earth. He even caught himself missing Kaydie Smith's company. Her help, at the very least, would have been welcomed, even if she did have an annoying knack for speaking in riddles.
Dean was heading out to Minnesota in the aftermath of Henricksen's witch case. Castiel was grateful that he was on the move again. Demons moved in from all sides. Castiel had been fighting them back as they battered the bubble of protection he provided for Dean like waves against a levee. If that challenge wasn't great enough in its own right, he was also having an alarming number of close calls when it came to staying out of Dean's line of sight. A large part of the orders he was carrying out to the letter were that he was to remain hidden, which had proven more easily said than done. Dean had displayed an unprecedented immunity to Castiel's ability to shield himself from mortal eyes and heaven offered no further direction to aid in his mission.
The times when Dean was travelling had become Castiel's favorite part of his mission. Dean's wards and hex bags kept him safe from the demons and their prying eyes while he was on the open road. When he passed through a town, or especially when he stopped in one, all eyes were on him and all eyes seemed to report directly back to Lilith. The fact that Dean was walking the earth was a slap in hell's face, and not one that the powers that be would stand for. Castiel had realized this a long time ago and grimly resigned himself to the reality that he might be stuck killing demons to protect Dean Winchester until one of them finally died.
Castiel had taken to riding atop the Impala, suspending some of the laws of physics to keep himself from flying off. At first, he had followed Dean by keeping him just in sight and teleporting when he could no longer see him. That technique, however, had proven to be immensely tiring. Now, he lounged atop the car on his stomach, ankles crossed behind him, arms crossed under his chin. His overcoat flapped behind him while they sped down the highway, at times breaking a hundred miles an hour. Below him, Dean blasted his music and belted out all the choruses. He air-drummed the dashboard and steering wheel so hard to Castiel felt the dull vibrations from his perch atop the car. For now, they had left the demons behind. Castiel was alone with his charge, who, for the moment at least, was safe.
The town Dean had chosen as their destination was small, quiet on the surface. Castiel braced himself, warding off desolation as he stood guard and waited for the forces of hell to show themselves.
For two days, however, Dean worked the case and no demons came after him. Castiel was grateful for the reprieve from battle at first, but his relief quickly gave way to suspicion. This town was too quiet. It reminded Castiel of the last time he had let Dean out of his sight. Sioux Falls, the homeless shelter where an agent of hell had come dangerously close to succeeding in their mission. This time, Castiel kept his guard up. He wouldn't allow such a thing to happen again.
He listened from a distance while Dean questioned a local farmer. The man raised Castiel's hackles. Like much else in this town, Castiel had a hard time sensing his presence. It was almost like the man was wearing wards to shield him from being seen. It made it hard for Castiel to hear what was being said. Torn, he weighed the risk of getting closer. He ran the risk of Dean spotting him if he got too close, but being unable to hear the conversation filled him with unease. Ultimately, he held his ground. He could get closer if the situation became dangerous. At the end of the day, his curiosity wasn't more important than the mission. As long as Dean was safe, Castiel would refrain from intervening in his affairs.
"So you're saying your crops are the only ones in the area that aren't affected because... you're an organic grower?" Dean asked skeptically. He was posing as an FDA official, looking into blight that was spreading from farm to farm in the county.
"Oh, sure," Mr. Rowlin said confidently. "Those commercial pesticides are nasty stuff, I'm telling you. Make your stomach turn just reading the ingredients."
"Riigghhht. Ok, well, thank you so much for your time," Dean said. Truth be told, Mr. Rowlin was quickly climbing his suspect list. He was already planning to come back after nightfall to investigate further.
"Oh, my pleasure," Mr. Rowlin told him. "Say, look... I hate to be nosy, but... what's the deal with your shy friend? He from the FDA too, or...?"
"Shy friend?" Dean asked with a frown.
"Well, I couldn't help but notice the guy in the trench coat waiting by your car when I saw you at the sherriff's station," Mr. Rowlin said. "And, uh... well, I suppose I don't mind him poking around in my field if he's in on the investigation with you. Otherwise though, I'm gonna have to grab my shotgun and run him off my property."
"What guy?"
Mr. Rowlin's nodded to the field at Dean's back, but when Dean turned, he saw nothing.
"That's funny, he was just there a minute ago," Mr. Rowlin mused. He took advantage of the distraction to slip a scrap of paper into Dean's pocket.
"Well whoever he is, he's not with me," Dean said with a frown, surveying the landscape with alarm, completely unaware that he had been tagged. Was he being followed?
Dean remained alert on the drive back to the motel where he was staying, keeping one hand on the knife Alice had gifted him. He'd been keeping the thing in his trunk, buried under a pile of ammunition, unable to bring himself to get rid of it. The reminder of Alice was far from welcome, but the knife was too useful, too valuable for him to part with. His eyes darted between the road and his mirrors, vigilant for any sign that he was being followed. As he rolled back into town, he started to relax a little. The guy in the trench coat was probably Mr. Rowlin's problem. Dean considered the idea that maybe he was connected to the case. Was that why he had been out in Mr. Rowlin's field? Was he poisoning crops, Mr. Rowlin's the latest in his long line of victims?
As Dean sat at a stoplight on main street, his gaze wandered idly. He caught a glimpse of his cars reflection in a storefront window and took a minute to admire the shine coming off his baby and the way the man riding on her roof seemed to be so comfortable.
The light turned green and Dean started to go, only to come to a grinding halt as his brain processed what he had just seen.
"What the-"
Dean jumped out of the car, brandishing the knife at the roof of his car. There was no one up there.
"What the hell?" he growled, whipping around to search the street in alarm. He didn't see the man who had been on top of his car a moment earlier, only passersby who looked at him like he was crazy. Head spinning, Dean got back into the impala and headed for his hotel. Was he seeing things? He might have thought so, if Mr. Rowlin hadn't also been able to see the mystery man who was, apparently, tailing him. If hitching a ride on the roof of his car could be considered tailing.
It had been a long time since Dean was so freaked out. He paced in his motel room, glancing out through the curtains every so often as he concocted a plan. It must be a demon following him, he concluded. What else could vanish so quickly? With a sinking feeling, he realized it could be any number of things. A trickster. A ghost. Maybe even another Smith, sent by Greta to ride his ass and report back to her.
Grimly, Dean prepared himself for a confrontation. He made a trip out to his car, rifling through his trunk for ingredients, hyper aware of his surroundings. He felt eyes on him, but whether he was actually being watched or the feeling was an illusion brought on by his newfound paranoia, Dean couldn't say. He fought to keep his gait casual as he headed back into his motel room. He spent the next hour assembling hex bags that would hide him from everything he knew of and a few things he had to scour internet lore to learn how to hide himself from. Finally, he was ready to make his move. He clipped a sheath with Alice's knife to his belt, stuck a gun full of witch killing bullets into the back of his pants and grabbed a shotgun loaded with rock salt rounds. Then he made his move, slipping out through the bathroom window and jogging away from the hotel under cover of night, planning to take the long way around and double back. If this bastard really was following him, Dean would catch him in the act tonight.
It didn't take Castiel long to realize that he could no longer sense Dean's presence. Why was a question that nagged at him, but one that he was unable to answer. All he could do was keep his eyes glued to Dean. Whatever happened, it was absolutely essential that he didn't let the hunter out of his sight. He got as close to Dean's motel room as he dared, watching the door from the courtyard. He stood at attention at the edge of the motel parking lot, alert and ready to teleport in an instant if Dean's door opened. He also sent up a plea to heaven, updating them on this development and begging for help.
"Hey!"
Dean's voice? It came from behind Castiel. He turned slowly, coming face to face with Dean, who leveled a shotgun at the angel.
"Yeah, you. Creep. What the hell are you and why the hell are you following me?" he demanded. "Start talking or I start shooting."
Castiel panicked and froze, unsure if he should teleport away or hold his ground. Should he try to lie? If so, how would he go about it? It wasn't like he had a lot of practice with deception.
"Well?!" Dean demanded, finger hovering threateningly over the trigger.
"I... do not know you," Castiel lied awkwardly. "I am... merely... another guest at this inn. I find this situation extremely frightening. If you don't mind, I would like to go now."
He took a step to the side and Dean fired a warning shot at the ground by his feet.
"Bullshit, buddy!" Dean growled. "I remember you from South Dakota. You were creeping around outside my room back there too! Not to mention I caught you camping out on top of my damn car not two hours ago! So tell me what the hell you want, or I start shooting!"
Deep down, Castiel had known this confrontation was inevitable. With heaven silent on the matter, he was forced to exercise his own judgement. Flee, or explain himself? Either way, it was out of the question for him to stop following Dean. He could teleport away and leave Dean spooked and lack answers, but that struck him as an unsatisfactory solution. One that might nudge Dean into doing a little more research, learning what he was and potentially finding a way to ditch him.
"I have been tasked with keeping you safe," Castiel said, grudgingly deciding that he needed to talk his way out of this mess.
"I knew it!" Dean scowled, adjusting his grip on the shotgun. "You're another damn Smith, aren't you? Did Greta send you? When the hell is she gonna get the idea? I don't need an armed escort, damn it!"
Castiel considered the development, grateful for Dean's incorrect assumption.
"I'm just following orders," he said, happy that he didn't have to lie.
"Yeah, well follow this!"
Dean flipped him the bird and started edging around him toward the impala.
"That's incredibly rude," Castiel commented.
"Yeah, you know what else is rude? Your mom," Dean shot back.
"I don't have a-"
"Tell Greta I'm coming for her if she doesn't knock it off!" Dean called, getting into the car with his eyes fixed on Castiel. "And stay the hell off my damn car! Witchy-ass sons of..."
Dean started the impala and rolled out of the motel parking lot, glaring at Castiel as he passed him on his way to keep working the case. Dean disappeared down the road, leaving Castiel crestfallen, still unable to sense his presence.
"This is bad," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "If anyone can hear me, things are going very, very badly down here."
He followed Dean the old way, teleporting to keep the impala just in sight as Dean drove out to the Rowlins farm. He watched as Dean poked around the property quietly, night keeping him hidden as he investigated. He disappeared into a barn, leaving the door ajar behind him. Castiel crept up outside, incredibly uncomfortable with how little he was able to sense. Something was wrong, he knew it.
His worst fears were realized when inside the barn, he heard a loud crash and a string of shouted curses from Dean. He rushed into the barn, blade drawn as he prepared to defend the feckless hunter.
Inside the barn, however, Castiel found no enemies lurking in the darkness. Just Dean, on the ground with his feet tangled up in a chain that lay coiled on the floor. Dean swore and kicked, rattling the chain as he struggled to free himself. He noticed Castiel and yelped in surprise, scowling when he recognized him.
"You again! I thought I told you to get lost!" he hissed vehemently.
"That would be most difficult," Castiel informed him, stowing his blade as he realized Dean's clumsiness was the only enemy around. "I have an excellent sense of direction."
"Go. Away. I'm working a case and you're gonna mess it up," Dean clarified, pulling himself free from the chain and standing. He brushed himself off, retrieving his flashlight from where it had fallen.
"Who's there?"
Castiel and Dean both turned as someone else entered the barn, carrying an old oil lantern. Farmer Rowlin.
"Agent Morris?" Mr. Rowlin asked, raising the lantern to get a better look at his uninvited guests. "What in tarnation are you doing skulking around my barn at midnight?"
"Mr. Rowlin," Dean said, scrambling for an excuse. "I'm... uh... well, you see-"
"So this guy is with you," he asked, coming closer to get a look at Castiel.
"He absolutely is not," Dean assured Rowlin firmly. "He's been following me. Matter of fact, I'm about five seconds away from siccing the sherriff on him."
"I see. So I guess you wouldn't mind if I helped get him off your tail," Rowlin said. He grinned unnaturally, the expression making the hairs stand up on the back of Dean's neck. His instincts warned him of the danger only a second before Rowlin's eyes, illuminated by the light of the lantern, turned black as pitch. Castiel took a step to the side, placing himself between Dean and the demon.
"Dean, go," he instructed harshly. "Now!"
Behind him, Dean drew the demon killing blade, taking a defiant step forward as Castiel's blade slipped from his sleeve. It drew Dean's eyes, it's familiar design catching him off guard. With a start, he remembered Bisbee and the blade Alice had procured to aid in her hunt for Ruby.
Her name is Anna. She's an angel.
It couldn't be.
"Little late for that, I'm afraid," Rowlin said. In an instant, he dropped the lantern. It smashed into pieces on the ground, the pilot flame igniting a ring of flames that raced to encircle Castiel. He flinched back, dread filling him as he realized he had walked into a trap. Dean leapt back as the flames flared, illuminating the barn as figures emerged from the stalls and streamed in the entrance. Black eyes surrounded them in the flickering golden light of the fire. There was no way out.
Dean steeled himself, tensing under the scrutiny of the demons as they stood still for a moment. The air became thick around them with the cloying scent of an herb Dean couldn't identify. He guessed it came from whatever was fueling the ring of fire that imprisoned his unwanted bodyguard, who he was starting to suspect might not actually be a Smith. Still, the insanity of the alternative...
Dean didn't have time for disbelief or questions about Castiel's true identity.
"Come on, you sons of bitches!" he growled, tightening his grip on the knife.
The demons muttered among themselves, seeming hesitant to step forward. Finally, Rowlin scoffed and advanced on Dean.
"This guy's nothing with his guardian angel out of commision," he snarled. "I'll show you pansies how it's done."
Dean slashed at the demon when he got close enough, but Rowlin dodged. They danced for a moment, Rowlin fast enough that Dean couldn't land a blow.
"Anybody feel like helping?" Rowlin demanded, narrowing avoiding a slash that would have gutted him. He waved his hand and sent Dean flying back to crash through a line of stalls. Before Dean could recover, he was hauled to his feet by two demons. A third retrieved the demon killing blade from where it lay on the floor. Winded and dizzy from his hard impact, Dean watched as the demon handed his knife to a woman, who inspected it as she approached him.
"I'll be," she commented. "I've heard rumors about this thing."
She met Dean's eyes, lifting his chin with the flat of the blade. Its tip nicked his skin and a drop of blood fell to the floor between them.
"The Smiths knife, Colt's gun... you Winchesters starting a collection?" she asked.
Dean held his silence grimly, eyeing Castiel. He stood in the center of the flames, appearing frozen and expressionless. He wasn't going to be any help.
"What, I get the silent treatment?" the woman asked disapprovingly. "Come on, Dean, really? After everything we've been through? Don't you want to know how I've been?"
"I know you?" Dean asked, unable to help himself.
"I'm hurt," the woman tsked. "After all the fun times we had in Chicago? Of course, you had more fun than I did. The whole falling from three stories up kind of ruined the weekend for me."
Dean realized who he was looking at.
"You know, Sam would recognize me," the woman went on confidently. "I guess you and me just never... connected the way me and Sam did."
"Meg," Dean groaned.
"Bingo!"
"So you crawled your way out of the pit," Dean observed glumly.
"I got lucky," Meg smirked. "Got called to serve a once in a demonic lifetime cause. Once in all of creation, honestly. Hell, I won the lottery of the millennium."
"If you're gonna kill me, could you just get on with it please?" Dean growled.
"Believe me, it would be my pleasure," Meg sighed. "Unfortunately for both of us, the boss wants you brought back in one piece."
Dean's blood ran cold.
"Lilith."
"You're on a roll," Meg commended him. She turned, waving for the other demons to follow her as she walked away. Dean caught Castiel's eye one last time before the world went dark as someone pulled a sack over his head. Cuffs clicked around his wrists and the demons dragged him out of the barn.
"Crap!" Dean cursed, his voice muffled by the sack.
He couldn't believe how much trouble he'd managed to get himself in.