A/N: Maybe I should come up with a timeframe in which to post. Hm. I'll explore that down the line. Nonetheless, I hope you guys love this chapter! I know I do... he he he (totally not a maniacal btw...)


Frankie slowly and deeply inhaled as she cracked her eyes open. Birds cheerfully tweeted outside the window, and she turned her head towards it, squinting in the sunlight. After stretching her arms over her head, she glanced around the room. She smiled, taking in the sight of her new childhood bedroom.

Frankie pushed herself into an upright position. Her head languidly turned to her door. It was halfway open, cracked enough to reveal a clear sight of Dean's shut door. She lowered her head to her nightstand. She opened the drawer, a small soccer horn sitting silently inside. Frankie wickedly smirked.

She crept across the hall in her pajamas, armed with the soccer horn. Oh, Dean was gonna be pissed, and she couldn't wait to see the look on his face. She carefully turned his doorknob, holding her breath to minimize any factor in alerting her presence. When she cracked open his door, however, she found his bed empty. Frowning, she leaned her head out of his room and looked towards the hallway bathroom, also empty.

Oh well. Sam would be just as good!

She repeated her steps to Sam's room only to find it in the same shape as Dean's. His Star Wars: A New Hope comforter was neatly made, and the rest of his room was well-kempt, just lacking life.

'Now where'd they run off to?'

Frankie suddenly became aware of the scent of pancakes from downstairs. She hurriedly strutted down the hallway, her bare feet patting on the carpet, towards the stairs. She tossed the soccer horn into her room as she passed her door.

Frankie jumped over the last two steps on the staircase, sticking the landing with a dull thump. She practically skipped into the kitchen, hoping to see Sam and Dean waiting for her at the table.

Her feet froze on the tile. Her smile faded. Her heart, previously inflated with the thought of joining her brothers, sank into the cold cavern at the bottom of her chest.

Sierra sat at the table, a fork in her hand and her eyes on a newspaper. She chewed slowly, not noticing her daughter standing rigidly ten feet away.

Frankie would never get used to seeing her mom again in person, even if she did look different. Those eyes were impeccably Sierra Pearce. The way they squinted when she smiled was uncanny to when she was alive. It didn't matter if this was a manifestation by the angels, it was still the closest to her mother she was ever going to get again.

Frankie had avoided solo interaction with her so far. She managed to tiptoe around her for two weeks (or at least what felt like two weeks – she was always unsure of the passing of time post-Hell) so this morning was going to be no exception. Frankie turned around, and only when she made the first step towards the living room did Sierra speak up.

"Good morning, hon."

Frankie squeezed her eyes shut. 'Goddammit.'

"Good morning," she greeted with a fake cheeriness in her voice. She turned around, manufacturing a smile to go along with it. "Where're Sam and Dean?"

"Oh, the boys and your father are out on a hunting trip."

"Huh… any idea when they'll be back?"

"Oh, who knows? How 'bout some breakfast?"

Frankie swallowed. Her mother was already standing to fix her a plate, but she couldn't bring herself to move. She was a woman – er… girl – torn. She really didn't want to speak to her mother, not after learning about everything she did when she was sick. She wasn't ready. But… at the same time, she would never get another chance to get answers. Sure, this wasn't Sierra Love Pearce, but it was the best she was going to get.

"Uh, sure."

She stepped up to the dining table and had to slightly hop to reach the seat. Sierra set her plate in front of her and tenderly rested a hand on her shoulder. Frankie stiffened, but she tried to force herself to relax before her mom released her. Sierra took back her seat across from Frankie and smiled at her daughter. Frankie tightened her lips into a thin line. Her mother returned to her story.

Frankie lingered a long look on Sierra. Her throat constricted, and she forced her head to look away before any tears could threaten her eyes. The last time she saw Sierra was as a ghost. A horrifically deformed ghost, courtesy of a spell gone wrong. Before that, the last time she laid eyes on her mother was when she had succumbed to her sickness during the night. Frankie found her dead in her bed.

But it wasn't the sickness that killed her. No, things could never be that easy for her. Her mother just had to commit suicide by Arsenic to avoid being torn to shreds by hellhounds. Her fork bent slightly in her vicelike grip.

"You're quiet this morning."

Frankie flicked her eyes up to the woman across from her. Sierra looked at her with faint curiosity. Frankie tightened her jaw before gazing back down into her pancakes, resting her head in a hand. "I'm just lost in my head."

"What's on your mind?"

Frankie's lips had just parted when she shut down any words that tried to break through. "It's nothing."

She saw a soft, thin hand come forward and rest on her own tiny hand. Sierra gave Frankie's fingers a small squeeze. "Frankie, you can trust me. Share with me."

Her strongest desire was to keep her head down and mumble through breakfast, but the overbearing need for answers wouldn't leave her mind for peace. She rubbed her temple with a slight groan. She knew her mother was wearing a concerned expression solely by the fact that she started stroking her thumb on the back of her hand.

'Eh, what the hell… it won't really matter in the end. It's not her…'

"Well, I've just been thinking… What would you do if I got hit by a car? And I was hurt really bad and in the hospital?"

Just as she expected, her mother recoiled, a shocked expression bleeding onto her face. She coughed a brief spurt of nervous laughter. She reeled it in, though, and tried for a steady demeanor. "Why are you asking this?"

"Because you told me to," Frankie dryly snorted. "Just… humor me. What would you do?"

Sierra took her hand back and used both of hers to fold her newspaper. "Well… I would make sure you had everything you needed to get better."

'Oh, come on. Even a soulless puppet can do better than that.'

"But w-what if I couldn't get better? What if I was brain dead? What then?"

Sierra pressed her lips together and sighed. She stood from her chair, rounded the table, and kneeled beside Frankie. She took both of her daughter's hands and looked intensely into her eyes with a sorrowful, yet meaningful, smile. At the expression alone, Frankie's heart lurched.

"I would do anything I possibly could to save you." She lifted a hand to cradle Frankie's cheek. Her smile widened and her eyes narrowed. "You're my girl, Frankie. I love you, and I'll do anything for you."

Tears finally prickled in Frankie's eyes. She would do anything including selling her soul. Ruining her life to save hers. Destroying the life she worked hard to create. All because Frankie couldn't stay out of the road.

Frankie's lip quivered. She dove for the hallucination of her mother to bury her mournful face in. She wrapped her arms tightly around Sierra's neck, pressing her eyes against her shoulder.

'You shouldn't have to. It's my fault. It's all my fault.' Even though this wasn't real, she still didn't have the heart to say it to the woman's face.

"Just as long as you'll do anything for me."

Frankie sniffed and moved her head so that her cheek was now resting on her mom's shoulder. "Of course. Anything."

"Good. There's only one thing that I ask of you, sweetie." Sierra constricted her embrace around Frankie, a little too tight. She slightly struggled to breathe. Sierra turned her head so that her mouth was right behind Frankie's ear. "Say 'yes'."

Frankie's struggle for breath ceased. Her body – right down to her lungs – froze at the words hissed in her ear. Her eyes broke open, falling to the shoulder she rested on. The once pink blouse of her mother was replaced by a dull green, an all too familiar shade.

Frankie gasped air back into her lungs. She forced her palms against the now flat chest and shoved with all the might in her juvenile arms. She burst free of the embrace, now looking into the horrifying sight of Lucifer's soft gaze.

Frankie yelped, scurrying backwards. Her feet scrambled too fast, causing her to tumble onto her back. She kicked against the tile, drawing away from the dismaying figure from her past.

"Hello, Frankie. It's good to see you again."

He wore a smile, one that nearly reached his eyes but failed at the homestretch. His face had broken out into far more patches of decaying flesh. No sign of pink was left in his vessel's skin; only gray remained.

Frankie's back hit the wall. She jostled against it, forcing herself to her feet with wobbling legs.

"You don't need to be so scared. I'm not going to hurt you." Lucifer slowly stepped forward, speaking gently. "I know you find that hard to believe, but well, we tried the torture method. Obviously, it's not that easy to make you see reason."

Frankie pressed herself as flat against the wall as she could. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid panting. The threshold to the living room where the front door loomed was only a few feet away. She was closer to it than he was, but she didn't dare make a move for it. She remembered all too well what happened when she bolted during their last encounter. In that moment, all she could do was stare at her adversary as he leisurely approached, powerless in his presence.

"Don't you have anything to say to me? It's been such a long time since we saw each other. What, like, ten years?"

"Why aren't you dead?" Frankie heard herself say. The question was as loud as could be in her head, but she didn't think she had the gumption to make the words appear.

"The Colt was a good try, but there's only five things in existence that it can't kill. I happen to be one of them."

Despite the incident having happened several months ago, her heart sank at the devastating loss.

Lucifer's feet finally paused halfway from her and the table. He linked his hands in front of his body and shrugged. "So, now you know that I can't be defeated. Not by any human, at least." His smile grew a fraction. "So, if you still want me dead, there's only one way to do it."

Frankie gulped. Her heart hammering in her ears nearly deafened her, dulling the volume of her own shaky voice. "Michael."

"Exactly. But I can't fight Michael because…," Lucifer trailed off, holding out a hand in an insisting gesture.

Frankie rapidly and faintly nodded. Her voice caught in her throat, cracking her words. "You need a vessel."

Ever since Crowley forced her into his plan, Frankie had imagined this moment a hundred times over, hoping to prepare herself when the moment finally came. She knew she would have to look Lucifer in his eyes as he asked her the million-dollar question, just as she did before. The moment was finally here, and she felt as though she just might faint.

"Bingo." Lucifer resumed his stride, finally reaching her. "And I just happen to have the right vessel," he held up his hands and hovered them over her form, as if appraising a fine sculpture, "right here."

Frankie could smell him from this close. The fresh soil that radiated off him that night was replaced by the revolting stench of rotting flesh in a baking sun. She resisted the urge to gag, swallowing fresh saliva, and focused her attention instead on his gleaming eyes. "Sam is the right vessel."

Lucifer shook his head, maintaining their locked gaze. "Oh no, Frankie. Sam is my true vessel. Not the right one."

The words felt heavy in her gut. What could be more "right" than destiny? What did she have that Sam didn't, and – worst of all – what would Lucifer do with it?

Lucifer tilted his head to the side, smiling languidly at the young girl before him. He was standing just as close as that night, only he stood much, much taller. Frankie's neck was craned so far back that her scalp rested against the wall. "So," he asked, softly, "what is it going to be?"

Frankie's bottom lip quivered as fear filled her from head to toe. Suddenly, the single syllable word became the hardest one to pronounce. It sat ready on the tip of her tongue, but the girl wrestled with the urge to vomit. Opening her mouth now would only open up the floodgates, but her lips parted all the same.

"Lucifer!"

The archangel and the girl turned their heads towards the living room. Standing imposing in the face of the Devil was Zachariah, a deep scowl pointed at the far more powerful being. Frankie would have assumed that seeing him would bring her relief, but it did quite the opposite.

"Step away from the girl."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Lucifer tapped a finger on his chin before his face brightened in faux epiphany. He extended his finger towards the balding angel. "Oh, wait… Zachariah. Yes. Didn't you get demoted?"

Zachariah slowly inhaled with a nasty glower pulling at the loose skin of his vessel's face. "That girl is under the jurisdiction of Michael and his garrison. You will not touch her."

Lucifer looked over Frankie's shaking form. "I don't see any claim on her. So, how can she be under Michael's 'jurisdiction'?"

"That is none of your concern."

The rage in Lucifer swelled. Frankie could feel the anger pulsating off him, causing her own quivering to amplify. He slowly stepped into the living room.

"The actions and decisions of my brother are more my concern than yours, Seraph. Leave now, and you can continue to exist in this realm."

The archangel's threats had no effect on Zachariah, at least outwardly. Without looking away from the Devil, Zachariah extended his hand to Frankie. "Francine, come with me. I will take you to the safety of Michael." His eyes flicked into her own. "With Adam."

Her breath caught in her throat. The very mention of her half-brother resurrected memories she thought long gone. For all she knew, he could have been dead, he and his mother. "Adam?" she whispered.

"Zachariah," Lucifer warned in a light voice. "You forget your place."

The angel straightened his back, attempting to appear bigger. He beckoned her to come closer with a sharp gesture of his hand. "Francine."

The air was thick with tense silence. The energy was electric as if at any moment one of the celestial beings could pounce and attack the other. It felt like the slightest movement would trigger a bloodbath right in the middle of her new childhood home.

Lucifer turned his head, looking over his shoulder. Frankie met his eye, feeling smaller than she already was. The same feeling that persisted between him and Zachariah now pulsed inside her. The slightest twitch could invite him to clutch her throat and slice her belly open with a cleaver. And at the same time, Zachariah's scowl on her told her enough that if she didn't come to him, it was another bundle of cysts for her kidneys.

Oh fuck… she needed to choose. Before her were Zachariah and Lucifer, two angels that at one point had their time torturing her. She didn't want to go with either of them! But… she was trapped. The only exit was through the living room. Castiel couldn't hear her, couldn't come to her rescue. Her only way out was to go with one of the creatures before her. How can one determine the lesser of two evils when one of them is literally evil incarnate?

Frankie's eyes narrowed back into Lucifer's. They hadn't changed. They were glued to her, still, focused, watching her every move. She swallowed.

Frankie's toes twitched as she tried to get her legs working. She took in a shallow, shivering breath, keeping Lucifer's eyes in hers. She moved forward. Frankie's breath was quiet but audible, trembling through her nostrils as she crept through the threshold.

She neared the two quarreling angels. It was a miracle that she could keep her eyes on Lucifer without backing down or tearing up – a feat that grew more difficult the closer she got to him.

With a mere five feet away from the Devil, Frankie slowed. She noisily swallowed and turned her head to Zachariah. The bald angel's eyes narrowed above a slight, smug curl of his lips. That same resonating rage from before flared in the archangel next to her.

She tried for another deep breath, but it weakened to a short gasp.

Frankie stepped to the side until she stood behind Lucifer, watching Zachariah's arrogance melt away.

"You foolish maggot!"

His words struck her with a wave of panic. She tore her gaze from him and found Lucifer's instead, still staring at her from over his shoulder. Only his eyes were now sheltered under faintly furrowed brows. Frankie clenched her jaw as she repressed the urge to whimper.

Her collar suddenly tightened, and she was jerked back. She caught the briefest glimpse of where Zachariah had been standing only to find his presence gone. A thundering flutter of giant wings blew her hair into her eyes. Her panic blazed.

There was a wet squelch behind her. Something small but dense hit her back, sticking to her shirt. After a single second, she felt the heat of whatever stained her clothes. The constriction on her collar loosened. With trembling hands, she lifted her arms and looked down at them. Blood dripped off her fingertips.

With a shrill gasp, Frankie quickly turned. Zachariah stood in front of her, a bloody hand reaching out of a fresh hole in his chest. His eyes were wide, his gaping mouth wider. Over his shoulder, Lucifer whispered into his ear with an incensed grimace quirking his lip.

"I would be remiss if I didn't remind you that Michael is not absolute. I am every bit a god as he thinks he is. This war will continue without you… and you have died for nothing."

Lucifer lowered his arm. Zachariah's limp body followed the steep lean, sliding off the extended limb with nauseating squishing until he finally fell to the floor. His body illuminated from underneath him as his eyes and mouth, facing the floor, leaked out a blinding yellow light before dimming.

Frankie stared at Zachariah's wings now burned into the carpet, still smoldering. A puddle of blood oozed into the fibers and seeped towards her bare feet.

She stepped away from the body. Lucifer's head snapped up at the movement, locking her into his gaze like a hawk. Frankie felt the overwhelming need to run, to turn around and fly through the front door. But her feet stayed put, not out of fear but by choice.

She wasn't going anywhere.

Lucifer's brows furrowed again, and he faintly cocked his head, assessing her. It was the last thing she saw before the world around her glitched and delved into pitch blackness.


Dean shut the Impala's trunk with a thud that quietly echoed across the gravel on Bobby's lawn. The man in question stood in front of the railing of his porch, overlooking the two younger boys stocking their car with everything they might need to fight off the angels.

"We got everything?" Sam asked as he rounded the Impala to the passenger side door. Dean nodded from the back. Sam returned the gesture and rested his linked hands on the top of the car.

"Okay. It's a long drive to- Van Nuys, you said?" Dean glanced toward Cas.

"Better hightail it," Bobby sighed. "Don't think Adam'll last long with whatever they roped him into. You go fetch 'im, and I'll try to find any signs of angel activity. Might lead to where they're storin' the kid."

Cas nodded up to the older man. "I will stay and help you."

Dean turned to the angel, eyes alert. "Woah, nuh uh. We'll need backup."

Sam rounded the car, glancing at his riled brother. He crossed his arms and spoke in a calmer tone. "The Room's gotta be heavily guarded."

"Maybe so. But if we stand any chance of saving them both, we must divide our efforts. Besides, if you still intend to take Adam's place as Michael's vessel," Cas stepped up to Dean, gravel crunching under his feet, "at least I won't have to see you fail."

Dean glared into Cas' scowl. The muscles of his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth together. Dean deliberately turned, keeping Cas' eyes in his own until he fully turned his back on the angel. He walked to the driver's side of the Impala, Sam following on the passenger side. Just as Sam opened his door, however, Dean halted and turned on his heels, marching back up to Cas.

"How do you think we're gonna save them? By 'doing our best'? Wishing on a star, maybe? Our only chance to save Adam and Frankie is through negotiation. If I can talk to Michael, I can set whatever terms I want in exchange for sayin' 'yes' and he'd have to do it. We don't have a lot of options, Cas! So, unless you've got Frankie's location and an archangel's blade tucked up in that pissy ass of yours, you can bite me!"

Sam and Bobby shared a brief glance, surprise hidden under discomfited expressions. They watched as Dean stood tall and imposing before the angel, his silent panting making his chest rise and fall at a rapid pace. Cas appeared as angry as they expected. You can't shout and insult a former celestial warrior of Heaven without him looking seconds away from squishing you into the dirt.

Cas held Dean's irate gaze in his own, but after a few long moments, the angered expression dimmed. His head dipped, and his eyes fell to the gravel. His stiff shoulders softened. Dean's brows eased at the sight.

Cas raised his head, returning his gaze to Dean and revealing a gentler, more apologetic emotion. He opened his mouth to respond, but what came out was not remotely words. He grunted in pain and reached for his head.

"Cas?!" Sam exclaimed, leaving the open door of the Impala to rush to the angel's side. By the time he reached him, Cas' eyes were wide open, brows cinched in concern, with his hand still cradling his forehead.

Dean looked him over with his hands hovering his body, ready to catch him if he fell forward. "What the hell was that?"

"The angels. They sent out a state of emergency."

Dean heaved a large, frustrated breath. "Oh, that sounds fantastic."

"What for?" Sam asked, holding a hand to Cas' shoulder to ease the angel's light sway.

Cas lowered his hand, but he made no move to reel in his faraway stare. "Zachariah is dead. Killed by Lucifer."

A rush of shared trepidation swept through the group. No matter how jumbled their thoughts were, they all knew what this meant.

"So…," Sam mumbled, "who's watching Adam and Frankie?"

Dean turned to Sam, traces of fear and panic battling the overall rage for dominance over his face. He whipped back around to face Cas and clasped a hand on the unsteady angel's other shoulder. "Cas, do you have any idea where this went down? Even a guess?"

Castiel stood straight, Dean's hand falling from its perch. "Foliage."

"Foliage… Alabama?" Sam asked. He shared a look with Dean.

"That was where-"

"The storage unit."

The panic grew intense enough to force a wary huff through Dean's mouth. He hurried passed Sam and made a beeline for the driver's seat. "We're changing course. Cas, you're with us."

"We'll never make it in time!" Sam shouted, following after his brother. Dean stopped in his tracks. He absorbed Sam's words, and once they sank in, he faced his brother. Fear finally made it to his eyes, shadowed under furrowed brows. "It'll take too long to get there."

It was at least 16 hours from Sioux Falls to Alabama. Even with Dean's willful ignorance of speed limits and basic traffic laws, they would never make it before Frankie willingly gave up her body and soul. There was nothing they could do to stop her, but dammit, they had to try.

"Tennessee."

Sam and Dean looked toward Cas. The angel had another faraway stare on his face, but this one was short-lived. He turned and marched up to the Winchesters. "What?" Dean asked.

"Tennessee," Cas repeated as he lifted two hands to Sam and Dean's foreheads.


It was completely dark. Frankie couldn't see a thing, and the world around her was cold. She reached out, hoping to find any clue as to her supposedly new location. When she couldn't touch anything, she experimented with a step forward. Her right foot landed in something wet, and her left foot hit something dense.

With a creak of delicate metal and an electric buzz, light flashed in Frankie's eyes. She quickly shut them, tears spawning against the fresh burn. When the sting in them eased, she cracked open her eyes to see Lucifer clutching a small string connected to a single yellow lightbulb. Around them were boxes stacked on top of each other to form towers of clutter, and hangers with old clothes along with antique furniture left little room for them to move. She looked down to see what she had stepped in, finding Zachariah's lifeless body.

"Sorry that you had to see that. Though I'm sure you've experienced worse." Frankie took a single step backward as Lucifer poked Zachariah with the tip of his shoe. "You didn't have any ties to this guy, did you?"

Frankie's wide eyes couldn't leave him. Her shiver remembered that it existed and started up again the same time that her fear took back the helm. She crossed her arms over her chest to grapple any feeling of security, but her right arm fell through the crook of her left. A sullen glimpse down at them revealed that she was back in her normal body.

"So bizarre. You couldn't shut up the first time we met. And now… well, you've barely said two words to me."

Frankie closed her eyes. Doing so jostled around a mixed bag of emotions. Not seeing him was easier to allow words to form, but not being able to see him left her guard nonexistent. An unholy union of control and fear coursed through her as she tried to keep her mind on Crowley's plan.

"Silence is actually a good look for you."

"What's the use for pleasantries?"

"It was good while it lasted."

"We can't dance around the obvious, can we?"

"Meaning?"

Frankie replayed as many words from her encounter with Crowley as she could in the juvenile state of her panic attack. The words she clung to the most – the ones she repeated like a mantra – were "You are the key to stopping the Apocalypse."

"The last time we were together, you remember what you said to me?" When Lucifer took a while to answer, Frankie opened her eyes only to see him staring off to the side with a clueless look on his face. She dared a roll of her eyes. "'Take some time to think it over'."

"Right, right," Lucifer quickly muttered, waving a placating hand. "Well, Frankie, it's been six months. Have you given the offer some thought?"

Her thick swallow was rough down her tight throat. "I have."

Lucifer's brows lowered over his pensive eyes. He looked her up and down, a question obvious on his face. He tilted his head back in time with the crossing of his arms. "Why did you step toward me? You could have gone with Zachariah. Not that you would have gotten far, but…" He shrugged, dipping his head forward. "Why?"

There was an ever so brief moment before Zachariah snatched her that she wondered that, too. Had her decision been the wrong one? Was there a chance – even a small one – that both she and her angel adversary could have escaped?

But all that pondering was for naught. She knew her choice was the right one, if not for her then for the planet.

"Going with Zachariah would have only prolonged the inevitable. I've already had enough of that. I'm tired. Of waiting for things to get better. Or worse. I'm ready to put all this to bed."

Lucifer's eyes narrowed so much that it appeared as if he was scowling at her. "What are you saying?"

There was a voice in the back of her head screaming at her to think about her next words. It was screaming at her to pray to Cas. Maybe now that Zachariah was dead, he might hear her. But the Rational Frankie – her presence both welcomed and despised – knew with absolute certainty that her dearest friend wouldn't get a swing in before Lucifer turned him into a splatter on the antique chifforobe.

Frankie knew her next words by heart. She had practiced them in her head in the several weeks since Crowley's plot was put into motion. However, that didn't make them any easier to say.

"If the offer still stands… I will accept it."

The seconds that followed were agonizingly long, but the silent torture was finally broken by a musing hum from Lucifer. "Just like that? No kicking and screaming?"

"No kicking and screaming."

"Why?" Lucifer quickly blurted with a miffed shake of his head.

"You once told me to serve my best interests. I refused then because I was naïve. I suffered a month in Hell for it. And now I'm back." Frankie's heart quickened its pace at brewing memories from the pit. She held her right arm, substituting it for the mild comfort of crossed arms. "I know how this works. How bad it can get. You can keep pushing and shoving, standing for what you believe in, but in the end, we're all in the same hands we were swatting away. I have the chance to partner with some very powerful hands, I see that now."

'God, Frankie, how far you've fallen.'

She clenched her teeth tightly together, straining to keep the spiteful voice in her head silent. "If the offer is up for grabs, I'll take it," she hissed.

Lucifer hummed again, this time with a nod. He sniffed and started a slow pace around Frankie and the dead angel, circling them. "Well, I don't know if that offer does still stand. You did make me wait half a year for the right answer."

Frankie repressed an annoyed sigh. "Name your new offer."

"You don't get your body back. It's mine. But when all is said and done, your soul won't go to Hell. I'll see to that. I'm not so sure Heaven will take you, but that's not my problem."

As long as she didn't go back to Hell, Frankie didn't care where she ended up. What concerned her, though, was why Lucifer would want to keep her body. Maybe it was just punishment for refusing the first time, but that still didn't seem right. He would have no use for it once the world was one big ember.

"So, that's a deal then?" the Devil asked, passing by her line of sight with arched brows.

Frankie tried to put on a tougher face. She wasn't sure if it was effective. "Hold on. I have some demands of my own."

"Of course. Name them," Lucifer shrugged.

This was something else Frankie had memorized. She learned her lesson from her last deal. She wouldn't make the same mistake again. "You leave Sam and Dean alone. Castiel, too. And Bobby. You can't harm them in any way. You can't touch them, can't cause any kind of natural disaster to catch them, can't order one of your damn demons to hurt them, can't order anyone to hurt them. You will leave. Them. Alone."

Lucifer adjusted his crossed arms and continued his pace around the other two bodies. "I don't know if I can agree to that. They're already out for my head. Once you and I team up…" He whistled as he passed by her right side, even leaning closer to her ear to make the sound louder.

Frankie jerked her head toward him as he paced, hissing through clenched teeth. "Then you will let them know that if they come near you, you will damn their sister's soul to Hell."

"Ah, but that's contradictory," Lucifer exclaimed, raising a pointing finger. "That would be taking away your requisition, means for a broken contract."

"They don't have to know that I'm already promised freedom."

Lucifer's feet finally slowed to a stop across from her. He quietly chuckled, lightly nodding his head as it angled down. "You're not very good at negotiation."

"It's never been my strong suit."

"It's beginning to sound like you want to be possessed."

"I do."

"Why?"

Frankie was beginning to get really tired of hearing that question from him, mostly because every time he did it made her want to take back everything and make a run for it. However, the frustration of it all caused her anger to flare, making her words come out easier.

"So, you can talk to your fucking brother and end the Apocalypse! If wearing me will help you do that, then quit stalling and get it over with!"

The faint humor in Lucifer's eyes dissipated, as did the arch in his brows and the faint curl of his lips. His eyes narrowed, and his once tiny smile fell into a frown. He was unnervingly still, appearing more like he did the night he made her his own personal whetstone. He exuded pure suspicion, and it made Frankie anxious as hell.

"What?" she forced out, her voice weak but backed by fury.

Lucifer held his leery gaze on her as he tilted his head back. "You're up to something."

"Oh, my god!" Frankie exclaimed, tossing her arms in the air.

"You would never be this eager to say 'yes'."

"I'm not eager, I'm fucking exhausted! I'm tired of living in constant fear! Tired of wondering if tomorrow I'm gunna wake up and hear that-that an entire town got wiped off the face of the planet! Or that someone I care about got slaughtered by some demons! Either bring peace or bring destruction, I don't care! Just do it now."

Frankie's panting filled the silence of the dark room. She held her eyes on the archangel's, maintaining as hostile an expression as she could. She couldn't afford to let up for a single second; he would never buy it.

From what she could tell, though, he wasn't. He still harbored that wary glare, looking moments away from either flying off or finishing what he started months ago. Frankie needed to act fast before he decided.

She propped her hand on her hip, manufacturing an apathetic stare. "Or you can keep riding around in your current vessel, fraying at the seams, until you're nothing but a scuff on the sidewalk."

Frankie saw it all. His suspicion turned to aggravation in the blink of an eye. He knew that no matter how doubtful her story seemed, he still needed a vessel. Frankie assumed that he believed himself five steps ahead of whatever plan she had prepared because he loosened the tension in his shoulders and fully faced her with an apathetic expression of his own.

"I accept your terms, Frankie."

Behind every other overbearing emotion brewing in her body, Frankie felt relief. "And I accept yours."

"So. Do we have a deal?"

'Do we have a deal?'

Frankie flinched at the distant memory echoing in her mind. The vision rushed back to her, plastering itself in her frontal lobe. She recalled every fold in Crowley's face from his mischievous smirk.

When the demon asked her that, a heavy lump formed in her gut, weighing it down and gushing dread up into her chest. She knew what she was doing was wrong – extremely wrong – but she had no other choice. Her answer was not the one her heart wanted to say, but she pushed on, willingly ignoring it. In doing so, she signed her life away for ten years.

The feeling in her gut was as foreign as it was that night. It dulled her senses, summoning nothing but fear and doubt into her brain, blocking everything else out. Rational Frankie was too far away to hear, yet she held onto the last thing that part of her had said. Her faith in this plan was quickly fading, so she hurried to see it through before she completely lost the ability to think clearly.

With a deep inhale, Frankie looked into the eyes of Lucifer and forced out the hardest word she had ever spoken.

"Yes."


Dean kept the stolen Mustang steady down the long-stretching road, never going below fifteen over the speed limit. Luckily, the police were on every road other than the one they were hurdling down. It wasn't like he would have pulled over for them anyway. There were more important things than a stupid ticket and a condescending Alabamian cop.

The Impala zoomed passed a sign that read "SILLOH CITY LIMIT." The sign made a shred of Dean ache. There weren't many good memories tied to this town. However, the dismay was mowed down by the relief that they were getting closer to Foliage.

Dean sighed quietly through his nose and lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror. He scanned Cas' unconscious body. He collapsed the second they landed behind some shabby diner in southern Tennessee. He hadn't twitched an inch, but that was expected. The last time they got beamed somewhere, the angel hadn't woken up in days. They would just have to hope he'd pull it together by the time they arrived at the storage unit. In twenty minutes.

Dean huffed and returned his gaze to the road. "Is he even alive back there?"

"It would surprise me, honestly," Sam sighed, glancing at the angel in the backseat.

The ride had mostly been silent. Neither Sam nor Dean were in any position to talk things out; they were panicking too much. If what Cas said was true, then Lucifer could be walking around in Frankie at that exact moment. Again, hope seemed like their only weapon to wield.

Something else was bothering Sam, something huge. He wasn't sure if his brother had given it any thought, and he wouldn't blame him if he hadn't. The moment they found out about Zachariah's death, it was go, go, go. No time to fully think things out.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"What's… what's the plan here exactly? I mean, we drive up, stop Frankie from saying 'yes'… then what?"

Dean didn't even put on his blinker to pass the legally driving car in front of him. "We get her outta there. Send her off with Cas. Teleport her if he has any juice left. And y'know, if he's awake."

"Right. Yeah, I got that," Sam said with a nod. He looked down to his lap, his brows apprehensively furrowed. "That still leaves the problem of us with Lucifer."

Dean went to speak, but he battled with his words. He looked over to Sam, his lips parted, wanting to say something he was unsure about, before returning to the road. "Working on that."

Sam nodded his head with a huff. He watched the world speed by through his window. Dean might not have known what they were going to do, but the same couldn't be said about the younger Winchester. "I may have a solution."

Dean's long inhale told Sam that he was already au courant to Sam's next words. "Do I even wanna know?"

"I think… maybe you were right. We don't have any idea how to stop him. He's gonna pick off every one of our weaknesses. He's on the verge of doing so right this second. I still think that, with time, we could find a way to stop him, really, I do."

"… But?"

Sam tore his gaze from the window and pointed it toward Dean. "We don't have time."

"So, what are you saying, Sam?" Dean asked while sparing a brief, wary look at his brother.

"Lucifer's only after one thing. A vessel. Maybe we should give it to him."

Dean's next stare at Sam was much longer than the last. "No."

Sam's brows reached for his hairline. He scoffed bitterly. "Now who's being hypocritical?"

"Sam-"

"No! We've had to lock you in the panic room for days to keep you from running off with Michael, and now I'm thinking of following in your footsteps and you say 'no'?!"

"Look, it's not the same."

"Are you serious? How is that not the same?!"

"Just shut up and listen-"

"No, I won't shut up! Look, I've been fighting this battle, too! Longer than you have. And I wised up because I believed in our cause – something I learned from you, actually." Dean cut his eyes to Sam without moving his head from the road. "Do you even know how hard it was for me to ignore the obvious? That getting the Apocalypse over with was looking like our only way out? You must because you just went through the same thing!"

"It's not the same thing, Sam!"

"How?!"

"Because it's you!" Dean snapped his head toward his brother, a deep glare tightening his face. "Because you're my little brother, and it's my job to keep you from making decisions that will ruin your life! And not just your life, the lives of millions of innocent people!"

Sam, though still peeved at Dean's hypocrisy, released the anger with a long sigh. "You can't protect me from the Apocalypse, Dean."

"Can I just try?!" Dean lingered his glare. He pressed his lips into a line, stopping unsavory words from escaping. In lieu of them, Dean ripped his gaze away and looked back through the windshield, muttering less fervent words. "Can't you just… let me freakin' try?"

"You didn't let me."

Dean briefly shut his eyes as a terse sigh left him. The fight was leaving him. "You're right. No, you're right. This is what I wanted. Me with Michael, you with him, it's just…" Dean shrugged, fighting to find his words. "We tried everything, didn't we? We tried everything?" Sam sat still and silent in his seat. Dean looked over to him, the fire in his eyes fading. "Is this what you want? Like, what you really want?"

Sam lengthily inhaled and forcefully exhaled. "No. Far from it. But it's what I know I need to do. Lucifer is getting a new vessel no matter what. I'm not putting Frankie in that position. She's my little sister. And… 'it's my job to keep her from making decisions that will ruin her life'."

The corner of Dean's mouth slightly lifted before the weight of his frown brought it back down. "She's gone through enough."

"More than enough."

They hadn't known Frankie for long, but the time they had with her left a huge impact. A sister they never knew they had, one with a spark they both lost long ago. A bright girl with a passion for monsters and an even greater passion for family. That ardor got her into a lot of trouble in her short time with them, but it was nothing they hadn't done before. She truly was a Winchester, through and through.

Losing her took more out of Sam than he expected, and learning that she was brought back filled him with more joy than he could have hoped for in the sorrowful pit that his life had become. Finally, a win! Sure, her new life was far from perfect, but she was alive. Sam couldn't have wished for better.

He glanced at Dean. He wondered if he had felt the same when he found out. "Hey, Dean," he said, looking through the windshield. "How did you find out that she was alive?"

Dean was quiet for a few seconds. His brow was furrowed pensively instead of irately. The Impala approached a sign that read "FOLIAGE NEXT RIGHT." After turning onto the road, Dean took in a soft breath, ready to spin the tale.

"I was on a ghoul case, the one in Georgia. I was in the neighborhood and thought… I dunno. Maybe it would help ease the blow if I swung by her old place. Or make it worse. Either way seemed better than the rut I was in. Well, I got there, not expecting much, but the chick who lives there now, Vera, recognized me. I was already thinking up some lame-ass excuse, but she beat me to the punch. She pulled out these envelopes. Said they belonged to Frankie, credit card statements or something. They kept getting mailed to her old address. She wanted me to take them to her new place."

Sam snorted and nodded lightly. He imagined the rage his brother must have felt at the implication.

"So, I was pissed. Some asshat was waltzing around using her name and her money, so I was gonna tear him a whole bushel of new ones. I pulled up to this jagoff's apartment and staked it out, waiting for him to show his face." Dean had trailed off. After a few seconds, Sam looked over to Dean to see a sad smile ghosting over his face. "I gotta tell you, Sam, I was not expecting to see hers. Especially not his," he added with a thumb pointing to the backseat.

"So… why didn't you go after her?"

"I wanted to. You have no idea how much I did," he humorlessly chuckled. "But, uh… Y'see, she was smiling. She just came outta Hell, Sam, she should not have been smiling. I figured something was going right here. The independence, Cas, I don't know what it was, but it was making her… happy. Happy after Hell. I'd be jealous if I wasn't so damn relieved." Sam didn't think Dean's smile could have gotten sadder, but he had been wrong before. It was wiped away, however, by the zealous huff that the older brother forced out. "So, I let her go. Let her live her life, what little of it was left. Though, I strolled her street if I was in driving distance. Just to check up on her."

Sam grew a forlorn smile of his own. "Frankie and I have been sending letters to each other." Dean looked over at Sam with his brows cinched, but from what he could tell, it was not out of anger. More so out of curiosity. "She's doing okay. She knows we both know she's alive. She's waiting until she feels ready before seeing us again. Or… at least she was before this."

Dean and Sam looked through the windshield at the tree-awned road, panic and dread creeping back into their minds.

Groaning from the backseat halted their brewing trepidation. Dean peered through the rearview mirror as Sam turned to face the angel. Cas pushed against the seat, holding his forehead in one hand. Blood was still smeared under his nose, and the bags under his eyes were even darker than before.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean asked, repetitively switching his gaze from the road to the mirror.

"Something's happened," Cas grunted, his eyes staring far beyond the car. "Something's wrong."

"What? What's going on? Is it Frankie?" Sam hastily asked, gripping the seat tighter.

Cas looked around the car, frantically gazing through each window. "Where's the storage facility?"

Dean could see the turn of the road where the building would be. "Just up ahead."

"We must go faster."

Dean didn't have to be told twice. He dropped his foot heavily on the accelerator, lurching the car forward and faster down the road. He whipped the steering wheel into the parking lot of the facility, grinding the wheels against gravel and spraying the tiny rocks in every direction.

The Impala was barely put into park before the three doors popped open. The passengers rushed out and raced toward the fenced area where the units were stored. They approached a gate and pushed against it. It wouldn't open. It rattled and wiggled but didn't draw back. Sam grabbed a lock and chain wrapped around the handle. It kept the gate from allowing trespassers.

"Locked," he spat, dropping the latch.

"Move back," Dean grunted. He reached into the back of his belt and unveiled his pistol. Sam and Cas barely had enough time to take a step back before Dean shot the lock, exploding its mechanisms and freeing the gate of its constriction. The trio burst through the gate, trespassing be damned.

They rushed to unit 23, remembering it from their last visit. They faced the same problem as before. The door was locked. Dean banged on the metal door with his fist, shouting their sister's name with no answer. Sam jiggled the handle, trying to find any weaknesses. Shooting the door wouldn't be of much use this time.

Sam and Dean's shoulders were shoved back by Cas. The angel stumbled. He was still unsteady on his feet. Sam saw fresh blood on top of the crusted streams under his nostrils. He was not in good shape. Despite his exhaustion, Cas lifted his hand, slightly trembling, to the door. An echoing metallic screech bellowed before the door came unlatched from its hinges and shot to the ceiling.

Sam, Dean, and Cas stared into Frankie's storage unit, still filled with all her childhood belongings plus one additional item: a dead Zachariah. They glared at the bleeding angel, an imprint of his wings burned onto the concrete and a little on the adjacent vanity.

Sam and Dean stepped into the unit, their tongues still but their minds running a mile a minute. Dean swallowed and clenched his teeth at the sight of bloody footprints. They were exactly Frankie's size. He lifted his fuming scowl to Sam. His brother's face mirrored his.

Their attention was called to the sound of creaking metal. They turned to Cas. He was leaning against the doorframe, his hand clutching – no, crushing – the steel frame, eyes locked onto the footprints with murder in his glower.