Michael – Five Weeks

XX

Dirt and smears of blood were caught beneath her nails as the girl lay unconscious in the back. Her hands ached, skin cracked and dry in the high desert altitude even in the late night as she drove. Headlights just showing the black ribbon with one yellow strip and glimpses of brush scattered, desperately clinging to barren ground.

She understood now. Out here with that shuddering breathing that filled the car like a skipping she could not right. The oppressive thought that the noise would stop, fill everything with a terrible final silence as her hands tightened on the wheel. This was suffering, the rattle of struggle and survival and she wanted to correct it, to ease the pain so that this life could continue as she was meant to.

She understood now the fear in Dean's voice as he pressed shirts against her, whispering everything was fine as Sam drove without speaking.

Damn her limited sense, she could not tell if it was a human or something worse that had done the damage. Decorated this small woman as an art project of punctures complete with torture. She didn't know if anywhere was safe as she scanned ahead; looking for something, any building.

"Please," came a gasp from the back and Michael turned her head to the review mirror to see her passenger. Eyes glinting, catching what little light the dials provided.

"I will get you help as soon as I find something," she said, hoping to be reassuring but there was a head shake, vehement and final.

"He'll come, find – " her words cut off, a cough and a rasp filling in the gap and Michael knew what she wanted.

"I do not know if I have the supplies to help you."

"Please."

It was a terrible request, one Michael did not want to fulfill but right now she did not even know if there was a hospital within a hundred miles. That stuttering breathing was calmer as she nodded, those eyes closing as the girl tried to keep her blood within her body. Michael picked up her newest cell, hoping for assistance she was not sure could be had.

'Ello."

"Robert Singer? This is Michelle, if you remember me."

A pause than a slight scoff, as though she had offended him.

"Sure I do. Can't forget small, angry and suicidally stupid. What can I do ya for?"

Michael sucked in her breath, reminding herself this was how he talked. "I found a woman in the road severely injured and I am unsure if it was a human attack or something else. She is refusing to go to a hospital and I doubt there is one around here."

"Where you at?"

"Southwestern Oregon, around Highway 95. I believe I saw a sign concerning Mount Stevens."

Sounds of shifting fabric, wind noise that hinted the man was perhaps driving himself as she remembered this was a cell number.

"Lucky you – I'm just passing through Idaho Falls. Was going towards where you're at. Assuming we're after the same news report."

"Yes, the missing hikers. I do not know if she is one or something else."

"Alrighy," a deep breath as the man though and Michael drove, hoping something would show up that she could at least drag the woman into and set up wards. Driving like this, out on an open lonely road was not protection. "Find a place, barn, shack don't matter. Give me a holler about where. I have some kits on me for this kind of mess."

"I understand," she said taking the phone from her ear.

There was still that breathing, more even now, more controlled. She pushed the urge to start beating her hands of bone and mortality against the dash. Before all of this she could have healed with a touch. Cast the shadow of her wings upon this land to burn all evil from it. Now, oh now, she was nothing but a thin shell that was bound all through her. Something constructed of tissue and easily collapsed.

Pain that only reminded her of a lost brother, back when he had tried to lure her with words of love and false pleas of forgiveness for his crimes before slipping a blade into her side.

The headlights showed something in the distance, a building of some sort and she swallowed her hope that it was usable.

"A friend is nearby. I will do what I can for you until he arrives with more supplies."

A slight sigh, something she chose to take as acceptance. Why had Father made his most loved creations so vulnerable?

It was a barn, old and weather worn as she turned into the dirt driveway barely worse than the road she had been on. The wood stood with its marks of time and the etching of the wind's fingers. It would do for her current needs.

Cautiously, she got out, flashlight in hand. It was quiet, so unearthly still that it was consuming. Silence – another thing she was still yet unaccustomed to after eons of hearing the clamor of heaven in her essence. Now it was as though anything could be lying in wait and any noise would be her end. Well at least the end before her body repaired all the pain.

Her prison was eternal after all.

The building contained the air of abandonment long before now, which was agreeable as she pulled her phone back out.

XX

There was no more blood leaking from the wounds, the woman who had managed to give her name as Mellissa. To her dismay, she would hazard they had be made by a sharp instrument and not claws. It did not rule out something akin to a demon but there were no other signs or smells of sulfur. All signs led to a fully human assailant upon this innocent woman who was still in shock preventing her from grieving.

She had so little water on her, enough for them to drink but not enough to get the mats of blood out of her long dark hair. Carefully she removed the debris from what she assumed had been gathered when this woman crawled to the road. Fortunately, she had had a blanket, worn but warm to provide dignity since the child's torn clothes failed to do that. One of her boots were missing and Michael feared that such a thing coupled with a probably blood trail would tell whatever had abused her as to where she had gone.

That it would begin a search for what was lost and knowing his face.

Michael had drawn the wards, salted all points of entry she could get to as those eyes followed her.

"Why?" the question was finally posed as Michael returned to her side to look over her wounds and hasty bandages.

"I do not know if what hurt you was human," she said slowly, watching the reaction but there was only a nod, some sort of understanding. "Can you tell me what happened?"

A cough and Michael helped her take a sip of water, grateful that there was color in her face again visible in the small amount of light her flashlight gave. Thoughts of infections, what humans so easily get, and she had to ignore them. There was nothing else to be done in this moment over that.

"My boyfriend," Mellissa managed, staring as she tried to focus, bandages on her face making it hard to open her mouth beyond a thin line. "He wanted a hike. There's a lot of things out here to see and he said it was to be a surprise where we were going."

The words were faint, Michael leaning in to listen as a hand wrapped itself around her wrist, pleading for something Michael did not understand.

"What happened on the hike?"

"Something, I don't –" there was panic and Michael tried to calm her in the way she had seen the brothers to. It seemed to work, lines calmed in the child's face, eyes not so wide and worried as Michael ran her fingers through her hair. "I thought it was safe, that he was safe." Another rattling sound that Michael disliked as those dark eyes stared up. "I prayed he would just kill me. Like Danny. I know he's dead."

There was a frantic movement of her arms, as though if she could just get up it would cease to be the truth and she could retrieve him. Michael placed a hand softly on her chest, hoping to still her movements so she would not tear at the stitches.

"It is alright," Michael said, hating that she could do so little. Was this Father's lesson?

"My mom," she whispered something forming her eyes like tears. "When I was little, she would do that with my hair."

"Get some rest, a friend is coming soon," Michael told her, continuing the motion feeling the strain leave the woman as she worked out the mess clutching at the stands of hair. This child who had suffered and yet none had listened to her cries.

Another nod and the girl closed her eyes and Michael tried not to think of the pain she was in. She hoped Singer would have something at least for that, if not more appropriate bandages. Or directions to a hospital which would be ideal.

There was the question of how the girl escaped and dread was settling that she could be infected. If it was a creature and not a human there was always the possibility of blood or salvia contamination. Which would most likely mean she was saving this child to merely kill her later.

Another spark of anger that Father had allowed something as corrupt as Eve to continue. To be forbidden from driving her sword through that abomination made the seals on her heavier. Even if then such action would have been on principle and not love for these creatures.

Mellissa's breathing was deeper, more even signifying something close to sleep and Michael moved to lean against a splintered wall looking up. Part of the roof had collapsed long ago and she took in the sky. It was radiant out here, one positive were the stars crowding together. Gazing up she wondered what her brothers were doing. If there was one that mourned for her and not the weapon she was. A simple desire to call out to Castiel who she had been told was once again reformed. That perhaps he would understand if not forgive.

She closed her eyes for a few minutes to rest, listening for anything. Her hand was over her weapon, waiting and knowing that her want had been foolish.

In the end she would always lose, even if she won.

XX

A slight brightness was in the sky as dawn pushed upwards when a truck arrived, parking next to her stolen car of the week. Singer was getting out and she felt grateful as she stood in the doorway, a large bag with him as he came near. He looked like his normal disheveled self, his ever present trucker hat slightly askew on his head, flannel and jeans and boots that looked as though they had seen at least two days of continuous wear. His hand wiping at his auburn beard tinged with gray when watery eyes weary of driving stared at her, wrinkles in his face deep as a testament to his exhaustion.

"How is she?"

"Stable."

A glance towards her and then Singer was inside passing through the wards. His eyes fell to a couple that she knew were foreign to him, ones of angels and ancient language and there would be questions later. She saw it in the way he took them in and steeled herself since he did not know and she would rather that continued.

"Mellissa?" Michael roused her, the child's eyes panicked then pain filled as she focused on them. "My friend has arrived and would like to help you."

"Betcha that hurts like a son of a bitch," Singer said, taking in the stab wounds as clinically as possible. "I have something to take the edge off a bit."

"Please." Something desperate there and Michael cursed herself for not having this.

Singer produced white pills, small in his palm. Michael helped her sit up a bit to be able to take in a sip of water to push them down, her body shuddering at the effort.

"Well balls, this is a fine mess. Let me wrap you up, got the good stuff."

Mellissa seemed agreeable and suddenly Michael wanted to be outside. Excusing herself she went and stood on the other side of the door, in the open air by their vehicles and the just blooming dawn stretching her colored veil across the horizon. Now the air felt peaceful, that still tension that had held in the late night hours dissipated.

Blood was dried on her shirt, the cuffs deep in crimson now, flaring as a flag in the growing light. She pulled her bag open, withdrawing a shirt as smooth almost forgotten fabric deep in the bag's recesses brushed against her seeking hands. It would do no good to even acknowledge the existence of such a gift as she busied her fingers on the buttons. Clean cloth did little to relieve her feelings of dirt etched in. That hidden fabric, a promise now lost, perhaps never fully born and she shoved her bag away a little on the front seat.

Such a thing given to her when she had bled and the way Sam had looked at her. As if he understood the winding guild. Words and desires trapped beneath a shifting cloak of unspent fury that flowed to blindness until almost all was lost.

Perhaps, if she had seen it sooner she would have believed her once cherished brother could have known remorse. Now, there was little but pity and a beloved who regarded her with distrust and scorn even if his hands were kind. Hands that had murdered and tortured and dragged the worthy to salvation that pressed in ways to heal her. Eyes distant and suffering when there was so little to be done.

Once she could have raised her hand and made the universe kneel to grant them salvation, lift them from the path she had stubbornly believed was destiny.

Little would be accomplished like this and she slammed the door, sealing away that last threat of hope. She was the eternal solider, she would endure as Father told her. She would always love Him enough for that.

"Well, it's a bit less iffy," Singer said as she managed not to jump at his voice beside her. Dawn had broken completely through the night, the sky much brighter as the desert stretch out around them. "They look like stab wounds, makes me think more of a human sort of thing."

She nodded, since that affirmed her own suspicions. "Did she tell you anything else?"

"Not a lot," the old man scoffed, kicking his boot in the dirt. "Said she had something sprayed in her face, her boy making a gurgling noise when she couldn't see. Bastard told her he would always find her. She's terrified. Pretty sure her boy toy is dead out there. Whoever it was wanted her."

"If it is human –"

"We don't do human," Singer cut in taking her in. "This is a police case. We need a hospital to dump her at but it's going to be a drive.

"Take her."

Silence fell heavy between them and she knew she was being studied, those eyes narrowing and accusing.

"And you? I don't see you moseying along to take in all this scenic glory."

"Someone needs to put a stop to this."

"So bleeding out in the back of that boy's car and being bed ridden for two weeks at my place didn't get it through your thick skull?" The words were hot, demanding and there was fear there knowing he could not stop her.

"It is human. It is not like the last time when we did not realize that the creature was still there or that it was something that one would not expect," she paused glancing over at the still accusing stare. "I will be prepared."

"You ain't doing it alone."

"She needs a hospital and right now he does not know if she made it out alive. When the news breaks he will most likely change hunting grounds or vanish entirely. Now is the only time."

A grunt, something like acquiescence since she was right. They had this tiny window where the monster of human origin would be looking for her, not sure if she escaped fully. Michael doubted that whoever it was behind this would stay once the story was in the papers. And given how desolate things were she bet it would take up the whole front page.

"I should get my things," she said finally to break the quiet and the old man made another noise that sounded like unvoiced frustration.

"What are those other wards? Never seen them but I know they're angel speak."

"Something very old," she said cautious as to what was slipped out. "They keep out things that the others don't. Feel free to copy them if you wish."

Brushing past him, she gathered her things, whispering to Mellissa that she would eradicate the problem and that she was being taken somewhere safe for help. Real help in a real setting that would tend to the fragile flesh of humans. A small hand grabbed her arm, surprisingly tight, alarm in those eyes as Michael tried to separate herself without force.

"I will be alright. This is what I do. I have no fear of him or the pain he is wishing to inflict. He will know it in the end, though."

The terror was still there when her arm was released. Michael with her bag in hand passed Singer at the door, the man rubbing his beard trying to think of a better solution and coming up empty.

"Don't like it," he offered as she walked by and she turned, hair falling into her face.

"Whether or not you do, it is what is happening."

He didn't say another word as she got into her car, the engine thankfully turning over in its ancient housing as she backed up to go the way she had come. To where she had found a bleeding woman collapsed in the road.

XX

It was still fairly early when she arrived in the area that she had found the woman. Driving a short ways further she found what she was looking for, what her boyfriend, who most likely was now adding to the ecosystem, had wanted to show Mellissa. A dusty sign telling of a hiking trail , a small pull off. There was one car there, empty and she presumed it belonged to the two humans who were attacked.

Air was cool on her skin as she got out, eyes taking in something other than brown. The area was not as barren as she had believed last night. There were wild flowers celebrating spring before the heat of summer, blankets of yellow and lavender blooming against the wide expanse of brown. A greener form of scrub entwined with the flowers in this vastness. A few trees here and there, Junipers raising their branches up to plead for rain in their perpetual shadow of the snow topped mountain in the distance.

Grabbing a small bag and ensuring her weapons were within easy access she began walking. There were few places to hide here and more than likely whatever was here had posed as someone lost, a fellow tourist out to see these places. A deep pain was in her, memories of how these places formed, pushed and moved and carved. Sharp plates that ground together, massive forms of ice that moved across the planet that created its own masterpieces to go with what was commanded of heaven to shape.

There was an almost unreadable sign proclaiming that this was a trail leading to a hot spring, common in these volcanic rich areas. This time of year still had cold mornings though if she was correct she was at the northern edge of a desert whose temperatures would rise swiftly.

No one else seemed to be about and the path was little worn, some forgotten wonder drifting at the edges of nothing. It was not until she heard the sounds of water moving not far ahead, mirrors of the springs reflecting the fading pinks of dawn against rust toned banks that she saw it. A shadow shifting around, far yet not far enough away from her. Someone else was here, someone who appeared to be looking for something.

A bush made her pause, a splash of color that was not natural.

The figure was a man, slight build and taller than her though most were barring young children. As he drew closer, some strange form of cautiousness to his steps, she could see the wild hair, a tear in his khaki shirt sleeve. Those eyes, there was something wrong with those eyes that were taking her in, looking her over as he came closer. The guess that he would be looking for his prey in this lonely plain had been correct. More than likely he had thought her severely wounded and perhaps had waited until light to not arouse more suspicion. Or perhaps just for better search conditions for even with a light it would be difficult to find anything out here once night consumed the sky.

Her small form proclaimed she would be easy to dispose of so that his face would not be known.

So instead she took in the hot springs, a small area that radiated heat that she found herself grateful for. Her coat was back in the car and her skin was sweat slicked from the walk and cooling rapidly. She did not regret leaving the coat however; she did not wish to be restricted in this encounter and he was now about ten feet away, his drifting steps stopping.

"Morning," he greeted, something strained in his voice.

I thought it was safe, that he was safe.

There was a symbol on his arm. A badge trimmed with a yellow gold color showing a forest and she knew how he had gotten so close without discomfort.

Michael nodded, making herself oblivious to the dark patterns on the parched earth that did not blend well with their surroundings.

"Didn't expect to see anyone out here, 'specially this early," he continued, determined to have a conversation. She looked fully at him, now only eight feet separating them. "I was hoping you were someone else."

"Is someone missing?" She kept her tone even, curious and was rewarded with a rolling of his shoulders.

"I think so. A young woman. Friends said she was coming out here but never got home." A smile with those words, something so cold that it drove a warning swiftly into her true being. "Don't suppose you've seen her?"

"I have not," she responded, shifting her weight to purposefully have her back more squarely towards him, the container in her palm concealed in her fingers. "Though I would assume you have given the blood."

No sound but she was sure she felt his breath, hot and rancid long before his arm raised to swing something towards her head. A hand was out, she had his wrist and in a sharp movement she sprayed his eyes with pepper gel, hearing him squeal and swear.

"Bitch," he spat out, hand loosening for a moment as she grabbed the hammer and brought it down with a swift crack against his back. "Fucking cunt."

On his knees now winded and moaning, clawing at his eyes that were swollen shut as she brought the hammer down again, this time the splintered sound of bone as it contended with something less firm. Then once more, the satisfying sound of his leg breaking as his wail swept out across the parched earth before she did the other side. She had no longing for a chase, to revel in his agony. His voice now a whine against the ground, unable to grasp that she had crippled him, that his work was over.

A sharp cry as she had him face down in the dirt, hands behind him as his arms jerked, wanting to go back to his eyes. Her rope was freed from her bag and she had him tied, muscles tense against the restraints. Sharp little staccato pitches echoed from him in the air around them.

"I will not let you die out here if you answer my questions."

He spat into the dirt and she sighed, drawing a silver knife. She cut through his shirt into his arm. Nothing but pain, no sign of anything that was not human. Grabbing a fistful of hair she snapped his head back and poured holy water into his eyes.

"Human," and something sank in her with her pronouncement.

"You're nutso."

"Says the man who tries to assault women with hammers." She stood, stepping away from his form as his swollen eyes tried to take her in. "As I said, answer my questions and I will not leave you here as bait for the scavengers. Where is the boy?"

"What boy?"

"The one from yesterday, the one with the girl you stabbed that somehow got away from you."

Lips curled and twisted into something of a snarl, some strange type of contentment as the answer of dead was given without a word.

"So sorry sweetheart. You can join him though over there." Hands pointed towards the largest of the springs and she knew his body was trapped in there, waiting to be freed and laid to rest.

"If only you could kill me," she said quietly, watching him as he worked against the knots. "You lack that capacity. Most do."

"You'll bleed. Nice and slow and I'll enjoy watching it."

That mouth was still all pulled up, a fury that reminded her of Morning Star before she cast him to the Cage. Her little brother had stared at her with the same hate, that same accusing look that she had lost and had yet to realize it. She did now, she knew she had always walked this path and that it ended in her solitude no matter who carved the wounds.

Producing a knife she went down on one knee beside his head, letting the blade flash in the young light of morning. His eyes followed its movements before she moved and buried it into his right shoulder. Another scream, a string of words so distorted with anguish that they blended into intelligibility as she turned it clockwise sheathed in his flesh.

"Why?" She stopped the movement, that panting breath as he tried to squirm away from her. "Why kill them? I do not understand the need for violence when duty is not involved."

Some harsh sound, it was a moment before she understood it to be laughter. "Duty? What the hell are you on?"

"You are lucky," she whispered leaning down to his ear. "If you had met one of my brothers they would not even speak to you, and the pain they would offer you would be beyond your understanding before the destruction of you damned soul."

She twisted the blade the all the way around in one swift movement, feeling the serrated edge tear more at the tissue as he let out another wounded scream.

"You kind have so many things, so many possibilities," she murmured staring at him. "Things I never had. Yet you chose this. Why?"

"Whores should die." His teeth were bloody the next time he grinned up at her and she wondered if he had bit his tongue. "Especially ones like you."

She simply smiled at him as she tore her blade free before ripping open the rest of his shirt. Slipping a small dagger from her boot she carved a message on him, one that if he had any intelligence he would wonder about till solved. One that would mark him for all those who had eyes to see.

"I have lost everything I have ever loved," she told him as she worked, that smirk sliding from his face as she placed the marks. "Some was betrayal against me, one I almost destroyed before I realized what was being given, too late for reconciliation. Truly I wish you could kill me but now there are only two available to achieve such a thing. Neither of them will grant me such mercy."

A part of her longed to draw her pistol and simply shoot him here but she had made her oath upon her Father's throne long ago. If he survived what was to come she could not crush a soul still viable for salvation. A promise she had once skirted; rationalized breaking for the greater good, for the viability of what she had once called destiny.

She felt soiled past the blood and dust that was covering her hand and clothes.

Taking her blade still tipped with his blood she carved ancient words along hard ground; ones that had long been lost to most of the choir. Those that had not been used since they had so long ago lost their way and turned their faces from creation. She had not passed judgement upon a soul since Lucifer's fall.

She drove her blade through the sign made beside him, feeling a brief moment of freedom from her binds; that flare of grace still whole rush out as wind howled around them. Puffy eyes bulged up at her, sudden fear replacing his idle threats and curses.

"This is your only warning," she intoned, her voice ringing out far beyond her human limitations. "Confess and cry penance to those you have harmed. Otherwise you will know the torment my brother created for your kind."

Chains swelled up and pulled her essence back in as the wind stilled. Slipping her blade free she put it back in her boot, rising as he was still at her feet. His body was lax, the only signs of life where uneven breaths and blinks as all struggle to escape had stopped. She doubted he would take this opportunity to save his soul. Perhaps Morning Star had been correct in his assessment, at least for some of these beings. Those like this were truly cockroaches at her feet despite her current condition.

Thoughts of Mellissa clinging to her life, soul powerful through her grief and flesh, pure in her fiery rage.

"What the fuck are you?"

She picked up her bag, glancing at him. "Nothing."

Feet raised small clouds of dust as she walked back down the trail, her mind on the death cries of her brothers, grace extinguished as it coated her hands. The memories of the cries of the Righteous Man from hell as she had idly turned away. The whimpers of humanity in murmured prayers long ignored.

She wished she could scatter herself, remains melding with this vast landscape and bask under the blanket of stars and the purity of the sun as she returned to her car.

XX

Sleep was a demand her body was becoming more vocal for as she drove south towards California and perhaps a hotel instead of having to use her car as a bed. Not that she liked sleep but it had been easier knowing Dean was near her, a step away. Now alone she found it more difficult, her dreams a clutter of nightmares of events that where long past or illusions of her fears melding together.

Images of Dean or even Sam being tortured when she could do nothing to protect them haunted her as much as the cries of her brothers dying in heaven's fields due to Lucifer's treachery. Those where common, expected and accepted.

No, it was the other dreams, the ones she had where Dean was against her – hot, dry skin pressed and encompassing, words spoken that the boy would never say. That wounded soul that half wished for destruction and maintained due to its remorse for the sins that stained it. To feel that soul resting in her light, scars laced with her grace finally as they sought union.

Those were the ones that taunted her waking hours that she dreaded when she laid her head upon stale pillows and rough sheets. A mocking testimony to how far her failures had truly gone.

Not that the sudden ringing of her phone did anything for her current state of mind.

"Well, can't say I approve but they got the bastard. Thought you should know," Singer clipped out without even so much as a hello.

She hummed a small noise of assent, something wild in her quieted a bit at the news her tip was followed.

"Says some crazy woman attacked him," the man continued as she shifted the phone, seeing the sign for the state border. It was all so empty and she longed to stop thinking. "But the girl identified his picture and they found his weapons. Blood testing of that and the clothes, plus the eventual body of the boy should be good to go. You gave them a gift wrapped son of a bitch with a ribbon on top."

"Good," she replied, some part of her knowing there was going to be more to this call.

"Found a hospital finally. She's doing good. Banged up but healable." A pause, something hanging between them as she waited, not wanting to encourage him.

"Thank you for your help," she said, wanting to fill the silence that made her uncomfortable. Humans and their ways, the unspoken expectations for things she believed she would never pick up on.

A scoff, something hard under it. "Don't suppose you'd spill on why the boys were all interested in my seeing you?"

She barely kept in the response of wanting to know when he spoke to them. "They believe they have a duty to me. They are mistaken."

The border was close and she could pick another highway, get out of this godforsaken area and get lost again in the rambling miles that made up this country alone. Small things, these humans, they could lose themselves so easily if they had no attachments.

"And why would that be?"

"Why do you think? As though I wasn't bleeding out in their car after saving Dean's life," she spat out, hating her anger and herself a little more.

"Damnedest thing," Singer said, his voice uninviting in its tone and Michael wondered where this conversation had gone. "That fool they picked up claimed that he saw a woman with glowing eyes and something like shadows of wings.

"Is that so? He is mentally ill."

"What if I said you shouldn't have been living when them boys brought you to me? If you ain't exactly human," Singer said slowly, drawing out the words and Michael knew that he had considering this for a while. It was hardly surprising, the man had seen what had happened to fallen angels through Castiel's struggles. Albeit she was different, unable to die or be free. "What if I said I'm sure you've got wings?"

She laughed, something that edged on hysterical because it wasn't unexpected. Singer was no fool, despite his love of drink that dulled him. If he gave that up she doubted much would stop his mind outside of his aging body.

"So how many shots have you had today?"

"Weird speech patterns," Singer went on, his voice low with a trace of something unhappy in it. "Living through something like that, like you did. I know you aint' Cas but you're like him. You are, aint'cha?"

"Goodbye, Singer," she said, tossing the phone out of her partially open window. The scream of the wind almost hide the sound of it hitting and disintegrating against the pavement as she drove on. There were other choices up here on where to go. Of how she could proceed and be away from this place; back to where monsters were what she was after instead of humans with damaged minds.

The mention of Dean, the loss of him rippled through her. Of what they could have been with that strange sensation of yearning to go to him. To find and phone and tell him where she was.

"Foolish," she scolded herself deciding to go towards Nevada. She was no more important to that boy than the passing victims they scrapped together. Something to endure and maybe fix. A burden to watch that he had no say over.

All the things she wanted she pushed aside, hoping for a better day where she would eventually know what rest was.

As she joined the freeway traffic on a main interstate, signs of life returned to the landscape and she swore she saw an Impala, gleaming black and road worn roaring up the highway she had just left behind.