"So Sam and Dean left us here with God himself to go meet with a transformer?"
Alex rolled her eyes at Claire, arms full of books as she slid them into their spots on the shelves. "Metatron, not Megatron. He's an angel. Or was. I think."
"Either way," Sara sighed from her spot at the table as she flipped through a few books of her own. "It feels more like we're babysitting than 'keeping an eye on the Bunker.'"
"The Bunker keeps an eye on us," Alex muttered.
Claire cocked her head towards Alex, watching her for a moment. "Hey," she cleared her throat. "You okay?"
"Fine," Alex said, far too quickly for it to be believable. "Just, you know. Wanna get this place cleaned up a bit."
"Alex, c'mon, you're allowed to have feelings," Claire tried to tell her.
"I just don't want to talk about it," Alex retorted, and Claire piped down.
Sara knew that Alex wasn't even remotely okay – her eyes were puffy and she hadn't brushed her hair in two days. But Sara couldn't possibly judge her – she knew loss, and how much it hurt. If Alex wanted to talk about it, she'd come to them. Until then, Sara busied herself making her tea and handing out the chores Alex so desperately wanted.
Sara's vision was blurring together after staring at the dusty, repetitive pages of the book in front of her so long. She sighed, shutting it. "Let's take a break and have some dinner. Has anyone seen Gavin?"
"He went to get groceries," Claire replied, laying her books on the table and checking her phone. "He should be back soon."
"I'll get started on dinner, then," Sara said, standing. She headed towards the sparkling clean kitchen – courtesy of Alex – and opened the fridge, mind wondering as she began to prepare some grilled cheese. Sam and Dean had seemed to think this Metatron would have some information on Amara – and therefore Lucifer. Sara had asked what would happen once Lucifer had been found. Sam and Dean had looked at each other, held one of those silent Winchester Brother conversations Sara loathed so much, and said that they'd "cross that bridge when they came to it." Then Dean had hesitated, and told Sara that they'd need to talk when they got back. Whatever that meant.
Until then, they were stuck in the Bunker with the creator of everything. Sara considered calling her father. She hadn't seen him in a while and constantly worried for him, though the burden of concern was significantly lifted what with Lucifer being . . . incapacitated. Still, though. She made a point to call Jody every day, just to check on her and chat a bit. But her father was almost always in the middle of some kind of . . . deal, or business, or, for lack of a better word, plotting.
No harm in calling, Sara told herself. You can leave a message if he doesn't answer.
While the stove heated up, she pushed speed dial on her phone, holding it to her ear as she sliced some bread. The phone rang several times before going to voicemail.
"Dad, hi," she said as she sliced some cheese onto the bread. "Everything's fine here. I just wanted to catch up with you, make sure everything was okay. Things are . . . weird here, but I'll tell you about that later." She paused. "I love you. Be careful."
She hung up, setting her phone on the counter. She frowned, though, as she noticed some odd – the screen of the phone was smeared with something, a red sticky substance. Eyes widening, she looked down, realizing the smear had come from her own hands, which were covered in warm, thick blood.
"What," she whispered, heart racing. "What on earth . . ." Her other hand was also covered, as were her clothes, and the side of her head where she'd held her phone. She looked at the floor, finding a trail of thickened, clotted plasma.
"Alex," she cried loudly. "Claire!"
She shakily followed the trail, dotted with footprints and splatters. As she reached the war room, her heart went from racing, to going still. Her own blood went cold. "No!" she screamed. "No!"
The entire room was soaked in blood. It covered the chairs and tables and books, and her dead sisters on the ground. Claire was on her stomach, spread eagle. Her body wasn't intact – something had physically dug her throat apart. Alex laid next to her, eyes glassy and staring at the ceiling. There was a gaping, grisly hole in her chest, heart missing from its cavity.
Sara was suddenly aware of an uneasy weight in her hand, and looked down, sobbing when she realized she was clutching Alex's heart. Claire's flesh was under her broken fingernails, and Sara felt the sobs rack her body, robbing her of breath.
"Sara." She looked up, tears pouring down her face. Her brother dropped the bags of groceries he was carrying, face full of fear as he received the gruesome scene in front of him.
"Gavin," Sara choked, unable to drop the organ she was grasping.
"Sara, what did you do?" Gavin demanded, taking a step back.
"Please, help me," Sara cried, sinking to her knees, legs no longer able to hold her.
"I – I have to tell Sam and Dean," Gavin said, backing up.
"No, don't leave!" she cried harder as he spun around and began to run. Sara held her arm out, desperately reaching for him. "Gavin, please!"
His head snapped back with a sickening crack, his body still for a moment before crumbling to the ground. His eyes were still full of fear as the light died from them, blood gurgling from his mouth.
"No!" she screamed again, dropping her hand, fearing her own power as her stomach turned. "Come back! Gavin, come back!"
Her entire world went momentarily black, until she was suddenly sitting up, gasping for breath and grasping her bedsheets. She was covered in sweat, stomach in knots, crying and shocked to find Sam sitting on the edge of her bed.
"Sam," she swallowed, looking around.
"Hey," he said nervously. "I know it's late, but I heard the crashing so . . ."
"Crashing." She looked around, seeing her room in disarray. Broken picture frames, her dresser practically overturned, the books shaken from the bookshelves. "Did I do that?"
"I guess so," Sam said nervously. "Listen, Sara, I need to tell you –"
"He's here," Sara's stomach turned. She leaned over the bed, grasping for her trashcan, and retched. Sam grimaced at her obvious discomfort, holding her hair back as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the bin. Gagging, she coughed as she gasped for breath, remembering the scene from her overly vivid dream. She'd killed everyone without even noticing. She prayed it was only a nightmare, and not a vision. It couldn't be a vision, it had already happened. Somewhat. She remembered the conversation with her sisters. Making dinner, calling her father, Gavin coming home. But on one hand, she also remembered them eating their dinner, sitting around the TV with Chuck to watch Game of Thrones, and going to bed.
On the other hand . . .
"I . . . killed . . . Claire and Alex," she coughed, wheezing for breath. "And Gavin. It was horrible. There was so much blood. I felt it."
"It was just a nightmare," Sam promised. "It didn't happen. It won't happen. I had dreams like that, too, we all have. I promise you're okay."
"But he's here."
Sam looked sympathetic. "Yeah."
"I – is that why I dreamed those things?" Sara asked.
"It's like you have some kind of reaction to him," Sam agreed. "I think it's because you're so similar."
"Similar?" She side-eyed him. "Sam, you'd better explain that."
"Lucifer was everything pure and good about the world when God created him," Sam started. "He was created especially to be God's literal gift to the earth. The ultimate guardian. But he was twisted into something dark and evil and powerful. In a way, Lucifer was born of this overwhelming sense of goodness, and a gnarled piece of evil. Sound familiar?"
"My mother," Sara realized, frowning. "And my father."
"Your mother was good," Sam continued. "She saw the good in everything, even Crowley. She loved you more than anything in the world, and would do anything to protect you. At the time of your, well, conception, Crowley had no good in him. He cared about himself, and ownership over everything – including your mother."
"So, I react so badly to Lucifer . . . because we're alike?" Sara raised her eyebrows. She could see what he was getting at, but the idea was so absurd.
"It's like the way I reacted to Lucifer at first," Sam went on. "It's all about power. I'm maybe the only thing in the world powerful enough to permanently hold him. You're, well . . . one of the only things powerful enough to take him on."
Sara blinked. "You think that I could take on Lucifer . . . and win?"
"Not now," Sam said quickly. "Maybe not in the whole sleep-demoning stage. But eventually, yeah. Maybe."
Sara swallowed, shivering at the thought of ever having that much power. "Are there others that are as powerful?" she asked.
"There are," Sam admitted. "Chuck, I think. Amara. There's, a, a witch. Who we should probably talk about . . ." he cleared his throat. "Listen, you don't have to stay here. Crowley has to have someplace else where you could go, or you could go back to Jody's –"
"I am not afraid of Lucifer," Sara said sharply. "And I won't abandon any of you." She took a deep breath. "Everyone is okay? You didn't run into Amara?"
"We did," Sam sighed. "Metatron is dead. We almost were, too, but Chuck pulled us out. He's out there now, with Dean and Lucifer. We're trying to get them to rekindle."
"Right," Sara said, taking a deep breath. "I'll get cleaned up, then, and be out shortly."
"You don't have to," Sam said quickly.
"I'm not going to hide in my room, Sam." She stood, grimacing at her aching stomach. "I'll be out shortly."