Author's Note: So this chapter is twice the length of most of the previous chapters, and that is AFTER I cut a chunk of it out and moved it to the NEXT chapter. I appear to have a problem shutting these characters up. Sorry not sorry?

(Honestly, this should probably be two chapters on its own. But it's a holiday, so instead you get a nice long chapter to start off the new year!)

Hope you enjoy.

Castiel's alive.

Alive and well and standing right in front of them.

His sudden and unexpected appearance is like a shot of adrenaline straight to Sam's nervous system. His exhaustion (along with some harder to define weight) vanishing when the shadow of broken wings is cast against the bricks of the abandoned building at the angel's back. It's absence allows Sam's spine to straighten, and he finds that he can't shake the dumbfounded but happy smile from his face.

Because this? This is something going right for a change.

Which is just not something they get a lot of these days.

(See also: at all.)

And oh , how he prays the flare of hope that is rushing in on the tail-end of that adrenaline isn't going to be snuffed out before it has a chance to really grow.

He wants - needs - this to just be the start of things going better for them. He's not certain if he can handle it if this is just a herald of things turning south again.

And he damn well knows that Dean couldn't. No matter how much the stubborn bastard may deny it.

Though by the look on Dean's face - some uneven combination of hope and fear - Sam thinks his brother may be more in tune with his own emotional state than Sam gives him credit for.

"Cas… we buried you. How-" Dean swallows down the end of the sentence, switching tracks. "Did Chuck-"

Castiel shakes his head. "No. It wasn't my father." A soft smile graces his face, making him look years younger than the vessel he inhabits. "It was Jack."

Sam blinks, confused for a second before Castiel's statement registers. His first, last, and only image of the son of Lucifer and Kelly Kline flashing to the front of his mind. Golden irises set in a shadowed face much too old for someone only a few minutes in the world; a look of malice in place before the teenager had stood to his full height, stretched his wings, and vanished from view.

That was months ago. And aside from a few, barely there leads in the form of wonky electrical grid surges, they've had nothing to go on in their search. Of course, that was before this latest one, which has turned out to be much more fruitful than Sam could ever have imagined.

Sam opens his mouth to ask Cas to clarify what the hell happened, but a sputtering Dean beats him to it.

"Wait - Hold up. Jack? Jack as in Satan's spawn, Jack?!"

"While I would not refer to him as a 'spawn,' yes, that is the Jack to which I am referring." Castiel's tone is light, almost amused.

"You're telling us that Lucifer's kid brought you back? Why? I mean, not that we're not grateful, because - damn," A genuine smile flits over Dean's face, the first Sam can recall seeing since before everything went pear-shaped. "Cas, you have no idea how good it is to see you, man." The smile fades away into a pained frown of confusion. "But, if the antichrist was gonna bring anyone back, I'd of thought it would've been his temper-tantrum throwing dad, so they could unleash hell on earth like some evil Andy and Opie."

Castiel shakes his head, a fond look on his face that Sam has dubbed his 'I find humans incomprehensible but I love them anyway' look. "As I told both you and Sam before, Dean. That isn't what Jack wants. He wants only what is best for the world, for its people." Cas's eyes brighten as he continues, his belief in his words glowing within them. "He has shown me what a true paradise Earth can be. I believe - I know - that it is my responsibility to help him make that vision a reality for humanity. That's why I'm here. That's why he brought me back."

Sam hears the words, but he honestly can't believe that they are coming from Castiel. At least, not the version of Cas that both him and Dean know so well, the version that has been on their side of the fight time and time again over the years. The version that's family. It sounds more like a line he'd have expected from any one of the non-descript angels they've had the displeasure of running against. "Cas - You know how that sounds, right? The son of Lucifer, promising paradise on Earth? There's no way that can end well."

Castiel's gaze swivels from Dean to Sam, eyes wide and beseeching. "Sam, If you had seen what I have… I believe then that you would understand. Jack is not like Lucifer. He is a good person, and the being I've seen him growing to be is...truly divine. The two of us have bonded and - "

"Bonded?" Dean interrupts, indignation ringing clear in his voice. "Is that what you call doing a Jedi mind trick on you while he was still in the womb? Come on, Cas! He's freakin' Damien! Evil incarnate. He must have an ulterior motive for bringing you back. No way was it outta the goodness of his heart. You can't poss-"

Sam can see the way that Cas's walls start to go up, brick by brick, the soft look that had been on his face since he arrived hardening the further into his rant that Dean gets, so while Sam may agree with his brother, he does them all a favor and cuts him off before he makes it any worse. "Dean, let up a little. The least we can do is hear him out."

"Et tu, Sammy?"

"Dean, it's Cas."

The angry countenance on Dean's face relaxes a little at the reminder, though Sam notes the tick in his jaw that results from him fighting back from saying what he wants. What ends up coming out of his mouth isn't much better as far as Sam's concerned. "Fine. Let's hear all about how well meaning the devil's kid is. What with those mind-whammy skills, he's a real chip off the old block. His daddy would be so proud."

"Be careful what you say about him, Dean." Cas steps closer to both Sam and Dean. "While Lucifer may have provided the material necessary for his creation, Jack has chosen me as his father figure, and I intend to fulfill that role to the best of my ability. I will not have you speaking of him in a disparaging manner without cause."

"Father fig- You know what, we're gonna table that statement for a second. Because goddamn, does that need a discussion." Dean shortens the space between him and Cas by another step, his eyes narrowing as well.

"You wanna talk cause? Fine. How about him convincing his mother that she was better off dead than stripping him of his powers, before he was born? How about his very existence ripping open a hole to another reality, which - if Crowley hadn't off'd himself to stop it - would have unleashed the apocalypse here? How about our mom getting stuck there with his freaking father because of him?! Huh? Are those enough causes for you, Cas?"

The walls that had been built so briefly beforehand begin to crumble before Sam's eyes, Cas's demeanor taking on an edge of regret. Sam's getting whiplash from the pace at which the situation between the three of them keeps on changing.

Couldn't everything just be happy and good and normal for once?

"Mary is trapped on the other Earth?"

Sam sighs. "Yeah, Cas. She is. Dean and I have been trying to figure out a way to get her back, but…"

"Tearing open reality ain't that easy. Go figure."

Sam gives Dean an exasperated look. Begging him with his eyes to just Shut. Up. For one minute. His brother rolls his eyes in response.

"Sam, Dean...I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"How could you, Cas. You were dead."

Cas looks forlorn as he shakes his head. "I may have been deceased for a short period of time, but that is no excuse. If I had realized the situation with your mother, I -"

Dean cuts him off before he can get any further. A look on his face that Sam can feel reflected on his own.

Short period of time?

"Wha- back up a second. How long you been back, exactly?"

A contemplative frown settles on Cas's face at the question. "While I know that I died, I don't recall being dead. I only know that one moment it was night, and Lucifer had stabbed me through the back, and the next moment it was day, and Jack was waiting for me on the stairs of the house I had rented."

Dean's jaw clenches, his hand bunching into a matching fist at his side. Sam can tell he's probably counting back from ten in his head to prevent himself from saying or doing something he'd regret. (The fact that Dean would even try to stop himself the best evidence that Sam can see that his brother has better control of himself and his emotions these days than he ever has in the past.)

Sam swallows. "How long after you were stabbed was that, Cas?"

Cas blinks. "Jack returned me to life within a few days of my death. Why?"

"Sonuvabitch! And you didn't think to call us?!" Dean explodes. "To let us know you weren't dead? What the hell, Cas?!"

Yeah. Sam can't help but agree. What the hell?

Cas looks back and forth between the two of them, but whatever he's looking for, he clearly doesn't find. He sighs, resignation settling over his features. "Jack's powers - they aren't stable yet. He has a tendency to cause...distortions in space and time. I've been working with him on them, and while he grows stronger every day, he's not yet ready to be amongst the populace. It's why we're here. We set up wards to prevent anyone from inadvertently stumbling upon us, that was the spell you were caught in before I greeted you. I had planned to call you once I knew it was safe."

"Excuse me? You saying you couldn't let us know you weren't dead for four months because you were too busy babysitting the antichrist to pick up the damn phone?!"

"...I no longer have a phone. It wasn't with me when I...came back." He holds his hands out, palms up in a placating gesture. "Four months? I had not realized so long had passed."

Sam marvels at the exchange, and at the way that his brother completely deflates at Cas's response. Bending away, and in towards himself. When he settles, he's scrubbing a hand over his mouth, pulling it down to reveal a baffled expression that's more a disbelieving grimace than anything else.

Dean looks towards Sam, gesturing with an over-exaggerated hand at Cas. "You hearing this? He lost track of time. He doesn't have a phone. So screw us, right? No reason to reach out to his damn family and tell us that he's alive, or-"

Sam lets Dean go off on his rant, but focuses his eyes back on Castiel. The angel seeming to let the angry words wash over him. He looks contrite, but not hurt by the accusations being hurled at him by Dean, which is both surprising and a little out of character, if Sam is honest. The angel having always seemed to take everything Dean says to heart. Instead, more than any other emotion, Sam thinks he just looks confused.

As if it genuinely didn't occur to him that he should check in instead of continuing to allow Sam and Dean to think he was dead.

Sam decides it may be time to cut his brother off as Dean's face reaches a truly epic shade of angry red, when a figure steps out of the shadows of the building behind Cas, and begins to walk towards them.

"Father? Is everything alright?"

It's like a needle screeching on a record, the way the shrill sound of sudden silence echoes around them.

Cas turns his head, his countenance softening as he looks at the teenage boy coming up to his side and says "Jack, you should go back inside" at the same time that Dean says "Father? What the fuck?"

Sam's brain echoes the sentiment.

Because, seriously? What the fuck alternate reality have they walked into here?

The boy frowns at Cas, a shock of hair flopping down over his scrunched up forehead. "I know you said to stay inside, but I heard shouting, and I was concerned."

"Everything is fine, please go back inside." Castiel reaches out and pats the boy's shoulder, easing Jack's frown a fraction.

Jack cocks his head at Cas in a gesture so reminiscent of the angel that it it catches Sam off guard. A beat later and he turns his gaze onto Sam. "I know you." He squints. "Don't I?"

Sam swallows, the innocent-looking teenage boy's unassuming appearance so at odds with Sam's memory of him that it's off-putting. "We, uh, we met. Sorta. In Washington, when you - after you were born."

"Right before you took off." The cold in Dean's voice drops the temperature around them by several degrees. Cas moves a half step, keeping himself between Jack and Dean. Jack doesn't seem to notice, but Sam does, and he knows Dean does too.

"Oh. Yes. I...apologize? Being born was...frightening. I didn't understand what was happening. Or where my mother was, or my father." The look he turns to Castiel is worshipful, eyes wide and happy, a smile breaking across his face that makes him look more like the child Sam knows he technically is than anything else so far.

"That's because you killed your mom, kid." Jack's smile falls at Dean's frank statement in a sort of slow-motion fashion that makes Sam feel bad for him, despite himself. "And as for your father-"

"Dean!" Sam turns in towards his brother putting his back to Cas and Jack and whisper-shouting at Dean to draw his attention. Dean, to Sam's surprise, goes with it, dropping the volume of his voice to match.

"What, Sam? You buying this innocent divinity peace-on-earth crap?"

Sam gives him a pained so-so gesture. "I don't know, maybe? Look, something's up. You know it, I know it. But I don't think Cas does. And Jack, well... he brought Cas back. And that's good, right?" Dean frowns but nods, leaning back on a heel and crossing his arms over his chest, the shotgun he still has in hand dangling down along his side.

"I get why you don't trust him, hell I don't either, but maybe we can cut him some slack? For Cas's sake?"

Dean grumbles out a "Fine" though he doesn't sound at all happy about it. "But the first sign that he's going all 'The Good Son' we're ganking him, got it?" Sam agrees, and the two tune their attention back towards the conversation in progress behind them.

"Jack, it's not safe for you out here. If you could please just go back inside-"

"But father -"

Which is apparently all Dean needs to hear to set him off again. "He ain't your father, kid."

Jack's already present frowns deepens. "But he is. He's the one my mother chose for me. The one I chose for me. He helps me and takes care of me. It doesn't matter if he wasn't the one who helped to create me. He's my father in the ways that matter."

It's simple and idealistic, and also an absolutely accurate description of what a parent should be. It makes Sam think of Bobby with a wistful sort of grief.

His brother, for his part, just says "Huh." Which, yeah. About sums up Sam's feelings on the subject quite nicely.

Dean shakes his head like he's clearing water out of his ears. "Okay, look, whatever. We can discuss your weirdo family dynamics on the drive to the bunker, come on."

Jack's frown flips, turning into a giddy bright smile, but Cas holds an arm out to prevent his forward step, shaking his head once, looking sad. "I appreciate the offer, Dean, but, we're not going with you."

The sudden silence this time is less like a record screech, and more like a pin dropping in a cavern. Echoing endlessly. "Come again? Whaddya mean you're not coming with? What the hell, man?"

Cas sends Jack a pleading look. "Please go inside, Jack. I'll be in shortly."

"But-"

"Please?"

Jack doesn't just sigh, he flat out pouts. But he agrees, and heads back towards the mill. Cas watches him go until his feet hit the steps, before he turns his attention back to Dean. Which means he misses it when is self-declared son flops onto the steps like a small child, with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. But Sam doesn't. And he finds the action endears the boy to him, just a little; the stance one he was familiar with himself as a child.

"Dean, I'm sorry. But Jack's powers, they're not…" Cas shakes his head, a look of pain radiating across his face. "They're not stable enough yet. He's improving, every day. But for now, we need to remain away from other people. Just in case."

"Just in case?" Dean arches an eyebrow, his jaw tightening as he speaks. "In case he goes nuclear, ya mean? Jesus, Cas!"

"Dean-"

"No. Uh-uh. I've heard enough. The kid's powers are so messed up and taking care of him has you so preoccupied that you lost track of time for four months and don't bother to let us know you're not dead. Now, you're saying you think the kid might blow, so you're what? Gonna keep hiding out here so no one gets hurt? Well, newsflash, you're hiding sucks."

"We had precautions in place. I believe you encountered some of them."

"What? That rubberband mojo? Sam and I could've gotten through that with a little time and elbow grease. It'd be nothing for a demon - or one of your angel buddies - to do the same."

Cas lowers his head, heaving out a long breath. When he raises it again, the look on his face is more present, more clear than it's been since he arrived. "We've only been in this location for a short time - a concept which I am coming to understand is highly relative in Jack's presence. I've not yet had a chance to fully ward the premises." Castiel stretches to his full height, his next words holding a level of finality to them that the rest did not. "I promise to do so as soon as you depart."

"Cas-"

"No, Dean. The issues with the time distortion you've brought to my attention underscore how important it is that Jack and I remain sequestered away until he is better able to control his abilities. I fear what may happen if he is brought to the bunker too soon. Not because I think he will go 'nuclear' as you say, but because I worry that you and Sam may experience a jump in time that you aren't prepared for, or that another tear in reality may occur in a more heavily populated place. I will not risk it."

Dean's face crumbles - ever so briefly - before he shores up his defenses. "You really don't have a phone?"

Castiel shakes his head.

A muscle in Dean's jaw twitches. "Of course not. Stay here."

Sam watches as his brother turns on his heel and marches towards the Impala. Sam turns back to Castiel and gives him a concerned smile, edging on a grimace. "Cas - are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, Jack...he seems, okay, I guess. But. Paradise? Uncontrollable powers? What if-"

"Yes, Sam. I am. Jack is the answer to questions I didn't have the words to ask before. But he is young, and it will take time for him to grow into the person he is meant to be."

"And you're sure he can't grow into that person at the bunker? Where we can all help out and make sure he stays...safe?"

Cas shakes his head. "Perhaps one day, but for now...I can't risk the possibility of him bringing harm to anyone. Most of all to you and Dean."

Sam swallows a hollow breath. "Right."

Dean returns a moment later carrying one of the spare phones they always keep in the glove compartment, along with a charger. He crosses past Sam over to Castiel, grabbing the angel's hand and slapping the phone and cord into his open palm.

"Here. You keep this thing charged, and you call us. Every few days, you get me? You lose it or it breaks or it gets fried in one of the kids electrical surges or whatever, then you go to the damn store and you get another one. And when we call, you are going to answer. We don't hear from you, I'm gonna assume that this entire thing has blown up in your face and we've got another apocalypse to deal with."

"Dean-"

"No. This isn't a negotiation. You wanna stick around and raise Rosemary's baby, that's your choice. I don't like it. Hell, I hate it. But it ain't like I can stop you. But you call. You check in. Let us know you're not dead. And when we're ready to go to Oz, you're coming with."

"Oz? Why would you need to-"

"Figure of speech, Cas. I mean when we're ready to go diving into the apocalypse world to rescue Mom. We're gonna need all hands on deck for that, and seeing as how Junior over there is responsible for it in the first place, he can damn well help out."

"Ah." Castiel nods, appearing contrite.

Dean's gaze lingers on Cas, searching. After a few seconds, he heaves a breath, looking away and back again. "Just, answer the damn phone when it rings, and check in."

Cas closes his hand around the phone, letting it fall to his side, and nods. "Okay, Dean."

Jack chooses that time to pop up around from behind Cas, a smile so cheerful on his face that it's unnerving. "I've never used a phone before! How does it work?"

Sam doesn't jump, but it's a near thing.

Dean's palm does meet his face though. And if that's not a perfect illustration of their current situation in life, Sam doesn't know what is.

~~~\/~~~

Mary and Crowley are off on a supply run.

Again.

Only, for once, it's in preparation for going somewhere, rather than to continue holding themselves up for the duration of the apocalypse (i.e. forever) in the cave-like former garage of Bobby's that they call home these days.

(Sure, the place is a lot more stable than Mary had originally given it credit for (hasn't blown over in any stiff winds (yet), and the warding and protective sigils on it make it damn near invisible), but that can only defer cabin fever from setting in for so long. She's never done well staying put, despite her best efforts. And that doesn't seem to be changing just because the world around them is all sand, soot, and desperation.)

And so Mary can't deny that she's got a bit of a spring in her step as a result of their planned excursion southeast to Utah, where one Lance of Michael is reported to be waiting. The plans are still a bit thin on the ground, but Bobby had managed to make contact with a hunter cell in the area the day before, and if all goes well, by the end of the month they'll have one hell of a weapon at their disposal. (Mary hopes that this time around things with the Lance go better. It's a low bar though, as she figures they can't go much worse.)

The end goal of going somewhere, and maybe getting to axe Lucifer the next time they cross paths, makes traveling in concentric circles and spelunking into the ruins of civilization almost enjoyable. (Almost.)

At present, their adventures in shopping, apocalypse style, has them following a carved out trail beneath two dozen feet of rubble that Bobby's survivor network put together at some point in the last decade. The trail leads to a storage cache of goods; a makeshift little depot that hunters and other humans on the list of friendlies can use to restock, and exchange out what they don't need.

It works on a modified honor system, counting on the users themselves to leave something behind for the next poor souls that make the trek, rather than clearing the whole thing out in one shot. Both Crowley and Mary have expressed their...distrust of such a setup. Finding it impossible to believe that anything would be left after the first time a desperate cohort would make their way to it. Bobby assured them that it's worked so far. Mostly on account of it being warded to the moon and back so that no one would get through who wasn't on the approved guest list.

Mary's still skeptical, but she figures her suspicions will either be allayed, or proved valid soon enough.

As they make their way, Mary drags her fingers along the mix of concrete, stone, and junk that makes up the ceilings and walls surrounding them, the calluses on their tips catching on the sigils that carve deep grooves into the surfaces. The texture of the carvings is accompanied by an underlying, hard to notice tingling sensation.

Bobby was right, the place really is warded to high heaven.

"Not bad work. Robert continues to surprise."

Mary's head twists away from the wall to focus on Crowley. He gestures with his chin to the sigil whose outline she'd been tracing while they'd walked. "What's so surprising about it?"

Crowley steps around a broken off piece of concrete in the walkway, allowing Mary a moment to do the same before he continues. "This type of warding is delicate. Time-consuming. Not something to be done in an afternoon. And not something to be done with monsters breathing down your neck. He must have camped down here - for weeks - to get it done. Takes dedication."

Mary thinks about the hunter network Bobby has established, and how he seems to - single-handedly - been holding the northwest together against the neverending battle between heaven and hell on Earth. For years. "If there's one thing Bobby's not lacking in, it's dedication."

"Mmm, it does appear to be a core personality trait of his."

Mary readjusts the flashlight in her hand to get a better grip. Based on the sketched out map that Bobby had provided, she figures their destination shouldn't be far off now. "The other Bobby was the same I take it."

"Indeed.

"He a lot like this one?"

"Mostly. Both just as surly. Both just as enamoured by catpiss masquerading as whiskey. Only real difference between the two so far as I can see, is that the one here didn't have anything to focus on aside from survival." Crowley gestures to the curving walls around them. "Made him a bit sharper - not as soft as the other one I knew. But, well, the other one had your boys, so one can hardy blame him for that."

Mary ponders that a bit, trying - and failing - to imagine Bobby tending to littler versions of Sam and Dean. It's less that she has a problem imagining Bobby in that roll - he puts off enough stifled parental vibes that she can more readily imagine him in the roll than she can herself.

No, it's more that she has difficulty imagining Sam and Dean as anything other than the babies they once were, or the adults they are now. The entire middle part of their lives is just a black-hole, wiping out any attempts she makes at trying to catch a glimpse of them.

"They were close, weren't they? The boys had mentioned before, but never really said…"

Crowley huffs out a breath that's not quite a snort not quite a laugh, but instead falls somewhere in between. "Close is putting it mildly. He raised your boys. More than that husband of yours ever did."

A rush of annoyance and offense floods Mary at the off-hand statement, causing her to stop in her tracks and bark out a defense on John's behalf. "Hey! John did the best he cou-"

"And you know that how?" Crowley turns to face her, hiking his pack up on one shoulder and giving her a sardonic smile.

She sputters. "Wha- I know - knew - John, and he loved our boys."

Crowley snorts, and begins walking again. On automatic pilot, Mary falls into step beside him. "Yes. Because love is all you need to be a good parent."

"It helps!"

"You're right, I'm sure it would." Crowley's voice softens. "But love in absence of anything else, does not a happy childhood make." Mary feels her anger and indignation dwindling at the look on his face. She remembers Rowena, and the little tidbits she'd gathered regarding the entire absence of any sort of relationship between the witch and her son, even when he was just a boy.

She remembers her own parents, doing the best they could to keep her safe and secure, while living the life of a hunter. She was loved, she knew that, but she was never really happy. Not until she met John at least.

She hadn't wanted that for her boys. She'd envisioned a cherry-pie lifestyle for them. With a roof that never leaked over their heads, and home-cooked meals on the table every night.

Imagined them never knowing that monsters were real, or that there was anything more scary in life than doing laundry, or worrying about getting their homework done in time.

But wanting something doesn't make it happen, and imagining something doesn't make it real.

She knows that now. Just like she knows she'd have been miserable trying to keep up the charade of Suzy-Homemaker.

She wonders what would have been worse for them, the reality of the life they actually lived, or the one they may have ended up with. Where their Mom just ran off one night, and was never heard from again, and them always wondering if it was somehow their fault.

(Mary doesn't want to imagine that scenario, but she's self-aware enough these days to know it was a possibility.)

Mary's musings are interrupted by Crowley, who she'd almost forgotten was there, deep in her own head as she'd gone. "But don't take my word for it. Sit down with your boys when you get home. Ask 'em yourself. Start with Sam, he'll give you his own unfiltered version with little prompting. Just show him a little interest, a little care, and he'll spill. What he says will be more biased than a crossroads demon looking to make a deal, but it'll wipe the roses away from your glasses well enough."

Mary considers that. Surprised by not just the easily offered advice, nor just how sound it seems to be based on her own experiences with her youngest, but from Crowley's ever present surety that Mary's boys are coming for her.

It's been months with no sign. She has no idea how Crowley's certainty never wavers, but she's glad that one of them can manage it. Especially when she finds herself sinking further and further into the life that this world has to offer, as dire as it is, and thinking less and less about going home.

Whatever that word means.

Crowley sounds almost fond when he continues. It pulls her focus fully back to him. "Dean though, he won't give over so easy. Might not do at all, in fact. Still, if you can manage to get him talking, you'll have all the answers about what life was like for the two of them after you died that you'll ever need."

The surety in the statement catches her, as does the tone, like it always does. They've been stranded together long enough that the vast majority of their differences have been - maybe not ironed out, but flattened down at least - and Mary thinks she's gotten to know the former demon well enough to have a clue about who this newly human version of him is.

He's more open for starters. Willing to help out without prompting these days, now that he knows the help is both wanted and appreciated. He's also good for a story or ten, if you get a little liquor in him first. Weaving amusing tales about her boys without her even having to twist his arm.

Sometimes he plays a role in those stories, but not always. Those she assumes are either made up for her amusement, or come straight out of those Chuck Shurley gospels he told them about. (God. The actual God, writing all about the lives of her sons like Harlequin heroes or something. It's hard to process. But if she ever does make it back, she's looking those books up first thing.)

Made up or not, he tells them well, and she likes hearing them. Likes how they always end with her boys winning the day, even if she knows they lost a lot along the way.

Crowley's typically in a better mood afterwards as well, which is sometimes the reason why she pokes at him to talk to begin with. It's odd, the level of affection that he talks about them with sometimes. It makes her feel like she's missing something that's hovering just out of her reach.

She keeps trying to catch it though, for all the good it does. "You know this from experience, or just observation?"

"Know thy enemy." He shrugs, the gesture looking false on his shoulders. Like he doesn't really mean it. "I was King of Hell. Your boys were the number one cause of demon deaths when I ruled. Learning all about what made your boys tick? It was a bloody survival strategy."

Mary shrugs, the empty pack on her shoulder sliding with the motion. "I guess it worked, seeing as how it ended up being Lucifer, not my boys, that did you in. Though I guess considering you'd practically defected at the end, that isn't too surprising."

Crowley makes a humming noise in response, but doesn't deny it. "That's the danger of getting to know your enemies' backstory I suppose."

Their meandering walk and conversation comes to an end at what Mary can tell was once probably the entryway to an old gas station, or a quick mart, the blasted up shell of the doorway still visible behind the repurposed refuse built up as walls around it.

"Think we're here."

Crowley drops his pack to the ground, rummaging around in it to grab what they need to deactivate the wards, while Mary tries to scope out the interior of the place for any surprises out of habit.

A moment passes, Crowley's palm pressed up against the foundation stone in front of the entrance as he mutters away in some hobbled together form of latin and enochian, before the wards across the main wall flare up with a golden glow. "That should do it."

Mary steps over the threshold on an inhale, pleased when she ends up on the other side in one piece. She whistles as she takes a look around. "Bobby wasn't kidding. This place is stocked to the gills. Think we'll be able to find everything we're after."

"Maybe. Let's take a look-see and find out."

Mary nods her agreement. "Anything out of the ordinary on the list this time?"

"Keep an eye out for any tarps, or canvases if you would. Mine's been nibbled on by one too many rats, and I could stand for an upgrade."

"Noted. You don't think they'll have any coffee in here, do you?"

"Doubtful, Ms. Mary. But I'll be sure to snag it if it should cross my path."

"Thank you."

Mary and Crowley split the difference as they head through the store, heading up alternating aisles to take stock of what's available and grabbing what they need.

They wander that way for a short while, looking over, under, between, and behind the stockpiles, stuffing their packs as they go. They don't have much to leave behind this time, but Bobby assured her that was fine, they could fill it later.

Her pack is half-full, with no sign of canvas or coffee in sight, when the noise of shuffling and grumbling, and annoyed commentary from Crowley's side of the store slows to a trickle and then stops for several minutes. Mary makes her way to where she last saw him, just to check.

She finds him, back angled towards her as he faces one of the multitude of overstuffed shelves; head bent down over something that he's got in his hands.

"Whatd'ya find?"

Crowley doesn't answer, so Mary moves a few steps closer, until she can peek around his shoulders to see that he's holding a book in his hands, it's smallish, with a paperback cover that looks as if it's been through a hurricane. "A book? Lore? Or one of those gospels like what was written on my boys back home?"

"Hmm? Oh, no. Nothing useful just...a novel."

It's what he says, but the fingers of one hand are paging through it with care, like he's worried it may crumble at any second. And given the state it's in, Mary thinks he may be right to worry.

She could leave it at that, but she doesn't see any reason to deny that she's curious about what has him so distracted. "Something you've read before?"

Crowley flips the page and hums, "I have. I'm curious if it's different from the version I know though."

"You know it well enough for that?"

Crowley gives a half-shake of his head. "I don't, no." But he's tucking the book into the inner pocket of his jacket as he says it all the same.

Mary opens her mouth to question Crowley further when the radio at her hip vibrates to life. She snaps it up, depressing the button on the side as she angles it towards her head. Static is all that greets her, as per their established excursion protocol where the person at homebase waits for the field to respond first in case wherever they are at is...less that safe. "Field all clear, go ahead."

Bobby's white noise garbled voice comes through from the other side in fits and spurts. "Gonn... you … on the double. Shitstorm... "

Mary catches Crowley's eyes over the radio, seeing her own concern mirrored in them. "Bobby, we're having trouble hearing you. Can you try that again?"

"Balls… hol… sec…" His voice cuts out and Mary and Crowley wait, Mary's knuckles going white where she squeezes the radio tight.

She counts off five, ten, twenty seconds before the radio flares back to life, Bobby's voice coming through as loud and clear as it can, given the tin-cans they're talking into. "That better?"

Mary releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding, Crowley's tense form next to her relaxing in time as well. "Much. What's happening?"

"Angel siren's goin' haywire. Need you two to come back in. Fast as you can manage."

Neither Crowley nor Mary waste any time securing their only partially filled rucksacks to their backs, turning on their heels, and heading for the tunnels again. She waits by the entrance for Crowley to reactivate the wards. "You got a bead on the location?" Mary asks while touching the pistol at her hip just to make sure it's still where it's supposed to be.

Even with the radio distortion, Bobby manages to sound offended at the question. "Course. Have we met?"

She can't see it in the dim lighting of the tunnel as they move forward as fast as the narrow passages will allow, but she knows that Crowley's rolling his eyes. "Don't keep us in suspense, Robert."

"Ya 'member where the two of you fell into our scenic hellscape? Right 'bout there."

"Shit."

"Yup. You two ain't expecting guests are ya?"

Mary and Crowley share a wide-eyed look over the radio. Mary feels worry and hope flaring to life inside her in equal measure.

Maybe Crowley was right afterall, and her boys are here. Or maybe reality is as much of a bastard as it's always been, and a heavenly battalion has decided it's time for a visit.

Either way, Mary and Crowley pick up the pace.

End Author's Note: HAPPY NEW YEAR ALL! I wanted to dedicate this space to everyone who has been reading along, favorting, commenting, or following. You are all amazing, wonderful people, and I adore and appreciate all of you. I hope 2018 is a FANTASTIC year for each and everyone of you out there. You are all awesome :-D