Not Exactly Ovid

by ErtheChilde

When Castiel mysteriously disappears the night Dean is reunited with Sam, the brothers hit the road to find answers. But the Apocalypse was not as neatly tied up as they hoped, & pursuit by enemies forces them into "supernatural witness protection". Along the way, new truths come to light, Dean re-evaluates his relationship with Cas & Sam seeks redemption. [short arcs now long eps]

18. 6x09 - Don't Fear The Reaper

Nine

Overnite Inn
Buffalo, New York
Thursday 24 June 2010

Dean was not staring at Cas.

He just happened to be glancing in the same direction as the one where Cas was currently shimmying into his jeans, that was all.

There was nothing appraising or watchful about the action, either. He was only noticing because it was the first time his friend had managed to get dressed without tripping over his own feet or getting a limb stuck in an article of clothing.

It had zilch to do with the dream from the night before, because Dean wasn't thinking about that. There was nothing to think about. His exhaustion and overwrought nerves had simply fabricated a completely implausible scenario that his brain had proceeded to play out for him.

It didn't help that he hadn't had sex in months (at least with another person) and coupled with the girl hormones left over from his recent brush with Aunt Flo, he just wasn't himself.

'End of story,' he told himself firmly.

Besides, even in some kind of Whovian alternate reality where he might bat for the other tea, Cas would never be his first choice to toss the proverbial ball around with anyway. Because you didn't mess around with your best friend-slash-family-slash-whatever-Cas-was-right-n ow.

Especially not the best friend-slash-family-slash-whatever-Cas-was-right-n ow-virgin-ex-angel-that-pulled-you-of-Hell; because Dean was pretty sure there were laws about that kind of thing. And if those laws weren't the human kind, he was damn sure they were of the cosmic 'catching-another-one-way-ticket-to-the-Pit' kind of laws.

Not that any of that mattered, of course, because Dean was not attracted to Cas. At all.

'Not that he's unfortunate looking, or anything,' Dean acknowledged apologetically, unaccountably feeling like he had to justify himself to his subconscious. 'Objectively speaking. Or at least, I guess it's more Jimmy and Cas jus inherited, you know, whatever…'

But the fact was that Dean was a guy, Cas was a guy, so exhaustion-induced dreams aside, there was nothing going on there.

And, okay, looking at Cas now in the dimness of the motel room while he reached for a shirt, Dean could sort of see his friend rocking the Dr. Sexy look – complete with stubble and hair – but in a totally non-gay way.

"Dean?"

He mentally shook himself, glancing up at Cas, who was staring at him, head tilted to one side curiously.

"Yeah, sorry, haven't had any coffee yet," he replied smoothly, rubbing a hand across his eyes in an effort to physically push his blatantly inappropriate thoughts out of his head. 'Christ, I need a vacation. Somewhere sunny. Where girls run around naked.'

Yeah, that sounded better. As soon as all this was over, maybe they'd head to Florida or Hawaii. Which might be problematic considering they were once again fugitives, but in this scenario they would have their real bodies back.

"I could procure you some while you perform your morning ablutions," Cas offered as Dean tried to lose himself in a fantasy that involved a lot of alcohol and breasts that didn't belong to him. "There was an eatery that we passed on our way into town last night."

Dean briefly considered taking Cas up on the offer, but then decided that showering might tempt his already overwrought libido into another type of activity. Which normally wouldn't be a problem, but with thoughts of his best friend filling his head –

He cleared his throat and shook his head. "Nah. I'll get some once we hit the road. We've still got a ways to go."

Rufus Turner's place was still a day's drive away. Dean wasn't too keen on going back there, as his last sit-down with the old hunter had been more than a little disheartening, but Rufus was the most well-connected hunter they knew right now. He was the best bet they had right now of getting a beat on the Purgatory incantation that didn't involve tipping of the Heavenly Host.

"Explain how this thing works again?" Dean asked tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Can't we just come up with our own? It'd be a lot less hassle."

"That would be impossible," Cas answered, matter-of-fact. "The incantation was spoken into being by Metatron."

"Who-Now?"

"Metatron. He is the voice of God."

"I thought God was the voice of God."

"No. His voice is too powerful for any being, save perhaps the archangels, to withstand. Metatron was elevated to act as an intermediary."

"But I thought that angel in the Garden – Joshua – didn't he hear God?"

"No. He heard Metatron," Castiel corrected. "But it is the closest to God that any angel can experience, and so the concept has long since become synonymous."

"You guys just have rules for the sake of having rules, don't you?" Dean complained, beginning to pack away his overnight things. "Damn it. Why, do I get the feeling tracking down this incantation just got a hell of a lot harder?"

"Perhaps if Metatron had always been an angel I would agree," Cas replied thoughtfully. "But he was not always the voice of God. Once, long ago, he was a human scribe."

Dean blinked. "You're kidding me."

"No. Your Bible knows of him as Enoch – it was when God raised him to the Host of Heaven, the only mortal to be granted that gift, that angels first gained language. Before it, we had no such thing."

"Then how'd you talk to each other?"

"It is…too complicated to explain," Cas said after a thoughtful pause. "I can no longer access the words for the concept."

"Oh. Well, that sucks," Dean said sympathetically. "So this Megatron –"

" – Metatron –"

" – is the one who created the magic words to open Purgatory?"

"Exactly."

"Okay – so we summon his ass down here and get the incantation!"

Cas shook his head. "Part of the condition of his ascension was that he can no longer appear on this plane."

Dean made a face at his idea being shot down.

"Great. The one lead we've got and he can't even come out and play. How does that help us, again?"

"More than you think," Cas explained as he brought out Sam's laptop and determinedly started to boot it up. The past few weeks had seen him strike up a wary alliance with certain kinds of technology, although he still hadn't figured out call-waiting.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Angels have little regard for the past experiences of mortals. Once Enoch became Metatron, his earthly life was of no consequence to the Host, but it still would have had some type of meaning to him," Cas said. "I believe if he had anything to hide, he would have left it somewhere no other angel would ever look. Somewhere that might have had meaning to him as a human."

"Which means it'll be hard for Raphael to find, because he thinks we're all bugs," Dean realized.

"Essentially," Cas agreed.

"And you think we can find it when the entire Host of Heaven can't?" Dean snorted. "I know you've got faith, man, but that's kind of unlikely."

"Even before I was one of you, I noticed that humans are somewhat more imaginative than angels," Cas said, his mouth twitching like he was fighting back a smile. "There are different avenues that we can explore. And as the incantation is hidden in the same way as the War Scroll, we have a better chance of finding it than Raphael."

"I can't decide if this whole optimism thing you've got going on is a good thing or not," Dean muttered, only half-joking. "So, I take it from your enthusiasm, you think you found something?"

"Perhaps," Cas agreed. "I was reading a piece on the Interweb –"

" – Internet –" Dean corrected.

" – about a group of archaeologists and occultists in the Middle East attempting to trace the earthly remains of biblical figures using various esoteric methods."

"Wait, what?" Dean asked, shaking his head and leaning over Cas's shoulder to squint down at the screen he had brought up. "Let me see that."

"Uh," Cas trailed off for second as Dean took control of the laptop's mouse, before going on, "well, obviously their methodology is, uh, flawed. They are attempting to…to discern this through, uh, past life regression."

"Which wouldn't work?" Dean guessed as he scanned through the article. It was mostly just academic back speak and filler.

"N-no," Cas said, his voice tight for some reason. "Any, uh, figure mentioned in the writings of the p-prophets would have been beholden to God, th-therefore, reincarnation would be untenable."

"But I bet you have a souped-up, angelic way of getting the info, right?" Cas didn't respond right away, and Dean frowned at the side of his head. "Cas!"

"What?" the ex-angel asked with a cough, and again Dean noticed the uneasy tremor in his voice. He frowned, about to ask what was with the sudden tension, when he realized just how close he was to his friend. It seemed that without noticing, he had broken the personal space rule he'd been trying to instill in the ex-angel since they first met.

'Guess he's starting to understand how uncomfortable that is,' Dean thought, his satisfaction marred by his friend's obvious discomfort. For some reason, the idea of Cas being ill at ease by his presence bothered him.

Still, he wasn't going to comment on it. The lapse was awkward enough, and so hoping to fix the situation without drawing anymore undue attention to it, Dean started to straighten back up.

Unfortunately, he moved back at the exact moment that Cas turned to face him, bringing their faces within inches of each other. Cas's stupidly blue eyes were widened in something like surprise and wariness, and his mouth was parted like he wanted to say something but had forgotten what it was.

The close proximity meant that Dean was exceedingly aware of the warm, clean smell of the freshly showered man that blended with what he had come to identify as Cas's scent, and he felt himself flashing back to his dream from the night before. Immediately, his breath caught in his throat and it suddenly felt too dry to inhale properly.

His fingers twitched uncomfortably as he tried desperately to think of something to say to break whatever moment had forced itself upon them.

Some divine force must have decided to take pity on him, because at that exact moment his phone began to chime out the familiar bass ringtone. He jerked up and away from Cas like he had been burned.

"Yeah?" he snapped, whirling around and putting as much distance between him and Cas he could, trying not to be acutely aware of the ex-angel also getting up and moving across the room.

Dean expected it to be Sam on the other line, but when the gruff voice on the other end barked out, "Dean?" he felt the tension of the previous moments bleed out of him.

"Bobby?" he asked tentatively. From where he was now standing by the window, Cas's head whipped around. "That you, man?"

"Sounds like you're still in the same situation as the last time we spoke," the old hunter said gruffly.

"Not by choice," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck as something inside him loosened. They hadn't heard from Bobby in almost two months, and except for Cas's assurances that Balthazar was more or less trustworthy when he wasn't playing Benedict Arnold, there had been no word on if the older hunter was alright.

Dean understood that keeping away from each other was a measure to keep all parties safe, but that didn't mean he liked it.

"Listen, boy, things are getting hairier than we thought. We're gonna need a face to face to talk about some things."

"It's gonna have to wait Bobby, we're in the middle of keeping a zap-happy angel from restarting the Apocalypse," Dean pointed out.

"And I'm tryin' to keep a damn archedmon from getting too powerful and killing us all," Bobby snapped.

Dean blinked. "A what?"

"Don't tell me that feather-brained idjit didn't tell you what's been goin' on," Bobby growled. "Where are you? We need to talk shop, and over the line isn't safe." He paused. "Especially 'cause I doubt you're gonna like what I have to say."

Dean thought he heard a voice in the background and the telltale silence suggesting Bobby had just cupped his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, but he didn't pay all that much attention to it. The older hunter's words had suddenly reminded Dean that Cas had been trying to say something before and never gotten around to it.

If Bobby was worried, he needed to know what it was before there was any kind of discussing.

"Call you back, Bobby," Dean said sharply and hung up.

He rounded on Cas.

"What the hell is an archdemon?" he demanded, tossing his phone on the nearest bed. Cas adopted a look like a deer caught in the headlights. "Because it doesn't sound like a barrel of laughs, let me tell you."

"Dean –"

"Is this what you've been keeping from me?" Dean went on. "Judging by how wigged Bobby sounds, it's obviously not as cute and fluffy as it sounds."

"I was hoping we would address it once the situation with Raphael was rectified," Cas said, stiffly. "I was going to tell you, I just –"

But what he just, Dean didn't find out.

All of a sudden, there was the sensation of something cold grabbing hold of his heart and then jerking him viciously backward, before the whole world went white.

(*)

"I know by now I sound like a broken record," Sarah murmured, staring up at the blown up posters depicting the Supernatural series in the living room of Becky Rosen's first-floor apartment, "but this is really weird."

Becky's residence was located in a neat little white-stone building in Pike Creek that was surrounded by trees and small front garden. Sam didn't admit it out loud, but he was a little surprised at the normalcy of the exterior setting. He had sort of expected Becky to live in the basement of an old house or in some kind of gated, Stepford community.

'Or a mental institution,' he thought uncharitably. Out loud, he asked, "Weirder than spontaneous genderswap?"

He was only half joking.

Sarah's expression remained completely serious. "It actually it."

"Hunh," he intoned, trying to hide his surprise. "I guess that's something."

If Sarah was more freaked out by what amounted to an actual instance of deus ex machine than she was about his borrowed form, Sam was going to count that as a win.

Not knowing what else to say to that, he went back to surveying the empty apartment. He had found the location the night before on the lobby computer, having left his laptop with Dean and Castiel when their little hunting party separated.

'And Dean'd better be using if for researching that Purgatory incantation and not to introduce Cas to porn," Sam thought with a resolute scowl. The only reason he had left the laptop behind was because in comparison to tracking down a slightly insane fangirl to protect her from archangels, Dean and Castiel had gotten the more difficult task.

'Except the part where Becky might kill me and wear my skin, which could constitute 'difficult'," Sam mused queasily.

Going after Becky right away hadn't been his first choice, having pointed out to Dean that there was no evidence that she had even been blessed by a prophet. He'd tried calling Chuck first, but for some reason he had been informed that the guy's number had been disconnected.

Which Sam could understand; he figured that with the Apocalypse a failure, Chuck might have decided to go on vacation or try to distance himself from the events of the so-called Winchester Gospels. As annoyed as he was with the writer's up close and personal knowledge of his life, Sam could sympathize with his need to stay out of the cosmic fray. Tracking down Becky was hopefully just a way of cutting out the middle man.

So far, it had turned out to be a bust as well, because Becky was nowhere in sight and it seemed like it had been a while since she had been around.

Sarah took one of the many Supernatural books off the packed shelves of what they figured was the study and flipped through it, distracted. "So, everything that happened to you and Dean is in these, right?"

"More or less," Sam agreed, studying a few framed pictures of Becky and another girl; the latter was almost familiar, but Sam couldn't really place her. "Everything hunting related, at least."

'And sometimes sex related,' he didn't add.

Gratuitous nudity aside, Chuck had been kind enough to at least skip past his and Dean's childhoods for the most part. Sam didn't think he could take people reading about how awkward puberty had been when you had to share a room with your older brother, or how miserable an experience it was to spend a night cleaning Dad's vomit off the floor when he'd come back from a particularly hard hunt.

"And it goes up until now?"

"Huh?" he asked, momentarily caught off guard by her question. He tore his attention away from a studying the back of one of the pictures, which proclaimed 'Me and Crystal – Besties!' in vibrant pink writing.

"The books – or the events in the books. They include stuff that's been happening in the past few years?"

"Not really. The series stopped about the time that Dean got sent to Hell." Sam had to swallow for a moment, because that memory would never be a good one, before going on, "It's only in the past few months they started being published again. Which we're going to put a stop to as soon as we deal with this Purgatory thing, because seriously, Chuck should know better."

"Chuck's this Carver Edlund person, right?" Sarah clarified, tapping the book thoughtfully. "And he's a…prophet. Like, of the biblical variety?"

"Yeah. He's been tuning into our lives for years, apparently," Sam answered. "We didn't know until a year or so ago. If you think you're confused right now, imagine how we felt."

"I can't," Sarah said honestly, shaking her head. "I'm kind of still having trouble wrapping my head around it." She pursed her lips, thoughtful, and then asked, "So, if they're being published again, that means everything else you guys do is eventually going to be in these books?"

"Until we threaten Chuck's life – yeah."

"So…I'm going to be in them?"

Sam winced, considered for a moment, and then admitted, "Pretty sure you already are."

"What?"

"Well, that book that you've got right there?" Sam said uncomfortably, pointing at a copy of Woman in White. "That case happened almost a year before we met you. And the series is chronological, so…"

"So I'm in the books," Sarah concluded, going pale.

"If it makes you feel any better, the series is pretty underground and doesn't have too big a fanbase," Sam told her, completely able to understand her discomfort. "No one would ever make the connection to you."

Well, except very dedicated fans like Becky or even Yong.

She shuddered. "I still I feel kind of violated."

"Join the club."

"How is that even legal?"

"Chuck never used any last names in the books, or anything that could get him sued," Sam responded. "At least, that's what I think, anyhow."

Sarah went quiet, in the tense and uneasy way he had become familiar with since they reunited in New York. He bristled reflexively, wondering if her reaction once she processed all of this was going to be unpleasant or calmly accepting. He really never knew what to expect when it came to Sarah.

Something moved in the periphery of his vision, and Sam tightened his grasp on the picture in his hand; for a moment he imagined Lucifer was leaning against the window sill, sticking out a forked tongue at him and waving merrily. The minute he looked, of course, the mirage disappeared.

Sam still hadn't figured out why he was seeing the Devil, but it only seemed to happen when he was feeling overwhelmed in some way, or when his guard dropped a little. Unfortunately, his guard always seemed to waver whenever he was around Sarah.

Beside him, she moved suddenly shoving the book back onto the shelf.

"I don't think I can read it," she admitted. "It feels…invasive."

Sam blinked, surprised. For some reason, her words filled him with a sense akin to gratitude.

"Besides," she went on, "if it's all the same, I think I'll wait. At least until you're ready to tell me about it yourself."

Sam couldn't help looking over at her in surprise. She was gazing at him with something akin to caution, but he could also recognize what might have been an apology in her speech.

"I thought you didn't like being kept in the dark?" he asked carefully, trying to ignore the little surge of optimism sparked by the gesture.

"I like not knowing if you're okay even less," Sarah admitted to him after a breath. "The past week's been…" She trailed off and shook her head. "The last time we said goodbye, I didn't see you for years – and I spent a good month or so after you left wondering if something had killed you. And it sucked. Doing it a second time…"

Sam kept his voice neutral. "So you were worried about me?"

"Of course I was worried about you," she told him, wryly amused. "I worry whenever my friends do something stupid. It doesn't help now that I know a little about the stuff you've been dealing with that I wake up at three in the morning wondering if you and Dean and Cas have been carted off by angels or something."

He grinned at her, flashing her a knowing look and repeated, "So you were worried about me."

"Shut up," she ordered, though she looked like she was fighting off a smile as well. "You're still a jerk for not telling me about the sex change."

"It's not a sex change!" Sam protested, despite the obvious teasing. "And I said I was sorry."

"Then why did you do it?" she wanted to know. "In the big scheme of things – you know, angels, demons, Apocalypse – magical transformations are kind of low on the list of things to worry about."

Sam swallowed, having been dreading this particular question since Sarah found out about him and Dean. At least when she had been angry about it, he hadn't needed to worry about how to explain. And in the wake of that business with the Campbells, and then finding out about the Supernatural series, she had been distracted.

But now the question was there, out in the open, and he had no idea how to even approach the topic with her.

"There were…reasons," he finally managed, focussing determinedly on the odometer of the car.

"Which were?"

Again, he struggled with himself. Normally coming out and telling a girl he was interested in her wasn't hard. He wasn't as in-your-face about it as Dean, but his confidence when it came to girls had soared since he first kissed Amy Pond when he was fifteen. Even though he'd made a complete fool of himself with Jessica, eventually he had managed to impress her enough to go out with him.

'But I looked like myself back then,' he thought miserably.

"Sam, if this is a 'protecting me' thing –"

"It's not!" he protested, although his mind cast back to the warning Don Stark had given him the day before. 'At least, not completely.' "It's just…things were complicated enough, I didn't want to make them more complicated."

"More complicated? What do you mean by – ?" her question cut off abruptly, and he could feel her staring at him now. "Oh."

He winced, unable to parse her tone. Silence stretched between them for several seconds, and then she cleared her throat. Sam braced himself for the incoming gentle let-down.

"So, this Becky person," she said instead, gesturing around the house. "You and Dean never really explained about her. I mean, I get she's apparently a huge fan, but why exactly is she important? How did she end up being blessed by a prophet?"

Sam blinked in surprise at the change of subject.

Chancing a glance to his right, he saw that Sarah's cheeks were slightly rosier than they had been before and her mouth was curving slightly upward in a – and he could be seeing things, but he didn't think he was – pleased manner.

The small flutter of hope in his chest grew. The subject change suggested she was obviously as flustered over the topic as he was, but she hadn't told him to back off, which…meant something.

"Yeah, it's a bit of a messed up situation," he agreed slowly, rolling with the subject-change the best he could.

"She seems a bit interested in you, so obviously you've met," Sarah remarked, pointing at the heavily embellished posters of Sam's fictional self. "Is she an ex-girlfriend?"

"God, no!" Sam exclaimed before he had time to think.

Sarah started at the vehemence of his objection, and Sam immediately wished he'd controlled his reaction a little better. He ran a hand through his hair in agitation.

"A while back, Chuck used Becky to get a message to me and Dean," Sam explained. "It was an emergency."

"And she just accepted it? Just like that?"

"I think she was a little…off to begin with," Sam said, which was the politest way he could think to describe Becky's state of mind.

Sarah noticed, and her mouth quirked slightly upward. "You don't like her."

"It's not that I don't like her, it's just…well, have you ever seen the Cable Guy?"

Sarah grimaced. "Wow. Yikes. Really?"

"Yeah. And she was strange before she knew we were real. I mean, she writes this stuff called fanfiction –"

"You have fanfiction written about you?" Sarah gaped.

Again, Sam couldn't help staring at her in surprise. "You know what that is?"

"I was a huge Buffy fan when I was younger," Sarah answered defensively. "You don't go through that without knowing what fanfiction is."

"Huh," Sam exhaled. "Then I guess you know what slash is, too."

"Of course, I – oh."

"Yeah."

"Right, that's a little…" She trailed off on that thought, and then to Sam's surprise, she began to laugh.

"This is funny to you?" he challenged.

"It's…sorry, but it's actually hilarious," Sarah giggled. "I mean, I never really read much of the stuff , but that's…" She broke into a fit of laughter again. "Oh, please tell me Dean knows about this."

"You shouldn't laugh," Sam muttered darkly. "You've probably got stuff written about you, too."

"What?" Sarah stopped laughing, looking temporarily chastised. "No way!"

"Knowing what these people come up with, you're probably paired with that creepy little girl we ganked, too," Sam teased. "Creepy, under-age ghost non-con."

Whether Sarah had a response to that, Sam didn't get to find out. There was suddenly the sound of glass breaking from one of the rooms beyond the study, and a clatter like boots hitting the floor.

They both froze at the indication that they were no longer the only ones there.

(*)

It took Dean several seconds to reorient himself when the pulling sensation stopped, and when he finally did it took him several more of staring down at his own temporary face for realization to kick in. The experience of being hauled from his body was always muddling the first few seconds.

'And the fact that there's an 'always' is the problem here,' Dean thought with a grimace, staring down at the uncomfortable heap his borrowed form had fallen into. "Is that what this body looks like when I'm asleep? Seriously, I look like every horror movie chick that gets ganked in a dark alley."

"Dean?"

He turned and noticed that Cas was staring at him, wide-eyed. Beyond him, the prone body that had once belonged to Jimmy was crumpled on the floor as well.

The anger from before was gone for now, replaced with wariness over the sudden change in the status quo. Dean took a tentative step forward, eyes flicking over his friend to make sure he was at least as intact as any spirit could be.

"Cas?"

"Yes," the ex-angel confirmed, bemused look on his face as he gazed over. Something in his expression softened. "It is nice to see your usual form again."

"My…?" Dean blinked, then looked down at himself and gaped. Barring the clothes he had been wearing before being hauled out of his body, his spectral form was the one he was used to. Every hard plane, freckle and crooked finger was the way it should have been. "Oh, thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster."

At least outside of the plane of the living, he was still himself.

Cas cocked his head to one side. "What does pasta have to do with this?"

"I'll tell you later," Dean answered, and then frowned. "You okay?"

"I appear to be. The experience is somewhat mystifying. This state of being is similar to existing outside of a vessel…and yet, I feel infinitely more vulnerable."

"That's because right now you're just a soul, not a supercharged angel," a voice behind them explained.

They both whirled around in surprise and Dean reached instinctively for a gun before remembering he was both incorporeal and not packing. Upon recognizing the pale, petite dark-haired figure watching them impassively, his sense of self-preservation was joined by one of dread.

"Tessa?!"

"Hello, Dean."

"What the hell?" he demanded, looking around the empty motel room. "Is there a carbon monoxide leak in here we didn't know about?"

She pretended to sigh. "You're never happy to see me."

"Yeah, well, there's a reason why normal people aren't on a first name basis with their Reaper," he grimaced. "Otherwise I'd have bought you a drink the last time I kicked the bucket."

"Charming, as always," she rolled her eyes.

"What do you want?"

"You must be Castiel," Tessa dodged his question and nodded at Cas, who still looked somewhat perplexed. "It's nice to officially meet the guy that undid all of my hard work."

Comprehension dawned on the ex-angel's face. "You oversaw Dean's journey to Hell."

"That was you?" Dean interrupted, surprised. He didn't remember much of the journey downstairs.

"Yes," Tessa said. "If it's any consolation, I didn't want to bring you there." Dean blinked. "Oh, don't get me wrong – still wanted to get my job done. But I would have preferred to do it without the aid of those Hell mutts. Your case took me longer than I would have liked."

Dean shrugged and muttered. "Okay, so maybe I've given you the slip once or twice."

"Try a few hundred times," she corrected. "That includes that incident with that Trickster who stuck you in that time loop."

"You were there?" Dean demanded.

"Of course I was," Tessa snorted. "Your soul did leave your body, you know. I would have taken you any of those opportunities if he hadn't stopped me." She sighed. "Do you realize how much of a pain in the ass you've been? The last person I had to work so hard on was Rasputin."

"My heart bleeds for you," Dean bit out. "So what, you're makin' up for lost time now?" He gestured at his and Cas's bodies. "What is it, things slow on your end so you figured killing us would be fun?"

"You're not completely dead right now," Tessa told him unconcernedly. "Just mostly."

"Why?"

"Because I asked her to bring you both here," another chillingly familiar voice interrupted.

There were few creatures that inspired instant deference in Dean, human or not. It probably came from a childhood of looking up to John Winchester and being sure that no one could compare to his father. Even a trip or two back in time, as well as some of the knowledge of John's less heroic deeds, hadn't marred that respect. It wasn't often that someone could come close to that – it was even less often that someone could surpass it, and perhaps even inspire a healthy kind of fear.

But the creature that had spoken had Dean's metaphysical heart skipping a beat and his throat swallowing nervously.

Dean took his time turning around, trying to hold back the instinctive shiver at the realization he was once again in the presence of the Great Destroyer.

Death was sitting at the tiny motel table, drizzling syrup over a stack of what looked like authentic Belgian waffles. Despite all the times Dean had seen the guy eating, he remained as skeletal and hollow-eyed as ever.

"Thank you very much, Tessa," the Horseman said quietly, and when she disappeared, he glanced up at Dean disinterestedly. "Hello, Dean." Dean swallowed. "Castiel." Cas actually inclined his head, respectfully, but didn't speak. "I find your recent mortality appropriate."

Cas pursed his lips, like he wasn't sure if he should be insulted or not.

"Is, uh, this a social call?" Dean asked. "Because seriously, you could have just e-mailed. Or sent a text."

He was fighting the instinct to run screaming through the wall and as far away from the Horseman as possible. He'd even go so far as to hop a plane to bring him to the other end of the world if he thought it would do any good, and if that wasn't saying something, he didn't know what would.

"I simply felt it was time I let you know I am aware of what you've been up to," Death said nonchalantly, cutting a meticulous square of waffle. "Did you really think you could try to enter Hell without me knowing?"

Dean was quiet, clenching his fists.

"Though, I must say, I was surprised by the lead-up to that decision. The angel's little wager with the current King of Hell was an interesting twist," Death went on. "If it hadn't made things so much more complicated, it would have been a neat little fix-it." He took a mouthful of waffle, chewed slowly, and then fixed them both with an unreadable look. "And yet, even now that you have your brother out, you're still intending to do it again."

"Adam's still down there," Dean hedged, trying to keep unease from dripping into the unapologetic tone of his voice. "Stuck in the box."

"I've heard."

"Then you know why we're trying to get there," Dean went on carefully.

"Of course," Death acquiesced.

"Well, seeing as how I figure you're one of the few beings out there that can actually jailbreak Lucifer's Cage without opening it up, maybe you can help us skip all that and get him out," Dean proposed.

"And why would I do that?"

Dean did some quick thinking, casting around for a reason . The collection of Horsemen's rings came to mind. "Because I have something of yours."

"You mean my ring? I recall loaning you that temporarily."

"Well, if you want it back –"

"I'm sorry, you assume that I don't know where you've hidden it," Death drawled, and Dean's mouth clamped shut. "Now, we've established you have hubris but no leverage. Why would I help you?

"You had us brought here for a purpose," Cas spoke up cautiously, sounding as though he was trying to change the subject.

"True," Death answered. "And as a rule, I don't bring people back. I might make an exception, once in a while, but those circumstances are far beyond what we have happening at the moment."

"Then what the hell have we been talking about?" Dean questioned, frustrated.

"I am simply letting you know what is off the table," Death said. "But there's something more immediate that you two want at the moment, which I am inclined to provide."

"The incantation," Castiel realized.

"You know where it is?" Dean wanted to know.

"The tablet with the spell Metatron created was found long ago and moved. No being on earth save for myself and God know if it's location, or what it says," Death told them simply. He inclined his head at Cas. "And with your beloved Father absent at the moment, who do you think Raphael is trying to squeeze that information out of?"

"I wouldn't think you'd be worried about a pesky little Ninja Turtle on your ass," Dean remarked.

"Raphael has rediscovered the knowledge needed to collar me," Death frowned, taking another bite of syrup-soaked waffle. "Alas, one of the few restrictions placed upon my existence is that I cannot actively stop someone from doing so." He fixed Dean with a knowing look. "Once he slips the leash on, I will have no choice but to reveal the incantation to him."

"So you're coming to us because...?"

"Because I am allowed to help myself indirectly," Death answered. "It is only a matter of time before Raphael collars me once again, the least I can do is ensure the knowledge he seeks no longer resides with me but in someone else."

Dean swallowed. "And you thought of me?"

Cas made a noise like he wanted to protest but wasn't sure what to say.

"Please," Death waved a hand dismissively. "You are merely one of a long list of candidates I would pass this on to. But considering it is something you are already looking for, and your motives are closest in line to my own, naturally you happened to be nearer to the top of the list."

"But I sense a 'but' coming," Dean accused.

"I don't 'do' freebies," Death went on.

"Right ,'cause there's always a catch…"

"Not so much a 'catch' as an opportunity. I'll make you a deal, Dean," Death said. "And trust me when I say I wouldn't even be doing this if Raphael's ascent to power wasn't threatening the balance I've been attempting to rectify since returning to this plane."

Dean folded his arms across his chest. "The last time we made a deal my brothers ended up in a box."

"And the one that actually mattered to you is out again," Death replied carelessly. "Not that that's going to stop you from going back to your little rescue mission once you've dealt with Raphael's ambitions, yes?"

Dean blinked. "You're not going to stop us? Or, uh, smite us or something?"

"Once again you show that you are exceedingly egotistical," Death reproached. "Why would I lower myself to that when you're just going to do the work for me? Getting through Hell unscathed is almost impossible for an angel, as Castiel here no doubt knows." Castiel's expression was stormy. "To do it as a mortal still attached to your skin…" Death smiled unpleasantly. "Well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you what will happen."

"We would take the necessary precautions," Cas said stiffly.

"All it takes is one demon in the right place at the right time," Death answered unconcernedly.

"Yeah, yeah, we're basically going to our deaths – can we get on with this now?" Dean inquired sharply.

"Dean!" Cas protested.

"Don't snap, Dean, it's impolite," Death chided. "Now, your task is this: fetch my ring and put it on."

Dean stared, nonplussed. "What?"

"I want you to be me for a day," Death said.

"Are you serious?"

"No, I'm being incredibly sarcastic," Death answered tonelessly. "Take the ring off before the twenty-four hours are up, and you lose."

"And by lose, you mean…?"

"I will personally escort Sam back to the Cage and reap you out of existence."

"Dean…" Cas began, hesitant but with a warning in his tone.

"No," Dean said immediately, holding a hand up to tell Cas to stay quiet. He didn't need to be reminded of what a bad idea deals were. "No way am I dealing if anything happens to Sam. He's not part of this."

Death raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think you have a choice?"

Dean opened his mouth, and let it snap shut again.

"You said it yourself," Cas spoke up when Dean couldn't think of a response. "You may have a list of people who could do this, but we are the only ones who know what the actual stakes on Purgatory are. If you really have a problem with keeping Sam out of this, go get one of your other candidates to do your dirty work."

Dean shot his friend a grateful grin, unable to stop himself thinking that he enjoyed his friend's occasional moments of badassery.

There was a long, thoughtful pause.

"Hm. Very well," Death said quietly. "I won't touch Sam."

"Or Dean," Cas added firmly.

Death narrowed his eyes. "I don't have to explain the concept of 'no freebies' to you too, do I Castiel?"

"Going once…" Dean interrupted, cutting off his friend's response.

"Very well," Death agreed after another thoughtful pause. He fixed Dean with a meaningful stare. "I will not touch you or your brother."

He stood up and walked over to them. Before Dean could move, he had pressed his ice cold hands against Dean's temple, and a feeling like being kicked in the head by a horse took over.

Dean grunted at his came to, staring up at the ceiling from the floor where his body had fallen. He had a brief sense that whatever victory he had just won was a pyrrhic one, and the situation wasn't over as he gingerly checked to make sure he still had feeling in his extremities.

"Aw, crap, I'm a girl again," Dean complained as he sat up, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the floor. "Well, literal deals with Death aside, I think we've got some stuff to talk about, Cas."

Beside him, his friend didn't move.

"Cas?" Dean repeated, leaning over to shake him by the shoulder. Cas's head lolled to one side, and Dean felt something in his gut clench painfully. "Cas!" He crawled over, shook him a little harder this time, but to no avail. "CAS!"

The ex-angel remained motionless upon the dank carpet of the motel room, and although Dean could see him breathing – barely – a sick sense of understanding hit Dean.

Death had found a different form of collateral for his wager, and whether Cas has been aware of this when he negotiated on Dean's behalf, Dean had been too stupid to realize it before it was too late.

(*)

"Stay here," Sam whispered to Sarah, whose smile had faded as he brought out his gun.

"No," she replied.

"Sarah –"

"You're not going out there alone," she told him. "If it's an angel or something, I bet Dean would hunt me down if anything happened to you."

"Angels don't break through windows. And even if it was an angel, what would you even do?" Sam challenged quietly as they both moved away from the door and out of any path of visibility an intruder might have.

"I do remember how to draw a banishing sigil, you know."

"And if it's a demon?"

"Do they break through windows?" Sarah challenged wryly, and off Sam's frown she rolled her eyes. "Exorcism memorized in Latin and Ancient Greek."

"And what if it's a – Ancient Greek? Really?"

"I figured it couldn't hurt," she shrugged."

"I still don't think –"

"We've been over the 'protecting me' thing, Sam," she cut him off, drawing out her own silver hunting knife from her belt and the Glock he had lent her that morning. "Not that we have to worry now, considering how much time you just wasted."

Sam scowled.

He supposed her insistence on being involved stemmed from being relegated to glorified babysitter during the past few cases, but it didn't make him any happier about it. Objectively, Sam knew that Sarah could probably handle herself – she had been hunting down cursed objects and dealing with spirits on her own for a few years now, and judging by the way her hands didn't even shake as she unclicked the safety of the gun, she obviously knew the basics.

But having her part of this life, especially when it came to dealing with the kinds of creatures he and Dean had become accustomed to dealing with, still made him uneasy.

Sam made a motion that he would go first, and without giving her a chance to argue that, checked that the small hallway was clear, and then nodded her forward. The apartment was nicely spaced with wide archways and large windows; every room was painted a different color, according to no particular design theme.

He could hear someone or something moving around in the front entrance. Thankful for the open-concept design of the place, he motioned for Sarah to go around the back way while he approached from the main hallway. She nodded and disappeared silently.

Judging from the rustling noise within and the ensuing muttered curse, whoever had broken in was too loud to be an angel and too male to be Becky.

Intending to get to the origin of the disturbance before Sarah came in, Sam crept through the wide-open living area, which was empty now but for the muddy footprints and glass from the window, and moved on toward the tiled kitchen he had passed through earlier. He could hear a rustling, swishing noise.

There was a loud creak as one of the floorboards he stepped down on suddenly squeaked, and he grimaced; the rustling noise from the kitchen stopped immediately.

Not allowing whoever or whatever was on the other side of the wall a chance to get to the next room and run into Sarah, Sam rounded the corner and raised his gun.

"Put your hands up!" he ordered loudly.

The figure let out a strangled yelp, whirling around with arms up in the air so quickly that he lost his footing; he slipped on the muddy treads he had left and ended up on his ass in the middle of Becky's smallish kitchen.

Sam blinked for a moment, a little caught off guard. For some reason he had expected a shifter, or possibly an extremely inept demon, but the person in front of him was neither. Because it was immediately clear that the guy was human: he moved too awkwardly to be anything else.

Sam's first thought was that he was dealing with one of the strange role-playing fans he had encountered at the convention or, even more unlikely, Becky's boyfriend.

The guy was about his age, and Dean's usual height, but appeared a lot smaller given the ridiculously large leather duster that hung off his small frame. Sam was strongly reminded of a turtle, in spite of the pasty white color of the guy's skin.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, all sense of tact erased by the absurdity of the situation.

"I'm – uh – one second –" the guy stammered, struggling slowly to his feet, and then showing Sam that he was unarmed, fumbling with his jacket, " – uh, Special Agents…Brown." He flipped open a badge – upside down – where Sam could just make out the familiar FBI insignia. "Looking to a disappearance in connection with a series of murders down this way."

Sam raised an eyebrow, more than a little incredulous, considering the guy looked like a kid that just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "And you're investigating the kitchen?"

"Man's gotta eat," the guy said easily, and then coughed, trying to regain his composure. Gruffly, he demanded, "What about you? Any reason I shouldn't arrest you for threatening a federal officer with a firearm, ma'am?"

"No way you're a fed," Sam told him bluntly. "You're like, twelve."

The guy jutted his chin out. "Size isn't everything, baby. And unless you want me to show off some of my less gentlemanly moves, you'll put the gun down."

"Or what?"

The stranger stiffened as Sarah came around through the other door, her own firearm trained on him. Sam couldn't help be impressed that she instinctively stayed out of the guy's range of movement lest he turn and try to wrest the gun from her.

"Seriously uncool," the guy muttered.

Sam shook his head, put off by the entire situation, and gestured for Sarah to lower her weapon. It was clear that the supernatural world was not at work in this particular instance, and so the most logical step was to figure out what was.

Peering at the stranger, he asked, "You're not one of those…LARPers, or whatever they call themselves, are you?"

"LARP?" the guy snorted, "Nah, man, I already told you –"

"Right. FBI," Sam repeated. "What office?"

"D.C."

"Really?" Sam questioned, not buying it. "Then who's your superior? I think I'm going to give him a call, seeing as how you're in here without any kind of documentation that I can see."

"Don't need it," the guy jutted his chin out as he dug around in his pocket for something. "And if you don't believe me, ma'am, I'm sure my AD can sort it out for you."

He handed something white and rectangular over to Sarah, who was closest, and she took it without getting too close to him. She frowned as she read the name. "Mike Kaiser."

A snort of surprised laughter escaped Sam. "You're kidding."

"You know him?" Sarah asked at the same time the guy did.

"Yeah, I do," Sam answered. "It's Bobby's FBI cover." He considered his gun for a moment, unsure of if he should put it away or not. "This guy's a hunter too."

"Too?" he repeated, looking Sam up and down. "Wow, I would not have called that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam began, but Sarah interrupted him.

She eyed him speculatively. "You're a hunter?"

"Name's Garth," he said, offering her a hand. "And you are…?"

"Sarah," she said, taking it slowly.

"Jane," Sam offered when Garth turned to him, but he didn't take the outstretched hand. "So, what exactly are you investigating here?"

"Nuh-uh, man, this is my case – no offense," the guy told him. "I'm a bit of a lone wolf, you see, so I work alone. If you're looking for a case to crash, though, a bunch of my friends are down in New Orleans dealing with a zombie outbreak."

"If the case has to do with the girl who lives here, you're just going to have to deal with some help," Sam told him firmly. "She's a friend of ours, if you get my meaning." He ignored how Sarah raised an eyebrow at his casual stretching of the bounds of his and Becky's relationship. "Where is she?"

"If she's your friend, wouldn't you know?" Garth challenged.

"I haven't seen her in a few months and she's switched cellphone numbers," Sam lied easily. "Did you wait for her to leave before you broke in here or are you just waiting for her to show up?"

"Been watching this place for a day now before I came in. She hasn't been by," Garth shrugged. "I guess we'll have to wait for her to come back."

"If she's coming back at all, which I somehow doubt," Sarah pointed out.

Both Sam and Garth offered her confused stares. Sam had been silently thinking of the possibility that Becky wouldn't be coming back any time soon, but it had had more to do with his conviction that things were never easy for him or Dean instead of any concrete evidence.

"Did you find something before?" he asked her.

"Yeah, the bathroom," she said. "No hairdryer, deodorant, tampons – none in her bedroom, either." Of both nonplussed expressions, she rolled her eyes. "That means she's gone somewhere long-term. Otherwise she would have left all that here."

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, as Sarah shot him an unimpressed look and remembering that he was supposed to be a girl too. "Hairdryers. Can't live without those."

"Oh," Garth blinked, and then nodded. "Guess that makes sense." He adopted a thoughtful look, complete with over-exaggerated chin-rubbing. "If she took her things, she planned to leave. Which might mean maybe the others did, too."

"Others?" Sarah echoed.

"Oh, yeah, it's this case I'm working," Garth explained. "A bunch of disappearances stretching from Ohio to here. No one can tell me what happened to them, and I thought I'd hit pay dirt with this Rosen chick, but if she isn't here..."

Sam was confused. "What does Becky have to do with a bunch of disappearances?"

"From my research, she knew 'em all."

"Any other connection between the disappearances?"

"None that I can tell – except they were into some serious shizzat of the geek variety," Garth said. "I cross-referenced a whole bunch of victims and found out that they all went to this weirdo sci-fi convention last November." He laughed lightly. "It's kind of sad, really. I mean, these people don't have lives to begin with, and now something's out there ganking 'em…"

But Sam wasn't listening, because his brain had stalled on the word 'sci-fi convention'.

'There's no way,' he thought, and then paused, because in his life, what wasn't possible?

"You have a copy of that list somewhere?" he asked casually.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Garth said, reaching into one of his deep pockets. He started to haul out the contents – two phones, a bag of nuts, what looked like a rabbit's foot and finally a creased, red-stained list. "Don't mind the marks, that's just ketchup. Got hungry while I was doin' the research."

Sam offered a tight smile, and then glanced down at the list. A wave of dismay rolled over him at the manifest for the first ever Supernatural convention. It was a list of every person that had bought tickets to the thing – including Becky Rosen.

Most of the names at the beginning of the list had question marks or black crosses next to them.

The meaning was clear – someone had clued into the Supernatural fanbase as being the most likely place for the recipient of Chuck's blessing to hang out. And they'd already started picking them off one by one.

"We've got to find Becky now," Sam said, digging his phone out of his pocket. He scowled, for the first time wishing he hadn't deleted the number she had surreptitiously programmed into it a few months back, and googled Chuck's publisher.

Considering the books were still being published, if anyone knew where the prophet was, it would be them.

He hoped.

(*)

"Mrs. Geraldo?"

Dean turned around sharply at the sound of the false name he had given, facing the ER doctor that was coming out of the doors where Cas had been carted in not an hour before. The guy was older, with greying hair and kind eyes that were focussed on Dean in a sympathetic way that he immediately hated.

"Is he okay?" Dean demanded, striding forward.

It had been a gamble bringing Cas to a hospital after their recent run-in with the law, but when the ex-angel had suddenly stopped breathing while Dean tried to wake him, Dean hadn't thought twice about calling an ambulance. Just like he hadn't hesitated to pretend that he was Cas's wife so that the paramedics let him ride along.

"We've made him comfortable," the doctor said apologetically, and Dean felt his heart sink. He had watched enough episodes of Dr. Sexy to know what that tone meant.

"What happened to him?" Dean asked blankly, knowing full well that Death was what had happened.

The man shook his head. "There doesn't seem to be any reason that we can find. Your husband's entire system just seems to be shutting down. We'll continue to try to pinpoint the exact cause, but unless we find it…" He sighed. "I'm sorry, but I can't give him much more than twenty-four hours."

The significance of that period of time was not lost on Dean, but it still hit him harder than when he first regained consciousness and realized that Cas hadn't.

Death wasn't giving him the option of wasting time thinking about his offer.

"He's not going to…just slip away is he?" Dean asked. "It's just, I have to…make some calls."

The doctor inclined his head in understanding. "He'll likely be stable for the next few hours, but as his faculties begin to shut down it will get harder. I would suggest making your arrangements now if you would like to stay by his side when it happens."

Dean nodded numbly, part of it his act and part of it him being sidetracked by what he knew he needed to do.

"Have one of the nurses page me when you get back and I'll take you to see him," the doctor told Dean, before shooting him one last sympathetic look and walking away.

Dean turned on his heel and once he was out of sight of the doctor, he made a beeline for the exit of the hospital.

Despite knowing there was nothing that he could actually do for Cas by hanging around in the waiting area, he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt the farther he got from the hospital.

'Why the hell didn't I speak up and include Cas in the deal with Sam and me?' he thought over and over as he stole a car in order to get back to the motel.

Part of him knew the reason was because he had been blinded by the usual situation: it was always about him and Sam. Some cosmic ugly was always trying to get them to give up on one another or trying to use the other as leverage. It had become so ingrained by now to only consider things in relation to himself and Sam that his brain hadn't thought to include Cas.

'Because no one ever tried to use Cas to get to me yet,' he knew. He'd been too good at hiding what the ex-angel meant to him – even from himself, if the past weeks were anything to judge by.

Somehow, though, Death had known.

Dean stowed the car a few blocks from the motel and hiked back to his room. Upon entering, he ignored the sight of Cas's unmade bed and his clothes still strewn about from when he had been getting changed, and made a beeline for the duffel with Dad's journal in it.

After Stull, he'd considered burying all of the Horsemen's rings in a hole outside of Bobby's and forgetting about them when he went to Lisa's, but at the last moment he had changed his mind and taken them with him. The night Sam had returned to him, he had cut a slit into the seam of Dad's hunting journal and placed them all within until they could get back to Bobby's. There they had sat since that moment.

He pulled out the journal and made quick work of opening up the little seam, shaking the ring out. The white stone gleamed at him, and he paused for a moment, thinking over what he was about to do.

As luck would have it, his eyes fell on his discarded cell phone, the screen flashing seven missed calls at him accusingly.

'Bobby,' he remembered, and reached for the phone. Given what he was about to do, he was going to have to make some kind of contingency plan if things went badly. Even though the deal was that Dean and Sam were off-limits, he wouldn't put it past Death to pull a fast one. He needed to ensure that Cas was looked out to if he couldn't.

Even if looking out just consisted of giving the angel a proper hunter's funeral in the end.

He hit the redial, and the phone picked up almost immediately. "Dean?"

"Bobby," he grunted, his voice strained. He cursed himself when there was a pause on the other line.

"Somethin's up," the older hunter said, his voice gentler than the first bark of his greeting.

"It's Cas…it's…" Dean managed, swallowed, and then launched into a quick recap of what had happened that morning.

"Damn it," Bobby growled at the end of the story. "You boys can't do anything half-way, can you?"

"I didn't plan this," Dean objected, dragging his hand down his face in agitation. "Is there anything else we can do to get out of this?"

"Not really seeing an alternative here," Bobby said. "Hate to say it, but Death's got you by the short and curlies, son."

"What about Balthazar?" Dean asked after a moment. "Couldn't he, I don't know, come by and heal Cas?"

"He's out of reach these days," Bobby reminded him. "Not to mention the last I saw him he was out of healing mojo. Even if he got it back now that he's palling around with the Host, I don't think he's got the juice to fix something like this. And that ain't the worst of our problems right now."

Which Dean had already known, but it was wired into him to check all of his options.

'Even though there aren't any in this case,' Dean thought to himself, staring down at the ring.

"Look," Dean began, not knowing what else to do. "I don't know how it's gonna go down this time, so…if things go south, at least come get Cas out of here. Dead or alive. We're at Mercy Hospital in Buffalo."

"Dean –"

"And don't tell Sam what's going on. Leastwise not 'til it's over," he went on. "The big girl will come try and stop me, which it's too late for right now, and besides, he's got to stop Purgatory from opening."

"Dean – !"

"Hey, don't worry, if I screw this up and Death decides to take me out of the equation, at least the angels can't resurrect me and stick me back in my body so I can say yes," he said, trying to sound upbeat. "Keeps the Apocalypse from happening again, right?"

"Except you ain't factoring in Adam," Bobby snapped. "If the End of Days comes again, you know the Cage'll be opened up, which means there's still a meat suit for Michael."

Den winced. "Thanks for taking away my silver lining."

"Boy, if that was your silver lining, I'd hate to hear what constitutes a raincloud."

Dean closed his eyes, frowning, because wasn't that the truth? "We'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it."

He flicked his phone closed before Bobby could try to talk him out of anything, and glanced at the ring again.

He already knew he was going to do it. Cas's death wasn't going to be on his head, not after everything the angel had already given up for him.

Just as he was about to put the ring on, his phone vibrated.

He considered ignoring it, but something made him check it. Sam's number flashed on screen, and Dean sighed. It seemed like the universe was at least giving him a chance to say goodbye to his brother this time around.

"Hey man, what's up?" he said, managing to keep his tone normal this time.

"Dude, you are not going to believe what I've got to tell you," Sam said, sounding a mixture between disbelieving and amused. "But before I do, where are you?"

"Uh, still in Buffalo," Dean said.

"Still?" Sam repeated. "Why?"

"Car trouble," Dean lied. "We're a bit behind schedule."

"Crap."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Why, you got something?"

"Maybe," Sam said wearily. "Becky's missing."

His brother quickly relayed his and Sarah's adventures in Delaware, as well as their running into a rather inept hunter named Garth. When he got to the part about how people associated with the Supernatural convention were disappearing, Dean closed his eyes in dismay. "You think the angel brigade got to her already?"

"I don't think so. I think she's in New York."

"Oh-kay. And why do you think that?"

"Well, I called Chuck to ask if he had a number or some way to get in touch with her – but he's gone."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah. According to his publisher, he's been missing since May," Sam said significantly. "All of his unpublished drafts just showed up on the front step one day with the paperwork done up to make sure they kept publishing."

"He had to have left some kind of contact information," Dean pointed out. "How else is he gonna get paid?"

"That's just it – apparently, he changed his financial information for any proceeds from the books to go to a new account. Sarah pulled the financials, and it all goes to this old summer camp in New York that no one's owned in years."

"So the broke-ass bought a summer camp?" Dean asked in annoyance.

"No idea. The name on the deed to the place is bogus, as far as I can tell."

"So how does this help you find Becky?"

"Uh, well, I did a little research after I couldn't get a hold of Chuck and looked up that website she was telling us about. Remember the first time we met her?"

"I try not to."

"Yeah. That site is way disturbing – but I checked under her author's name, and it turns out she's been updating her blog and her stories regularly even before she disappeared. And her IP address is coming out of New York."

Dean snorted mirthlessly. "Let me guess – same place as where Chuck's money's going."

"Exactly."

"Well, where is this place?" Dean asked.

"Actually, that's why I called. I figured that even if you'd already left you'd still be closer than we are right now," Sam said apologetically. "It's up in Chautauqua."

Dean froze at the name. It couldn't be a coincidence. "Chautauqua?"

"Yeah, the place used to be called Camp Chitaqua. I think it's about an hour away from Buffalo."

Dean's mind flashed to the broken world the angels had sent him to, and that immediately turned his thoughts upon the broken shell of a man that Cas had become.

Cas.

There was no way he could head down there now, even though it was the last place he wanted his brother to be.

"No can do right now," Dean said. "Car's busted, remember?"

"So steal another one," he could practically hear Sam rolling his eyes. "I know you don't like Becky, Dean, but you're closer right now and I'm in the middle of trying to get this Garth guy to back off on this case."

"I'll get there when I can, Sam," Dean said. "For now you and Sarah are on your own. Or, you know, stuck with Garth."

"Dean, what the hell –?"

But Dean hung up and turned off his phone.

'Sorry, Sammy,' he thought. 'Believe me when I say I'd rather deal with Becky right now than do what I'm about to…'

He took a deep, steadying breath, and then slipped the ring on.

(*)

"And he didn't say what was so important he couldn't check it out instead of us?" Sarah asked as they drove down a tree-lined stretch of highway.

"No," Sam replied, glancing in the rear-view mirror where Garth's Ford Ranchero was driving a few car lengths behind the Charger. The other hunter, who had insisted on coming along to tie up the loose ends of his hunt, was bobbing his head up and down like he was listening to some particularly lively music. "I tried calling him back, but he didn't pick up."

That had been an hour ago.

"Do you think something happened to him and Cas?"

"If that was the case, he'd have told me," Sam said with a shake of the head. They had codes for that kind of situation, and considering Dean hadn't used any of them, it was unlikely he was in any real kind of danger. Then again, Dean sometimes had a tendency to keep information to himself if he thought it would keep Sam out of trouble or on track during a job. Right now the job was keeping Purgatory closed, and if something was going on at Dean's end, it was entirely plausible he'd keep it from Sam for the sake of the job.

'He didn't sound too different from usual,' Sam thought with a frown, and once again wondered if he'd made the right decision going after Becky instead of heading to Buffalo to track down his brother. He wasn't above tracing him through GPS – Hell, Dean had done it enough times to him –

"Do you think…" Sarah began, and then trailed off like she wasn't sure what she was going to say. She cleared her throat, and restarted, "Do you think maybe him and Cas were busy?"

"Too busy to answer the damn phone?" Sam snorted.

"Well, it depends on what they were doing, I guess."

"Dean's answered the phone while being choked by angry bikers," Sam told her wryly, "And he's never been that involved in research."

"I wasn't thinking about research," Sarah said quietly, almost warily.

Sam opened his mouth to ask what she had been thinking about, when his brain caught up with the implication. He glanced over, noticing how she was watching him expectantly.

It was on his lips to reject her theory – a response born of many years watching Dean unconsciously check out every feminine form that crossed his path, sleep with more women than Sam could count and strike out with twice that number through no lack of trying.

Considering how Dean had been acting around Castiel in recent weeks, though, Sam found that he couldn't offer an outright denial. Instead, he decided to shrug it off. "No, I'm almost a hundred percent sure all this is just him not wanting to be anywhere near Becky. Dean's a dick, but even if he and Cas were…like that…he'd put the job first."

"'Even if'?" Sarah repeated, incredulous. "So they really aren't…?"

"No," Sam said, in spite of his own suspicions. Until he had undeniable proof of it (and his eyes and brain prayed to whoever was listening he never had to walk in on his brother and friend to get that proof), he wasn't going to say anything different.

"You don't sound too sure," Sarah observed. "And it's not like you're there right now, which, you know, if they were like that –"

"Dean's not into guys," Sam said firmly. "Not that there'd be anything wrong if he were, it's just not like that with him and Cas. They're friends. And there's that whole rescue from Hell component."

"Okay."

She didn't sound convinced, and he shot her a look. "You're not completely sold on that, are you?"

"No," she told him with surprising candor. "Look – don't jump down my throat or anything, I'm just making an observation here – but they don't look at each other like they're just friends."

"And how do they look at each other?" Sam wanted to know, because it seemed he wasn't the only one who had noticed the prolonged glances after all.

"I don't know, it's like…"

"…like?"

"It kind of reminds me of how my parents looked at each other, before my mom died," Sarah mused. "Like…like they've been missing something their whole lives, and whenever they see at each other they find it again.

Sam tensed at that, because somehow the description resonated more than it should have. Sam had been trying for a while now to sum up exactly how his brother and the ex-angel interacted, and Sarah's words elucidated the point completely. He had been chalking it up to Dean having a friend for the first time in his life, but maybe he had been misreading it…

Which made him feel like he had been hit with a tire iron, because the idea of Dean of all people falling for a guy – never mind the ramifications of the whole 'former angel' part – was more than a little jarring.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed something like that," Sarah challenged. "I know you haven't been acting real smart lately, but you always struck me as the more observant one."

Sam ignored the jibe to his intelligence, still struggling with this new angle on the Dean issue. It was confusing.

"Can we please stop talking about my brother's possible relationship issues?" he asked faintly. "I don't like thinking about it when he's a guy, but now that he's girl shaped it's all…really awkward."

"Why? Because Cas is a guy?"

"What? No!" Sam protested. "I already said I could care less if he's with a guy or a girl. It's just gross to think about because they're both my family," Sam told her with a shudder. He had walked in on Dean in flagrante delicto on more occasions that he liked to remember. "It's like thinking about your parents having sex."

Sarah was the one to give a full body shudder this time. "Thanks for that."

"You brought it up."

"Okay, message received, I'm un-bringing it up."

Sam smiled at that.

As they lapsed into silence, the smile faded, though, and Sam's thoughts became convoluted.

Now that Sarah had so openly voiced her suspicions, Sam's own views on the matter – the things he had seen over the last three months, little things that he had simply shrugged off as Dean and Castiel's profound bond or friendship or whatever – overtook his thoughts.

He hadn't lied to Sarah. Dean wasn't into guys, something which was an irrefutable truth of Sam's life. If it was suddenly proven false, what other truths might suddenly change?

He shook his head inwardly. His thoughts made no sense, and upon further inspection sounded a little jealous to him. And really, what did he need to be jealous of?

'If Dean does feel for Cas like that – and that's a really big if right there, he'll probably never do anything about it,' Sam knew. 'And Cas probably wouldn't know to do anything about it.'

If the situation did change, though, and something more than friendship did develop between his brother and the ex-angel, it wasn't as though Sam could begrudge him that. As short a time as he had had with Jess, he wouldn't trade those years for anything. As far as he knew, the closest Dean had ever come to loving anyone was Cassie, and that had been for two months a lifetime ago.

He'd once joked that Castiel was Dean's longest relationship outside of Sam, and it hit him now that maybe it wasn't that much of a joke. Regardless of what he had started out as, the angel had been an important part of Dean's life since before Sam let Lucifer out of the cage. In some ways, he was the most important part, and Sam could see why.

Sam had long since realized that he had the ability to bring out the best or worst in people – and in the case of Dean, it was both. Adding Castiel to the equation, with his personal space issues and his intrinsic belief that Dean was worth more than just running around trying to save Sam might just lessen the negative effects of that ability.

Dean didn't need another person telling him that he was worthless or weak, something Sam was guilty of having done more than once. Whether it had been under supernatural influence or not, that sentiment had to come from somewhere. Sam was introspective enough to know that he still harbored a lot of resentment towards his brother for wordlessly following Dad's commands all those years, and maybe demon blood or ghostly electroshock therapy magnified that resentment. As long as those thoughts existed in his subconscious, there was always the possibility of something or someone using it against Dean.

With Castiel, Sam knew that would never be a problem. Because long before he had turned his back on Heaven, Castiel had believed that Dean was righteous and needed to be saved. Even knowing every terrible thing Dean had done in Hell.

'And if an angel can forgive that, maybe there's hope for me too,' Sam thought, glancing over at Sarah.

He had travelled with other people than Dean before, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd been comfortable doing so. Even those four months spent with Ruby hadn't exactly been a cakewalk. The haze of blood and sex that colored those memories sapped even the few easygoing moments he'd had with her.

Sarah was different. Sam was comfortable with her – almost as comfortable as he was with Dean.

The 'almost' part bothered him.

Whatever he said to her, she wasn't really going to understand. Even if she read everything in the books about what he had done, she wouldn't have the same experience with it the way Dean and Castiel had.

The fact that Sarah was here, unaware of the full story but knowing that there was something big he was keeping from her, still willing to hear him out – that was encouraging. And it might backfire, spectacularly, and she might find out what he had done and decide she couldn't be around him at all.

But he still wanted to try.

It occurred to him then that it was the first time since Jessica that he was willing to put himself into such a vulnerable situation.

Once that realization solidified in his mind, he spent the rest of the drive trying to think up a way to broach the subject. A long car ride might be ideal, but if Sarah didn't like what she was hearing or was uncomfortable, she needed to have some place to go if she wanted to get away. Cornering her in the car was unfair to both of them.

Six hours later, as they pulled off the main highway and onto a narrow, dirt road and over a country bridge, Sam still hadn't come up with any other way to ease into the subject.

"It should be up this way," Sarah said. She had a paper map open on her lap, their cellphone networks no longer within range, and she was tracing their path with her finger. The silence in the car was magnified by the sound of gravel crunching beneath the car's tires, but it remained companionable despite Sam's former thoughts.

Roughly cut wooden signs with garish yellow paint announced that they were nearing Camp Chitaqua, and eventually they pulled into the long driveway that led to the camp.

Sam could see at least twenty or so wooden buildings on the horizon, framed by tall trees. The dense thickets of forest almost obscured the view of the lake in the distance, its pristine and glassy surface rippling with the slight breeze.

'Not exactly somewhere I'd picture someone like Becky hanging out,' he thought as they approached a flat grass field adjacent to the camp that could only too-generously be labeled a parking lot.

As they pulled in, he saw movement from the cabins, and then a group of half-dozen people were hurrying towards the lot. Many of them were clad in familiar looking flannel shirts and leather jackets, and Sam groaned.

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

As the group neared them, most of them armed with crossbows or shotguns, and his worry increased when he saw exactly who was at the front of the greeting party.

'The last people you ever want to see carrying loaded weapons,' he thought grimly, and it wasn't only because these two people enjoyed dressing up like what they believed Dean and Sam looked like.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath as they strode forward.

"What?" Sarah asked, but Sam didn't get a chance to reply.

"Who are you?" the taller, dark-haired man demanded, gripping tightly to the crossbow he had aimed at him. Sam only hoped he didn't get nervous and accidentally shoot them.

"Relax, we're friends of Becky's," Sam said carefully, raising his hands in a gesture of submission. "You're Barnes, right? I think we might have run into each other at the convention a few months back." He nodded at the shorter, overweight man. "And you're Demian, I think?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding uncertain. "I don't remember you from the con."

"Oh, uh, I came as the scarecrow god," Sam said, wracking his brain for a costume that he had seen and which would have hidden his face. "I'm Jane – this is Sarah and Garth."

Demian and Barnes glanced at them each in turn, looked at each other, and then nodded in unison. A second later, they had taken out what looked like silver daggers and were offering them to the three newcomers.

"You are who you say you are, you won't mind a little test," Demian said, a challenge in his words.

"Yeah," Barnes said, fumbling in his pocket for a flask of what Sam guessed would be holy water.

'Looks like they've smartened up a little since we last met,' Sam thought as he offered his forearm and just hoped that they wouldn't cut to deep. 'At least they're not trying to sound like us anymore.'

After a few more clumsy tests, insistent mutterings of 'Cristo' and a moment where Barnes and Demian got a little overly enthusiastic about Garth's hunter get-up ("Dude, you are packing some serious awesome there," Demian said, staring at the hunter's array of hunting knives in his trenchcoat.), they stepped back.

"Okay, so you're at least human," Barnes said. "But the Boss didn't say she was expecting anyone but Crystal today – and you're not her."

'The Boss?' Sam echoed in his head.

"Yeah, uh, well, she went missing from home and we were worried," he said out loud. "So we got in touch with Chuck's people and here we are."

At the mention of Chuck, Demian and Barnes once again exchanged meaningful glances, and then frowned at Sam. Sam noticed Barnes finger tighten on the crossbow he was carrying.

"Look, man, relax, Becky can vouch for us," Sam said, not wanting to unintentionally goad the guy into shooting them. "Or me. Just take me to see Becky, she'll smooth all this over."

He shot Sarah an apologetic glance and nodded in Garth's direction. It wasn't that he didn't trust the guy, but he didn't feel comfortable with the skinny hunter learning about his identity, whether he was a friend of Bobby's or not. Sarah seemed to get the message, though, because she didn't protest.

When Demian and Barnes, and their posse still looked wary, Sam tugged down part of his shirt to reveal his anti-possession tattoo. "Seriously, guys."

That did it where the previous tests hadn't, and Sam would have rolled his eyes if he wasn't trying to make nice with the creepy fans. He was willing to bet that every single one of them had some version of the anti-possession tattoo on their bodies – and judging from the rather unfortunate examples of the human physique that he was looking at, he really didn't want to imagine where some of them were.

"Okay, just you though," Demian said. "If your story checks out, we'll send for your friends."

"Can't be too careful these days," Barnes added helpfully. "If what the books says about the Apocalypse –"

"Dude, spoilers!" someone complained.

"Seriously, man, uncool," Demian accused.

"Sorry – it's not my fault you're a slow reader."

"It's not my fault that whenever I get a chance to read you want to turn out the lights."

"So not the time right now, guys," another person spoke up. "Bring her to the Boss already."

"Right," Demian cleared his throat. "You come with us." He addressed the others. "You guys watch these guys." He pointed at one of the people in the group. "And unless it's actually a demon, don't shoot. Jerry's still talking about suing you for the toe thing."

"It was the lighting!" came the protest.

Sam didn't even want to know.

He was led through a progression of cabins toward the largest building in the area, which he supposed was the main office of headquarters. He wasn't exactly sure what to call it, considering the questionable nature of the entire location. Chitaqua seemed to be a mixture of a survivalist camp and kibbutz, but it was also unlike either at the same time. He supposed the fact that it was being run by role-playing fans on an extended sleepover gave it that vibe.

About two dozen people wandering around, all dressed in what a layman might consider hunter gear, although he saw at least one person wandering around with a fake tail and cat ears, so it was clear the nuttier element had joined the gang.

"So…uh, Becky wasn't exactly clear on what was going on down here," Sam said as they walked, hoping to sound nonchalantly curious instead of seriously critical. "This isn't just some, uh, publicity stunt for the books, is it?"

Demian and Barnes exchanged significant looks.

"She probably wanted to explain everything in person –it's a bit hard to handle," Barnes said. "Though, you know, the fact that you're here shows you at least know the books are real."

"Yeah…uh, how crazy is that, huh?" Sam said automatically.

"Crazy cool," Demian declared. "I mean, it's scary as shit, but at least with the FWK, we've got a chance of avoiding the really bad stuff and keeping people safe. Just like Sam and Dean."

The guys grinned goofily at each other, while Sam tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. "'FWK'?"

"'Fans Who Know'," Barnes clarified. "Beck – I mean, the Boss – will tell you all about it when you meet up. You know, if you are who you say you are. Though, you've got a hunter with you, so maybe you're legit."

Sam blinked, before realizing they were talking about Garth. "How do you know he's a hunter?"

"Well, duh, he's got that awesome ride and did you see how much firepower he was packing?" Barnes said enthusiastically. "I think we've got one gun in the entire camp – no one else was able to pass the test recently, so he's got to have gotten those illegally."

"Sweet," Demian agreed and Sam had to bite his tongue, but whether that was to keep him from shouting or laughing he wasn't sure.

They led him up the wooden stairs of the main building, where they were stopped by two pasty-faced people that eyed Sam with open suspicion and a hint of hostility. They were young, probably just out of their teens and alike enough in features to be twins; the guy was fair-haired where the girl was a brunette.

"Who are you?" she asked, never taking her eyes from Sam as Demian moved past open the door to the building.

"Friend of the Boss, apparently," Barnes offered.

"Is this Crystal?" the boy wanted to know, understanding settling over his features. The girl cocked her head to one side in a way that reminded Sam of Castiel, but lingering expression of hostility ended the resemblance there.

"Jane," Sam corrected, interests peaked by this mysterious Crystal.

"Hm," the twins said in unison, but did hang back to let Sam follow Demian into the building. He could still feel their eyes on his back as they moved through the cabin and into a space that had obviously been the reception area once.

When the door closed behind them, he cleared his throat. "So they're also…Fans Who Know?"

"Seth and Auralie? Yeah – they're really heavy into the books," Demian said. "They know every single one off-by-heart – how hardcore is that?"

"It's, uh…" Sam had to stop himself before saying exactly what he thought it was. Instead, he changed the subject, "Are they always…?"

"Yup," Demian answered. "Pretty sure they lived their childhood in a basement somewhere."

"Huh."

"In here," Barnes said, pointing out a door that was covered with a full-length poster of the first Supernatural book. Sam winced at his fictional counterpart's over-defined Fabio-like physique and walked toward it.

As the door to the office opened, Sam could make out the familiar blond figure sitting at the computer, fingers flying with an almost violent intensity.

"Be with you in a sec, guys, I'm in the middle of an argument with some schmuck in Hong Kong that thinks Sam-slash-Meg is a canon thing," Becky announced, eyes not leaving the screen. "I mean, how cliché can you get – banging the evil chick is so Angel – this guy can't even scrounge any evidence – pathetic."

Again, Sam winced. Apparently the publisher hadn't gotten to explaining his and Ruby's relationship yet.

'Then again, maybe if she reads that she'll get over that sick fantasy she has of me and Dean,' he thought bleakly.

"Listen, Boss Lady, we might have a perimeter breach to worry about," Barnes said, trying to sound official. "This girl and her friends just showed up, no invite or anything."

"You did the tests, right?" Becky asked, not looking up.

"Of course – she's even got an anti-possession tattoo," Barnes said, "And she says she knows you."

"Hm?" Becky looked up now, frowning at Sam. There was no recognition in her face. "Who knows me?"

"Hi, uh, it's Jane," Sam said, wishing Demian and Barnes would leave so he could tell Becky who he was and why he had to get her out of there as soon as possible.

There was a pause, like he was trying to find Sam's face in her memories and coming up blank. She narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, I don't know who you are."

Sam ignored Demian and Barnes both clapping him hard on the shoulder, like they were going to forcibly remove him, and he hurriedly spoke up, "Really? Because you helped me and my brother a long while back." She raised an incredulous eyebrow, sitting up in her seat and folding her arms at him. "Yeah, uh, Chuck asked you to bring us some information? About the hill made of forty-two dogs?"

Becky stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then her eyes widened. "That's not…"

"Possible? Yeah, you have no idea how much I've heard that in the past few months," Sam told her, attempting a smile.

He expected more denials, as had been the case with Sarah, but instead Becky let out a high pitched squeal and launched herself at Sam. He tensed up, only just refraining from the urge to catch her enthusiastic assault in the bud, and was enveloped in a tight hug.

"Oh, of course I remember you, Jane," she purred, and then considered him carefully. "Wow, you're a little less firm than you were the last time I saw you, but–" She let out a trilling giggle. "Let me guess, you ran into an angry witch! No, there was cursed object that you touched – no, you –"

Sam forced himself to keep smiling while Demian and Barnes watched the exchange with looks of complete confusion.

"It's really not important right now, Becky," Sam said firmly. "There's something we need to talk about –"

"Oh, of course – but it's temporary, right?" she suddenly looked hopefully at him. "Not that you're not enough to make me rethink being firmly in love with men, but still…"

"So you do know her?" Demian wanted to know.

"Of course – you do too," Becky giggled, and before Sam could stop her, she blurted, "That's Sam."

Well, crap.

(*)

The world shifted around him from one moment to the next, and suddenly the motel and Dean's belongings were gone, instead giving way to a small town street. The sky was grey and there was a dampness in the air that was almost suffocating.

"Wow. They'll just let any slack-jawed haircut be Death these days," a cool voice said, and Dean turned around to face Tessa.

"Well, you're all charm today, aren't you?" he jibed. He looked down at himself, realizing that once again his body was back to normal. "Hey, I'm me again."

"You're always you," the Reaper snorted. "The ring protects your body and allows you to walk the ghostly plane. When you're intangible, you're better able to bend your perception of reality. Considering this is your self-image, it's what you and everyone who knows you will see."

"What if I run into angels?"

"You shouldn't. They don't really hang around when people are dying," Tessa told him with a snort. "But even if we happened to run into one, that pagan whammy on you makes it so they can't recognize you."

"Guess I'm not gonna complain," Dean said, running a hand over his face and feeling relieved at the familiar sensation of a hard jaw and barely there stubble. 'At least if this job kills me, I'll go looking like me.'

"Let's be clear so we get through this with a minimum of screw-up," the petite Reaper cut told him. "I don't like this. And right now, I'm not crazy about you either."

"This is your boss's idea, not mine."

"True. But you have a long history of throwing a wrench in everything, so let's just stick to the rules. Deal?"

"Depends – where's Cas?"

"Lying in a hospital bed in Buffalo."

"Cute. I meant, where's his soul?"

"Lying in a hospital bed in Buffalo," she repeated. "He's on lock-down until you do what Death wants or fail trying. And then…"

She let the rest of the sentence hang there, and Dean clenched his fists so hard Death's ring bit into the skin between his fingers. Finally, he bit out, "So these rules are what, exactly?"

"For the next 24 hours, you kill everyone whose number's up."

"Well, how am I supposed to know who to–?"

"Kill?"

"Yeah."

"I have a list."

Of course she did. "Let me see."

"No. You touch them, they die, I reap them," Tessa outlined. "Are we clear?"

Dean frowned inwardly. He had been uneasy about the arrangement when Death first suggested it. There was a difference between ganking some evil creature or killing someone who was trying to mess with him or his family and actually going out with the purpose of ending a life. As much as he had been called a murderer before by various law enforcement officials, Dean had never actually killed an innocent person outside of a hunt before.

He didn't voice this, though, because Tessa was waiting expectantly, hip jutted out to one side in a way that conveyed great impatience.

"Yeah, I guess," he finally managed.

"Remove the ring, you lose," she quipped. "Slack off, you lose. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Don't mess this up," she went on. "It's not my job to be your damn babysitter."

She motioned for him to follow her down the street, which he did, trying not to jump when passersby walked right by him or through him without even noticing him. It had happened before, the last time he and Sam had done the out-of-body experience thing, and the time before that when he had been near death and running around the hospital where Dad died, but it didn't make it any less weird.

"Just so you know, when people die, they might have questions for you," Tessa cautioned as they went, and then made a face. "Well, you know, not you, but Death."

"You mean, like 'How did Betty White outlast me?'" Dean quipped.

She ignored him. "'What's it all mean?' is popular."

"And am I just gonna magically know?"

"No."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to day?" Dean demanded, and when she offered him an unsympathetic glance, he grumbled, "Oh, come on, give me something."

"Suck it up," Tessa retorted. "Comes with the gig."

She gestured for him to enter a small store within the strip-mall that they were passing. Dean raised an eyebrow, but went inside.

The convenience store looked like about a million that Dean had seen in his life, although this one was on the more decrepit side. He felt bad about whoever he was about to kill – they must have seriously pissed off some cosmic force to bite the big one in a nameless corner store.

Moments later he realized why a Reaper was going to be needed.

At the back of the store where the cash desk was located he could make out three people. An older man and a boy, as well as a tall, unshaven guy in a tuque; the latter was pointing a gun at the first two.

"Come on!" he snarled, waving the weapon at the cashier, who was trying to appear non-threatening and protect the boy at the same time. "Come on! Let's go!"

Dean opened his mouth reflexively to get the guy's attention, but Tessa cut him off, "They can't hear you. They can't see you. Just let this play out."

It went against everything he stood for, but Dean swallowed, biting out a clipped, "Well, who am I taking?"

He really hoped it wasn't the boy, whose wide eyes reminded him way too much of Sammy at that age.

"Wait and see," Tessa told him in her frustratingly enigmatic way.

"Which one?" Dean prompted, while the thief continued to yell out his commands.

"You want me to shoot the kid?! Hurry up!" he ordered. "Oh, you think I'm kidding? And don't forget the drawer under the register. Come on, move it! Let's go!"

Dean gritted his teeth as the cashier pushed the bag off of the counter and onto the floor, figuring the guy's nervous clumsiness had just guaranteed him a bullet in the head.

"You idiot," the thief sneered, bending down to pick up the bag.

Before Dean could react, the cashier straightened up, a gun in hand, and shot the robber.

Dean blinked in surprise as the guy fell to the ground, gasping for air as blood pumped from the wound in his torso. That had not been what he had expected to happen.

"Hello?" Tessa urged. "Tick tock."

Dean moved from his startled position, but then paused.

"He's in agonizing pain, right?" Dean asked, vaguely aware of the cashier shielding the kid's eyes from the sight.

"Uh, yes," Tessa answered.

Dean nodded to himself. "Give me a minute."

The Reaper stared at him in disbelief, and he watched the guy gasp a little longer, before reaching out and brushed his fingers against the gunman's hand. A cold, pulling sensation flowed out of him, and he was suddenly aware of a presence beside him.

The criminal's soul stared down at his body in confusion, and then looked at Dean, eyes wide.

"Why?" he managed.

"Mostly because you're a dick," Dean told him simply. "Enjoy the ride down, pal. Trust me – sauna gets hot."

Tessa shot Dean an unimpressed look, but he could have sworn he saw her lips twitch slightly. The guy still looked confused as Tessa motioned him over to her.

He could feel it when they both disappeared, and he took a steadying breath. "That wasn't so hard."

And for the most part, he was right. In pretty much every situation, Dean could see why the people he was killing had to die. They were all exercising their free will in ways that had an immediate consequence. He felt a little bad about some of them, sort of wished he didn't have to take them, but in each case he could see the reason why and it made it easier. Two electrocutions and a heart-attack later, though, the easy ride came to an end.

"After you, boss," Tessa said as they rematerialized in the sterile corridor of what was obviously a hospital. Not Cas's, though, which put Dean somewhat at ease. He was pretty sure he might attack the Reaper if she up and told him Cas was on her list as some kind of final challenge.

Dean peered into the nearest room to see a man reading to a young girl in the hospital bed while a nurse looked on.

"The dad or the kid?" he asked.

"Kid," Tessa answered.

Dean recoiled. "Come on. What is she, thirteen?"

"She's twelve."

Dean winced, eyes searching out the father who was going to be left behind. "This guy have any other family?"

"No," Tessa answered. "Not really."

"Well, this is awesome," Dean growled.

"What, you thought it was all gonna be armed robbers and heart attacks waiting to happen?" Tessa demanded.

"She's twelve!"

"With a serious heart condition!"

He shook his head. "Who's next on the list?"

"Dean, you have to take her."

"Says who?"

"Death."

"I'm Death."

"You know what I mean."

"Well, who tells him?"

"I don't know," Tessa answered, sounding frustrated. "It just is. It's destiny."

"Give me a break," Dean objected. "I've spent my whole life fighting that crap. There's no such thing as destiny, just like there was no Apocalypse – just a bunch of stuck-up mooks who didn't want us human slaves asking questions." He squared his shoulder. "Well, I say the little girl lives."

Tessa fixed him with an unimpressed look. "Do you know what's amazing? You don't actually buy a word you're saying."

"Yes, I do."

"Oh, really?" she challenged. "So, all the times that you've messed with Life and Death? They just worked out for you? It was just a beach party every time, huh?"

He flashed back to Dad dying for him, and then the night he made his deal for Sam. He could still remember the claws of the Hellhounds ripping him apart, and even now the knowledge of what Cas had given up to bring Sam back weighed heavily on his mind.

But looking at the man and his daughter, seeing the naked hope and determination etched into both their faces, he couldn't make any other decision.

"Well, I know this much," he said stubbornly. "I'm Death, she's twelve, and she's not dying today."

He stalked off, not particularly caring if Tessa followed him or not.

She did, eventually, but she remained eerily quiet, alternating between watching him with disapproval and staring off into the distance like she was trying to receive some secret message. Maybe she was, Dean didn't know or care. All he knew was that he didn't think it was fair for the guy with no family to lose the last bit that he had.

It hit too close to home.

In the background, he could hear the doctor and the father discussing the girl's astonishing recovery, while the nurse who had been watching over her left the floor, talking on a cellphone.

"Come on," Tessa sighed after what seemed like another hour. The doctor said something about going home to celebrate the miraculous turn of events. "We have more work here."

They descended the main staircase of the hospital silently, and it was on Dean's tongue to ask why she wasn't just zapping them to their next appointment, but it was cut off by a sudden commotion on the first floor.

Tessa groaned. "Damn it! I knew it."

"What?"

A gurney surrounded by at least six ER doctors and nurses flew past, the bleeding figure upon it a familiar face.

It was the nurse that had been caring for the girl.

"Wait, that's…" Dean trailed off, cold realization taking hold.

"You let the girl live," Tessa told him unsympathetically. "The nurse goes home early, gets in a crash she wouldn't have. And she needs the heart surgeon, and where is he?"

"You knew this would happen?" Dean asked tightly.

"No. Just knew that you knocked over a domino," she answered, striding after the gurney and into the small room where the doctors were working over the young woman's body desperately. Machines beeped and whirred, voices yelled out for drugs and blood for transfusion, while one doctor was already reaching for the defibrillator paddles.

The first charge made the nurse's body bow in the middle, before falling back onto the cot with a dull thud.

"Take her."

Tessa's order surprised Dean. "What?" He looked down where the doctors continued to try to shock the woman's heart back into working order. "She's not on the list!"

"Everything you do has consequences! Do you want to set off another chain reaction?" the Reaper snapped.

"She's got nothing to do with this!" Dean protested.

"Well, too bad, Dean – you put on the ring, now do your damn job!"

"Fine," Dean snapped as the electricity caused the nurse's body to jump, but there was no sign of her coming back. He reached out to brush his fingers against her skin.

The cold pulling sensation was there, and then he and Tessa were no longer alone. The young nurse looked stunned for a moment, and then stared down at her body.

"Is that…?" the woman's spirit began, wide eyed, "Am I…?"

"Yes," Tessa answered. "I'm sorry.

"But I'm…"

"So young," Tessa supplied.

"Yeah," the woman trailed off.

"Actually, you were supposed to live for many decades," Tessa said. "Have kids. Grandkids."

The woman looked up, eyes bright. "Then why?"

"Because he screwed up," Tessa answered.

The woman whirled around and stared at Dean. "You did this to me?"

"Come on, Jolene," Tessa said gently. "It's time."

They began to walk away.

"Wait," Dean started, taking a step forward and then stopping. In a quieter voice, he added, "I'm sorry."

Someone burst into the waiting room, a young man, yelling out, "Where is she? Where's my wife?" Upon seeing Jolene's body and the doctors putting away the life support equipment, his voice broke in a way Dean was all too familiar with. "No! No!"

The scene shifted again, and they were once again standing outside the little girl's hospital room.

"You saw what happened to the nurse," Tessa urged, sounding almost compassionate. "Go and kill that girl, Dean. I tried to tell you what you already know. She's disrupting the natural order by being alive. You of all people know what that means. Chaos and sadness will follow her for the rest of her life. We tried it your way."

Dean allowed her words to wash over him and looked away, trying to come to terms with what he was about to do. His eyes landed on the nurse's husband outside the window. "Give me a minute."

"Dean –"

He pulled away from her, intent on getting to the guy, and to his surprise found himself sitting in the backseat of the car. He had apparently figured out how to use Death's teleporting powers.

The nurse's husband was sobbing as he shoved the key into the ignition, hands shaking. Dean wasn't sure why he was here, considering the man couldn't see him, but knowing he had been responsible for this, he couldn't go anywhere else.

The guy was merging onto a busy street, weaving in and out of traffic. Dean could see the crazed, grief-filled gleam in his eyes, recognized it from that terrible few hours when Sam had been dead after Cold Oak, and then again after Stull.

"I'm so sorry, man," he said quietly. "I didn't know…"

But Jolene's husband didn't hear him, continued to drive recklessly, and Dean knew he was sitting in the car with someone who no longer had the will to live. He was going to have to do something, and soon.

"Come on, man, pull the car over!" Dean ordered, even though the guy couldn't hear him. "You're gonna get yourself or someone else killed." The guy seemed to speed up instead. "What are you doing?! Pull the damn car over! Stop the car – come on, stop the car!"

On the radio, he could hear the traffic announcer saying how the road ahead of them was shut down due to an earlier accident, how all the traffic had to exit. If this guy careened into them right now, there would be more people dead, more people whose families were left behind to grieve.

His first instinct was to haul off the ring and grab hold of the steering wheel. He could probably manage to pull the guy off the road completely.

His fingers were already on the ring, and he was about to pull it off, when he remembered Cas lying in the hospital bed in Buffalo. Locked in his mortal body – the body he wasn't even meant to have but got trapped in there because of Dean. He had a soul now, because of Dean, and it would be reaped from existence if he took off Death's ring.

Even though he was incorporeal, the bile rose in his throat, because he couldn't let Cas just die like that. He had let him down enough times since they knew each other, he couldn't –

'For you or Dad, the things I'm willing to do or kill…it's just, uh…it scares me sometimes,' Dean had once confessed to Sam.

He hadn't realized that Cas had long since joined that list.

They were fast coming to a point where any action would be too late, and Dean swallowed. He knew what he had to do.

He reached out as the man turned a hard corner and grabbed hold of his soul. The body shuddered and went limp as Dean brought them both to stand outside on the street. The soul in his hand shuddered in shock, while Dean watched the car – now without anyone to guide it – mount the sidewalk and careen into a line of parked cars.

"What? Why?" the man's soul stuttered, staring at Dean in shock.

Dean felt Tessa appear behind him, but couldn't bear to see the look on her face. He focussed on the man, trying to get his voice to work. "It's my fault. I'm sorry."

"Sorry…?" the man repeated, not understanding.

"I've got this," Tessa said, reaching for him. "Come on. Let's go see your wife."

"Jolene," he whispered, miserable as they disappeared.

When Tessa returned, she gave him a knowing look. "It'll get worse, you know."

Dean did know.

He swallowed, trying not to think about how he was about to ruin a man's life by taking the only family he had left.

"Then I guess we should get back to the hospital, then," he answered dully.

(*)

"So how exactly does an auctioneer's daughter get into hunting?"

Becky was staring at Sarah intently, the expression a mixture of calculation and deep, protective suspicion that Sam had a bad feeling originated with him. Sarah, for her part, seemed to be pretending she didn't feel the razor sharp gaze being focussed on her by the diminutive blond.

Although Sam had assured Becky that he wasn't travelling with Dean for the past hour, she hadn't been inclined to believe him. She had even been treating Sarah like a co-conspirator until the latter had admitted to being the same Sarah as in the books. After which the sickeningly chummy behaviour had stopped and the suspicious looks and what appeared to be an interrogation had started.

"Becky, now's not the time," Sam attempted as Sarah seemed to be looking for the right words. Sam figured the only reason she hadn't snapped back with some witty remark was because she was still a little at sea about the entire situation. "If Chuck blessed you, we need to get you somewhere heavily protected, right away."

"That's so sweet," Becky sighed, training her once again sunny smile on Sam. "I knew how much you cared, Sam. It's that same gentle nature we both share that makes it impossible to leave." She made an all-encompassing gesture, probably to the camp. "These are my family. They're the only ones who ever understood me – and yeah, a lot of them a grumpy and overly literal, but we share a common passion. I can't just…abandon them."

"But if the angels find you, they can open Purgatory," Sam told her pointedly. "That means they'll bring Lilith back, which means the Apocalypse restarts."

Becky's smile evaporated and she offered Sam a sympathetic look. "I know how worried you are, but you shouldn't be. I don't even remember Chuck blessing me or anything like that, so what if it's not me?"

"Weren't you dating?" Sarah asked. "You'd think someone who knew the end of the world was coming would try to protect his girlfriend from the worst of it."

Becky shrugged. "I figured that's what he did sending me here."

"What?" Sam wanted to know.

"This whole property is protected," Becky explained. "It was right before things were supposed to go down – right before he dumped me, actually." She lowered her voice and told Sam meaningfully, "I'm pretty sure he was intimidated by my vibrant sexuality." Sarah made a noise half-way between a cough and a snort, which only Sam noticed, because Becky went on, "He told me to drive out here and stay in case everything went the way it was supposed to."

"Why here?" Sam asked.

"He explained it as, I don't know, a 'nexus of protective energy' or supernatural blind spot or something like that," Becky explained. "He had this vision of the future, and talked about that virus from Croatoan getting loose – and then he said something about hoarding toilet paper."

"Well, I don't know anything about protective energy or viruses, but that might actually make some sense," Sarah spoke up.

"The toilet paper?" Becky wanted to know.

"Why he sent you here," Sarah corrected. "This whole area was once populated by various Native American tribes. I think it was the Erie who settled in these parts, if I'm remembering my Early American archaeology courses right."

"Why would that matter?" asked Becky, clearly not seeing what Sarah was getting at. "It's got nothing to do with the Biblical Apocalypse, right?"

"Well, if you know your history, you know that early missionaries converted many Native Americans by likening their mythology to Christianity," Sarah explained. "They even likened their concept of God to their Great Spirit – or Giche Manitou."

"That's an Algonquian word, though; the Erie were Iroquoian," Sam put it. "But still, the concept's the same. And if their Great Spirit really is just another face of the Christian God, maybe that's why Chuck was able to see this place and know it was safe. Maybe he was planning on coming here too."

"Maybe," Becky agreed hesitantly. "Once he made sure I was headed here, it's the last I heard from him."

"And that was almost two months ago?"

"Mm-hm. The first of May. I was halfway through the second part of the Weeping Angels arc of Dr. Who when Chuck called – I remember being totally ticked off, because, I mean, he broke up with me! And now he was calling me during quality time with The Doctor?" She scowled, and then sighed. "But still, he is a prophet, and if he saw the Apocalypse coming, I figured I should do as he said. So I packed up my things and headed here." Her eyes became bright again as she looked at Sam. "It's the first time I went on a road trip, and I felt really emotionally close to you and Dean."

"Uh…that's…nice, Becky," Sam hedged, pointedly ignoring the way Sarah was trying very hard to control her amusement.

"I was here for about three weeks before the first disappearances started up, and let me tell you, trying to get internet out here –"

"Disappearances?" Sam interrupted before she could get off-topic. "The same ones Garth was tracking, right? Of people who had gone to the convention?"

"Yeah. One of my favorite fanfic authors went offline permanently with no warning – and she was, like, OCD about updating. Last year she was in a car accident that broke both her hands and she turned all her updates into podfics just so that she could stay on schedule – so when she suddenly went off the grid, I had to investigate," Becky described. "I reached out a few of my friends to figure out what was going on, but three of them had gone missing too. And it was only people who had been to the convention. I still hadn't heard from Chuck, so I knew something was up and it would be up to me to save some people."

"So you…set up your own fan-driven version of Survivor in the woods?" Sarah asked, incredulous.

"Please, that show kills brain cells," Becky rolled her eyes. "I've just been getting as many people who went to the convention as I could to protect them. I mean, it was pretty easy once I told them the books were real – though, it was only the diehards like the twins who really believed me – and then it was just a matter of keeping everything secret – and you have no idea how hard it is to get fans to keep things secret."

Sam wanted to say something about how he was pretty sure the secret wasn't going to last very much longer the way Becky was doing things, but his response was cut off at an abrupt knock at the door of Becky's office and then Demian and Barnes were back in the room.

"All the living spaces have been checked again and Garth said we did an awesome job," Demian announced. "He said if he hadn't known any better, he'd think we were real hunters."

"Dude, we are real hunters. Stop devaluing your contributions," Barnes said. "You're not role-playing right now."

They had been making a general nuisance of themselves since Becky blurted out Sam's identity. After at least fifteen minutes straight of repeated affirmations of how they were huge fans and asking to hear stories that hadn't made the books, they had finally gone to fetch Sarah and Garth from the parking lot, promising to keep Sam's identity quiet along the way.

"They're sort of celebrities around here," Becky had told Sam while they waited, trying to move closer to Sam with every word. "Everyone knows they actually met and hunted with you and Dean."

"They didn't know they were hunting with me and Dean," Sam had protested, forcibly polite as he had tried to inch away from her.

"I know. It was hilarious when I told them the truth – I think Demien might actually have peed himself in shock," Becky had giggled.

Once the duo had returned, Sarah and Garth in tow, they had started blurting out apologies for their behaviour at the convention ("Dude, if we had known you guys were legit, we never would have acted out that scene from Asylum – no wonder Dean was pissed!") and revealing information Sam rather wished they hadn't. ("Once I found out who you guys really were, I swear I dreamed about Dean every night," Barnes had confided conspiratorially. "Demian told me if I said his name one more time during sex, I was sleeping on the couch indefinitely.") Eventually, Sam had been forced to manipulate Garth into taking them out to check on the protective measures around the camp just to make them go away.

Glancing outside now, Sam could see Garth was still out there, trying to show one of the cat-ear wearing fans how to throw a knife with varying degrees of success.

"What protections do you have?" Sam asked. When they looked at each other, unsure of how to answer, he clarified, "What are you able to keep out."

"Ghosts, demons, poltergeists – you name it, we've got a ward against it," Demian said smugly.

"What about angels?" Sam prompted.

"Uh…" Barnes trailed off

"We haven't gotten that far in the books yet," Demian muttered. "They haven't explained a way to stop those yet. I mean, Dean just met up with that Castiel guy, so we figured there are no wards."

Sam wasted no time in grabbing a piece of paper off Becky's desk and jotting down the proper banishing sigils. He pushed it forward. "You need to make a perimeter around the camp and paint those symbols. This place may be a supernatural blind spot, but we need to make sure it stays impenetrable to the angels." Demian took the paper. "Take a few people with you. Those need to be drawn in blood."

"H-human blood," Barnes swallowed.

"Yeah. And you guys don't want to faint half-way through your third sigil," Sam said.

"Right!" Demian declared, and marched off with a sense of importance, followed by a slightly paler Barnes.

"And I thought Star Wars fans were hardcore," Sarah remarked, her tone halfway between impressed and apprehensive.

"We all fully support Sam and Dean," Becky said in a chastising tone, narrowing her eyes at Sarah. "We really feel for the characters – like, the latest book, where Dean goes back in time? And, I mean, I'm totally annoyed that Sam hasn't really showed up in it yet, but I already know most of what happened because of Chuck. Though, he didn't tell me everything so that I couldn't use my position as his girlfriend to spoil the fans, because, you know, he was planning to publish, which is sometimes I'm never going to forgive him for. Anyway, Crystal and I have been speculating –"

"Uh, Crystal…that's your best friend, right?" Sam interrupted, watching Sarah's expression of surprise at the mention of Dean's trip to the past and the question on her lips that would lead to him explaining exactly why he hadn't been around much during that time.

Becky's eyes went wide. "How did you know that?"

"Uh, well, like I was trying to tell you earlier, we went to your house to find you –"

"Because you were so worried for my wellbeing," Becky supplied breathlessly.

"Uh…right," Sam said, not remarking that a normal girl would be freaked out about people going through her home. "Anyhow, I heard from Demian that Crystal is supposedly on her way here."

"Yeah! A bunch of us pooled all of our funds so that we could buy a few copies of the latest book – eBay doesn't exactly deliver out here," Becky chortled. "I phoned Crystal up the other day to pick up a few copies for us."

"She's coming out to the backwoods…to bring you books," Sarah said flatly.

"I never saw that name on the list of convention-goers," Sam cut in. "So shouldn't you, I don't know, call her and tell her to lay low? It's only people who went to the convention who are being targeted, and if we can keep at least one person safe, we should try."

"That's sweet, Sam, but Crystal was at the con," Becky said kindly. "You met her."

"I…did?"

"Oh, yeah. She was the actress the hotel hired, remember? And Dean talked her into pretending to be a ghost to stop those ghost boys from killing everyone?"

As Sam reflected on how the familiar face in Becky's photos suddenly made sense, Sarah let out a snort. "What is it with you guys and dead children trying to kill you?"

Becky looked like she wanted to say something sharp to that, and so Sam cut in again. "Really? Huh, I mean, you two…didn't seem to have much in common. I mean, Dean said she was a Hooters waitress."

"Encountering the supernatural can change a person," Becky said soberly. "She was so affected by the experience that she naturally sought out the number one fan of the series to explain things to her." Becky pointed to herself. "We've been BFF's ever since. Though, we still have a few disagreements – I mean, she's a total Destiel shipper, which I think is jumping the gun because there've only been three books put out just yet." She giggled again, fluttering her eyelashes at Sam. "I don't think Dean and Castiel have the same connection you and Dean have."

Again, Sarah snorted, and Sam only just held back a silent 'clearly you've never seen how they look at each other'.

"Becky…" Sam cleared his throat, not wanting her to go into any more detail about that. "You know none of that means anything in real life, right?"

"Maybe not to you and me," Becky said, "but to the fans? It's everything! I still update all of my blogs to keep them as in the loop as possible. It's my responsibility as –" There was another knock at the door, and Sam rolled his eyes. This place was so far from a secure home base it wasn't even funny, and it made him nervous. "Come in!"

The door opened, revealing a petite brunette.

"Bestie!" Becky cried, launching herself across the room. "Ohmygod, what happened?"

The girl's hair was a mess and her face – which Sam recognized better this time, now that he knew who she was – was covered in scratches and mud. Her jeans and the knapsack she carried were just as rough looking, and there were leaves stuck in parts of her ripped shirt, the latter which revealed what Sam could just make out as an anti-possession tattoo.

"The bridge to the camp is out," Crystal said, sounding shocked. "I got there and it was just…demolished. My cellphone was dead, so I couldn't even call for help and you…you know how far the nearest town is." She shivered. "I had to hike in using that secret back trail you showed me. I've been out there for hours."

"What could knock over a bridge?" Sarah wanted to know, but Sam was already reaching for his own cellphone.

"Mine's out too," he said, and after the others confirmed theirs weren't working (Becky's wi-fi signal was gone as well), he added, "I think this place has been found."

"Not possible," Becky replied. "Chuck wouldn't have sent us here if…if it wasn't safe."

But she looked unsure.

"Don't worry, we'll figure something out," Sam assured her, not really sure how they were going to do that.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Crystal interrupted.

"Jane," Sam cut Becky off before she could reveal his identity, just in case Crystal wasn't as on-the-level as Becky thought. She had shown up out of nowhere, and even though he could see she was protected, he still needed to be careful. "And we need to get some kind of an arsenal together. I've got things in my car, but do you have anything here?"

"Well, there's an old shotgun we keep around the office for emergencies – and we have a weapons cache," Becky said proudly, and off Sam and Sarah's incredulous looks, she added, "Okay, it's not a real cache, it's just where all the fans were told to lock up their replica and real weapons. Seth and Auralie are part of the SCA and had some really cool swords and crossbows that they've been showing people how to use, but we have to keep it under lock and key because some of the, uh, more enthusiastic guys like to play chicken with the Morningstars. I've already had to drive two people to the emergency room, so we stopped letting just anyone in there."

"Are they hunters?" Crystal asked

"Can you take me there?" Sam cut in as Becky nodded.

"The twins are the ones who keep the keys. They're out helping Barnes and Demian with the wards right now."

"It's okay, I don't need a key," Sam said. "Just show me where it is."

"Oh," Becky said, and then her eyes widened and she smiled coyly. "Oh." She looked at him from beneath her eyelashes. "Do you think…maybe you could give me lock picking lessons some time?"

"Maybe some time when we're not all in danger of being smote by angels," Sarah interrupted, impatient. "Now can you take us there or not?"

"I'll bring you," Crystal spoke up, looking between all of them like she was missing something. "Becks, you should tell the others about the bridge."

"I guess," Becky replied, disappointment clear on her face. "Are you sure you don't want to stay here and do that? I mean, you should fix up those scratches. The first aid kit's in the main room…"

"I can do it later. Besides – I'd do anything to get out of this office," Crystal said lightly, nodding at the Sam Winchester paraphernalia. "It's a travesty."

"Cretin," Becky told her. "Come back for margaritas later?"

"You know it," Crystal agreed, motioning for Sam and Sarah to follow her. They did so, exchanging disbelieving glances as they did.

Leaving the main office, Sam noticed that the sky had darkened considerably, like it was preparing for a storm. He made a face, not really wanting to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere during bad weather with nothing but a bunch of role-playing science fiction geeks and Becky.

Sam regarded her warily as they crossed the main quad of the campground, unsure of what to make of her. The girl was a far cry from the at once unimpressed yet freaked out waitress he and Dean had met during the ill-fated Supernatural convention. And she was far too blasé about her involvement with the 'Fans Who Know' to really fit in.

"You take all this supernatural stuff really well," he offered. Beside him, Sarah cocked her head at his inquisitive tone but didn't question it.

"Oh, I was never into this kind of stuff in my life," Crystal laughed. "To be honest, a lot of it still doesn't make any sense. But if you think I'm gonna waste my life shaking my ass for tips at a bar when there are dead things out there that can kill me – I figure this makes more sense than that."

"That's a pretty interesting way to look at it," Sam offered.

"Oh, please, I wasn't always this Zen," Crystal chuckled mirthlessly as they came up to one of the cabins that was farther than the other clustered buildings. "I spent a few hours huddled in a corner after my first face-to-face with three dead little murderers. I totally freaked out. And that's when I ran into Chuck, who was really cool about it. I mean, he really knew what it was like to kind of be dumped into the situation." She laughed again. "After I had my meltdown, he actually got me a box of tissues and sat with me until I calmed down. Though, he might have been trying to look down my shirt, but still."

"And now you're friends with Becky," Sam said, trying to keep the question and the judgement out of his voice.

Crystal offered him a wry smile, suggesting she could make out his tone. "I know it's weird, but believe me, she kind of grows on you. And she did a lot for me. After the convention, she tracked me down to make sure I was doing okay and we went to get our protection tattoos together. And she got me reading the series, and…just knowing all that's real changed things for me."

"And it doesn't freak you out that it's real?" Sarah wanted to know as they came up to the door and Sam dug out his lock-picking kit; the old lock on the door would prove little challenge to him, rusted through that if he had had less time he would have simply had to kick it apart. "That all that stuff is happening right now?"

"Not really – I mean, if you think about it, it's kind of like non-fiction, right?" Crystal shrugged. "At least, that's how I think about it when I wake up at three in the morning and thing, 'Holy crap, werewolves are real!'."

"Hunh," Sarah murmured. "That's one way of putting it."

Sam turned, one hand opening the door, halfway to asking her how she coped with the knowledge of what was really out there.

He never got the chance, as there was a sudden blast of force that bowled him over and the cabin suddenly seemed to explode outward.

For a moment the world went colourless and soundless.

Sam blinked, trying to regain his awareness. His inner clock assured him that he hadn't be stunned for more than a few seconds, but he knew better than anyone how even such a small allotment of time could mean the difference between life and death.

A few yards away, somewhat obscured by bushes and foliage, he could make out Sarah trying to help Crystal to her feet. One side of the young woman's face was a mat of red where she had been caught by a large splinter; glancing back at the cabin, Sam could see that the door and most of the cabin windows had been blown outward, like some kind of bomb had gone off inside. It was too dark to make out, which was odd, because moments before it had been twilight and now it seemed like every cloud in the sky had converged above the camp.

'Well, that can't be good,' Sam knew, and heard a sharp intake of breath from the girls. A second look at Sarah made him aware that she and Crystal were staring at something just beyond Sam.

He, too, turned his head, ignoring the aches and pains his body had sustained in the blast, and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

At first he thought it was just the utter creepiness of being stared at by twin gazes – Seth and Auralie had always come off as a little creepy to him. On the trail of that thought was the suspicion that they had booby-trapped the cabin for some reason – until there was a sudden flash of lightening up above, and he saw the giant sets of shadowy wings protruding from their backs.

'Angels,' his mind supplied uselessly as thunder rolled in the distance. 'But how…that makes no sense…'

Granted, it explained why their behaviour had been so off and why they had fit in so well with the oddball element, but if they were angels, they would have been able to take Becky long ago. So either being blessed by a prophet meant also being hidden from angels, or perhaps…

'Maybe it wasn't Becky,' Sam thought quickly.

He barely had time to consider the ramifications of that realization, when Seth – or whoever he was – spoke.

"Your soul is obscured by unclean magic," he said, looking at Sam with the same aversion as he had earlier that day. "Only someone with something great to hide would resort to such profane shields."

'You have no idea,' Sam thought grimly, slowly getting up. Behind his back, he made quick sweeping motion with his fingers and hoped Sarah got the message that she and Crystal needed to get out of there right away..

"You will reveal yourself to us and then the location of the one blessed by the prophet if it is not you," Auralie said quietly. "If you do not, we will strip the protective spells from your flesh and find out ourselves. Either way, you will face Heaven's judgement for your crimes."

"Listen…" Sam said quietly, reaching behind him with his still obscured hand for the butterfly knife in his belt, not that it would do any good, "I don't know who or what you are…or what you're talking about…but I'm pretty sure 'no' is the right answer here."

He could hear shouts in the distance, probably the fans trying to figure out what was going on. He had to get rid of these guys before they showed up, or it would be a slaughter.

"Disobedience is unwise," Seth said. "Even through your shield I sense falsehood."

"It would be in your best interests to cooperate," Auralie added. "We do not wish for harm to come to your companions."

"That's a new one," Sam said, giving up the pretense of ignorance as he got the knife free. "Last time I checked, angels don't really care about killing a few humans if they get in the way."

"Only if we must," Auralie said, pinning Sam with a look that glinted with something akin to sincerity. "Humans remain our Father's beloved creations, and every death is regrettable. It is why the humans who attempted to place sigils against us remain alive. They did now know what they were doing."

Which was a little surprising; Sam had never heard of any angel other than Castiel caring if humans were hurt in the process of Heaven's plans.

"I bet Raphael never got that particular memo," he remarked.

"He knows that some sacrifices must be made," Seth said quietly, considering Sam with an almost surprised expression at the mention of the archangel. "As do we. We will give you one last chance to surrender yourself to us."

There was sudden familiar sound of a shotgun and Seth staggered backward, a hole blown in his shoulder.

Sam's head whipped around, staring at where Becky was holding an old shotgun in her hands, making a face at the force of the recoil; he was actually impressed she was still standing.

"You back the hell away from them!" Becky snapped, trying to reload. "I'm the one you want, so leave 'em alone!"

In a blink of an eye, Auralie had moved and stood in front of Becky, grabbing hold of the gun and wrenching it from her hands with the sound of abused steel. Becky gasped, backing away as Auralie cocked her head to one side. "You are not blessed. We would see the mark upon your soul, unless it were shielded. You are nothing."

Which, ouch, even Sam thought was kind of harsh, but he didn't dwell on it in face of the fact that Auralie was reaching for Becky. It might have been just to knock her out, but considering she had just shot an angel – who was perfectly healed once again, Sam noticed vaguely – Sam wouldn't have been surprised if it was to break her neck.

"Becky!"

Sam swore inwardly at the sound of Crystal's voice breaking through the night, instinctively knowing Sarah hadn't been able to get her away. He forced himself not to look away, though, trying to come up with a way to help Becky –

Except Becky didn't appear in need of saving any longer.

Both angels had turned around at the sound of the cry and were staring behind Sam with expressions of awe on their faces. Reactively, he whipped around, wondering what it was they were seeing, only to see Crystal standing there, deftly trying to pull herself away from Sarah's to get to her friend.

'It's Crystal,' Sam realized, confused and unsure of why that was so, although a few pieces of information came back to him then, such as the twins not knowing who Crystal was or the fact that Crystal herself had said she'd met Chuck.

The how's and why's didn't matter at the moment. All that mattered was getting the angels away from Crystal and keeping her blood protected.

"Crystal, get out of here!" he yelled, and Sarah's eyes widened in understanding as well.

With a herculean effort, she hauled the girl backward and shoved her in the other direction, just as Auralie appeared beside her and reached out. She grabbed Sarah by the throat while Seth disappeared with a flapping tear of wings, obviously going after Crystal, who had disappeared into the trees

Sam's heart beat frantically in his chest as for the split second he was torn between trying to save Sarah or Crystal from what seemed to be a pretty sure fate. He only had seconds to act, and even then he found himself staring into Sarah's wide eyes and already moving toward her –

There was a brilliant flash of light and a scream, and then Sarah was falling to her knees, Auralie nowhere to be found.

Demian and Barnes were rounding the corner, both of their hands bloodied from what Sam could only surmise to be a hasty banishing sigil being drawn.

"That's two I owe you now," he said to them, hoping that the sigil had been close enough to zap Seth as well. He doubted it though.

Becky was already running past him in the direction that Crystal had disappeared, followed closely by Garth, who was still tripping over his trenchcoat as he fiddled with what Sam was pretty sure was an angel blade; the other hunter instantly rose in Sam's esteem right then.

Sam waited half a second to make sure Sarah was alright – dragging herself to her feet as Demian and Barnes approached her to help – when there was an anguished scream from the area where Crystal had disappeared.

Sam was running, then, and by the sound of footsteps behind him so were Sarah, Demian and Barnes.

It didn't take very long to reach their destination, and when he got there, Sam felt his stomach clench.

Becky was kneeling in the dirt of a clearing, Crystal's head cradled in her lap. The latter was staring up at the sky, glassy eyed, blood spilling over her lips and a dark wound in her chest; the size and cleanliness of the cut told Sam she had been speared by an angel blade.

"Is she…?" Sarah whispered, coming up behind him.

"We were too late," Garth said, sounding resigned from where he stood behind Becky. "Dude was just taking a vial of her blood when we got here. He actually had the gall to apologize before disappearing."

Becky's sobs got louder and Sam felt his stomach pull tight yet again.

They'd been too late.

(*)

By the time they returned to the hospital in Buffalo where Cas was, Dean felt drained – emotionally and physically. Or, at least as physically as a non-corporeal person could feel drained.

Upon seeing where they had beamed to this time, Dean rounded on Tessa. "Why the hell are we here?"

"Because it's our last stop?" she suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, if you think he's gonna be my last and final test, you and your boss can bite me," Dean bit out.

"Relax, Dean," the now sickeningly familiar voice of Death said from behind him. Dean turned to stare at the emaciated man sitting by Cas's bedside. "I'm not quite so sadistic as to do that, nor as stupid. You've made it quite clear you will go to great lengths to protect your angel."

It was a measure of how angry and frustrated Dean was that he didn't even waste breath arguing the 'your angel' part. "So that's it? We're done now?"

"Yes," Death agreed. "I admit, I am surprised. You have shown yourself to be remarkably stubborn in the past. Given your natural disregard for consequences, I had expected you to refuse to take the girl despite the ramifications." He pinned Dean with a thoughtful look. "Your species constantly surprises me."

Dean kept his mouth shut, biting down on the, 'It shouldn't.'

Humans were selfish assholes, and Death's little test had shown him exactly how warped he was. He had always chosen Sam's well-being over everyone else's, because it was wired into his very DNA, changed or not. But making sure Cas was safe by letting a hundred thousand people die, many of them innocent, Dean didn't even know how to justify.

The realization was more than a little unsettling. Because one day when someone pulled the sadistic choice on him, making him choose between Sam and Cas – and he inevitably chose Sam – he wasn't sure there were limits on what he would do afterward to get Cas back. Given his years in Hell, that admission terrified him.

"So," Death folded his hands together primly. "To conclude our little arrangement –"

"First unbind Cas, or whatever it is you did to him," Dean directed, worried the Great Destroyer might decide to skip out before fixing his friend.

Death rolled his eyes, but waved his hand in Cas's direction. The heart monitor and machines that the ex-angel was hooked up to started to beep with a more rapid frequency as his heart started beating on its own. There was a minor gasping noise from what Dean realized was his friend trying to breathe on his own through the tube in his throat.

"He's just sleeping now," Death told him unconcernedly. "He'll wake up shortly, probably more rested than he has in weeks."

'Or more disturbed,' Dean thought angrily, thinking on the nightmares that he knew kept Cas awake at night. He could only imagine what twenty-four hours of unbroken oblivion might have meant, and hoped his friend's subconscious had at least been shut off for that period of time.

Intent on calling in a doctor to remove the breathing tube, Dean started to haul off the ring.

"Wait," Death ordered, making him pause. "I will give you the incantation while you walk this plane. It will be better to imprint it in your soul where it can't be as easily read as the collection of tissue you call a brain."

Dean frowned. "But angels can see my soul."

"They can see that you have one," Death rolled his eyes. "But that pagan magic remains an effective shield. Why else do you think no angel or demon has recognized you yet? Say what you want about those annoying little protozoa, but gods do have a knack for moulding the fabric of reality."

Dean didn't comment, and Death approached him. Before he could react, the Horseman reached out and shoved his hand into Dean's body, somewhere just below his heart. A bright light erupted from where Death's hand disappeared into Dean's spectral body, and pain beyond earthly measure crashed over him in waves. It was sickeningly familiar, the sense of being torn open, and although he was screaming he knew instinctively that he had endured much worse for longer.

His eyes rolled back in his head and he could see Hell around him, memories of sulfur and blood threatening to overwhelm him. The hand within his chest continued to claw forward, as though it was looking for some specific nook or cranny within the compartments of Dean's soul. The farther it went, the more painful and violent the images became, coming at him faster and faster until they blurred together and he could no longer see them.

He was aware of a stabbing coldness within him, and words like smoke and dead leaves suddenly rustled in his mind. He had no understanding of them, but at the same time their sounds seemed seared into his very being.

And then the hand was gone and he felt his knees hit the floor.

"It is done," Death said as Dean tried to recover from the sudden onslaught of dizziness. "You can remove the ring now. I will, of course, be taking it back."

Dean blinked rapidly for a few moments, trying to sort out his thoughts.

His disorientation was likely the reason he hadn't noticed the way the lights in the hospital had begun to flicker until it was too late.

Suddenly, it wasn't just him, Tessa and Death standing around Cas's bed.

Raphael hadn't changed in the weeks since their last encounter, although the triumphant expression on his face made him look just as sinister. Beside him, a tall blond-haired man was looking down at Cas's body with a grim set to his jaw and an otherwise carefully blank expression.

'Balthazar,' Dean knew instinctively, although he had never met the angel who had been watching over Bobby. There was a familiar kind of exasperation in his features, something Dean had felt in his own more than once when his little brother did something stupid.

He didn't dwell on the revelation just then, too intent on the archangel in the room.

Somehow, Raphael had no idea who he was staring at. Death's words, as well as Tessa's, came back to him and he felt an overwhelming wave of gratefulness for Aggie. Bitchy pagan god or not, the next time he ran into her he was going to buy her a beer or something. Or maybe a really raw hamburger, whatever she wanted.

If he lived through this, of course.

"Death," Raphael intoned in a would-be pleasant voice. He completely ignored both Dean and Tessa, although judging from the latter's expression this was a matter of form and not because he didn't know they were there. "Come to reap the soul of a fallen angel, I suppose?"

"That was the agreement," Death remarked mildly, considering Raphael with the same sort of polite and detached tolerance he offered Dean.

"I'm afraid I can't let you take my brother just yet," Raphael said, voice just as polite but with a hint of menace in it. "He has much to answer for before his light is put out."

Dean's fists clenched, eyes darting to Cas as he tried to figure a way out of this mess. He could possibly yank off the ring and draw a quick sigil once his physical body was back, but that would take time. No doubt he would be stopped before he could manage it.

"Hmph," Death made an amused noise. "You think to tell me when it's someone's time?"

"I wouldn't say 'think'," Raphael said with a smirk, bringing his hand up and twisting his fingers around to cup it. Something began to form there, smokey and golden. "You may have noticed that you can't leave here. The binding has already been started, which means you can't reap anyone now. Not unless I say so."

"You're getting ahead of yourself," Death told him contemptuously. "You hold no command over me until I wear that bridle of yours. I can promise you it won't happen easily."

"But it will happen," Raphael smirked.

"This is precisely why I loathe angels," Death remarked conversationally. "Playing with forces beyond your control just because Daddy is no longer around to ensure your good behaviour – He and I may not see eye to eye on many matters, but I think I understand why He decided to run away. Who would want to babysit a bunch of squabbling, petty infants? In many ways you're no better than the bacteria that populates this entire planet. Although, in their case, at least they have a purpose."

Raphael's fake smile became more fixed. His eyes slid to Tessa and Dean. "Send your acolytes away and they will not be harmed. My brother has no need of witnesses to his demise."

Whatever that meant.

"How did you even find him?" Dean ground out, voicing a thought which had been bothering him. "He was protected from you."

Tessa shot him a warning look.

The angels considered him again, and he forced himself to keep eye contact. The combination of Aggie's spell and Death's ring were obviously doing their job, making the angels see only another Reaper, but Dean was used to best laid plans going south when it came to him.

"Cassy always had a bad habit of putting his human pets before himself," Balthazar drawled. "Even in the face of his many crimes, he holds the safety of the Righteous Man above his own. At least if his dreams are anything to go by. He's been shouting away in his sleep for a day now. It wasn't that hard to track him down by promising to deliver Dean Winchester from whatever spot of trouble he has found himself in now."

"Silence, brother," Raphael ordered. "You have no need to explain yourself to one of their kind. Your loyalty to Heaven puts you above that." He turned to Death. "I will give you one last chance to send your disciples away. They perform an important job, and we both understand how much the balance can be altered if you were to lose one."

"I find it ironic that you speak of balance considering what you are attempting to do," Death replied, showing no sign of taking orders from the archangel.

Raphael's expression hardened. "The Apocalypse must happen. You of all beings should know this."

"I do. And I am prepared for it if it does," Death said primly. "But don't pretend that you care anything for balance."

Raphael's vessel's nostrils flared. "Very well. Then your followers will be the first I send you after."

In a movement too fast to see, Raphael threw the smoky golden bridle at Death, the object looping open almost like a glimmering, pulsating lasso. Death didn't move, possibly considering he couldn't, and watched the powerful leash come toward him with a vaguely interested expression on his face.

Dean let out a wordless cry of warning, but he shouldn't have bothered.

Abruptly, Tessa was standing in front of Death, and the leash looped around her.

"No!" Raphael yelled, as the leash wrapped around her entire form and began to constrict. Dean's Reaper let out a high pitched scream of agony as the power of the leash washed over her in waves and pulled inward. Her form morphed into the white, wraith-like spectral creature he had seen the first time they had met, before veins of black began to appear on her where the magical restraints touched her form.

The veins grew larger, until her form was shrouded completely in black.

The lights flickered angrily and even though Dean didn't need to breathe at the moment, it felt like all of the air was sucked out of the room. The monitors hooked up to Cas turned off and the entire hospital seemed to shake.

Finally Tessa's body began to disintegrate into a black, ashy substance; the bridle fell away from her, harmless, before dissipating into thin air.

When the world stopped spinning, Death had disappeared; it seemed Tessa's sacrifice had broken Raphael's attempt to bind the Horseman.

And Dean still stood there alone with two angels.

(*)

Sunrise found Sam sitting alone in the cabin which one of the FWK members had shown him to. He was pretty sure the point had been for him to shower off the dirt and blood from moving Crystal's body, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it.

Once the news of what had happened that night circulated the camp, a few fans had sprung into action, tripling the protection on the perimeter of the camp to ensure no more angels or demons could come calling. The others had stayed behind to attend Crystal's funeral.

"She didn't have any family," Becky had explained sadly as Sam and Garth moved the girl's body onto a makeshift pyre in back of the cabins. "Foster care. She ran away a few years ago and got that job…" She had started to sob again. "She'd just started to make things work for her – I should never have called her out here…she could have stayed p-protected…"

As per Becky's insistence and the agreement of the other fans, even those who hadn't really known Crystal, she was to have a hunter's funeral. It had been the least Sam could do to walk them through the process, and in the end he had ended up doing most of the work rather than let any of the civilians accidentally set themselves on fire.

Sarah had offered to help, but Sam hadn't let her do more than the rudimentary work, preferring to lose himself in the physical labor aspect of gathering the wood and packing it around the body.

He had known Crystal barely ten minutes, but for some reason her death had hit him hard. Another innocent was dead because of the Apocalypse, because of a destiny he was wrapped up in. It was days like this he wished that Anna had destroyed his family before he and Dean were ever born, to stop things like this from happening.

The funeral had been surprisingly serious in spite of the attendees being a bunch of twitchy, scared fans whose world had just become a lot more serious than many of them had expected. During the actual rite, Becky had been inconsolable, sobbing into the shoulder of the closest body. In this case, it had been Garth, and the hunter had uncertainty patted her comfortingly on the back, as though he was unsure what he was supposed to be doing. Across the fire, Demian and Barnes had been leaning in close to each other, almost like they were trying to protect one another from some invisible threat, and in the midst of everything Sam had felt Sarah's hand find his own. He had felt too drained to think on it.

Sam had stared down at the sheet which wrapped Crystal's body, hating that he hadn't figured out what was happening fast enough, that he hadn't been able to save her. Inevitably, his thoughts had fallen upon Adam. His brother had been in the Cage more than a month. That had to be what, a century? Two? And they still hadn't found a way to get to him.

'Will we ever?' Sam had thought bleakly. 'It's like whenever we get a little bit closer to finding a way to Adam, something pops up to get in the way. There's got to be a simpler way of doing this.'

But he hadn't been able think of anything immediate solution.

After the body was burned away to ashes, Sarah had adopted the protective persona she had had at Lisa's, bringing Becky to her cabin and comforting her, while Sam had been led to the one where he sat now.

Long after he should have, he picked up the phone to call Dean and let him know how spectacularly he had failed on his end. His brother never picked up, and neither did Cas when he switched tactics.

"I can't get a hold of Dean or Cas," Sam said when Sarah knocked and entered his cabin later, his flat tone belying his worry.

"Do you think something's wrong?" she asked, worried.

"Normally I wouldn't, but considering our end of the job turned out the way it did?" Sam asked. "Who's to say theirs didn't end up worse."

"We should go then," Sarah said decisively. "They were in Buffalo last we heard from them, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said dully. "How's Becky?"

"Sad. Angry," Sarah said with an exhale. "I doubt she'll be sleeping any time soon. She blames herself for not knowing it was Crystal."

"How would she have even known? From what I gathered, only angels could see if someone had been blessed. Crystal didn't look any different to me or you," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, I know, but she's still blaming herself. According to her, Crystal never said anything about Chuck formally blessing her, but she remembers Crystal sneezing once and Chuck saying 'bless you'. She thinks that's when it happened." Sarah said quietly. Sam stared at her, mouth opening slightly in disbelief. She caught his expression, and went on, "If things hadn't gone as badly as they did, I think I'd probably be laughing."

"Anything to do with Heaven does usually tend to be overly literal," Sam agreed after a moment, also finding himself fighting off the irrational temptation to laugh. Even bitter mirth wasn't acceptable, though. "We should tell Garth we're going."

"I think he's going to stay here," Sarah told him. "His hunt's over, and I think he just clued into how things are going to go if there is another Apocalypse. He said something about "Garthing these geeks into shape" if that's the case."

This time Sam's lips did quirk upward. "I guess beggars can't be choosers when it comes to support, right?"

"Not if your name is Winchester," Sarah agreed, attempting levity.

They stared at each other silently for a moment, and Sam could see Sarah struggling with something, like she wanted to say something.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I saw your eyes," Sarah said quietly after a moment. "Back when that angel had me by the throat?" His gaze fell on the bruises around her throat, and he thanked an absent God that the angel hadn't put just the slightest bit more pressure there. "You were actually thinking of going for me."

It wasn't an accusation, but Sam's subconscious reacted like it was, refusing to look Sarah in the eye.

"Sam…" she began, sounding like she was torn.

"I know," Sam said darkly. "Crystal should have been the priority. I should have…"

"There was no time," Sarah said firmly. "And I'm actually…kind of flattered that even when everything was going to hell, you were trying to protect me."

"You shouldn't be," Sam said bitterly. "It's just another sign of how I can't keep my priorities straight. If I had been able to from the beginning…"

He trailed off, clenching his jaw, flashing back to those months when Dean had been gone and how his priorities for revenge for his brother had blinded him to what was really going on.

It worried him that Sarah had somehow joined the list of people that he would make ridiculous sacrifices for, even knowing a decision like that might actually cost someone –or many someones – the world.

"I can't watch another person I care about die, Sarah," Sam told her, apologetic and guilty at the same time. "Not again, and especially not when it's my fault."

"This was not your fault!" Sarah protested. "What could you have done?"

"I could have gotten this place warded faster – the minute we got here, instead of wasting time on making nice with the morons playing hunter," Sam said bitterly. "I should have taken this more seriously, not been thrown off because it was just a bunch of people obsessed with some idealized version of my life. I could have researched everyone that was at that convention, not just the guests, maybe I could have narrowed her down faster and –"

"Sam, that makes no sense," Sarah cut him off. "Those are mistakes anyone in the world could make."

"But I'm not just anyone in the world, am I? I'm the damn poster child for screw ups. I'm the reason all of this is happening, why we're even in this situation. If I hadn't –" He cut himself off, eyes wide as he realized he was seconds away from telling her about opening Lucifer's Cage in the first place.

Sarah tilted her head to one side, eyes sympathetic. "If you hadn't what, Sam?"

There was a long moment, where he tried to finish the sentence, tried to tell her the truth; but he remembered how Dean had looked at him in the months following Lucifer's release, and the idea of seeing that expression on Sarah's face now…

He inhaled a deep, shaking breath and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We don't have time for me to have a breakdown. We've got to find Dean and Cas."

Sarah frowned, opening her mouth like she wanted to pursue the matter, and then with visible effort stopped herself. "Okay." She turned her back on him, her voice a little more clipped. "We should get going. The sooner we find them, the better, right?"

Sam stared at her, slightly taken aback that she had just let it go and more than a little appreciative that she wasn't giving him trouble over his reticence. "Yeah…"

There were a group of fans huddled in the grassy parking lot when Sam and Sarah got out there. To Sam's surprise, Becky was out and about as well.

When she caught sight of him, she marched up to him, businesslike.

"I want you to have this," she announced quietly, her usual bubbly nature momentarily absent. Her eyes were rimmed with red and there was a hard edge to her mouth that he hadn't noticed before as she handed him something.

He frowned down at the bloodstained dagger in his hands; it was wrapped in what looked like saran wrap. "What…?"

"It's dipped in her blood," she told him fiercely. "I need you to find the thing that did that to her and I need you to promise me you're going to kill it."

"Uh….Becky, I don't think a bloodstained knife, even one dipped in the blood of someone blessed by a prophet, is going to kill an angel," Sam said carefully, trying to be gentle.

"It doesn't have to. You just need to stab him with it," she insisted vehemently. "Repeatedly, if possible. Crystal needs to be avenged, and I can't…" Tears welled up in her eyes again. "I'm not like you and Dean. I can't just go on the road and hunt down the thing that killed my friend. I don't have a destiny. But she deserves some kind of justice, some kind of…closure."

Sam winced, both at the truth in her statement and her blind conviction, and then nodded. "Okay then. I'll do what I can."

"I may not be able to hunt, but I'm not going to just stick to the sidelines anymore," Becky went on. "None of us will. I'm going to do whatever I can to put the word out." Determination gleaming at an almost manic intensity. "The time for acting like a silly fangirl is over. The angels aren't gonna know what hit them once I spread the word among the FWK about them. And then the world."

"That's…ambitious," Sam said, not sure how to say he doubted the angels were going to be bothered by a bunch of online blogs or petitions.

"The way I figure it, angels don't use the Internet, so they won't see us coming," Becky said, a trace of her usual brightness there. "It'll be like Independence Day, only with angels instead of aliens."

'Aaaaand, that's my cue to leave,' Sam thought, forcing himself to keep his smile in place.

(*)

For an eternal moment, there was nothing but the sound of Cas fighting his breathing tube and the echo of people running past in the hallway in response to the tremor from Tessa's death.

Raphael grunted angrily at the sudden disappearance, and Balthazar held up a placating hand. "It's just a minor setback, brother. It's only a matter of time before we catch up to him, and we'll simply redo the binding in that time. Besides…" He nodded at the prone form of Cas, his vessel's eyes tightening with something unreadable. "We have Castiel."

"True," Raphael said, shaking off whatever disappointment he felt from his plan not going the way he had intended. "In this, at least, you have done well."

He made a move for Cas, fingers already in prime angel-whammy position and before Dean could think of anything better, he was standing between the ex-angel and his pissed off older brother.

"I'll kill you if you touch him," he snarled, causing both angels to pause again.

Raphael stopped for a moment, regarding Dean like he was an oddity. It was different enough from the first few times they had encountered one another, where the archangel had stared at him like he was some kind of bug, for Dean to know the ring was keeping Raphael from recognizing him.

'Damn, if Sammy and I could find something like this to wear all the time, we could ditch the girl-suits,' he found himself thinking inopportunely.

"The sickness is spreading, it would seem," Raphael said quietly to Balthazar, regarding Dean thoughtfully. "First angels, now Reapers, begin to question their place."

"I'm not sure it's questioning," Balthazar answered, his bored drawl grating on Dean's nerves. "Perhaps the Reaper is simply attempting to do its duty. There are protocols for this situation, after all." Off Raphael's unimpressed look, he coughed and shrugged. "I'm simply saying the creature shows loyalty to its master."

"Which is why it is not dead yet," Raphael said in clipped tones. He frowned at Dean in warning. "Leave now, Reaper, or end up as your companion did."

Dean's eyes flicked to the place where Tessa had burst into ashes, and then steeled himself. "That's not happening."

Balthazar's eyes narrowed like he was considering something, but Dean didn't think much on it. Raphael's momentary flash of surprise and irritation had given way to impatience, and he was moving forward again.

"Very well," the archangel said and reached out to Dean like he was about to burn him out of existence as easily as some minor demon.

'This is it,' Dean thought in disbelief.

He was going to die and he'd end up either sitting in a Heaven of memory reruns or stewing in the Pit until he broke again. And then Cas would be dragged back to Heaven and tortured, before being killed off. And Sam…Sam would probably do something stupid trying to get him back, and they'd be in that whole mess all over again while Adam continued to rot in the Cage.

Dean blurted out the first thing he could think to say. "I know the incantation."

Raphael froze, appearing comically caught off guard. Even Balthazar stopped moving, looking at Dean with sudden clarity that might have been recognition had they ever met.

"You leave him alone, I'll give it to you," he continued, even as his brain chided him for choosing that particular piece of knowledge.

He held firm, though. Cas meant more to him than Purgatory, and he'd budge on this front if it meant keeping him safe. Sam could at least ensure the blood was protected, meaning they would still have one of the things Raphael needed to open the door. Sam would understand once he explained it to him – hell, who could ever understand it better?

Balthazar's expression crackled with something dark now, and Dean could see the anger there directed at him had nothing to do with being part of Raphael's smite squad. Waves of dislike were coming off of him, which was an interesting concept considering he was supposed to be an emotionless creature, but from the way he was glancing covertly at Cas, Dean knew he had just clued into why a supposedly neutral reaper was adamant about the fallen angel's well-being.

Their gaze met again, and Dean felt an accusation in those cold eyes. He wanted to tell the angel he knew how he felt – once again, Dean had screwed up and put not only the people he cared about but some kind of cosmic balance at risk – but he forced himself to stare down Raphael.

"The incantation's more important than hauling him home for a beating, isn't it?" he went on. "What have you got to lose?"

Raphael was still silent, though, frowning at Dean as though he was trying to understand the angle being played.

He would never get to find out.

There was a sudden blast of light and a surge of energy rippled through the room where they were all standing. Both Raphael and Balthazar suddenly screamed in pain, and as the wave dissipated, Dean found himself standing by Cas's bed, alone.

"What the…?"

"Hiya, honey, you miss me?" a familiar, sickeningly coy voice said behind him.

Dean whirled around to stare at the pale-faced, dark-haired demon that he had last seen flanked by Hellhounds in Carthage Missouri. She was smirking at him, blood dripping down her palm and wrist; beside her, the same substance had been smeared onto the whitewashed wall to make the banishing sigil that had sent the angels packing.

Confused, his gaze flew to what she held in her other hand – a flexible packet of donor blood, which explained why the sigil had been effective. Demon's blood was too polluted for it to work otherwise.

'Meg,' he thought, only just stopping himself from saying it out loud. If she was here for Cas, he had to stop her –

"Now, no Reaper would stick around after that," Meg purred, slinking into the room and watching Dean with undisguised glee, "Which makes me think you're not really one of those old bums, are you?" Her smirk widened. "So why don't you take off that pretty ring there and let me see what you look like now, hey, Dean-o? I bet you make a really pretty girl."

Dean choked back shock, staring at the demon incomprehensively. "How did you – ?"

"Oh, even if your dear old not-Daddy hadn't told me, I'd have figured it out just based on how you keep eyeing Clarence over there," she said sweetly, bringing her bloodstained wrist to her lips and licking a lock stripe upward. "No one would look at an ex-angel that way unless they knew him personally."

"Bobby –" Dean's panicked confusion turned into a growled warning. "If you hurt him –"

"Relax," Meg told him flatly. "Tubby's still alive. We've got a little agreement between the two of us, and this –" She gestured to the room where they stood and where Cas was slowly starting to wake up, if the moans of discomfort were anything to go by, "– is just my audition for Winchester Idol." She smiled at him widely, teeth stained with blood. "How'd I do, Simon?"

It took Dean's brain several seconds to catch up with her words, and in that time Cas's gasping became louder. Dean's eyes flitted to his friend's side and saw that his eyebrows were drawn down in a frown and his eyelids appeared to be blinking in sleep, characteristic of someone trying to wake up.

"Not that it wouldn't be a kick to watch him choke to death, but you might want to see to that," Meg remarked. "The nurses are kinda busy out there dealing with what they think was an earthquake." She made an overt show of sniffing the air. "Do I smell fried Reaper?"

"Bobby wouldn't be working with you," Dean snarled. "Not after everything. And definitely not after dealing with Crowley."

"Oh, baby, it's exactly because of Crowley he's working with me," Meg purred. "How else are we gonna ice the archdemon?"

Dean's ears perked up at that, and he was momentarily caught off track. "Archdemon?"

Meg raised an eyebrow at him, and then a look of glee appeared on her face. "You don't know, do you? You mean your boyfriend didn't tell you?"

"Cas isn't my –"

"D….ea…n…."

The gasped name and subsequent gagging noise cut him off, and Dean saw that Cas had awoken. He was looking around the room in confusion, hands reaching for the tube in his throat. His gaze passed right through Dean and landed on Meg, and whatever colour was in his skin abruptly left it.

"You…!" he rasped, anger and hatred and defiance lacing that one word. His eyes flitted about the room, like he was looking for a weapon.

"Been a while, hasn't it, Wingless?" she simpered. "Gotta say, you look great. Almost makes me feel better about you dropping me in holy fire."

Cas could only choke in response, and Dean was moving before he even realized it. The ring was off and he was beside his friend's bed, calling out, "Somebody get in here! He needs help!"

"Well, that's a surprise," Meg drawled. "I expected a butch lesbian in flannel. But you actually make a pretty decent girl."

It occurred to Dean then that he had just turned his back on a demon – the same demon that had possessed his brother and killed countless friends in the past – with barely a second thought. Somehow, his unconscious had made the decision to trust her for the moment. He didn't by any means think her stepping in to save him and Cas from Raphael balanced everything that had happened between them, but he also knew that if Meg wanted them dead she would have done it already.

And he wanted to know what she knew about archdemons.

"Shut up and do something about that," he snarled, nodding to the painting in blood on the wall.

"What exactly do you want me to do in the next seven seconds?" she asked dryly, but Dean didn't get a chance to reply before several scrub-wearing individuals hurried into the room, followed by the doctor that had explained Cas's condition earlier.

As the nurses hurried to help take the tracheal tube from Cas's throat, the man demanded, "What the hell is going on here? What are you doing?"

Meg shot Dean a look that somehow managed to mix a certain amount of smugness with a sentiment of 'I got nothing', and Dean realized the bitch was leaving it to him to explain.

"She's a Carouselambra shaman," Dean blurted out, not pulling up a random idea off the top of his head. "My, uh, husband is really into that New Age crap –" He ignored the way Meg's eyes rose and how her lips quirked up mockingly, " – and I figured, you said he was going to die anyway, I might as well try what I could."

The doctor scowled at her. "Using alternative methods may be at the discretion of the patient and family, however you should have cleared that with me as his attending." His gaze zeroed in on the emptied blood donor bag in Meg's hand, and his voice raised, "And stealing hospital equipment is a criminal offense – I could press charges!"

"Look, I'll pay for that," Dean said hurriedly, "But something worked, right? He's awake."

Awake and fighting off the hands of the nurses and orderlies trying to help him. The tube was gone now, the only evidence of its being there the patch of gauze covering the incision, but there were still IVs sticking out of his arms.

The doctor shot Dean another unimpressed look and went to examine Cas, the expression softening into something akin to amazement.

"Mr. Geraldo – can you understand me?" he asked in an unnecessarily loud voice.

Cas's eyes darted to Dean, wary, but when Dean inclined his head incrementally, he nodded slowly and rasped out, "Of course I understand you. You are speaking at an unnaturally loud volume."

The doctor was surprised, obviously at the clarity of the response, and Dean could practically see the wheels turning in his head at how he could make some kind of research follow up out of Cas's miraculous recovery.

"You seem to have overcome whatever put you in your coma, sir – what's the last thing you remember?"

"Hey, he's had a really bad twenty-four hours," Dean cut in. "You think we could have a minute or two alone?" Meg cleared her throat. "With his spiritual advisor, of course. Just to make sure he's in the right state of mind."

"Mrs. Geraldo, before we do anything, we need to figure out what happened to him. It's possible he might have a blood clot in his brain that caused his condition," the doctor told Dean severely. "If left untreated, this could happen again."

"You took brain scans before," Dean retorted. "Go look at those and just give me a few minutes with him, okay?"

"Yes, it's very important to reconnect spiritually before actually healing can begin," Meg said, only just managing to keep a straight face.

There was a long silence where Dean stared down the doctor, refusing to back away from Cas. The man finally nodded. "Very well. I will give you time. But only you. The…shaman stays outside while we have a discussion about credentials and hospital property."

"Sounds scintillating," Meg drawled, turning away. As she left, she mouthed to him, 'Get pretty boy outta here'."

Once they were alone and Dean poked his head outside to make sure no one was watching the room, he turned back to Cas. "Hospital escapes are becoming a thing with you, aren't they?"

"Why was the abomination present?" Cas croaked as Dean started to carefully take the IVs from his arms. He tried not to notice that his hands were shaking as he did it, almost like he had come down from some kind of adrenaline high that was mixing with his relief over Cas being conscious again.

He didn't admit to any of that, though, instead grumbling, "Apparently she's our new best friend – enemy of our enemy and all that jazz. And she just saved our asses from Raphael." When Cas opened his mouth, obviously to protest, he went on, "Don't worry, we're going to be checking that story out. Every way we can and with extreme prejudice. But right now, she's helping us get you out for whatever reason."

"Likely to kill me," Cas replied, although he sounded doubtful, like he was already trying to suss out the demon's reasoning.

"She can try," Dean said firmly, reaching for the container where the clothes Cas had worn coming to the hospital had been stashed. "After what I just went through to keep you living, ganking a whole demon army doesn't really sound too hard."

Cas's gaze softened and understanding lit his features. "The deal…you went through with it."

"What the hell else was I supposed to do?" Dean asked, defensive. "We needed the incantation."

"But not at the price of your piece of mind," Cas told him. "Natural order or not, the taking of souls…must have been hard on you."

"I can think of worse things to go through," Dean replied casually, not looking at Cas. He needed topic change, quick. "And so can you, I think. What the hell is this archdemon everyone and their mother is freaking out about, Cas? And why didn't you bring me up to speed about there even being such a thing until now?"

Cas's lips firmed. "I was attempting to protect you."

"Damn it, Cas, I've already been through Sam keeping shit from me, I can't deal with you doing it too," Dean growled. "We get out of here, you are telling me everything that's been going down that you've been keeping from me. Got it?"

Cas watched him for a long moment, and Dean could see an inner struggle going on beneath the carefully blank face, something he would never have noticed when his friend was still an angel.

"Very well," he acquiesced. "But I very much believe dealing with the demon is a mistake."

"When is it not?" Dean grumbled, helping Cas out of the thin hospital bed. "So – short version, because we don't have a lot of time. What the hell is an archdemon?"

"A mutation. The product of a demon and an angel," Cas said darkly, accepting his folded clothing. "They walked the earth not long after Lucifer's fall, but before he was caged up. They were so powerful that the entire Host had to band together and defeat them, resulting in a large proportion of our forces perishing. In the end, it still wasn't enough to destroy them completely. Their fat was ultimately to be taken apart and their bones were used to build Lucifer's Cage."

He started to haul off his hospital gown and Dean quickly looked away, attributing his brain blanking out for a moment to the information overload. He forced himself to focus on Cas's words, taking them apart one idea at a time. "So, the deal you made with Crowley…?"

"Turned him into some version of an archdemon," Cas allowed. "Not a true one, but something close enough to the concept. And with the Host reeling from the failed Apocalypse and splitting into civil factions, it is in no condition to fight off an archdemon."

"Fuck, the hits just keep coming," Dean groaned.

When he turned back around, Cas had fixed him with a penitent expression. "Dean, if I had known –"

"You what, wouldn't have brought Sam back?" Dean challenged. "Dude, don't even joke about that. Archdemon or not, I'm never going to be sorry you did that."

"But the price –"

"We'll deal. We always deal," Dean cut him off. "We'll find a way to put down the son of a bitch and go on our merry way."

Cas frowned. "I am not sure destroying it is wise."

"What? Why the hell not?"

"It is something I have been thinking of, and which I have discussed with my brother."

"Balthazar, right? Yeah, just met him. Also a huge dick." Off Cas's unimpressed glanced, he backtracked a little, "But he looked like was going to try to save you if things went south, so I'll cut him that slack. What've you guys been powwowing about?"

"Simply a question that has been preoccupying my thoughts of late," Cas answered. "Why would God have created the key to let Lucifer out, if he had known what a creature it would create? It had to have been part of his plan."

Dean stared, the ramifications of the idea hitting him. "Shit. And if that was the case, what the hell was his plan?"

Cas shook his head, at a loss.

"Are you boys gonna sit and chat all day or are you gonna haul ass outta here?" They both turned abruptly to see the doctor on Cas's case standing in the doorway, folding his arms at them. "After I went through the effort of getting you discharged and everything…am I really the only one onboard with this whole alliance?"

His eyes flashed black and Dean glared. "Meg. Where's your meat?"

"In a supply closet somewhere. I'll pick it up later," the demon grinned. "Now come on, I'm itching the play Dr. Sexy for a bit."

Dean's stomach turned.

'I'm never watching that show again,' he vowed, allowing Meg to lead them out of the room.