Author's Note: YOU GUYS I AM SO SORRY. Four months. Wow. *sigh* Anyway, I finally figured out how I want this story to wrap up, and I just sat down, re-read everything I had so far, and wrote this chapter. It took a while, but it felt good.

Thanks so much to everyone who has followed Andrea's journey with me, and to those of you who didn't give up on me in the long hiatus. It's been so much fun to write and your reviews and support have been brilliant. As always when I spend this much time on a character, I've come to think of her as a friend. I hope that this story made at least a small impact on your lives (or at least your perception of the fandom) too.

^ doing this here so I don't have to rant in the next (last!) two chapters

Chapter 12: In Which the Oracle is Resigned to her Fate

As it turned out, Walker had never learned how to use a computer. I still didn't have enough control over my powers to type more than a few words before the stupid machine flickered and buzzed and the screen went dark. The other library patrons glared at me and I hurried off before some disgruntled IT worker could chew me out for damaging equipment.

After that incident, we went to another library and started pulling birth and death and marriage records from the entire midwest. doing all the research manually. Every morning we would arrive as the building opened, spend the day bent over books and thumbing through smudged pages, then leave when the librarians started looking edgy and pointedly rattling their key rings and clearing their throats as they glanced at the clock. This cycle repeated for five days, I working backwards from the year I knew that Nelson had died and Walker working forwards from the year I had met him.

Finally, early on the sixth morning, when even Walker was having difficulties maintaining an appropriate form, I stumbled across a thread which lead me to the correct cemetery. I thought that I would be more excited.

Walker and I decided to make the journey on foot. Somehow, I think that we knew even then that our adventures together were drawing to a close. I had some sense of the responsibilities upon me.

We barely spoke as we prepared. I wanted to be as alive as possible for the trip, so I actually packed a small backpack before looking at it, shaking my head at my own foolishness, and returning the items to their correct places. There was no reason on earth that I would need my river rock, or the Missoula address, or the photograph, much less a water bottle, a cell phone, or money. Besides, I was coming right back.

Even as I settled the rock back on my nightstand, the thought made me uneasy.

We walked and we walked for days to get to Missouri. We followed roads out of habit, but I at least could have made it with my eyes shut. Once I knew the location, I felt an inescapable pull to the place my husband was buried.

After the first day and night, we had exhausted any stories we had left to ourselves, and we walked in silence. Often we traveled hand in hand. Occasionally we traversed opposite sides of the road. All of the banter and casual liveliness in our conversation had faded away with the gravity of the situation, and I missed it. A sense of foreboding which I could only interpret as the beginnings of my prophetic abilities had wrapped itself around me, making me reluctant to make any fresh connections with the man. The last thing I wanted was to come to some revelation about the nature of our relationship and then have it shattered into a million pieces by some supernatural force.

We reached the cemetery at dusk.

Rows of tombstones, none of them much more than fifty years old, stretched as far as the eye could see. A rugged hill topped with a yew tree added to the creepy atmosphere.

"I guess I'm supposed to feel at home here," I tried to joke.

Walker grunted.

As the last of the day's light faded, a few spirits began to appear. A woman sat, child in her lap, against her headstone, crying mournfully. A man in a flamboyant suit perched atop his, trying to get the attention of another man a few plots over. Even in death, humanity's quirks showed through.

I recognized Anthony Nelson immediately, even though he was a good 200 yards away from us. I couldn't see his face, but his soul glowed familiarly and drew me closer. He was talking animatedly to another spirit at one side, and a third was nodding vigorously. As Walker and I approached, I could hear snippets of their conversation.

"…Henry's grandsons, is what I heard. They're responsible. Never heard of the Society, but they had it in their veins. Became hunters."

The man I knew to be Anthony shook his head. "Don't say it like you're chewing dirt, Derek. Hunters today can be respectable people. I hear the Winchesters are making quite a name for themselves."

The first spirit snorted. "Yeah, by starting the Apocalypse!"

I stepped close enough to really enter the conversation. "I'd watch it, buddy. Those are my friends you're talking about."

All three ghosts turned to me, and there was no lightning bolt of recognition like I'd hoped. Anthony raised an eyebrow, curious yet polite, and held out a hand. "I don't think I have the pleasure of your acquaintance, Miss…?"

"Fosters," I informed him, shaking his hand firmly, "and I think that you do."

I could see why my former self had loved this man, even after spending such a short time in his company. He was handsome and polite, and the way he had stood up for the Winchesters, whom I doubted he knew personally, gave me a good impression of his character. He was also clearly smart, because realization dawned quickly. His eyes flickered from my face to Walker's and back again, before whispering the name. "Celeste?"

I smiled, touched somehow by the moment. It was like I could feel Celeste inside me, struggling to the surface of my consciousness.

"Oui," I responded in French, though I was unaware of this at the time. "C'est moi."

He surprised me by stepping forward to hug me close, his large hands pulling me to him in a startling show of emotion. I gasped but didn't pull away, and it took me only a few moments to return the embrace.

"I'm sorry," he apologized after a minute or so of just holding me. He stepped back, hands on my shoulders to observe me. "That must have been strange for you."

I shrugged. "You should know that I'm not Celeste. Not really. I'm a journalist who died in a car accident a few months ago, and it wasn't until then that I learned my identity. But she is part of me, and…" I looked at him for a moment, at the concerned and curious and on-the-edge-of-breaking-down expression on his face, and smiled again. "And that felt right."

He took a ragged breath, tried to speak, and decided against it. I thought I heard Walker snort behind me but decided to ignore his rudeness.

"If your Celeste was still here, she would say…" I trailed off, closing my eyes and drawing on her presence, which was incredibly tangible in the twilight graveyard. I felt myself flicker a little. "Je t'aime et tu me manques tellement. Mais vous devez être fort et répondre à ses questions." I love you and I miss you so much. But you must be strong and answer her questions.

I came back to myself a moment later to see Anthony staring at me, openmouthed and with a silent tear tracking down his face. I turned to Walker, curious, to see that he also looked a little shocked. He stepped forward so that he was almost at my side and spoke quietly. "Your appearance shifted to the woman in the photograph. Only for a few seconds, but long enough to make an impression, no doubt."

The other two ghosts, who had been watching with interest only a few moments before, had now left uneasily. The graveyard was silent as- well- the grave. I was irritated that my internal monologue couldn't come up with anything better than that. Unfortunately, I hadn't exercised my writing brain in quite some time.

Anthony composed himself and drew himself up. "I understand that Celeste is- that she's gone. Though I thank you for the message." He cleared his throat. "How may I be of service to the Great Pythia?"

It took me the better part of three hours to explain my own story, and by the time Anthony had finished filling in the gaps in my knowledge when it came to Celeste, day was once again breaking over the top branches of the yew. Walker had wandered off to give us some privacy, though I know it pained him.

"I've only picked up a little from here," Anthony finished ruefully, gesturing to his plot and the surrounding ones, which I suspected also held members of the Men of Letters. "However, it sounds like your continued death is causing ripples. In a time like this, nothing good can come of it."

I nodded, rationally beginning to accept what I had truly known since my conversation with Cas. "I have to allow the reincarnation to take its course."

He nodded sadly. "I know how hard it will be to let go. Of your life, of your friends, of everything. Celeste, um, mentioned some of her memories to me once, and how a few times before a version of herself had to move the process along for the sake of the Empire."

Fearing losing him in a memory of a conversation, I prompted him almost immediately. "But I can't return to heaven. Zachariah will only hold me hostage again."

"Then you have to find a way to bypass that."

I nodded thoughtfully, a plan already forming. That was in the detached, logical part of my brain, however, and the rest of me was screaming in rebellion.

Then I thought of the Winchesters, and how, however good they were, they'd be gone in the blink of an eye. And Walker, lonely and miserable for hundreds of years by himself, and how a strange obstacle was forming between us after mere months. And Casper, and how his grief-driven insanity had led to five deaths. And suddenly I was tired. I had worked so hard to build a life, and all that was gone in one jerk of a steering wheel. Then again, completely starting over in a city- a world, in fact- that was completely unfamiliar to me, assuming new responsibilities, harnessing my powers and trying to build friendships. Jo and Ellen were gone. The rest would follow them soon.

What was there for me here, in this version of myself, besides an address, a rock, and a blurry photograph?

Two more chapters, dear readers, and the last one is already written. I promise to update ASAP!

Please take the time to review, it really does make me happy and feel that my work is appreciated.