Author's Notes: Another weekly update?! Surely we have stepped into an alternate reality! Jokes aside, I will be trying to keep up weekly posts until the end of the season finale, if I'm able!

Also, I know a Sunday night/Monday morning post is weird, but I tried to edit on Saturday, got distracted, got further distracted, remembered I never finished as I was heading to bed, thought I'd sit down and knock it out only for my sleepy time cannabis to kick in right as God/Chuck was having an existential moment. Soooo, that edit didn't happen XD

Anyhoo! After that silly little anecdote, let's go murder more people!

Chapter Warnings: I actually don't think anyone dies in this chapter… Although, Sam is giving it his best shot.

The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 98

Persephone stared through the windshield as Sam Winchester hit the ground a dozen feet away, dropping the body in his arms and struggling to remain upright. She blinked, unsure if she had actually seen Tom stab the hunter – Azazel's apparent favorite – in the back or if, perhaps, she'd misseen. But the image didn't change, despite several extended moments of observation.

Sam Winchester was on the ground, bleeding to death.

What in the Hell?

She startled as someone ran past the car, only realizing belatedly that it was the other Winchester. Dean bolted past, unaware of her presence inside the vehicle, to grab his brother off the ground. Persephone watched, confusion growing heavy in her gut. It was starting to feel like dread and that was not a good sign.

"Well, that was fun."

Persephone reared away from the suddenly-occupied driver's seat, glaring at Tom as he reappeared. He reached in front of her, causing the woman to draw back further (as far as she could before the gold chain still latched to the steering wheel drew taut). Tom opened the glove box, pulled out a handful of papers – napkins, Persephone realized – which he then used to wipe blood off his hands.

Sam Winchester's blood.

"You killed daddy's favorite," she announced in a bored monotone that still managed to convey disgust quite well. Persephone resettled in her seat, annoyed the demon had gotten such a reaction out of her (undoubtedly his intention). "Congratulations. He'll be so proud."

"He will be," Tom agreed with a pleased smile. He threw the bloodied napkins at her feet and Persephone stared at the mess with distaste.

"You do realize I cannot bind to a dead man, yes?" Persephone scowled at the demon, unimpressed. She leaned back against the door and crossed her arms, purposefully stringing the chain across the width of the car. With several flicks of her wrist, gold jingled obnoxiously in front of the demon. "I believe that was your father's whole reason for bringing me along."

"Azazel didn't want you here at all," Tom sniped back, rolling his eyes. Some of that mirth was turning to annoyance. It bothered him, letting this woman lessen his success with her ignorance and arrogance. He waved his hand, disappearing the chain and bracelet from around her wrist.

Persephone rubbed at the skin there, still glaring at him.

"Bringing you here was my call." He presented her with a prideful grin. Stupid creature, always so pompous. He really couldn't wait to be rid of her. "And don't worry, Princess, you're still needed. Prince Charming over there won't stay dead for long."

Persephone's eyes widened and she turned back to the road. Dean Winchester had gathered Sam into his arms. He was bent over him in mourning. The conclusion of what would happen next was not hard to predict.

So. That was their plan. They needed Sam to cross the veil. Well, if that was Hell's move, then it was finally time to make hers.

Persephone let her now free arm drop to her side, where she had lodged her purse between seat and the door earlier that night. She slipped her hand inside, keeping her eyes on the scene unfolding outside of the car as her fingers wrapped around the hex bag she'd been carrying around for weeks now. Persephone curled her fingers around it, hiding it in her palm, before withdrawing her arm. Gingerly, she settled her hands in her lap, eyes still locked on the pair of brothers just beyond the windshield. Tom didn't even look her way, watching the same drama she was.

Persephone took a slow, deep breath, and then moved.

Chapter Break

Chuck Shurley withdrew his hands from the keyboard, pulling away from his writing as surely as he pulled away from himself. God was left staring at the screen. He let the lines of text blur out of focus, into nothing more than black squiggles. Nonsensical symbols that didn't spell anything, let alone the end of the world.

This was it.

Whatever he wrote next would come to be. And not because he willed it. No, Chuck had long since stepped back. He wasn't writing this story anymore. He already had, six millennia ago. (In stone, He might add.)

Now he was only an observer. A transcriber.

One that was stalling.

There was a reason, it turned out, that God had chosen to be a prophet on Earth during the End Times. He had, to put it simply, a pathetic amount of self-restraint. He couldn't help it, he needed to know what was to come. He was – and always had been – an all-knowing being. Turning that off hadn't been as easy as flipping a switch. Even if that was essentially what he had done. Woken up one day and decided this was it. This was the day he stopped looking into the future, stopped checking where the story was going, and let it write itself.

And he'd thought, after twenty-four hours untethered from the cosmos, 'Well, that was easy. I'm doing great.'

As it turned out, going cold turkey hadn't been the wisest choice. He really wasn't used to not knowing and, as it just so happened, suspense was a bitch.

For an all-knowing being who could alter events to shape the known reality to whatever he wanted it to be… he really didn't like not being in control of the story. Not even getting to know if it was going somewhere good. It was so frustrating.

So he'd made himself a prophet, allowed to observe but nothing more. No looking beyond what prophetic visions provided, no interfering.

And then Dean Winchester traveled back in time to avert the Apocalypse.

(Which wasn't remotely like putting an addict's poison of choice right in front of them and then saying "Don't touch, kay?" Nothing at all like that. Chuck was doing fine.)

Such a task was possible, God knew. The timeline Dean had come from confirmed as much. Confirmed what he'd always hoped; that humans were capable of writing their story, and soon the angels would be too. Even if their version of events got a little… messy.

But he also knew that averting an Apocalypse was very much like swimming upstream (if that stream was a thousand-foot waterfall and gravity was a couple dozen times stronger than usual). The Winchesters alone didn't stand a chance. Not without help. Not without a significant change.

In Dean's timeline, that change had come in the form of one little angel. An angel that had accepted growth and change – things not built into his original blueprints – when all his brethen were only just realizing the possibility.

But this time, due to all the changes Dean had made….

Well. Despite it being cosmically ironic and equally infuriating, there was every opportunity for Persephone, of all creatures, to be that change this time around.

(As a writer, Chuck was very familiar with circular plots. He did not like being in one.)

And as much as he had said he would not interfere… he also did not want the world to end in a bigger mess than was strictly necessary. Which meant prepping Persephone to be that change, in as helpful a way for the Winchesters as was possible.

Because, as he'd told Dean last year, something that big likely meant altering the timeline beyond recognition. And anything drastic enough to break Time away from its chosen course….

Well, something like that could be for the better… or it could make everything so, so much worse.

So God and Chuck had primed the girl the best they could for the moment when she would have a choice to make. A choice that could change everything.

Chuck had given her a hex bag specifically capable of breaking Azazel's control over her. God had spent months fanning the embers of her old self, the remnants of a spell that had once been crafted from good intentions.

(Before God had learned where such roads usually led.)

(Straight to a tomb inside a sacked city.)

(Like he'd said: ironic.)

Which was all to say, God had been interfering when he'd promised himself he wouldn't. Then again, Persephone wasn't even supposed to be a part of this story. So Chuck figured he was allowed to cheat a bit on that one. It wasn't interfering; it was balancing the playing field.

Still, with all that he had been doing to tip the scales the Winchesters' way, God was well aware it might not be enough. Persephone had spent those six thousand years with nothing to do but stew in her anger. An emotion she'd already had in spades. Just like her father.

God had seen it six thousand years ago and he saw it now, in the woman who had shown up on his doorstep in an uncomfortable looking blouse and even more uncomfortable looking heels.

Chapter Break

May 2006

Chuck Shurley's House

"Okay, that's enough." God snapped His fingers and Persephone went limp against the back of his couch. No longer Chuck, He scooted forward on the coffee table until His knees bumped hers, but His expression remained deadly serious. "Why are you here?"

He was furious. Persephone was never supposed to get out of Gomorrah. He'd had his angels ward it specifically against any possible escape or outside interference. Only an angel could free her from that tomb, which meant she should never have gotten free.

So what was she doing sitting in His living room?

"Following Sam Winchester."

Chuck's eyebrows went up and, for a moment, he forgot to be God. He was genuinely surprised for a second time that morning, which simply didn't happen to all-knowing beings very often, you know. "Wait, this is Hell's backup plan? Dean's changing things left and right, and you are their answer?"

He laughed and looked away in amazement before He started to actually think it over. Persephone didn't respond, either not having an answer or His control over her recognized rhetoric and gave her a pass. God leaned back, putting His arm across the back of the sofa. "Well, that could backfire spectacularly. For either party."

He did kind of want to see where this could go…. God leaned forward, bracing His elbows on His knees.

"Tell me," He said, eyeing the potential homewrecker sitting on His couch, green eyes unfocused and cloudy. "What are you going to do, Persephone?"

Although her body remained boneless, sunk into the back of the couch with no resistance, the tips of her fingers twitched. Her nails slowly dug into her business slacks until her fingers were claws pressing into her thighs. The green of her eyes started to glow.

The silence stretched and He nudged her knee with His own. "Answer the question."

"I will protect my charge."

God's eyebrows rose. Well then. Good to know there was still a little guardian left in there after all these years.

"Do you know Azazel's plans?"

"No." There was no hint of deception in her response. Not that He expected Persephone to be able to lie at the moment. She might be actively fighting His control, but she was little more than an ant in comparison to Him.

Well, He supposed, if humans were ants in one of the most common and overused analogies out there, maybe she deserved a little more recognition.

A fire ant, then.

Her upper lip twitched and God got the distinct impression of a snarl on Persephone's blank face. "He is hell spawn. Whatever his plan, it will be unpleasant."

God snorted before He could help Himself.

"Understatement of the millennia," He muttered before clearing his throat. Adopting a more serious expression, He continued, "They plan to raise Lucifer."

Her knuckles turned white, fingers curling into full fists against her slacks. "They will fail."

"Actually," God drew out, shrugging one shoulder regrettably, "I don't think they will."

Persephone didn't answer, but the skin between her eyes was pinched. He watched her closely.

"So, the real question is…" God placed His hands atop her knees and the cloudiness in her eyes cleared up a little. She met His gaze, a question there she couldn't voice past his powers. "What will you do, Persephone?"

The silence stretched. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, gaining enough speed to suggest tension. God tried not to let the storyteller in Him read into that.

"Protect my charge."

The smile was slow to spread across His face. Fancy that. Looked like Hell's little backup plan had a decent chance of backfiring after all.

"Even if Sam says yes?" Those glowing eyes blinked slowly. She was trying to process information she didn't have yet. "He is Lucifer's true vessel."

Persephone looked pained, straining against His powers as she was. The glow of her eyes grew, and God got the distinct impression of anger buried in those depths. Anger he had seen once before. He'd had doubts then, too, and there'd been nothing to dissuade them but time and distance.

While Persephone had no loyalty to Hell, she was no longer the guardian she had once been. She was bitter, filled with rage and thoughts of vengeance. God supposed (with maybe something vaguely approaching contrition) that several thousand years in a hole in the ground might do that to anyone.

(He was well acquainted with the concept of reaping what one sowed by now, so really, He shouldn't be surprised it had landed right back in His lap.)

It was what lay under the justified anger that worried Him. She was her father's child, and that was the literal core of the problem. A problem He had once gambled was not solvable, even after she had insisted He was wrong.

Well… now she'd have her chance to prove it. So long as God was willing to gamble the end of the world on it.

"What will you do then, Persephone?"

She met his gaze, her eyes aflame as she realized just who she was talking to. But under God's will, there was nothing she could do but answer the question.

"I will protect my charge."

Chapter Break

Present

Outside the Morton House

The moment she got the hex bag with its extra-long drawstring wrapped around Tom's neck, paralyzing the demon (who jerked into an unnatural rigidity like a puppet with strings drawn taut), Persephone threw open the car door. She flung herself out of the vehicle – speed was going to be somewhat essential if she were to succeed here – before freezing halfway around the door with a sudden thought.

She turned back, ducking inside the car once more. From his frozen position in the driver's seat, Tom made a low-pitched sound of rage, locked behind sealed lips. He was trying to throw his body against the paralytic spell with little success, looking more like a wriggling fish on dry land.

Or a worm on a hook, Persephone thought with no small amount of vindictive joy.

With one knee on the passenger seat, she leaned across the car and grabbed his shoulder, hauling him forward against the steering wheel. The demon went like an overstuffed doll. The gun he had acquired at the cemetery was still tucked against the small of his back. Persephone pulled it from his waistline.

"Silly me," she said aloud, voice dripping with monotoned sarcasm. Tom made another disgruntled noise and she smirked at him with every ounce of smugness that she'd endured from months of being stuck in his presence. The rage was clear in Tom's eyes and Persephone delighted in it. She waved the Colt in his line of sight. "Almost forgot this."

She pulled back out of the car once more, leaving behind the demon's muffled screams. Gun in hand, Persephone rounded the door once more, shoving it closed with a satisfying slam. Tucking the weapon into the small of her back, she took off towards the huddle of men a dozen feet ahead.

Chapter Break

Both Bobby and Dean had their guns trained on Azazel's girl in a second flat. She skidded to a stop a half dozen feet from them, arms up and empty hands spread wide in a gesture of peace neither hunter believed for a second.

"I can heal him."

Dean blinked, brain bluescreening and needing to reboot to process that statement. Of all the things he'd expected (and, really, he hadn't known what to expect), that had not even remotely been on the list.

"Who the hell are you?" Bobby barked, shotgun braced against his shoulder. He was apparently more prepared to handle this baffling situation. It probably helped that Bobby didn't have history with this girl. He hadn't spent thirty minutes earlier that very night chasing her off into the darkness, convinced she was the one who had somehow taken Sam.

No, Bobby didn't have a clue who she was, but Dean did. Which was why the next words out of his mouth would most definitely be 'Fuck off, bitch.' Or he could forgo talk entirely and speak with his gun.

"How?"

Bobby's head whipped around as Dean's mouth moved without his permission. The sharp warning of, "Dean!" was not remiss. The man from the future wanted to tell him, 'I know!' but he couldn't look away from the woman offering what was surely, surely, a miracle too good to be true.

"It doesn't matter how," she said in clear, enunciated words despite a heavy accent that Dean immediately recognized from the phone call that had sent them to Rivergrove. She stayed where she was, arms still raised (possibly because of the dual guns still trained on her). "What matters is that I can do it. But only so long as he is alive to heal."

Both hunters stared at her, one with an itchy trigger finger and grief backing it, the other wondering what the hell was happening and what it could mean for the End Game. Was it a miracle? Unlikely. A trap? Much, much more likely.

"What will it cost?"

This time, Bobby's whole body turned his way, though the gun remained trained on their mystery guest. His eyes were fierce, filled with anger and heartbreak in equal measure. "Don't you even think about it, boy."

"Nothing," the blonde replied easily – too easily – and Dean had his answer.

Trap.

"Bullshit." He raised his gun more confidently, intent clear, and the woman faltered, realizing her misstep.

Before she could respond, there was an inhuman scream, deep and reverberating. All three – hunters and mystery creatures alike – spun at the noise. It had come from one of the cars.

"…That'll work," the woman announced out of nowhere and when she turned back to the men there was a hint of a smirk on her lips. She reached behind her back, having lowered her arms somewhat during the distraction, and both hunters immediately retrained on her. She paused, staring at their guns, but ultimately resumed the motion at a much slower, deliberate pace. Her other hand was back up, fingers spread wide once again, asking them to trust her.

Dean knew they should just shoot her. He knew it. But hope was a powerful thing. A dangerous, powerful thing.

When the woman pulled her arm back to the front there was a gun gripped loosely in her hand. Dean's eyes widened at the Colt. She held it out to him, grip on the barrel, butt towards the hunter: a clear message that she had no intent to use it on them.

When Dean met her eyes, they were unnaturally bright, though they remained blue this time as she stared at the older Winchester.

"Kill that demon when he tries to stop me."

"Where did you get that?" Bobby asked, eyes equally wide as he stared at the gun that could kill anything (well, almost anything). And she was just handing it over.

"Do we have a deal?" the woman asked, ignoring the older hunter's question. In fact, she was ignoring Bobby's presence entirely. Her eyes were locked on Dean. When the hunter hesitated, she added, "I'm not asking you to trust me, Dean. I'm asking you to let me save your brother."

His eyes dropped to Sam, limp in his arms, chest barely moving anymore, skin taking on a gray, lifeless hue. His brother had minutes left, at most.

There was no way this wasn't a trick. Dean didn't believe in miracles, unless they came with blue eyes and a tan trench coat. But a desperate part of him, the bit that had never been able to let Sam go, was pretty sure he couldn't make things worse.

Both he and Sam would live with no demon deal and no selling his soul? That was a deal too good to pass up.

'And too good to be true,' Dean thought bitterly, even as he reached for the gun, knowing it had to be a trap. Knowing it was a bad, bad, bad, bad, bad idea.

"Dean!" Bobby hissed, but the man from the future ignored his surrogate father. His eyes were locked on the creature holding the Colt even as his fingers curled around it's familiar grip.

"Do it."

Persephone nodded, just once, and then all hell broke loose.

End Chapter

Author's Notes: Mwuaaahahaha!