AN: This chapter really, really, really got away from me, so I'm sorry about that. I was hoping to be able to cover everything so that I could introduce Cas in the next chapter, but there's one more before that happens. I'm so grateful to everyone that has left a comment or followed or favorited. It really means the world to me.
It started with a family in Lincoln, Nebraska. They were investigating a crop failure and a cicada swarm - pretty tame stuff, considering there were a few hundred extra demons now walking topside. But the moment Reed had stepped foot into that house, she'd known something was very wrong - more wrong than even regular demonic activity could account for.
The stench of death was pervasive, and the way the family was posed like dolls on their couch - starved to death with a kitchen full of food just yards away… Demons were cruel, yes, but they tended toward immediate gratification - quick, brutal violence that satisfied their bloodlust. This was different. This was calculated, patient. Almost artistic in its horror. The kind of methodical evil that spoke of something darker than the typical shit they dealt with.
The familiar nausea had rolled through her stomach - that visceral, bone-deep reaction to demonic presence that had haunted her since childhood. Sam and Dean checked for sulfur and found none, but knew this was demonic - she could feel it. Even hours after the demons had gone, their taint lingered like a physical thing, coating her tongue with copper.
With the arrival of Isaac and Tamara, the already tense atmosphere in the house became suffocating. Too many hunters, too many egos, and way too much history packed into one small space. Reed found herself retreating further into the corner of the living room that Isaac and Tamara had chosen a base, unconsciously putting more distance between herself and the growing argument. As voices rose, debating about the devil's gate, about who was responsible and who should take point on the hunt, she felt a twisted sense of relief blooming in her chest.
The guilt hit immediately. She should be stronger than this. With demons flooding topside and her family right in the thick of it, she needed to get over this bullshit fear. She needed to push through and be useful. But as the arguing grew louder, a small, shameful part of her saw an opportunity. With five other capable hunters ready to take this on, maybe she didn't have to face her demons today - figuratively or literally.
Her eyes found Bobby's across the room. Over twenty years of shared life meant no words were needed; he read the idea in her eyes as clearly as if she'd spoken it aloud. A slight nod, barely perceptible, passed between them.
"Listen," he cut through the bickering, his voice gruff and full of authority. "We've got enough hands here to deal with the immediate situation, but we need someone coordinating from home base. Manning the phones, tracking omens, keeping an eye out for any other incidents." He glanced around the room, selling the idea. "With something this big, other hunters are gonna need a central point of contact."
Reed tried not to look too eager as she stepped forward. "I'll handle it," she said, forcing confidence into her voice even as shame burned in her chest. Her eyes met Sam's first, then Dean's, silently pleading for understanding. She wasn't abandoning them - not really. She was just... choosing a different battlefield. One that didn't make her hands shake and her lungs forget how to work.
"Just... keep me updated?" The words came out smaller than she intended, but she was being a coward, and she knew it.
Bobby's expression softened. "Course we will, girl." He pulled her into a quick, rough hug. "Now git. We got work to do."
Dean caught her arm before she could leave, pulling her aside. "Hey," he said softly, his green eyes dark with concern. Less than a year left, she thought, the now familiar ache settling in her chest. "You good?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" she countered, studying his face. She wanted to shake him, to scream at him for making that stupid deal. Instead, she just pulled him into a tight hug, burying her face in his shoulder like she used to when they were kids and everything seemed simpler. "Be careful, okay?"
He wrapped his arms around her tightly, resting his chin on top of her head. "You know me," he said, trying for lightness and missing by a mile.
"Yeah, that's exactly why I'm worried," she muttered into his jacket, holding on longer than she normally would. "I hate this," she admitted quietly. "Leaving you guys to deal with this. Especially now, with..." She couldn't finish the sentence, her throat tight with emotion.
"Hey," Dean said again, pulling back just enough to look at her, his hands warm and steady on her shoulders. That concerned look was so familiar it made her heart clench. "We've dealt with worse. This is practically a milk run."
She fixed him with a withering look. They both knew this was anything but a milk run.
"Yeah, okay," he said, ruffling her hair like he used to when they were young, deliberately messing it up. "Now get out of here before you start crying on me."
She swatted his hand away, fighting a watery smile. "I never cry."
"Right," he drawled, but his eyes were soft with affection.
As Dean headed back inside, Sam approached, hands stuffed in his pockets. There was something lost in his expression that made Reed's heart ache. "I can drive you home," he offered quietly. Since Bobby had driven them both here, she actually did need the ride. But she suspected Sam needed this too - a moment away from Dean's forced cheerfulness and Isaac's accusations.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
They walked to Bobby's truck in silence, shoulders nearly touching. Before Sam could open the driver's door, she caught his sleeve.
"Sam," she started, then stopped, the weight of everything she couldn't say crushing her chest - Gabriel's insistence that this was all the way it was meant to be, the overwhelming fear that they were all just pieces in some cosmic game she couldn't begin to understand. Looking up at him - when had he gotten so tall? - she swallowed hard. "I... I'll keep looking. For a way to break Dean's deal. There has to be something."
Sam's eyes softened with understanding and something like hope. He pulled her into a tight hug, and she could feel him trembling slightly. "Yeah," he said quietly into her hair. "There has to be."
The first hour of the drive passed in companionable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. The rhythm of the road and the familiar rumble of Bobby's truck was almost soothing. Almost.
"Remember those shooting competitions we used to have?" Sam asked suddenly, breaking the quiet. His voice was soft, nostalgic. "You hitting every target and Dean swearing up and down the sights on his gun were off."
Reed couldn't help but smile at the memory, though she vaguely wondered what had brought it on. "God, he used to get so pissed," she chuckled. "Kept challenging me to 'one more round, one more round' even though I kicked his ass every time."
"And then he tried to say it didn't count because you were older," Sam glanced at her, a hint of his old mischief showing through.
"Even though he'd been shooting for longer." Reed added with a grin. "Not that I brought that up every time I won or anything."
Sam laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to surprise even him. "Pretty sure he's still sore about it."
They fell quiet again for a while, streetlights casting intermittent shadows across their faces. Reed watched the darkness rush past her window, thinking about how much had changed since those simpler days.
"I've been having these..." Sam started, then stopped, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. He swallowed hard, clearly struggling with whatever he wanted to say. "Something feels wrong. Since I... since I came back."
Reed turned to look at him, studying his profile in the dim light. "Wrong how?"
"I don't..." He shook his head slightly. "Yellow Eyes said things. About what he did to me, about what I might..." He trailed off, jaw clenching. "What if I didn't come back right? What if Dean's deal..." His voice cracked and he couldn't finish.
"Sam," Reed said quietly, but he wasn't done.
"Dean's going to Hell," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "He's going to Hell because I... because I died and he had to bring me back, and what if I'm not even really me anymore? What if whatever came back isn't..." He cut himself off, breathing hard.
Reed was quiet for a long moment, weighing her words carefully. "You know what's funny?" she finally asked. He glanced at her, eyes saying that absolutely nothing was funny about this situation. She carried on: "You're sitting here tearing yourself apart with guilt, worrying about whether you came back wrong." She turned in her seat to face him. "But that's exactly what makes you you, Sam. The fact that you're even agonizing over this... that you care so much it's eating you alive..." She shook her head. "Someone who came back wrong wouldn't give a damn about any of this."
Sam's breath hitched slightly. "But what if-"
"You're asking the wrong questions," she interrupted gently, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. "It's not about what Yellow Eyes wanted or what Dean did. It's about what you're going to do now." She paused. "Whatever Yellow Eyes wanted, whatever his plans were - he didn't change who you are at your core. No demon could."
They drove in silence for a while longer before Sam spoke again, his voice rough. "When did you get so wise?"
Reed snorted. "Probably around the same time you got so tall. Seriously, what are you eating?"
That earned her a weak laugh, and they spent the next hour talking about happier things and sharing memories from their childhood. It felt good to remember the happy times, even with the weight of Dean's deal hanging over them.
When they finally pulled up to Bobby's, Sam turned to her, his expression vulnerable in a way she rarely saw anymore. "I missed this," he said quietly. "Having you around."
Her heart clenched at the words. She reached over and pulled him into another hug, awkward over the seat but neither of them caring. "I'm here now," she said. "And I'll always be here."
"I know," he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder, and then, so softly that she could barely even hear it: "Tell me we're gonna figure this out."
Her heart broke all over again.
"We will," she said, squeezing him tightly, and she hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.
That night, alone in her room at Bobby's, Reed found herself staring at the ceiling, mind racing. The familiar sensation of being watched prickled across her skin - that distinctive energy she now recognized as angelic. Gabriel hadn't appeared since their last conversation, but she still felt his presence sometimes, watching over her like some guardian angel she'd never asked for.
She wasn't sure if it made her feel safer or more alone.
•๑ ๑•
Bobby came home three days later looking haunted in a way that made Reed's chest ache. She heard the truck pull up and watched through the window as he sat there for a long moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, before finally climbing out. When he walked through the door, the familiar scent of whiskey and gunpowder followed him.
He stood in the doorway of the study for a moment, taking in the sight of Reed surrounded by her nest of books and papers - another night of searching for ways to break Dean's deal.
"You eat today?" he asked gruffly. It was their normal routine - him checking if she'd remembered to feed herself while buried in research - but his heart clearly wasn't in it.
She nodded, lying. He knew she was lying. Neither of them commented on it.
Bobby sank heavily into his chair, running a calloused hand over his beard. "Isaac didn't make it," he said finally, his voice rough with exhaustion and something deeper, more raw.
Reed's breath caught. She hadn't known Isaac and Tamara well - they'd only crossed paths a handful of times over the years - but they were good people. Good hunters. The thought of Isaac being gone, of Tamara having to go on without him... it hit too close to home.
"Tamara?" she asked softly.
"She's... holding it together. Best she can, anyway." Bobby's voice was heavy with the particular grief that came from watching someone lose the person they loved most in the world.
Reed closed the ancient text in her lap - another dead end in her search for ways to help Dean. Her hands trembled slightly as she set it aside. She knew Sam and Dean must be okay - Bobby would have called her immediately if they weren't - would have led with that news rather than this quiet grief. But she had to ask anyway.
"Sam and Dean?" Her voice stayed steady despite the crawling dread under her skin.
"Banged up, but breathing," Bobby confirmed with a grunt, just as she'd known he would. His eyes swept over the scattered research materials. "Any luck?" he asked, but he didn't sound hopeful.
Reed shook her head slowly, tugging absently at a loose thread on her sleeve. "Nothing," she said quietly, her voice heavy. She couldn't quite meet Bobby's eyes, knowing she'd find the same helpless worry there that had been haunting her for days. The silence stretched between them, thick with all the things they couldn't say - their shared fear for Dean and Sam, and the looming sense that everything was spiraling beyond their control.
Her phone's buzz cut through the tension - Sam's name lighting up the screen. She answered quickly, stepping into the kitchen where the lingering scents of coffee and whiskey helped steady her nerves.
"Found something," Sam said without greeting, his voice tight and desperately hopeful. "A ritual. It's old. Pre-biblical maybe."
The air shifted subtly - that familiar static charge dancing across her skin. Reed's eyes darted to the window where she caught a flash of gold - Gabriel's wings, visible only to her. The archangel didn't show himself, but she felt his presence like a physical weight.
Reed swallowed hard, forcing her voice to stay steady. "What kind of ritual?" Her fingers tightened on the phone.
"From what I can tell, it talks about breaking bonds and contracts," Sam said, "I don't know if that includes demonic ones." There was a desperate edge to his voice that made Reed's chest ache. "But I've never seen symbols like these before."
She closed her eyes, and kept her voice carefully neutral. "Send me pictures," she said, "Everything you've got. Let me and Bobby take a look before you do anything, okay?"
"Yeah, alright," Sam agreed, though she could hear the impatience thrumming beneath his forced calm. "I'll send them now."
Hours later, surrounded by open books and crumpled notes, Reed had to admit what Bobby had known almost immediately - it wouldn't work. The more they'd dug into it, the less promising it looked. The symbols Sam had found were meant for breaking basic demonic bonds, nothing strong enough to touch a crossroads deal. She pressed her palms against her burning eyes, fighting back tears of frustration.
Her fingers shook slightly as she dialed Sam's number. He picked up on the first ring.
"Tell me you found something," he said immediately, hope and desperation warring in his voice.
"Sam," she started gently, "that ritual... it's not what you thought."
"What? No, it has to work," his voice rose sharply. "The text specifically mentions breaking bonds and contracts."
Through the phone, she heard the sound of rapping on a window. Her throat tightened - she couldn't even imagine how hard these conversations were with Dean right there.
"Maybe we got the translation wrong," Sam pressed on, his voice taking on that familiar stubborn edge. "We can't just let Dean fry in hell while we—"
"Sam," she cut in gently, her heart breaking at the raw pain in his voice.
"There's got to be something that w—" He stopped abruptly, and she heard the jingle of a door in the background. When he spoke again, his voice was rushed and falsely casual. "Oh, ah, yeah, no, ah, I gotta go. Okay. Never mind."
The line went dead before she could respond. Reed stared at her phone for a long moment, knowing Dean must have walked in. The weight of everything unsaid sat heavy in her chest.
Bobby found her like that minutes later, still staring at her silent phone. His heavy sigh spoke volumes - he'd heard her end of the conversation.
"I know it's tough," he said gruffly, setting a glass of whiskey on the desk beside her. "But giving him false hope would've been worse."
Reed picked up the glass but didn't drink, just watched the amber liquid catch the light. "Would it?" she asked quietly. "Right now it feels like I'm failing them both."
Bobby's hand came to rest on her shoulder, warm and steady. "We'll keep looking," he promised, though they both knew the chances of finding anything grew slimmer with each passing day. Reed took a shaky breath, setting the untouched whiskey aside. "Yeah," she said, forcing strength into her voice. "We'll keep looking."
But as she turned back to her books, Gabriel's words echoed in her mind: some things have to play out the way they're meant to.
•๑ ๑•
The research blurred together as days stretched into weeks. Reed's room had become a fortress of books, every text she could find even vaguely relating to the demonic stacked precariously on every surface. Bobby gave her worried looks when he thought she wasn't watching, but he understood. Had his own towers of research growing in the study downstairs.
Late one night, when the house was silent save for the creaking of old wood and the whisper of turning pages, Reed found herself researching the angelic. Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced the careful illustrations in a particularly old tome - wings and swords and divine light breaking infernal bonds. The words blurred before her tired eyes, but she forced herself to keep reading, to keep searching for anything that might help Dean.
The air shifted suddenly, that familiar static charge making her skin prickle. She didn't need to look up to know who it was.
"You're not supposed to be reading that," Gabriel's voice was gentle but firm, tinged with something that might have been concern. "In fact, I distinctly remember asking you to stay away from angel business altogether."
Reed didn't look up, couldn't bear to see the mix of worry and sadness she knew would be in his eyes. "I know," she said quietly, fingers still tracing the illuminated text. "But it's Dean, Gabriel. I can't just..." She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. "I can't just watch him die. Not when there might be something I can do."
Gabriel moved closer, his golden wings casting shifting shadows in the dim lamplight. The scent of ozone and sweetness that always accompanied him filled her senses. "Sugar, we've talked about this. Some things-"
Reed cut him off.
"Have to happen. Yeah, I remember." Now that the initial shock and grief of Dean's deal had faded somewhat, Reed found herself increasingly frustrated with Gabriel's cryptic non-answers. "But what does that even mean, Gabriel? Who says it has to happen? God?" She watched his wings twitch at the mention of his father. "Or is this some kind of cosmic fate thing? Because I've got to tell you, after weeks of thinking about it, that's starting to sound like a load of crap."
Gabriel's expression shifted to something more guarded, his wings drawing tight against his back. "Reed..."
"No, seriously." She turned to face him fully, research forgotten. The lamplight caught the gold in his eyes, making them seem to glow. "You keep saying these things - forces at work, plans in motion for millenia, blah blah blah - but you haven't actually explained anything. Why Dean specifically? Why now?" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And don't tell me I wouldn't understand. I've been researching for weeks now. Try me."
The archangel's wings rustled restlessly, and for a moment Reed thought he might just disappear. Instead, he moved to perch on the edge of her desk, careful not to disturb the organized chaos of her research. "Has anyone ever told you that your stubbornness is your least attractive quality?" When that earned him nothing but an arch look, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"Not a chance," she confirmed, then added more softly, "Please, Gabriel. These are my people. I need to understand."
Gabriel studied her for a long moment, his eyes seeming to see far more than she was comfortable with. When he spoke, his voice was heavy. "The things you're asking about... they're dangerous. Not just to know about, but to be involved with.
Reed set her jaw stubbornly. "I'm already involved. Dean made a deal with a demon. Sam's..." she hesitated, remembering the cold satisfaction in Sam's eyes as he'd gunned down Jake. "Something's not right with Sam. Bobby's worried sick about both of them. And I'm sitting here, surrounded by all this knowledge, all these possibilities, and you're telling me this is all something that's meant to happen?"
He studied her a moment longer, before finally giving her something. "I'll say this," he said, "The Winchesters? They're important. More important than you can imagine. And Dean's deal? It's not just about Sam's life. It's about setting things in motion that need to happen."
"What things?" Reed pressed, voice steady even as a chill ran down her spine.
"Things I can't tell you about," he said firmly. "Not won't - can't. The knowledge itself would put you in danger." His expression softened slightly at her frustrated look. "Sugar, believe me, if I could explain everything..."
"But you can't," she finished, running a hand through her already messy hair. "Because of some bigger plan that apparently requires Dean Winchester to be dragged to hell." She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice entirely.
Gabriel's hand found hers, that familiar warmth spreading through her at the contact. "I know it's not fair. But sometimes the hardest part about knowing things is not being able to change them."
Reed looked down at their joined hands, thinking of all the questions still burning on her tongue. After a moment, she asked quietly, "Will it be worth it? Whatever this grand plan is - will it be worth what it costs them? What it costs all of us?" She couldn't see how it would be.
The weight of that question seemed to press down on Gabriel's shoulders. "I hope so, sugar. I really hope so."
But the words tasted like ash in his mouth. Would it be worth it?
The apocalypse was coming, set in motion eons ago, and nothing could stop it now. Dean's deal was just another domino in a long line of inevitable falls. Sam's desperate attempts to save his brother would lead him down darker paths, all of it orchestrated by forces far beyond any of their control.
His wings drew tighter against his back, a reflexive gesture of protection against horrible memories of endless fighting and angelic bloodshed - of Michael and Lucifer tearing Heaven apart.
The cruel irony wasn't lost on him. He'd fled to escape his family's dysfunction, only to find himself here, powerless to prevent another family from being torn apart by the same cosmic script. And Reed... Reed with her fierce loyalty and desperate need to protect her found family, looking at him with those dark eyes full of trust and questions he couldn't answer...
The moment he'd first seen her in that hallway at Crawford Hall, he'd known what she was - one of their mates, walking the Earth in human form. The first he'd encountered since their Father's punishment. But which one of them had she belonged to? Was she his own mate? Michael's? Father forbid, Lucifer's? That knowledge had been stripped away along with everything else, leaving only the cruel certainty that she was one of their companions, now essentially mortal and completely unaware of her true nature.
The universe had a twisted sense of humor, bringing her into his path now, when the apocalypse was looming and he could neither claim her nor prevent what was coming. All his power as an archangel, and he couldn't change what was coming. The best he could hope for was to protect her from the fallout.
"Gabriel?" Reed's voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. She was watching him, concern written plain as day across her face. A deep, primal part of him yearned to claim her as his own - but doing so would just paint a target on her back; from demons hunting for leverage, from angels who would use her as a pawn, and eventually from Michael and Lucifer themselves. No, that way lay madness - and danger for them both. He cut the thought off sharply.
He squeezed her hand gently, allowing himself this small comfort even as guilt gnawed at him. Every instinct screamed at him to protect her, to shield her from what was coming. But he'd learned the hard way that some things couldn't be stopped - the apocalypse would come, regardless of what he did. His only choice now was how best to protect Reed when it did.
"Get some rest, sugar," he said softly, releasing her hand. "You're going to need it."
The look she gave him was too knowing, and for a moment, he almost told her everything - about who she really was, about the unstoppable apocalypse, about why he really left Heaven.
But the words stuck in his throat. Some truths were too dangerous. Some secrets had to be kept.
Even from her. Especially from her.
He disappeared from her view, but couldn't bring himself to leave completely. He continued to watch her, lost in his thoughts about what was coming. Michael and Lucifer, wearing the Winchester boys like the perfect vessels they were destined to be, would tear the world apart in their fight. And Reed... Reed who was so tangled up with the Winchesters already, who loved them like brothers, who would throw herself into the fire to protect them...
How could he keep her safe when everything went to hell? Literally.
If Michael or Lucifer found her... His wings bristled at the thought. Neither of his brothers could be trusted with her, not anymore. Not after millennia of corruption and hatred had twisted them both into shadows of what they once were. They would try to claim her, to use her, to twist her into whatever they thought she should be. The possibility made his blood run cold.
He couldn't let that happen.
But how do you protect someone from the two most powerful beings in creation? Someone who was inextricably tied to the very humans at the center of their cosmic showdown? Someone who could see angels for what they truly were, who would be immediately recognizable to any angel who laid eyes on her?
Reed shifted in her chair, rubbing tiredly at her eyes, and Gabriel felt that familiar surge of protectiveness. He'd have to find a way. He'd have to watch from a distance. Guide her away from danger without her knowing. Keep her from digging too deep into Dean's deal - because if anyone was clever and determined enough to actually find a way to break it, it would be her. And he couldn't let that happen. Losing Dean would hurt her, but letting her get in the way of the apocalypse would put her directly in the crosshairs of everyone he needed to keep her away from.
It was cruel, perhaps. But better cruel than dead. Better manipulated than twisted into something unrecognizable by Michael or Lucifer's machinations.
Better lost than broken.
The apocalypse would come - that was written in stone. But maybe, just maybe, he could keep Reed safe through it. He couldn't save Earth, couldn't save the Winchesters from their destined roles. But her? Her he might be able to protect.
His mind raced through scenarios, each worse than the last. If Michael found her first... his oldest brother's idea of protection had always been suffocating control, even before their Father's punishment. Now, after eons of ruling Heaven with cold precision? He'd lock her away "for her own good," try to mold her into some perfect, obedient complement to his righteous fury.
And Lucifer... Gabriel's grace seethed at the thought. His fallen brother had always burned too bright, loved too fiercely. That passion would only have twisted into something poisonous during his imprisonment. He'd try to remake her in his new image, corrupt that bright soul with his darkness. And if she didn't go willingly? Well, Lucifer had never dealt well with things he couldn't have.
Raphael was no better - their pragmatic brother would see her as a tool, a weapon to be wielded in Heaven's arsenal. Would probably try to "fix" what their Father had done, unmake her humanity by force.
Reed yawned, the sound jarringly human and innocent against his dark thoughts. She had no idea what she was, no idea of the cosmic forces that would tear the world apart to possess her. Just a hunter trying to save her family, unaware that she was part of a family far older and more dangerous.
She'd hate him if she knew. Hate him for not preventing Dean's deal, for not stopping what was to come. But he could live with her hatred. Had lived with worse. What he couldn't live with was failing to protect her - not when she was the first of their mates he'd found in all these millennia, not when she stirred something in his heart that felt terrifyingly like hope.
Maybe that's why the universe had thrown her into his path now, right before everything was set to implode. One last cosmic joke at his expense - showing him exactly what they'd lost, making him watch as it all fell apart again.
Or maybe... maybe it was a test. A chance to finally do something right, to protect at least one innocent thing from his family's dysfunction. Even if he had to do it from the shadows. Even if she never knew.
Reed had dozed off in her chair, books scattered around her like fallen leaves. Gabriel reached out, aching to touch her, to wake the dormant divinity he could sense beneath her mortal shell. Instead, he simply draped a blanket over her sleeping form, his wings curving protectively even though she couldn't feel them.
"Sleep well, sugar," he whispered.
He'd failed his family before. Failed Heaven, failed his brothers, failed his own mate when their Father cast them out.
He wouldn't fail her.
The apocalypse would come. Dean would go to Hell, Sam would walk his dark path, and his brothers would have their final confrontation. He couldn't stop any of it.
All he could do was try to keep her off Heaven's radar until it was too late.
And when his brothers' cosmic temper tantrum was ready to tear the world apart? He'd take her away. Far away. Somewhere they could wait out the storm while his brothers fought their predestined battle.
She wouldn't go willingly, of course. Not while Sam and Dean and Bobby were in danger. But better to have her hate him for saving her than watch his brothers destroy her. Better to steal her away than let her throw herself into a war she couldn't hope to survive.
It wasn't a perfect plan. So many things could go wrong. But it was the best he could do with the game pieces he had. Keep her hidden, keep her safe, and when the time came... well, he'd deal with her anger then.
Maybe someday she'd understand. Maybe someday she'd forgive him.
Maybe someday he'd forgive himself.
But for now, all he could do was watch and wait, preparing for the day he'd have to choose between Reed's trust and her survival.
It wasn't much of a choice, really.
His wings shifted restlessly as he watched her sleep, memorizing the peaceful expression on her face.
It would have to be enough.
•๑ ๑•
Weeks later, Reed was still knee-deep in research about demon deals and coming up woefully empty when her phone buzzed. The caller ID made her groan.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite thief," she said dryly. "What do you want, Bela?"
"Just thought you might want to know your boys are about to cross paths with me." Bela's cultured British accent held that particular tone that always spelled trouble - smooth as honey but with a sharp edge underneath. "I'm in the process of procuring a rather valuable rabbit's foot and your boys are in the way."
Reed sat up straighter, instantly alert. Growing up with Bobby meant intimately knowing the dangers of cursed objects, especially things like rabbit's feet. She'd seen enough cursed "good luck" charms to know they always came with a devastating price. "Bela, please tell me you're not going after what I think you're going after."
"Oh darling, when have I ever listened to your warnings?" There was rustling on the other end of the line. "Besides, it's already done. Well, halfway done. I had hired some locals to acquire it, but they seem to have run into your Winchester boys so I've had to take matters into my own hands."
"Bela..." Reed pinched the bridge of her nose, memories of their last encounter flashing through her mind - a rare grimoire, a double-cross, and three days spent tracking a cursed amulet across four states. "Rabbit's feet are seriously bad news. The kind of bad news that gets people killed."
"That's what makes it so valuable," Bela purred, and Reed could practically see her predatory smile. "Speaking of value, I don't suppose you'd be interested in-"
"No," Reed cut her off firmly, already dreading whatever proposal was coming. "And you need to leave Sam and Dean alone."
"You're no fun anymore," Bela sighed dramatically. "Ever since you started running with those plaid-wearing nightmares-"
"Goodbye, Bela." Reed ended the call and immediately dialed Dean, her stomach churning. When it went to voicemail, she tried Sam. Nothing. With a frustrated growl, she tried Dean again.
"This is Dean. Leave your name, number, and nightmare at the tone."
"Dean, it's Reed. Listen, you're about to run into someone named Bela Talbot. Do not trust her. She's smart, she's dangerous, and she'll shoot you as soon as look at you. Call me back."
After leaving the message, Reed ran a hand through her hair in frustration. She knew Bela well enough to know this situation could go sideways fast. Their paths had crossed several times over the years - usually when they were both after the same rare artifact or text. Bela might play at being sophisticated, but Reed had seen firsthand how dangerous she could be when there was profit involved.
She was halfway to Bobby's study when her phone finally rang. "Please tell me neither of you actually touched the damned thing," she said by way of greeting, already dreading the answer.
There was a telling pause on the other end. "Uh..."
"Dean." Reed's voice was flat, memories of every cursed object disaster she'd ever witnessed flashing through her mind.
"I'm guessing Bela is the hot waitress who just lifted the rabbit's foot off Sam?"
Reed closed her eyes and counted to three, fighting the urge to bang her head against the nearest bookshelf. Of course Bela hadn't actually given her any advanced warning. That wouldn't be underhanded enough. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, putting as much sisterly disapproval as she could into her next sentence: "You let a stranger get close enough to pickpocket you? Really?"
"In our defense," Dean started, but was cut off by a crash and Sam's yelp in the background.
"Let me guess," Reed sighed, already pulling books from the shelves. "Sam's the one who touched the damn foot and his luck has just turned?"
"He just knocked over his coffee. And maybe fell out of his chair." There was another crash. "Into a table."
Reed sighed again, remembering similar incidents with cursed objects - how quickly things could spiral from minor mishaps to deadly accidents. "Stay put. I'm calling Bobby, and then I'm going to find a way to break this curse before your brother manages to accidentally kill himself."
She paused, unable to resist adding, "And Dean?" she said sweetly, "Next time a stranger gets handsy, maybe be a little more suspicious."
She hung up before he could respond and immediately dialed Bobby. He picked up on the second ring, his gruff voice familiar and comforting.
"Bobby, we've got trouble. The boys have managed to get themselves tangled up with a cursed rabbit's foot. And Bela Talbot's got her hands on it now."
"Balls," Bobby muttered. "That damn woman's like a bad penny. Always turning up where she's not wanted."
"Yeah, well, at least she was nice enough to let me know." She paused, "Though, not before she lifted it right off Sam - after he'd already touched it." Reed spread her research materials across his desk, pulling out the most promising texts on curse breaking. The irony wasn't lost on her - here she was, trying to break a simple object curse when she couldn't even find a way to break Dean's demon deal. "Sam's luck has already turned. You need to call them, talk them through this while I dig through the lore."
Bobby's voice held a note of paternal concern that made Reed's heart ache. "How bad's the luck turned?"
"He just lost it, so typical clumsy accidents, but you know how these things escalate." tucked against her shoulder as she flipped through pages. "The sooner we can break this curse, the better."
"I'll call the boys," Bobby agreed. "See if I can't keep them from making this mess any worse. You focus on finding us a solution."
She sighed, "Just keep those two idiots alive long enough for me to figure this out."
Hours passed in a blur of dusty, faded pages and crumbling manuscripts. Reed's eyes burned from squinting at faded Latin, her fingers cramped from making notes, stained with ink and dust. But finally, buried in the margins of a 15th-century grimoire, she found what she was looking for - a ritual to break the curse. Simple but specific: the foot had to be destroyed by its current owner in a ritual burning.
She quickly dialed Bobby, relief making her slightly giddy. "Found it!" she exclaimed, "They need to get it back from Bela and burn it. Has to be done by whoever's holding it when they do the ritual." She rattled off the list of ingredients they'd need, already knowing Bobby would easily be able to source them.
"Good work, girl," Bobby's gruff voice held clear pride. "I'll let them know. Try to relax now - you sound beat."
Reed smiled tiredly, looking at the mess of books surrounding her. "Yeah, right after I clean up this disaster zone we call a library."
As she packed away the books, Reed couldn't help but think to herself that Sam and Dean could find trouble in an empty room. But there was fondness mixed with the exasperation. They might be idiots, but they were her idiots. And with Dean's deal hanging over them all like a sword of Damocles, she couldn't bear to lose either of them to something as stupid as a cursed rabbit's foot.
A few hours later, she was asleep on the couch when her phone buzzed with a text from Dean, waking her up: "Your friend's a real piece of work."
Reed smiled despite herself and typed back: "Not my friend. You okay?"
"Lost 46k in scratch tickets but yeah. Tell you about it next time we stop by."
•๑ ๑•
A FEW DAYS LATER
The familiar rumble of the Impala made Reed's heart leap. She was out the door before Sam and Dean had fully stepped out of the car, conscious of the half-melted bullet mold still in her hands from helping Bobby with the Colt.
"Look what the cat dragged in," she called out, unable to keep the grin off her face.
"Hey short stuff," Dean said, smiling as he pulled her into a quick hug. "Could've used that warning about Bela a little sooner," he grumbled.
"Hey, I tried," Reed protested, stepping back to look him over. "How was I supposed to know she'd already picked your pocket before she called me?"
Dean's brow furrowed. "Wait - she called you? Why does that psycho have your number?" There was something in his tone, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn't particularly like.
"She likes to keep tabs on other collectors," Reed said with a shrug, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, already moving past him to where Sam stood. "We occasionally tip each other off about interesting items. When it suits us."
She frowned at the way he was favoring his left shoulder. "What happened to your shoulder?"
"Your friend shot him," Dean said pointedly.
Reed's eyes widened. "She what?"
Sam huffed a tired laugh. "Yeah, turns out your friend's got pretty good aim."
"She's not my-" Reed sighed, moving to help Sam with his bag despite his protests. "Okay, maybe she is my friend, sort of, but that doesn't mean I'm okay with her shooting you." She shot Dean a look that way half apologetic, half accusatory. "Though I did warn Dean she'd shoot first and ask questions later."
Dean stopped short in the doorway, turning to face her with an incredulous expression. "Hang on - back up. You're telling me you're friends with the same woman who just shot my brother and stole from us?" He shook his head.
"Wow," he continued dryly. "Should we be worried about you getting shot next time she decides she wants something you have?"
Reed rolled her eyes. "It's not like that. Bela and I have an understanding. Usually we just try to outsmart each other. It's like a game - a really expensive, occasionally dangerous game."
Her lips quirked up in a small smile. "Few years ago, she convinced a curator I was an international art thief just to get first crack at an ancient Sanskrit text we both had our eye on." She immediately felt slightly guilty at her relatively fond memories.
"I am really sorry she shot you," she said to Sam, giving him her best apologetic look.
"Yeah, well I'm gonna get her back for that," Dean added darkly, following them toward the house. He seemed to brighten, though, when he said - "Tell her about your fantastic day of bad luck after Bela stole the foot."
Sam groaned. "Stepped in gum. Lost my shoe down a storm drain."
"That's not even the best part," Dean chimed in, his worry momentarily forgotten as he grinned at his brother's misfortune. "Tell her about the air conditioner."
"Dean," Sam warned, but Dean was already laughing.
Reed winced sympathetically as she held the door open. "Cursed objects are the worst. Though I have to admit, I'm impressed she managed to pickpocket you. Usually I at least see her coming before she screws me over."
Dean shook his head. "I still can't believe you would voluntarily work with her."
Reed shrugged. "Work with her is putting it a bit strongly," she said. "More like we occasionally cross paths hunting down the same rare books or artifacts. Sometimes we end up helping each other, sometimes we end up stealing from each other. She's got great connections in the antiquities world - when she's not using them against me." She smirked slightly. "Though she does always send really expensive wine after she successfully screws me over. Last time it was a 1982 Bordeaux."
"She shot Sam!" Dean protested, standing just outside the door staring at her like he expected her to do something about it.
Reed rolled her eyes and ushered him inside with her free hand. "Yeah, and I'm sure she'll send something appropriately expensive to apologize. Maybe a nice bottle of whiskey." She glanced at Sam's shoulder. "Though maybe this time she'll spring for the whole case."
Sam caught her arm gently before she could enter the house, letting Dean walk ahead. "Hey," he said quietly, "any luck with the..." he trailed off meaningfully, eyes darting to make sure Dean was out of earshot.
Reed shook her head slightly. "Not yet," she murmured, squeezing his arm. "But we'll figure something out, Sam. There's still time."
He nodded, that worried furrow appearing between his brows that made him look so young despite his height. Reed reached up and smoothed it with her thumb, just like she used to when they were kids and he'd get too serious about something. "Stop thinking so hard, you'll hurt yourself."
When they got inside, they found Dean in the study with Bobby, who was still working meticulously on the Colt.
"Man," Dean said, picking up one of the pieces of the disassembled gun, "it's a little sad seeing the Colt like that."
"The only thing it's good for now is figuring out what makes it tick," Bobby replied gruffly, but Reed could hear the frustration in his voice. They'd been working on it for days.
Later that evening, after Bobby had turned in, they settled in the library. Dean was sprawled in Bobby's chair, boots up on the desk despite Reed swatting at them repeatedly. Sam sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by books, while Reed ended up perched on the arm of Dean's chair after losing her spot on the couch to Sam's sprawling research materials. She absently played with his hair like she used to when they were younger. He pretended to be annoyed but never actually moved away.
"Remember that time you tried to braid my hair 'for practice'?" Sam asked her suddenly, looking up from his book with a grin.
"Oh god," Dean snorted. "You looked ridiculous."
"Hey, I did a great job," Reed protested, flicking his ear in retaliation. "Not my fault your brother has better hair than both of us combined. Also, he was a very patient test subject."
"Whatever you say, short stuff," Dean smirked, trying to elbow her off the arm of the chair. She retaliated by ruffling his short hair, making it stick up in all directions.
They ended up sleeping in the library - Dean in the chair, Sam stretched out on the old couch that was too short for him now, and Reed curled up in the window seat with one of Bobby's old afghans. Around three AM, Reed woke to find Sam still awake, staring at the ceiling.
Without a word, she got up and padded over, pushing at his shoulders until he shifted enough for her to squeeze onto the couch with him. He immediately turned to bury his face in her shoulder, like he used to do when he was little and had nightmares. She ran her fingers through his hair, humming softly until his breathing evened out.
The next morning, Dean found them like that and couldn't resist snapping what was probably a very blurry picture on his phone. "You guys look ridiculous," he declared with a grin, "Quality blackmail material."
Reed just flipped him off without opening her eyes. "For who, huh?" She cracked an eye and glared at him balefully. "Who would you even show that to?"
Dean shrugged and made a noncommittal noise. "Well I can definitely use it fuck with him," he said, nodding at Sam who was still fast asleep. She groaned and closed her eyes, "Go make yourself useful and get the coffee started or I'm telling Bobby what really happened to his favorite flask in '95."
"You wouldn't dare," Dean gasped, and she wasn't entirely sure if he was faking the horror in his voice. "You promised to take that to your grave," he hissed. "We shook on it and everything."
"Yeah, well, that was before you started taking blackmail photos." She cracked one eye open to look at him again. "Besides, I'm pretty sure the statute of limitations on pinky swears made at thirteen runs out eventually."
"Evil," Dean declared, but she could hear him heading for the kitchen. "Bobby would kill me if he knew I was the one who took it. He turned the whole house upside down looking for that thing."
"And then you lost it at that gas station three towns over," Reed called after him, grinning at his retreating back. "Should've thought about that before you pulled out your phone, shouldn't you? And don't forget to use the good coffee! Not that cheap stuff Bobby keeps trying to pass off as drinkable!"
"Yeah, because I want to live!" Dean called back. They both knew Bobby's coffee could strip paint.
Sam stirred at the noise, grumbling something unintelligible into her shoulder. Reed patted his head sympathetically. "Come on, sasquatch. Time to get up."
After coffee (and Dean's admittedly decent attempt at making pancakes), they settled into the familiar rhythm of a day at Bobby's. Reed put them both to work helping catalog the newest additions to the library - a task that would have taken her days alone.
"If I have to alphabetize one more book in Latin, I'm going to lose it," Dean complained from his spot on the floor.
"You don't even know Latin," Sam pointed out without looking up from his stack.
"Exactly!"
Reed ignored them both, perched precariously on top of a ladder as she reorganized the highest shelves. She could feel Dean hovering anxiously below, ready to catch her if she slipped - a habit he apparently hadn't grown out of even though she'd been climbing these same shelves since before he could walk.
"I swear these books multiply when we're not looking," Sam muttered, sneezing from the dust.
"Pretty sure they do," Reed agreed. "I organized this section last month and I don't recognize half of these." She paused, examining a particularly old tome. "Though this one's actually kind of cool - it's a 16th century treatise on-"
"Nope!" Dean interrupted, grabbing her ankle. "No nerd talk until after lunch."
They ordered pizza, and Dean regaled them with increasingly outrageous stories about their recent hunts and some of his other extracurricular activities while Sam rolled his eyes and corrected his brother's embellishments. Reed soaked it in, trying to memorize every detail - the way Dean talked with his mouth full despite Bobby threats, the fond exasperation in Sam's voice, the comfortable way they all fit together.
After lunch, Bobby put them to work on the Colt. Reed handled the delicate work of sketching the symbols they found, while Sam took meticulous notes and Dean asked surprisingly insightful questions about the mechanics. Every so often, Reed would feel that familiar static in the air that meant Gabriel was watching, but she steadfastly ignored it.
As evening approached, Dean disappeared into the salvage yard to work on the Impala. Reed found him there an hour later, handed him a beer, and settled onto a crate next to him to watch him tinker. Her heart felt heavy watching him - so little time left, and so many years already wasted because of some stupid fight between John and Bobby. All that lost time they could never get back.
The setting sun painted everything in shades of amber and gold, casting long shadows between the rows of junked cars. The familiar sounds of metal on metal and Dean's quiet cursing as he worked brought back a flood of memories - those precious summer weeks when they were kids and the world seemed simpler.
"Spill it," he said after a while, not looking up from the engine.
"Spill what?" She tried to keep her voice light, fighting back the urge to tell him everything - how scared she was, how angry that he'd made this deal, how much she wished she could do something, anything to save him.
"Whatever's got you making that face." He glanced up at her then, grease smudged across his cheek, and for a moment she saw the ten-year-old boy who used to follow her around the salvage yard during those brief summer visits, eager to prove he knew just as much about cars as she did.
Reed swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. She couldn't lay all that on him - he was already carrying too much. Instead, she forced a smile. "Just thinking about when we were kids. Remember when Bobby caught us trying to 'fix' that old Chevelle?"
Dean laughed. "Man, I thought he was gonna kill us. Though technically, that was your idea."
"Hey, I was fourteen! I thought I knew everything about cars by then."
"Yeah, and I was twelve and dumb enough to believe you!"
"Like you weren't the one insisting you could rebuild an engine in your sleep." Reed kicked lightly at his boot. "Bobby's face though - I thought he was going to have an aneurysm."
Dean straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag. "Yeah, I remember how he made us spend the rest of that visit cleaning parts"
"God, yes." She groaned, vividly remembering the smell of grease she thought would permanently stain her hands. "Pretty sure I still have that shirt somewhere, completely ruined."
"You were so mad," Dean said, pointing the wrench at her accusingly. "But you wouldn't let me take the blame, because you were supposed to be the responsible one."
"Yeah, well." Reed shrugged, looking down at her hands. "Couldn't let you face Bobby's wrath alone, could I?"
Dean's hands stilled on the engine. "You know what I miss most about those days?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "How simple everything was. No demons, no deals. Just us being stupid kids."
Reed's chest tightened. There was so much she wanted to say - about how unfair it was that they'd lost so many years over John and Bobby's stubbornness, about how she wished they could go back to those simpler times, about how she couldn't bear the thought of losing him. But she knew Dean - knew he was already drowning in guilt and responsibility. So instead, she just nudged him with her knee.
"Hey, speak for yourself. I was never stupid. You, on the other hand..."
"Oh yeah?" Dean's eyes glinted mischievously as he flicked at her with the rag. "Says the girl who told me that transmissions could be fixed with duct tape."
Reed squealed, jumping off the workbench to dodge the greasy rag. "I was trying to show off! You weren't supposed to actually believe me!"
"Well, maybe you shouldn't have acted like such a know-it-all!"
They dissolved into laughter, the sound echoing off the junked cars around them. For just a moment, it felt like old times.
As their laughter faded, Reed looked at Dean - really looked at him. The lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before, the weight of responsibility in his shoulders, the shadows that lurked behind his smile. Less than a year left, and she had no idea how to save him.
Dean must have seen something in her expression because his face softened. "Hey," he said gently, "no chick-flick moments, okay? We're good."
Reed nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Dean stepped forward and pulled her into a quick, tight hug. He smelled like motor oil and leather.
"You're getting grease all over me," she mumbled into his shoulder, but made no move to pull away.
"Yeah, well, serves you right for being a sap," he replied, but his arms tightened briefly before he let her go.
Reed stepped back, blinking rapidly. "Punk."
"Nerd." Dean turned back to the Impala. They bickered companionably until the sun set, the conversation flowing easily between childhood memories and current hunts, carefully avoiding any mention of deals or demons.
Later that night, Reed found Sam in the kitchen, staring into a cup of tea she knew he wouldn't drink. Without a word, she pulled out the bottle of whiskey she kept hidden behind the flour. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sharing the bottle and watching moths dance around the porch light through the window.
"We'll figure it out," Reed said finally, her voice soft but firm. "I know we will."
Sam's hand found hers across the table, squeezing tightly.
The next day passed similarly - research, work on the Colt, moments of levity punctuated by the underlying tension they all felt but didn't mention. Reed caught Dean watching Sam when he thought no one was looking, that haunted look in his eyes that made her heart ache.
When Sam mentioned the omens in Ohio, Reed felt that familiar twist in her gut. She'd be no help there - not if demons were involved. And she was better off here, trying to figure out some way to break Dean's deal.
"Call if you need anything," she told Dean firmly as they headed out. "I mean it. Even if it's just to complain about Sam's taste in music."
"Yes ma'am," Dean mock-saluted, then pulled her into a tight hug. "Take care of yourself, short stuff."
Sam's hug lifted her off her feet entirely. "Thanks, Reed," he whispered, and they both knew he wasn't just talking about the hospitality.
As the Impala's tail lights faded into the distance, Reed felt the air shift beside her. She didn't need to look to know Gabriel was there.
"Not a word," she muttered. "I know."
She could have sworn she heard him sigh before the presence faded.
Inside, Bobby was back at work on the Colt, and Reed headed to the library. She had research of her own to do, deals to study, and a brother to save - whether he wanted to be saved or not.
•๑ ๑•
Reed stood a safe distance back as Bobby lined up his shot, the restored Colt steady in his hands. They'd been at this for hours, making minute adjustments after each test fire. Her fingers were stained with gunsmoke and metal filings from helping him modify the bullets.
"This better work," Bobby muttered. "I'm running out of ideas."
The crack of the gunshot made Reed flinch slightly. She was opening her mouth to ask about the next adjustment when the air suddenly felt wrong. That familiar nausea rolled through her stomach as a woman appeared in front of their target.
"Cute piece," the demon said casually. Reed's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. The pain helped ground her, helped push back the overwhelming urge to run.
"Who are you?" Bobby demanded. Reed was grateful he kept the Colt trained on the demon.
"It won't stop a demon, if that's what you think."
Reed's legs felt weak, but she forced herself to stay standing, to stay present.
"How the hell would you know?" Bobby asked, and his voice was steady, but Reed could see the tension in his shoulders. She wanted to warn him, to tell him to just shoot, but her throat had closed up with fear.
"Oh, I don't know." The woman closed her eyes, and when she opened them they were black as pitch - endless, soulless depths that made Reed's vision swim. "Call it an educated guess?"
The casual way she revealed herself made it worse somehow. Like this was all some kind of game to her.
"Well, ain't I lucky, then?" Bobby said, keeping the Colt steady. His finger tightened on the trigger. "Found a subject for a test fire."
"Luck had nothing to do with it." The demon's smile was knowing, almost intimate, and it made Reed's skin crawl. "But, hey, by all means. Take your best shot." She posed in front of the target, arms outstretched in a mockery of surrender that only emphasized how unafraid she was.
Bobby hesitated, and Reed found herself frozen in place, heart hammering against her ribs. She could feel cold sweat trickling down her spine, and the nausea was almost overwhelming. But she wouldn't run. She couldn't leave Bobby alone with this thing.
"Are you gonna stand there like a pantywaist, or are you gonna shoot..."
The crack of the Colt firing made Reed flinch violently, her hands flying up to cover her ears too late. The sound echoed across Bobby's yard. The demon looked down at the wound in the center of her chest with almost theatrical disappointment.
"Ouch! That smarts a little."
"What do you want?" Bobby demanded, and Reed could hear the edge of frustrated fear in his voice.
"Peace on earth. A new shirt." The demon's eyes flicked briefly to Reed, and in that moment Reed saw something calculating behind the mocking smile. Something that made her blood run cold. The demon's gaze returned to Bobby. "Now... do you want me to help you out with that gun or not? Hmm?"
Reed's fingers found the anti-possession tattoo beneath her collar, tracing it through her shirt as she fought to keep her breathing steady. The familiar shape helped ground her, a reminder that she wasn't that helpless six-year-old anymore. Whatever this demon wanted, whatever game she was playing, Reed wasn't about to leave Bobby alone with her. Even if it meant fighting through every instinct screaming at her to run.
•๑ ๑•
Reed was still irritated. She watched Bobby flipping through his books, trying to focus on the lore in front of him while she could barely sit still. Sam had called earlier to say that he and Dean were off on some lead, and she hated not being in the loop, especially when demons were involved. Ruby had helped fix the Colt, and was confident enough in her work to avoid putting herself up as a test subject again, which Reed privately thought was a pity. What was the world coming to, she thought, that they were trusting demons now.
The phone broke the tense silence, and Bobby snatched it up, grunting his usual, "Singer Salvage."
Reed watched his face carefully, noting how his expression shifted from annoyance to concern. Her fingers unconsciously traced her tattoo.
"Alright, Sam," Bobby's voice was gruff but steady. "Just don't do anything stupid until I get there."
When he hung up, Reed was already on her feet, heading to fetch her go-bag, but Bobby's voice stopped her.
"No." Just one word, but heavy with meaning.
"Bobby—" she started, but he cut her off with a look she knew all too well.
"Sam found sulfur. Dean's missing." Bobby's voice was carefully controlled. "They're down in Ohio - someplace called Elizabethville."
Reed felt her heart stutter, but she forced herself to stay focused. "All the more reason for me to come. You shouldn't go alone."
"These demons got the drop on Dean Winchester," Bobby said, his voice softening slightly. "Boy's been hunting his whole life. You're good, girl, but you ain't got his experience - 'specially not with demons."
"I've gotten better," Reed argued, though her hand had drifted back to her tattoo. "You saw me with Ruby. I kept it together."
"Ruby was one demon who wasn't actively trying to kill us," Bobby countered. "This is different and you know it." He moved to his desk, gathering papers covered in his cramped handwriting - notes about the Hell Gate, about Yellow Eyes, records of demonic activity. "We still don't know what Azazel was planning. Why he wanted that gate open in the first place. There's hundreds more demons loose now."
Reed wanted to argue further, but she saw the worry in Bobby's eyes - not just for Dean, but for her. The same look he'd worn when she was six years old and traumatized; when she was eighteen, freshly graduated from highschool and insisted on her first hunt; when she was twenty-two and nearly got herself killed taking on a wendigo alone.
"Fine," she conceded finally, but her jaw was set stubbornly. "But the second - the second - you need backup, you call me."
Bobby's expression softened slightly. "Deal." He squeezed her shoulder before letting go. As he gathered his weapons, Reed fought down the rising worry.
"Bobby," she called just before he reached the door. He turned, eyebrows raised. "Be careful, okay?"
"Always am," he assured her, but his eyes were serious. "You too, girl."
Reed nodded, throat tight. "Yes, sir."
As Bobby's truck disappeared down the drive, Reed sank into the chair at his desk. Her eyes swept over the scattered papers and maps, notes about demonic omens and the Hell Gate.
Now Dean was missing, Sam was alone, and Bobby was walking into who knew what.
A few hours later, the words on the page were starting to blur as Reed stared unseeing at the text in front of her. Her mind kept drifting to Dean - where was he? Was he hurt? To Sam, alone and worried about his brother. To Bobby, driving straight into whatever had managed to get the drop on Dean Winchester.
Her scattered thoughts made it impossible to focus. Every time she tried to concentrate on the lore about Hell Gates and demon hierarchies, her imagination would supply another horrible scenario. Dean bleeding out somewhere. Sam walking into a trap. Bobby-
Eventually she gave up even trying to pretend to read.
She paced the length of the study for what felt like the hundredth time, her boots scuffing against the worn floorboards. Her phone lay silent on Bobby's desk. She paused at the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. The salvage yard stretched out before her, a maze of rusted metal catching the late afternoon light. She felt useless. She was supposed to be better than this. Stronger. But now, her father was walking right into danger, and she was here. Doing nothing.
Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms.
The air shifted suddenly, carrying that familiar scent of ozone and sweetness. Static danced across her skin, making the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. She didn't need to turn around to know Gabriel had appeared - probably lounging against Bobby's desk with that casual air he always affected, golden wings catching the dim light.
"Don't," she said quietly, still staring out the window. "I'm really not in the mood for cryptic warnings or vague hints about cosmic plans right now."
"Who said anything about warnings?" His voice was lighter than usual, clearly aiming for casual, but she could hear something else underneath - concern, maybe. "Maybe I just dropped by to admire your incredibly tense shoulders and watch you radiate anxiety all over Bobby's books."
That made her turn, if only to glare at him. Sure enough, he was perched on the edge of Bobby's desk, his wings relaxed behind him, though they shifted restlessly in a way that showed he was clearly more uneasy than he was letting on. The sight of him - solid and real and powerful - made something in her chest ache. "I'm fine," she said, the words sounding hollow even to her own ears. "You don't need to check up on me."
Gabriel's expression softened slightly, though his tone remained light. "Sure, because 'fine' people always try to wear holes in perfectly good floorboards." He pushed off from the desk, taking a few steps toward her. "Come on, sugar. You're practically vibrating out of your skin here."
A bitter laugh escaped her. "Well, excuse me for being worried. Dean's missing, Bobby's walking into who knows what, and I'm just... here." She wrapped her arms around herself, hating how small her voice sounded. "Being useless."
The playful mask slipped from Gabriel's face, his eyes going serious in a way that made her breath catch. His wings shifted, unconsciously curving forward as if to shield her, and even the air seemed to get heavier.
"You really believe that, don't you?" he asked softly, and there was something in his voice - something incredibly sad - that made her look up and meet his gaze. His eyes, those impossible golden eyes that sometimes seemed to hold entire universes, searched her face with an intensity that should have been uncomfortable. Instead, it felt... steadying.
She should say something. Make a joke, brush it off. But the words stuck in her throat, and all she could do was stand there.
The silence stretched for almost a moment too long before Gabriel seemed to catch himself.
"You're not useless," he said, voice serious. "You're smart enough to know your limits, to know when you're not ready for something." He paused, then added with a hint of his usual humor, "Besides, someone's gotta hold down the fort here. Make sure nobody steals Bobby's impressive collection of dusty books and rusted engine parts."
Reed wanted to maintain her frustration - it was easier than the worry eating away at her - but she felt her lips twitch despite herself. "His organization system would probably scare them off anyway."
"Probably?" Gabriel's familiar smirk returned, though his eyes remained soft with concern. "I've seen actual chaos dimensions that are more organized than this place."
A surprised laugh escaped her, and some of the tension eased from her shoulders. "I try my best, okay." She said, mockingly defensive.
His grin widened slightly, but then his expression grew more serious. "Look, I know you're worried. But Dean's tough, Sam's resourceful, and Bobby..." He paused, something like respect coloring his tone. "I don't need to tell you what he's already survived. They'll be fine."
"I know," Reed sighed, running a hand through her already disheveled hair. "I know they can handle themselves. I just... I hate not being able to help. Not knowing what's happening."
Gabriel eyed her for a moment, considering. "You know what you need?" he said, straightening up with renewed energy. "A distraction."
Reed eyed him warily. "I'm not sure I'm up for whatever it is archangels do for fun..."
"Please," Gabriel scoffed, though his eyes twinkled with amusement. "Give me some credit." He snapped his fingers, and the study was suddenly transformed, a brand new TV appearing in the middle of the room, along with what looked like an old VHS machine. She looked at him curiously.
"That, sugar, is a genuine 1985 Magnavox VHS player," he said proudly, "complete with tracking issues and occasional static." Another snap, and a stack of movies appeared beside it. "And these are some of the finest examples of terrible 80s cinema ever created."
Reed picked up the top movie, unable to suppress a snort of laughter. "Howard the Duck? Really?"
"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it. Though personally, I'm voting for Killer Klowns from Outer Space. It's a masterpiece of terrible special effects." His wings rustled with obvious enthusiasm, catching the dim light and sending shimmers of gold across the room.
"You're ridiculous," Reed said, but she could feel her lips twitching despite herself.
"Maybe," Gabriel agreed cheerfully. "But you're not thinking about worst-case scenarios anymore, are you?" His expression softened slightly. "Come on, what do you say? Movie marathon?"
Reed glanced at her scattered research, then back at the TV. The worry was still there, churning in her gut, but...
"Oh!" Gabriel exclaimed suddenly, before she could answer. "I almost forgot." He snapped again, and a mug appeared in her hands - hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows - along with a bowl of popcorn and what looked like every type of candy from the decade. "Can't have a proper terrible movie marathon without proper snacks."
The gesture was so unexpectedly thoughtful that Reed felt something warm bloom in her chest.
"Thank you," she said quietly, studying the marshmallows floating in her cocoa. "I was kind of going a bit stir-crazy."
"Well, I'm here now," he said quietly, and there was something in his voice that made it sound like a promise
And for the first time since Bobby had left, Reed felt like maybe everything would be okay.
"Fine," she conceded, pulling her legs up under her on the couch. "But we're not watching Howard the Duck first."
"Deal." Gabriel's grin was triumphant as he settled beside her on Bobby's old couch, his wings creating a comfortable backdrop of golden light. "Though I should warn you - I absolutely talk during movies.
Reed rolled her eyes, but as she sank deeper into the familiar cushions, she felt some of the crushing anxiety ease. She couldn't do anything to help Dean, Sam, and Bobby right now. But maybe she could let herself be distracted for a little while.
They started with Killer Klowns from Outer Space, because Gabriel insisted it was "a cinematic masterpiece of terrible decisions." The occasional static and tracking issues made the already questionable special effects even more ridiculous - but somehow that just added to the charm.
True to his word, Gabriel provided running commentary and Reed found herself actually laughing despite everything. She'd settled into the corner of Bobby's old couch, legs tucked under her, the warm mug of cocoa cradled between her hands.
He sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the subtle energy that always seemed to radiate from him. His wings created shifting patterns of golden light across the room, and occasionally she caught herself watching them instead of the movie, fascinated by the way they caught even the dimmest light.
The constant knot of anxiety in her chest had loosened slightly, even if it hadn't completely disappeared.
They fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by Gabriel's occasional commentary and Reed's reluctant laughter. The familiar sounds of Bobby's house - the creak of old wood, the distant whistle of wind through the salvage yard - mixed with the movie's terrible dialogue and Gabriel's running criticism of the special effects.
It felt... normal. Safe. Like for just a moment, she could pretend that her family wasn't in danger, that demons weren't real, that she was just watching bad movies with...
With what? An archangel turned trickster who had, for some inexplicable reason, decided to keep her company when she needed it most?
The thought made something flutter in her chest, and she quickly pushed it away, focusing instead on Gabriel's increasingly ridiculous theories about what the clowns were actually planning to do with all that cotton candy.
They were halfway through their second movie - some wonderfully terrible thing about radioactive tomatoes attacking small-town America - when Reed's thoughts started to drift again. The distraction of bad movies and Gabriel's commentary could only hold reality at bay for so long.
Reed tried to watch the mindless TV show that Gabriel had conjured up, but her attention kept drifting, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her shirt. Gabriel watched her out of the corner of his eye, his wings shifting restlessly behind him, and each time she sighed or her brow furrowed, he felt a tug of something deep inside - something he didn't want to name.
She'd check her phone every few minutes, the screen remaining stubbornly dark. Each time, Gabriel would try to pull her attention back to the movie with an increasingly outrageous comment or observation, but he could see the worry eating away at her, could practically feel the anxiety rolling off her in waves.
Eventually, Reed's restlessness found another outlet. Without thinking about it, her hand drifted to the golden feathers of Gabriel's wing, the one nearest to her. She was still consumed by worry - her mind lost in thoughts of Bobby and Sam and Dean - and she reached out absently, her fingers brushing over the soft, shimmering feathers. It was an unconscious gesture, something that felt strangely comforting in the moment, like running her fingers through someone's hair.
Gabriel froze, his breath catching in his throat. The touch was light, but it sent a shiver through him, something indescribable coursing down his spine. His wings, which he usually kept folded tightly and guarded, shifted, almost of their own accord, the feathers rustling under her touch.
He swallowed, trying to steady himself. It wasn't just that it felt good - it was more than that. The sensation of her fingers brushing against his feathers was beyond anything he could compare it to, something that resonated deep within his grace. It was intimate in a way he hadn't allowed himself to experience in a long, long time. And the fact that it was Reed made it all the more profound.
He watched her carefully, his heart pounding in a way that was wholly unfamiliar. She didn't even seem to realize what she was doing, her gaze still fixed on the TV screen, her fingers gently stroking the edge of his wing as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
For a moment, Gabriel considered saying something, making a joke to break the tension he felt building inside him. But he didn't. He stayed still, letting her touch him, letting her find whatever comfort she could in his presence.
And despite the confusing emotions that tangled inside him - despite the part of him that wanted to pull away before this got too real - he found himself leaning into it, his wings relaxing, unfurling slightly under her touch. A small, contented smile tugged at his lips, and he let himself enjoy the feeling, just for a moment.
Reed, oblivious to the effect she was having on him, finally spoke, her voice soft, almost distant. "Why'd you come?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the screen.
Gabriel blinked, caught off guard by the question. He could've said something flippant, could've brushed it off with a joke or some sarcastic remark, but instead, he found himself answering honestly. "I came because you wanted me to. Because you didn't want to be alone."
She finally looked at him, her eyes searching his face, and for a moment, Gabriel felt exposed in a way he wasn't used to. He held her gaze, not looking away, and in that moment, he let her see it - the concern, the care, the truth of it all.
Reed gave him a small, tired smile. "I'm glad you did."
Gabriel nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Me too, sugar."
They waited together in the silence that followed, Reed leaning just a little closer, and Gabriel let his wing shift until it was draped gently around her. He told himself he was just keeping her warm, just making sure she felt safe
Finally, the creak of the front door echoed through the house. Gabriel straightened immediately, his wing gently slipping away from Reed. She looked up, eyes wide, hope mixed with anxiety etched on her face.
"Bobby?" she called, her voice barely concealing her worry.
"Yeah, it's me," Bobby's gruff voice called back. "Everyone's okay."
Relief washed over Reed, and she started to stand, but before she could even move, Gabriel's wings unfurled, a flicker of something almost regretful in his eyes.
"Time for me to make myself scarce, sweetheart," Gabriel said softly, just for her ears.
Reed blinked, a pang of something she couldn't quite name hitting her chest. "Wait—" she started, but before she could say anything else, Gabriel was gone. The study was instantly transformed back to its original state, the snacks and empty mugs vanishing. A faint rustle of wings, and he vanished, leaving nothing but empty air where he'd been.
Reed was left staring at the empty spot beside her, her fingers still tingling from where they had touched his feathers. She heard Bobby's heavy boots in the hallway and quickly composed herself. When he appeared in the doorway, he looked tired but intact. The sight of him, dusty and slightly rumpled but alive, made her throat tight with relief.
"Everyone's okay?" she asked, already moving toward him.
"Yeah," Bobby nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at her. "Dean's fine. Sam too. We handled it." He reached out, ruffling her hair in that gruff, fatherly way of his.
Reed nodded, letting out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Good. That's... that's good."
Bobby stepped further into the room, then paused. His nostrils flared slightly as he sniffed the air, brow furrowing. "You smell that?"
Reed's heart skipped. "Smell what?"
Bobby scanned the room slowly, years of hunting making him attentive to the smallest details. There was something in the air - sweet, like honey, mixed with something older, like incense or the air after a lightning strike. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
His eyes landed on Reed, narrowing slightly. "Everything okay here while I was gone?"
"Of course," Reed said, perhaps a bit too quickly. She gestured vaguely at Bobby's desk. "Just... research. You know how it is."
Bobby studied her for a long moment. She was hiding something - he'd raised her long enough to know her tells. But she also looked... better. Less anxious than when he'd left. Whatever had happened while he was gone, it hadn't been bad.
Finally, he just nodded. "Alright then. Coffee?"
Reed's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Yeah. Coffee sounds good."
As Bobby headed toward the kitchen, Reed couldn't help but glance back at the empty space on the couch.
Once again, if you're still reading and enjoying this, I'd love if you could drop a comment.
Also, I've already got most of the next chapter done, so hopefully it won't be too long of a wait.