Gemini Flanagan’s Personal Assistant.

You are standing on the roof of the White House, above the Truman balcony, wanting to kick your shoes off, but needing to play the host for just a little longer. This is your second Fourth of July in the White House and you thought you knew what to expect, but you are happy to be wrong, because the fireworks are impossibly brighter and more wonderful this year, the celebrations more grand, and you’re shoulder to shoulder with your husband, hands entwined as the dazzling show plays out before you over the South Lawn.

It’s breathtaking.

And so is he. Still. Always.

The grand finale erupts overhead, a cascading symphony of red, white, and blue that paints the night sky in impossible, starburst glory. You can feel the percussion in your chest, reverberating through the soles of your shoes, and you tip your head back to watch the last brilliant volley streak upward and burst into a thousand glittering silver and gold tendrils that drift lazily toward the earth.

Then jubilant cheers and applause and the faint, sweet smell of smoke and the distant roar of the crowd on the lawn below, cheering, waving, singing.

You turn to Steve, a smile already blooming on your lips, ready to say something about how beautiful it was, but he's already looking at you, and his eyes are doing that thing—that thing they've done since the very first kiss you shared, the real one, in Kansas City, that thing where the whole world seems to narrow to the blue of his gaze and the impossible softness of his mouth.

He pulls you close.

One hand slides to the small of your back, warm and certain through the fabric of your dress, and the other rises to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek as if he can't quite believe you're real, as if he needs to check. And you have to admit there are moments you still can’t quite believe yourself that this is your life, these moments, and him. The night air is still thick with the scent of gunpowder and summer heat, and the last of the silver sparks are drifting down behind him like slow, glittering rain, and you have just enough time to think oh before his mouth finds yours.

It's quick. It has to be quick—you're standing on the roof of the White House, surrounded by friends and aides and a few dignitaries, Secret Service agents with their earpieces. But it's enough. It's always enough. His lips are warm and a little dry from the evening air, and he kisses you the way he kisses you when he's happy, which is to say with his whole heart, like there's nothing else in the world worth his attention, like the presidency and the country and the fireworks are all very nice, but they are not this.

You kiss him back. Of course, you kiss him back, placing your hand over his heart.

When he pulls away, it's only an inch, his forehead resting against yours, and you can feel him smiling. You can feel the shape of it against your mouth before you see it, and your own smile is bursting for him, too.

"Happy Fourth, Mrs. Rogers," he murmurs, and his voice is low and rough in that way that it has no business being right at this moment.

"Happy birthday, Mr. President," you whisper back, and he laughs, a quiet, rumble before the two of you break apart and turn to face the small crowd with you on the roof.

And there they are—the faces you've come to know so well, the ones that make this house feel less like a museum and more like a home, or at least as close to one as you can get here. Ambassador Chen from Taiwan, laughing with the German trade minister. Sophia, sharp as ever in her midnight blue, already catching your eye with that knowing, slightly smug look she gets whenever she catches the two of you being soft with each other. Senator Nakamura, who flew in from Honolulu just for this. Colonel Rhodes, grinning like he's about to make a joke he absolutely should not make in mixed company.

You move through them like water, because you've gotten good at this—good at the handshake that lingers just long enough, the murmured thank you for coming that sounds like you mean it, because you do. You mean all of them. Steve is circulating as well, but you’re both being led by your aides toward the exit, aiming to get you into the Residence as quickly as possible because you both have packed days tomorrow (as ever).

Back inside, you kick off your heels in the elevator and breathe, sinking into Steve’s side as your small phalanx of staffers peels away, each murmuring quick good-nights and peeling off down the Residential Corridor, exhausted and slightly tipsy.

He bumps your shoulder with his, sly and crooked in a way that tells you he’s been waiting all night to be alone with you. He reaches for your heels, and you let him take them for the short walk down the hall and into your borrowed home.

The next minutes are a tangle of hands and laughter, breathless and urgent, your dress falling to the carpet with a sound like wings beating, his tie left hanging somewhere between the elevator and the bedroom. You are giddy and graceless, all eager to be together, just the two of you.

He kisses you until your knees go watery, but never letting you falter, guiding you backwards until the back of your thighs catch on the edge of the mattress. You tumble together, the bedspread starched and crisp beneath your palms and knees, and then the world narrows down to calloused hands and the hush of his laughter and the feeling, always, that you are safe. The dim lamplight gilds the curve of his shoulders, the roughness that’s come into his voice as he pulls your name from the space between your mouths. He tastes like bourbon and wild honey from the refreshments at the party, just enough to loosen the lines of his day.

You drag him closer by the lapels, hungry for the taste of him. You pull him down and roll, greedy, pinning him beneath you. His tie is gone; you’re not sure when, but you feel the press of his hands at your waist, guiding you in a slow, grinding circle that makes you gasp. You forget to breathe as you tangle your hands in his hair and let him kiss you dizzy. He’s already undone the buttons of his shirt one-handed, and you help him push it off his shoulders, so you have the skin of his arms beneath your palms. He’s golden and warm, his heart beating under your fingers like a secret. There’s a lightning-bolt thrill each time he murmurs your name. You want to bottle this, this slice of private time in a life where you so rarely get to keep anything for yourselves, and you want to uncork it every time the day-to-day feels a little too heavy.

He traces the line of your jaw, thumbing your chin up and examining you. "You've been different all day," he says, quietly, not accusing, just curious. "Not off, just…something on your mind?"

He’s not wrong. You laugh, because you can’t help it, because how could he possibly have noticed, because you’ve tried to be so careful. But of course he did. “Yes, there’s something.”

He sits up, pulls you into his lap, and you tangle your knees around his waist, greedy for the press of his body. You take a breath, not to arm yourself, but to gather him in. This is a moment you’ve waited for all day, and it’s a moment you know the two of you will remember for the rest of your lives.

“It’s Independence Day and your birthday, and so, so much of today was about everyone else, but I wanted to save one thing for just us.” You run your hands up his chest, and you can feel the way his muscles tense, just a little, the way he always does when he senses something is about to change. His hands go still at your waist. He looks at you the way he looked at you on your wedding day—that same unguarded, ungoverned look, the one that has no presidential composure in it whatsoever.

You swallow, suddenly giddy with nerves, but you try to keep your voice steady as you tell him, “We’re going to have a baby.”

For a moment he’s silent, holding you so tightly you are certain he’s the only thing keeping you from flying off this bed and straight through the window into the dark and dazzling sky now that your stomach is completely aflutter with butterflies - your whole chest really. Steve opens his mouth, then closes it, startled as you’ve ever seen him, caught utterly off guard, and the surge of joy in his eyes is so bright you almost have to look away.

He laughs, choked and astonished, and cups your face with both hands, searching you for the truth even as he repeats your words back to you, as if you’ve cast an unbreakable spell. “We’re—are you—are you sure?” he whispers, and you nod, and in less than a heartbeat he is kissing you everywhere—your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw, the tip of your nose, your lips, your collarbone, drawing your fingers to his lips.

“I wasn’t sure at first. The first test I took was negative. But then I took four more—yesterday being the most recent—and all the rest have been positive. I’ll need to have an official one from our medical team, but this is how normal people try to figure it out, and I wanted to at least start that way.”

“Say it again,” he whispers, and there’s something raw and vulnerable in it that makes your own eyes sting.

You say it again, just for him, and its warmer and easier the second time. “We’re going to have a baby.”

He tugs you close, a long, slow drag of his palms up your spine, and his mouth finds you again, velvet and open and as gentle as if you’re already breakable. You can feel the words he isn’t saying in every touch, every line of his body, every hush of breath against your lips. The rest of the world can wait awhile longer. The future, the headlines, the meetings and luncheons and the never-ending security briefings—they’re so far away. Tonight, it’s just the two of you.

You’re still in his lap and you want to stay there, anchored by his arms, held in place by the gravity of him. Just Steve, the curve of his neck under your hands, the soft light making gold of his hair and blue fire of his eyes and the clean, clean taste of his mouth.

He slides his palms up your thighs, slow and reverent. You feel the calluses catch on the delicate skin behind your knees, then up the slopes of your thighs. Your whole body is tuned to the gentle sweep of his hands, the warmth of his breath against the hollow of your throat.

Steve shifts you in his lap, sliding his cock into your warm and waiting cunt, and your legs find their place around him, heel pressed to the hard muscle of his lower back, hips flush.

You rock together, slow and steady, as if this new knowledge has rewired the both of you, as if every part of Steve that has ever belonged to you is suddenly magnified, gifted back to you in triplicate. He moves inside you as if your bodies are completing unfinished sentences.

You clutch his shoulders and ride him, slow and deep and close, the sounds of your bodies punctuating the quiet as you move together, breath and heartbeat and the little desperate noises you can never hold back from him. His hands travel the length of your back, every unhurried pass softening the landscape of you. The window is open just a crack and summer air pulses in, humid and electric, thick with city sounds and the far-off echo of festivities still unfolding for a thousand strangers. But here, in this room, everything is slow, thick, sweet, nothing but devotion.

He groans, burying his face in your shoulder, and you feel the shape of his smile against your skin, the press of his teeth where he bites back a more urgent moan. You want to laugh, to cry, to collapse and never move again. He moves his hands to your hips, slowing you even more, keeping you close while his mouth traces up along your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth, your ear.

“I love you,” he says, a promise and a benediction. “I love you so much.”

You clutch him even closer, saying as much back, pouring it into his big heart, and time doubles back on itself, collecting all the nights that led you here: sprawled on a mattress in a St. Louis walk-up, or in Colorado Springs when you were snowed in during the state’s Clean Energy initiative tour, and even sometimes in the backseat of an electric SUV of a Secret Service motor pool. You could have lived a thousand lives and never guessed at this particular happiness, this improbable ending: you and Steve, knotted together in the gleam of a presidential bedroom, a future unspooling inside you, somehow as terrifying and bright as fireworks.

You spend the rest of the night lying together on the sheets, his arm curled around your waist, your hands splayed together with each other over your stomach; his full chest pressed tight to your back, the long, slow breathing of him on a slow, rising tide of emotion you aren’t sure you understand, or ever want to. There’s a secret, quiet sense of being at the exact center of the world that’s only the two of you and the baby on the way. At least for a while.

You drift in and out of sleep, and each time you wake, Steve’s hand is where it left off, thumb brushing circles low on your belly, as if by touch alone he could will the newness of what you told him into the marrow of himself.

As dawn slips in, painting the suite with the faintest gold, you shift slightly, and Steve murmurs, “You awake?” against your neck.

“Mm. Barely.”

He nuzzles in deeper, his beard tickling your neck, and you squirm and turn around to face him. “Did you even sleep?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “Not really,” he admits, voice gone hoarse and quiet. “Kept worrying I’d wake up and it wouldn’t be real. You’re here, though.”

“Mhmm, you’re stuck with me.”

You kiss his brow and let your hand run through the gold of his hair, musing at what a child of his might look like. You picture the bright blue of his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw, and, despite yourself, the impossible hope that the world you’re building together will be even marginally kind to someone so new and small.

Steve pulls you into his chest, folding your whole body into his, and you melt.

"When I woke up in this century," he begins, his voice low and intimate, "I thought I'd lost my chance at this kind of happiness. I resigned myself to being a man out of time, always looking back at what might have been." His thumb traces gentle over your stomach, soft whispers of his hope.

“I felt untethered, but you are the anchor my soul needed.”

Your throat aches, and you’re not sure what to say because your heart is so full. As much as he’s clear about his devotion to you, it’s reciprocated note for note from your heart. Everything you two have built—the relationship, the purpose, the passion, the drive, the community of people around you—moved your post-blip return from average to a life of vibrancy you also thought you’d never find again.

“I only ever told Bucky I was considering it, but since we figured out time travel to bring everyone back, there was a time I weighed going back to the forties or fifties, but now I thank everything in my bones that I didn’t. I would have missed so much. Even the hard parts, even the hurt, I’d choose all of it to find us.”

It’s a strange, buoyant sadness that washes through you, an ache for the lives you both were supposed to have and the astonishing joy of the one you’re building now, brick by brick, night by night, and dream by dream.

You thread your hand through his, squeezing, letting the gravity of his words swirl through your psyche. “Good, because there’s no one else I would ever want to do this with—not just this,” you gesture to the presidential trappings you live in, “but this,” and you let your hands rest together, gentle on your belly, both of you quietly marveling at the shift in your world.

“I’ll never be able to say it enough, but I love you, Steve. Always.”

Instead of more words, he says it back with another searing kiss.

Once dawn has broken and the two of you are side by side in the bathroom, brushing your teeth, moving through your morning routines, Steve frowns, and you catch the knit of his brow in the mirror. “What’s that consternation for all of a sudden?”

“How did you get not just one, but multiple pregnancy tests smuggled in without a soul finding out?”

You grin. “Sophia.”

Steve scoffs and shakes his head, his scowl turning sarcastic. “She’s supposed to be my personal secretary.”

“And she staffed me on the campaign first,” you remind him. “I’m convinced she only accepted your offer so she could keep you in line and spy on you for me.”

“She doesn’t even pretend to have plausible deniability,” he mutters, rinsing his mouth. “Busted me on a whole security briefing last week when she caught me stashing Reese’s in my desk. I’m the President—” he says this with faux outrage, like he still doesn’t quite believe it, “yet she controls the candy flow and now, apparently, the pharmacy.”

You spit your own minty mouthful. “A First Lady’s job is never done, and I can’t help it if I’ve got the best co-conspirator.” The two of you share a look in the mirror—a look that says God, what have we gotten into—and then there is a knock at the bedroom door, sharp and brisk.

Steve’s head drops with a groan. “Five minutes,” you call, and trade glance with your husband, resignation and amusement in equal measure.

It’s Jake calling into the master suite, “Sir, the British Prime Minister’s advance team just arrived and we have a briefing with the Joint Chiefs at 09:15 but we will need to move your security detail to accommodate the updated press pool, and—”

“Roger that,” Steve calls back.

You holler “Thanks, Jake,” into the hallway, and before you can even turn back to Steve and finish rinsing your mouth, he’s close behind you, arms caging you between the counter and his chest, both of you reflected twice in the gilded mirror.

His chin hooks your shoulder, his lips finding the sensitive skin just below your ear, and you nearly drop your the hairbrush you’ve reached for into the sink. “Come here,” he says, as if you aren’t bodily pressed against him, as if he could ever actually want you closer.

You smile at him in the mirror because you can’t not, and the whole reflection is so absurdly domestic—yesterday’s confetti still in your hair, his shirt unbuttoned just below the collar, the two of you framed by White House marble and gilt. “We are going to be late for your entire country,” you warn, but you let him wrap you up anyway.

“Let them wait,” he says, but he steps aside after a final, scandalous little nuzzle, letting you go. He’s a man who never shirks responsibility, and you know that to be true in every part of his life. You can’t wait to explore a new chapter with him.

I LOVE THEM, I LOVE THEM, I LOVE THEM! So soft and so fluffy here, but I still love this AU so much. 🥹 ❤️🤍💙

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

A/N: Hi, hello, it's been a hot minute. I've been distracted, busy and also hit a block which really sucked :/ I hope you guys are still here! I have to confess it's been a bit discouraging to see the number of reblogs and likes dwindle more and more with every new chapter I post :/ I hate how my brain latches onto stats sometimes, but I'm only human and no artist likes feeling like their art isn't being seen :/

Well, anyway, I bring some more vacation!jack for y'all!!

You let your head drop back against the wall, chest heaving with every laboured breath you forced into your lungs, you were sure had long since turned to ash under the heat of Jack’s frantic touches.

He dug his fingers into your hips hard enough to leave bruises and dragged you closer to the edge of the dresser, closer to him. He buried himself in you with sharp, quick thrusts that drove you to the edge of madness while sending thrills of raw, primal pleasure through your entire system.

Unlike you, he was fully dressed, standing above you in one of his stupid, eye cancer-inducing, brightly patterned swim trunks and tight black shirts you’d been clawing at with increasing desperation for the past thirty minutes.

If Jack weren’t so ridiculously hot, even in those stupid swim trunks, you’d have some serious concerns regarding your sanity for letting yourself get railed by someone wearing them.

Your head was swarming, stuffed full of dizzying bliss that left you a drooling, moaning mess.

You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed this. Not just the sex - though, obviously the sex, you weren’t even in your thirties yet, and most of your early twenties were spent studying, so really this was the time for lots and lots of mind-numbingly good sex - but also just the feeling of a warm body pressed against you, another heartbeat syncing with yours, the intimacy and connection. How the whole world around you turned quiet as it was pushed to the background, to the very back of your head and the person your heart beat faster for, stepped into the foreground with commanding, unapologetic urgency.

You ran your hands through Jack’s hair, obsessed with the way his soft curls felt beneath the pads of your fingers, and down his neck, where you dragged your nails softly along his skin, making him shiver. You dragged them down his back, shamelessly feeling up his hard muscles and gave his tight butt a squeeze that earned you a raised brow you barely even registered in your current addled state.

Another advantage of fucking older men you’d never tire of (beside the emotional maturity, lack of enthusiasm for partying, and knowing what they wanted in life), not only had they had time to learn how to use their dick, the stamina they had-

Jack dropped his head to your chest, mouthing at your collarbones and chest. You squealed when he suddenly picked you up without warning. Strong arms encompassing your naked body with nothing short of greedy urgency, he carried you over to the bed to drop you onto the mattress. You wrapped your legs around his waist the second he joined you, just for his hands to find the backs of your knees and all but fold you in half.

He pounded into you even harder, even less composed and coordinated than before, shamelessly chasing his pleasure in you. He buried his face against your neck, inhaling the scent of your soap and shampoo and body lotion merging there after your very extensive ‘everything shower’, as you had called it. Jack was obsessed with your scent. He was obsessed with the way your body fit against his, as if you had always been meant to be here, folded beneath him, clutching his cock like a vice, squeezing him so hard he was seeing stars.

Jack panted against your neck. His residual limb was killing him after days of walking on it and chasing after Marigold with barely any breaks in the Florida heat. His joints were protesting. His knees hurt. His back ached from the hours of sitting at the conference, the long drive and the unfamiliar bed.

None of it mattered.

Not when he was drowning in you, in the sensation of your body beneath his hands, of your sweet, sweet noises in his ear, and the pleasure you chased through his body.

You clawed at his back through his shirt, moaning and squirming beneath him like a woman possessed. Your cunt fluttered around him, dragging raw, needy groans from Jack’s throat. He let go of your legs to smooth his hands down the backs of your thighs, grope your ass, feel up your sides and squeeze your breasts. He wanted to feel all of you all at once. He wanted you to curl around him like a snake about to devour its prey. He’d live inside you if only you’d let him.

You weaved your fingers through his curls and tugged on his hair, head lifting off the pillow to drag your lips across his throat. His breath stuttered in his throat when he felt your teeth grazing his adam’s apple.

“You fuck me so well.” You moaned against his skin. Your praise made his insides squirm and flutter. He wanted nothing more than to show you how well he could fuck you, how well he could take care of you - you and Marigold.

Every time you let him pay for lunch or dinner, he preened like a goddamn bird whose mating dance found approval among the female birds.

You nipped his jaw and pressed a fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth. Jack chased after you, catching your lips in a greedy, wild kiss. He panted into your mouth and bit your lips. Teeth clicked together, and too much saliva was exchanged - not that either of you cared.

Jack felt you tighten around him. He kept pounding into you, forcing his cock past the resistance your cunt put up on the final sprint towards the edge of ecstasy. He pushed you closer, and closer-

-just to stop right before you came.

You groaned, a sound somewhere between annoyance and pure devastation at your ruined orgasm.

Jack nipped your throat and slid down your body, planting greedy, open-mouthed kisses along your sweaty skin on his way. You squirmed beneath him, but Jack simply held you down. Large hands spread across your hips and belly, fingers splayed, pushing you down into the mattress.

He was still too careful for your taste, though.

The thought was pushed to the very back of your mind when he dropped his head between your thighs and lapped at your sopping, puffy folds. You knew he was watching you, felt his hazel eyes stare at you, burning into you, but you couldn’t look down. The sight of him between your legs, stubble glistening with your arousal, grey curls pressing against the inside of your thighs, had already burnt itself into your brain and - you were sure of it - caused permanent brain damage. Because how else could you explain the getting railed by someone wearing those swim trunks-situation?

“Ah- fuck, Jack- Jack-” You tugged on his curls and lifted your hips off the bed to grind against his face. Tendrils of buzzing, devastating pleasure melted down the inside of your thighs and made your muscles quiver. 

You had lost count of how many times Jack had already pushed you to the edge of orgasm, just to deny you release at the last second. You had half a mind to flip him around and sit on his face until he finished the damn job (or suffocated, not that he’d object), but, however torturous, the pleasure he brought you was far too sweet to miss out on.

You pulled his head up and sat up with him, all but crawling into his lap while you wrapped your arms around his body. You sank down on his cock, biting back a trembling moan at the stretch of him. Your cunt fluttered as it eagerly welcomed him back, relieved to finally not be empty anymore.

“You’re such a fucking tease.” You huffed against his mouth and bit at his lip for good measure before sealing them with a messy, needy kiss. Jack’s hand settled at the small of your back, guiding the deep, rolling motions of your hips as you chased your pleasure. His other hand cupped the back of your nape, thumb stroking slowly and gently across sweat-soaked skin.

“I like how bratty and forceful you get when I annoy you.” He chuckled.

You pushed against his shoulders. Jack toppled over backwards, graciously allowing you to push him into the mattress. The bed creaked under the impact. “I’m not bratty.”

“Sure.”

You shut him up by lifting your hips, just to let them slam back down, taking his cock to the hilt. You set a brutal pace, riding Jack as if your life depended on it until his eyes fell shut and lips parted, a string of breathy, needy grunts tumbling from them.

“Fuck, baby- ah-” Jack’s grip on your waist tightened. “Gotta slow down or I will- ah- will come-”

A wicked grin spread across your lips. You planted your palms against the mattress on either side of Jack’s head and tilted your head condescendingly. “Is that so, mh? Nah, I think you can handle it, soldier.”

The soft groan bubbling up in the back of Jack’s throat was nothing short of fucking addicting. The bed creaked dangerously every time you rocked back against him, wood aching, headboard slamming against the wall. You were pretty sure you were in for a noise complaint, but you didn’t care. There was nothing you could care less about right now and nothing that took greater precedence that this - the hard, rigid line of Jack’s cock sliding against your throbbing walls, the fucked-out expression of pure, tantalising bliss on Jack’s face, the feeling of Jack’s hard chest against your palms, his heartbeat hammering beneath your fingertips.

Jack gasped for air and screwed his eyes shut. He bucked up against you, meeting your every thrust, sinking into your with lewd, wet squelches before his pelvis slammed against your core and just before he tipped over into that brief moment of mindlessly, aimlessly fucking into you to find his release - you slipped off him.

Jack let out an agonised, frustrated groan, but you just grinned at him.

“And she says she’s not a brat.” He huffed.

“You did that to me like five times!”

“Six.” Jack grunted and tackled you into the mattress. “And I loved every. single. one. of. them.” He smashed his lips against your cheek in hard appropriations of kisses between the words, as though to emphasise his point further. You squealed and tried to shove him off.

You pushed against the stupid swim trunks, but those fuckers didn’t budge.

“Fuck me.” You panted against his lips and pawed at his shirt without rhyme or reason.

“I was trying, sweetheart.”

“No, not like that.” You pulled his shirt off him and chucked it onto the bed before descending on his pale, freckled skin. The poor guy already had a sunburn on his neck from the hot Florida weather. Gingers and the sun just didn’t mix.

“Yeah? What do you want, darlin’?” Jack’s fingers ran through your hair while you peppered kisses over his collarbone and down his pec, lapping at freckles and sucking his skin between your teeth, leaving your marks all over him like a cat in heat marking her territory.

“Want you to fuck me.” You groaned against his neck. Your fingers wrapped around his cock. You felt your own arousal, musky stickiness smeared across his hot, velvety skin, as you pumped him in languid, lazy passes. You ran your thumb over his tip and smirked at the stuttering moan slipping from his lips. “Want you to really fuck me, Jack.”

“Yeah?” His voice was a breathy wisp of his usual self-assured, confident cadence. The sexy rasp curling around his every word had tripled.

“Yeah.” You whispered against the corner of his mouth. “Want to be a drooling, fucked-out mess for you, Jack.”

“Fucking hell.”

“I’m a big girl.” You purred. “You can be rough. I can handle it, baby.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that.” Jack’s eyes snapped open. A predatory edge slid into his smirk. Your insides twisted. An excited, prickling rush chased along your spine and unfurled beneath your skin. You found yourself knocked to your back the next moment. Jack grabbed your hips roughly and flipped you over as if you were nothing more than a ragdoll. He pulled you back, making you stick out your ass for him. Before you could get up, Jack’s hand settled at your nape, big and heavy, and silently bid you to stay down. You squeezed your eyes shut, a shameless moan tumbling from your lips, and shook your hips for Jack, urging him on.

He did not leave you wanting for long.

He filled you in quick, hard thrusts that knocked the air from your lungs and made you moan into the mattress. Your cunt clenched down around him, hard. It almost made Jack come. He had to force himself to focus on the tattoos stretching across your back. He traced black ink lines with his eyes and tried desperately not to think about how you were strangling his cock, how beautiful you looked with your hair scattered over the pillows, how your black nails grasped helplessly at the sheets, and those sounds you made- for him, no less. 

Never, when Jack first met you months ago, would he have thought you’d end up here. Never would he have thought, dared to think, you’d somehow deem him good enough to even grant him a second look.

Jack draped himself over you. You loved the way his weight settled on your back, how he pinned you down while pounding into you, his breath brushing against your cheek, his groans and grunts loud in your ear-

“Fuck- fuck- Jack-”

“You’re so good- so fucking good for me-” Jack buried his face against your neck. He was panting, covered in sweat and completely out of breath, but nothing could have stopped him from wrecking your cunt in that moment. He groaned your name in your ear, a ceaseless string of it, a sound so utterly delectable it had you falling apart around his cock while stars danced at the edge of your vision.

Jack followed shortly after. He forced his cock to the hilt into you, his tip kissing your cervix as he grunted and ground his hips against your ass, filling you with spurts of hot cum, savouring the feeling of you as long as he could endure.

He finally rolled off you, hissing through his teeth, when the feeling of you wrapped around him, and the pain of his prosthesis got too much. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, still trying to catch his breath, while you were already pressing yourself into his side.

You painted trails between the freckles on his chest, throwing in needless swirls and circles just because you could, just to see his muscles jump beneath his skin.

Jack wrapped his arm around you, hand settling heavily in the dip of your waist, and pressed a kiss against the crown of your head.

“That was… fucking amazing.” You murmured after a while. Jack merely hummed above you. “Forgot how much I missed getting absolutely railed.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm… Silas wasn’t into it. It was just sweet vanilla sex with him. Not that that’s bad. I wouldn’t have married him if that hadn’t been enough for me, but… I don’t know. Probably don’t make any sense.” You rubbed a hand over your face and hesitated. “Urgh, I’m sorry. Should probably not bring my dead husband up after sex.”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

You glanced up. Jack smiled.

“He’s a part of you. He always will be. I- I like that you don’t feel like you have to hide that… makes me- it makes me feel like I don’t have to hide Nicole.”

“You don’t.” You whispered. “Ever.”

“I like that you create space for her, you know? Robby doesn’t talk about her anymore, and I get why. I couldn’t, for a long time, but… man, it feels like the world has forgotten her.”

“I don’t want Marigold to ever feel that way.” The confession felt heavy, much too heavy to be spoken aloud while the scent of sex still hung in the air and you felt Jack’s cum leaking from your abused cunt, but at the same time, talking with Jack felt so light, so easy, and it was addicting.

“Mhm.” Jack kissed the top of your head again. “Don’t ever feel like you can’t talk about him, please, Boots.” He got up after what felt like an endless moment of deep eye contact in that way of his that was somehow both endearing and unnerving, to fetch a washcloth for you from the bathroom. 

You watched Jack settle into his wheelchair - a lightweight, foldable one he purchased for when they were staying with Nicole’s family and thus hadn’t seen much use in a long time  - his prosthesis abandoned beside the bed after a moment of hesitation.

“That doesn’t look good.” You watched the skin stretched across his stump.

“Don’t be my doctor.” Jack muttered, heat creeping up his neck.

“I’m not.” You hummed and reached for Jack’s shirts, which you had all but ripped off him to slip on as you sat up. Jack shot you a raised brow before reaching for another shirt from a chair in the corner for him to put on instead. “I’m being the concerned girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend, huh? I thought I got my piece of paper back with maybe ticked off.”

“Maybe that changed.”

Jack’s grin only grew.

“Does this have something to do with my dick?”

“It is a nice dick.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You threw a pillow at him (he dodged with ease) and tried not to smile, because frankly, he was being too stupid and childish to deserve you laughing at his corny comments, and he was still wearing those stupid swim trunks, but you couldn’t help it. Your whole body was still buzzing from all the pleasure he wrought out of you, and your stomach was doing flips and somersaults again while a horde of butterflies on bath salts were running amok inside you.

The concerned expression stayed in your eyes despite the smile. Jack’s posture softened.

“I’ll stay off the leg. I reckon with the weather and all the sweatin’ it would only get worse if I didn’t.”

“Maybe fewer shopping trips with Marigold would be beneficial too.”

Jack emitted a dramatic gasp. “Don’t let her hear that you want to take her Jack shopping trip from her, Boots!”

“You’re spoiling her rotten.”

“It was a lobster dress, Boots! With a matching lobster bag. She had to have that. It passed the twirling test! It was a twirly lobster dress with a matching bag! I don’t make the rules. Frankly, the fact that you don’t see how that was a vital purchase is concerning to me.”

“And you got her that lobster claw clip too.” You hummed.

“Yeah, obviously.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Well, have fun at the pool. Hug my Marigold from me.”

“Will do.” Jack spun around in his wheelchair and tipped it backwards, balancing it there in the air with the ease of a man who would not let anyone tell him there were things he could no longer do because he lost his leg. “Don’t go drivin’ yourself crazy, darlin’. You’ve got this.”

You tried for an assured smile but didn’t quite manage. Jack knew how nervous you were about your presentation, even without you saying it. He tipped forward, letting the front wheels of his wheelchair touch down on the ground again and rolled towards you. You bent down to meet him halfway, pressing your lips against him.

“You’ll rock their world, I know it.”

“I’m talking about modified emergency protocols for urban hospitals to keep up with the demand of increasing mass casualty incident numbers, Jack.”

“Riveting shit.” He hummed. “Can’t wait to hear it.”

“You’re an idiot!” You called after him. 

Jack turned in the doorway. “Your idiot.” He shot you a wide grin and gone was he. Your hand found the dog tags around your neck. You felt the warm metal beneath your fingertips. Metal tags bearing your husband’s essential information, resting against the fabric of another man’s shirt. 

You didn’t feel guilty. 

You knew you had no reason to. You weren’t doing anything wrong or being unfaithful. You knew Silas would want you to have all the happiness you’ve been feeling recently. He’d want Marigold to have a father figure in her life.

Your eyes fell on the nightstand, and the inconspicuous black ring lying there…

Jack’s ring.

While you were holed up in the hotel room to practise for your presentation, Jack had promised to make sure you’d have the time and, more importantly, the quiet to actually work.

He picked up Marigold from the kids' club, who promptly decided her legs no longer worked and sat on his lap while he rolled them down the hallway and towards the elevator. She swung her legs while she gave him a detailed report about the past six hours. Apparently, they made seashell picture frames out of popsicle sticks, but ‘they are still sticky, Jack.’

Jack had never taught someone how to swim, much less a headstrong, stubborn little girl, but after some initial fear kept Marigold from entering the deep end of the pool - which they combated by Jack promising to hold her, which ended up with them cuddling in the water for the better part of an hour. Marigold had her little arms wrapped around his neck, and her legs curled around his waist while he held her, and Jack was in no hurry to end their cuddle. The water was a welcome respite for his poor, ageing joints, and it took some of the mental strain of constantly shifting his weight to make sure he kept his balance.

Marigold played with the chain of his dog tags and the curls at the back of his neck absentmindedly while she talked. Jack told her about how he used to surf and some fun - and G-rated - stories from his youth, and simply savoured her company, and the time spent with her.

Out of nowhere, Marigold pressed her palms against his cheeks and brought her face to his, close enough that the tips of their noses touched. 

“I love you, Jack.” She told him in the most serious tone she could muster.

“Love ya, too, kiddo.” He nuzzled her nose with his. “And if you want to show mommy how good a swimmer you are when she joins us, we should actually start practising!”

“Yes!”

Jack watched Marigold cling to the side of the pool and kick her legs, struggling to remember she had to breathe also. She kept holding her breath while she focused on her legs. He called her his little froggy, which made her laugh and relax. It took some time, and lots of encouragement, and another cuddle break after the first attempt of actually swimming failed, and Marigold got frightened while flailing her arms around like mad, only causing water to splash around and into her face, but eventually she managed to swim from the edge of the pool to where Jack stood a few steps away from it. She collapsed into his arms and let him praise and encourage her before she made the journey back to the edge. He increased the distance whenever she managed to swim to him without major struggle.

By the time you made your way down to the pool, Marigold had managed a whole lap across the pool and was taking a well-deserved break, bundled up in a towel, lying on top of Jack while she fed herself and him goldfish crackers.

“And? How are my little water rats?”

“I’m not a water rat!” Marigold protested, but sat up to let you kiss her and hug you. “I’m a mermaid! Jack is a shark.”

“Ah. And what am I?”

Marigold scrunched her face up in intense contemplation. “You are a sea bunny.”

“A sea bunny?” You raised a brow. “I’m sorry, but how is Jack a shark and I’m a sea bunny?”

“I love sea bunnies.” Marigold said matter-of-factly. “And I love you. And I love sharks a little less than sea bunnies. Also, that boy over there was staring at Jack’s leg - very rudely! - so I said a shark ate it while he was surfing, and that was funny.”

“She has impeccable logic, doesn’t she?” Jack grinned.

“If anything, Jack is a goldfish.” You huffed and squeezed yourself onto the lounger next to Jack, who gladly made space for you. Marigold sat on his hip and plucked goldfish from his chest that had spilled from the packaging.

“You two had a good afternoon?”

“Mhm.” Jack put his arm around your shoulders. You dropped your head against his shoulder, nuzzling into him. “And you? Made some progress?”

“Nope. The presentation is a mess. I am a mess. I feel sick. I hate Gloria. I hate public speaking and people and the public and did I mention I hate Gloria?”

“It’s always worth repeating.” He intercepted a goldfish from Marigold’s hand and threw it in the air just to catch it with his mouth. Marigold clapped. “You’ve got this, Boots.”

You merely groaned. Marigold seemed to have understood Jack’s little trick as an invitation to throw goldfish at him. He had to squint to not get cheese dust into his eyes while tiny cracker projectiles collided with his cheek and jaw.

“No wasting food, Marigold.”

“I’m not wasting them! Jack is because he doesn’t catch them!”

You smirked at Jack. “Don’t waste food, Jack.”

“Haha!” He deadpanned, then grabbed Marigold. He picked her up and turned her around, making her hang upside down before throwing her over his shoulder and slipping off the lounger to scoot towards the pool. Marigold squealed and laughed.

“Time to show mommy what you learnt!” And with those words, he dropped Marigold into the pool.

Your heart sank into your pants. You were out of the lounger and halfway towards the pool when Marigold emerged again, still laughing. She splashed water at Jack and dove to the side when he dropped into the pool in front of her.

The tension in your shoulders didn’t ease.

You could never stomach watching people roughhouse with Marigold. Whether it was Silas or Tim didn’t matter. It always made you feel queasy and chased a thousand images of injuries through your head.

Marigold had none of those concerns.

Where you’d sent Jack off to spend a day at the pool with your daughter, who couldn’t swim, you now witnessed Marigold's newfound confidence and agility in the water. She evaded Jack and giggled while paddling through the water, her little neck craned to keep her head above water and breathing heavily through the exertion.

You took off your sundress and sat down on the edge of the pool with your feet in the water. Jack came over to you. Marigold was draped across his back with her arms flung around his neck to take a break.

His eyes roamed over your body immediately. Namely, the cute rockabilly bikini, black with little cherries printed onto the fabric, you donned. The top was tied at the front with a bow, and the bottoms had cute frills at the edges.

“You’re gonna give a man a heart attack, Boots.”

“Yeah?” A blush spread across your cheeks.

“What does that mean?” Marigold chirped beside Jack.

“That mommy is looking very hot.”

“Huh? Mommy is in a bikini. I don’t think she’s feeling hot right now, Jack. And the water is pretty cool.”

You bit back a chuckle and swiped the wet hair out of Marigold’s face, cradling her cheeks in your hands before kissing her forehead. “You’re right. The water is very refreshing.”

“What about me?” Jack pouted and peered up at you through his lashes, sticking out his chin a little as he scooted up to stand between your legs. You rolled your eyes, but cradled his head the same way to kiss his forehead. Jack tipped his head back when you pulled away to catch your lips in a quick kiss.

You noticed the lack of a ring on his finger when he settled his hands on your thighs. The thin band of paler skin sat in stark contrast to the rest of his hand.

“You coming?”

“Yeah. Give me a moment to get used to the water. I’ll be right there.”

Jack nodded and waded through the water towards the shallower end to deposit Marigold on her two feet again. You watched him interlace his fingers and bent down so she could set her foot against them. He pushed her up and catapulted her into the deep water. She screamed and giggled and sank in a splash of water. You winced, but watching Jack observe her with eagle eyes and all the focus of a combat medic who was used to being responsible for many lives while under active fire eased some of your motherly anxiety.

You kicked your feet and watched Jack and Marigold splash around. Your thumb found your ring finger, pressed against the metal wrapped around it.

You slipped it off your finger and onto the ring holder necklace around your finger before letting yourself drop into the water and joining your daughter and boyfriend.

Next Chapter

A/N 2: I hope you aren't tired of vacation!jack yet. I think there's one more chapter with him before we head back to Pittsburgh :D

So before Steve could open his mouth and say something you were not yet ready to hear, you beat him to it, tossing a piece of opened mail on the counter. 

Steve blinked down at it, frowning once more as he glanced between you and the paper before him. “...my driver’s license renewal card?”

You huffed, leaning closer and stabbing your finger at the date of birth printed on the card stock. “Your birthday is in a few weeks! And you haven’t mentioned it at all!”

“Oh.” Steve’s big, broad shoulders lifted as he gave you a sheepish look, a rosy flush staining his cheeks and working its way to the tips of his ears. “I just… didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.” 

“Well what if I want to?” you glared at him. “You were just going to rob me of the full birthday experience?” You made something close to jazz hands that had Steve choking down a laugh because you did seem genuinely irritated by this. “That’s so selfish of you, Hercules,” you finished with a huff, crossing your arms for good measure.

Even though he was able to suppress his laughter, Steve wasn’t able to do the same with his smile. He grinned big, blue eyes twinkling with a very fond sort of mirth as he rounded the counter and pulled you into his arms. 

“You’re right, omega, I’m the worst.”

“Truly!” you nodded in agreement, your own lips twitching as Steve interlocked his hands at the small of your back and kissed your cheek. 

“Next year, I’ll be sure to set monthly reminders for you about my birthday so it’s always top of mind,” Steve murmured, kissing your other cheek. “It won’t be obnoxious at all.”

You nearly giggled, but were able to maintain your stink eye as you gave him an unimpressed look. “You better,” you hmphed, realizing your mistake a second after you spoke. 

That you didn’t object to the fact that you would still be here–with Steve–a year from now.

You hadn’t really thought much about the future since you were a young omega, still brimming with hope and not yet beat down by the state of the world. 

But now… after months of being in Steve’s orbit, of… whatever this was between you–because you still weren’t ready to admit that you were together–the thought of this whole thing not being temporary, of it being your future, of Steve being your future… 

Well, it was an idea that you didn’t hate.

You could tell by the warmth and softness in Steve’s gaze that he was thinking along the same lines as you, but again, you just couldn’t with what ifs, and big feelings, and more. 

Not yet.  

“So,” you cleared your throat, pretending to fiddle with the collar of Steve’s t-shirt so you could escape his intese gaze for a moment. “What would the perfect birthday look like to you?”

Steve was quiet for a moment, for more than a moment, and you felt a swirl of anxiety in your stomach, worried that you had upset him by side-stepping the almost emotional landmine. 

But when you peeked up at him, Steve’s gaze was just as warm and soft as a moment ago, and he was giving you a small, boyish smile as he replied, “I think I have an idea that we’ll both enjoy.”

A few weeks later, on Steve’s birthday, his idea came to fruition, and for the first time in a very long time–maybe ever–you really were getting the full birthday experience, even if it wasn’t your birthday.

But that didn’t make it any less perfect.

Because Steve had driven you upstate to a small lake house in the middle of the woods. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you had been out of the city, and it truly felt like a slice of heaven to be surrounded by nature and quiet and have Steve all to yourself on his special day.  

His special day was just part of the week-long vacation he had surprised you with, and he really had planned it all so perfectly. The fridge and pantry were stocked with your favorite prepped foods and takeout, so neither of you would need to cook. And he had gotten a cute little birthday cake, along with lots of other treats, from his favorite bakery. 

And now, you were both enjoying the gorgeous tranquility around you, as you and Steve sat on the dock out back of the house, watching the sun set over the lake. 

You gave a quiet sigh of contentment as you sank back in the circle of Steve’s arms, allowing your head to fall to the side as his nose skimmed up the side of your throat as he took his time scenting you. 

It was actually the first time you two had ever done this–scenting outside of sex–and you didn’t hate it. You were kind of obsessed with it to be honest.

In fact, you had never been so squirmy in your life, your mind pleasantly hazy and quiet for once as you gave a soft chirp when Steve pressed a kiss to your unmarked mating gland. 

“You smell so good, omega,” he murmured against your skin, inhaling deeply and purring with satisfaction as he basked in your scent. “You always do.”

Your inner omega chirped up a storm, loving Steve’s attention and admiration as you turned your face so you could nuzzle his nose with yours. 

Steve kissed you gently, his eyes so soft and happy as he told you, “This really is the perfect birthday.” His lips touched yours again, lingering this time before he pulled away and breathed, “Thank you, omega. I mean it.”

As he often was, Steve was so earnest in his words and feelings, but something about the sheer affection for you that was coloring his alpha scent had you feeling shy, and a little cranky to be honest. 

Because you were still getting used to how much Steve made you feel and want, even after knowing him for months. But you shoved down the minor flare of irritation that you knew was a defense mechanism, because you would not be bitchy with Steve on his birthday. 

So instead, you playfully rolled your eyes, murmuring, “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” Steve grinned. 

Your scent spiked with your own joy–and something wanting–and he huffed a laugh.

He leaned in and kissed your mating gland, laughing again as you squealed and tried to squirm away, overwhelmed by how sensitive that part of you was, especially under Steve’s attention. 

“How do you like it?” he rumbled, eyes twinkling as you huffed and twisted in his hold to glare at him. 

For a moment, you just gave him the best stink eye you could muster, and then, you pounced.

Of course you knew that Steve was letting you “attack” him as he fell back against the dock and took you with him. But that didn’t make it any less silly or fun as you wrestled with him until you straddled his hips and had his hands pinned above his head, preening your victory. 

“Well now that you’ve got me, what are you gonna do with me?” Steve husked, his eyes noticeably darker as you hovered over him. 

For probably the millionth time, you were nearly struck dumb by how gorgeous Steve was. His skin smooth and flawless, his golden hair gleaming in the setting sun and now perfectly mussed. And his eyes–those pretty blue eyes–so expressive as he watched you, as he waited for whatever you deemed came next. 

For a long, quiet moment, you just stared at each other, and then your eyes flickered down to another feature of his that you sure did love–those plump pink lips. 

Those plump, pink, kissable lips. 

“I have a few ideas,” you finally replied before swooping close and capturing his lips with yours. 

Steve groaned into your mouth as you traded pinning his wrists for framing his face between your hands. You made your own sound of delight when you felt his touch at your hips, his fingers pressing into you, holding you tight and urging your body against his even more.  

Your lips teased and tasted until both you and Steve were breathless, and when you finally pulled back enough to raggedly inhale a gulp of air, you paused for a beat, your eyes dancing as you said, “I want smores.”

“I want more too,” Steve immediately returned. His big hand cradled your cheek and tried to reel you back in for another kiss, but you pulled away. 

Giggling as you sat up over him, you shook your head, lips curled into a playful smirk as you tutted, “Keep it in your pants, Hercules. I want smores. You promised we’d make them using that little fire pit on the back deck.”

For a long moment, Steve just stared up at you, uncomprehending, gaping. And it was nearly enough to make you cackle, but then he blinked owlishly, his brain rebooting, and he didn’t look disappointed at all as he said, “Oh. Right.” Instead, he gave your hips a squeeze, his grin boyish as he continued, “I’ll go set it up now.”

You couldn’t help the dreamy sigh that bubbled past your lips as Steve helped you to your feet. Because he really was so good, so perfect.

And he was all yours. 

Preening for a different reason now, you looped your arm through Steve’s, pressing close to his side as you two began to slowly walk back up the dock. 

You felt mischievous as you glanced over and drank in the still flushed state of Steve’s cheeks, the way his lips were still kiss swollen, too.

“After smores, then I’ll give you more,” you teased, shooting Steve a wicked grin. “You can spend the rest of my night fucking me full of your cum and keeping me on your knot, birthday boy.”

Steve tripped over his own feet, making you burst into laughter as you grabbed onto him to help steady his steps, enjoying the way his flush deepened for an entirely different reason now as he shot you a stink eye. 

“You’re such a menace," he muttered, but he was already grinning again as he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you flush against him. “But you’re my menace.”

“Well happy birthday to you,” you chimed, laughing into Steve’s side as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. 

He held you just a little bit tighter as he murmured against your hair, “You’re the best birthday present ever,” rumbling his content as you caught his hand with yours, twined your fingers together, and stayed tucked close as you cleared the dock and made your way back to the lake house. 

—

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Together.

You’d deal with it together.

You all continued your journey in silence after Rick had said that. You were all exhausted, and the initial adrenaline of finding each other again had worn thin.

Lucky enough—

Rick had spotted an abandoned van on a road just outside of the forest.

You all made sure the coast was clear before you made it your place of refuge for the night.

Carl was ushered off to bed by Rick as soon as the moon settled into place; he took the back seat of the van after going back and forth about how he wasn’t a kid anymore and that he wasn’t tired.

That was a lie because he was the first to fall asleep.

Michonne started a small fire over some twigs on the asphalt; it was just you and her now. Daryl and Rick were off discussing something, probably about Terminus.

You hoped at least.

What if he said something about the kiss?

You’d never live it down.

No. You were overthinking it because Daryl wasn’t the kind of guy to kiss and tell.

You were holding the photograph of your dog Rocky in your hands. After everything, that’d been the only thing that managed to make it out intact.

You were glad.

Michonne warmed her hands up by the fire, her eyes drifting towards your face, then the photograph in your hand, then back down towards the flames.

“Did you see anyone else?” She questioned. “From our group? Or was it just you and Daryl?”

You felt the guilt crawling its way back up your throat at the mention of the others.

You still didn’t know if the children were safe after you’d left them.

You still didn’t know if anyone else was safe, and hell, were you missing them all like crazy.

You shook your head.

“No…” you sighed, folding the photograph up and placing it back into your pocket. “It was just me and Daryl.”

Michonne narrowed her eyes at you, pulling her hands away from the fire and resting them atop of her knees.

“You and Daryl, huh?”

You couldn’t tell if she was messing with you or actually being serious.

“What do you mean?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Michonne smirked slightly before she shrugged.

Messing with you.

Definitely.

She raised an eyebrow.

“I just wanted to know if you two had gotten over that despising each other thing that you had going on at the prison.”

Oh so she’d noticed that?

“I never despised him.” You answered honestly.

Because that was the truth.

Maybe your initial defence mechanism after your injury was to act like you didn’t like him, but that was never what you felt deep down.

You knew that now.

Michonne pressed her lips into a thin line, definitely deciding whether she was fully convinced or not.

“How’d the two of you stay together for so long?”

This felt like an interrogation, and it was making you feel like she knew something.

Knew what you were thinking.

Feeling.

“We found this cabin,” you started, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Belonged to this guy called John.”

Michonne tilted her head, her brows furrowing.

“John?”

“Yeah,” you replied with a nod. “He was a good man, a drunk, but still…good.”

She nodded before she looked down towards the fire again, pushing her hands out over the flame again.

You watched her closely.

“I’m glad you’re here, Michonne,” you smiled. “I missed you. I missed all of you.”

She looked up, a smile appearing on her own lips.

“We missed you too.”

You were about to say something but you stopped yourself short when you heard footsteps behind you.

Rick sat by the fire, his own hands stretching out besides Michonne's, their hands just mere inches apart.

Close.

Daryl was closer, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he lit it with that same lighter that you’d returned.

He didn’t sit; he was just gazing down the long road on your right.

Your eyes flickered from the cigarette then towards the lighter as he shoved it back into the pocket of his vest.

If he had never given you that lighter in the first damn place, you wouldn’t have kissed him.

You wouldn’t be sat here right now feeling so—

Conflicted.

“We’re gonna head for Terminus t’morrow,” Rick spoke.

That dragged your attention away from Daryl.

You cleared your throat.

“Sounds good.”

Michonne narrowed her eyes on you again, then Daryl, before they flickered back towards Rick.

You’d made the staring much too obvious, and Michonne wasn’t the type of person to miss those kinds of things.

You knew that.

So how could you have let yourself slip up?

“I’m gonna—” you started, standing now rather than sitting. “I’m gonna go get some sleep.”

You left without giving the others a chance to respond, pulling the front door of the van open and slipping inside.

Carl was sound asleep; you didn’t want to wake him.

You reclined the seat back slightly as you didn’t want to get a cramp when you woke up in the morning from sleeping upright.

Sleep wasn’t easy at first due to the fact that your mind was working overtime. Always the same thoughts, the same silent questions you asked yourself that never had a direct answer.

Daryl.

Daryl.

Daryl.

Eventually, sleep overcame you—

forcing your eyelids shut under the weight of the days events—but even in sleep, nothing was ever—

Easy.

Your dreams had gone… haywire in every sense of the word.

Vivid.

Uncontrollable.

Twisted.

The world was falling apart around you, and not because of the all too familiar circumstances of the world you knew today.

It was all your fault this time.

And you couldn’t do anything to stop it because you’d been bound by locked lips and frozen muscles, forced to watch the brutality unfold before you.

The screaming. The blood.

Agony.

Then a sharp sting crossed your cheek, followed by the potent metallic smell as it hit your nose. Your hand instinctively flew up to relieve the pain protruding from your face, only to be greeted by the edge of a knife.

You weren’t dreaming.

This wasn’t a dream.

Your eyes fluttered open, only to be greeted by a face mere inches from your own, a giggle escaping their lips as they pushed the knife further towards your cheekbone.

“Get off of me!” you panicked, your eyes widening.

You kicked your legs out immediately to free yourself from under the grip of whoever it was that was holding you.

The man hit the floor with a loud thud.

You stumbled to your feet to get a closer look.

A fat man.

One from Joe’s group.

Shit.

You tried to move but before you could—

A hand looped around your forearm harshly, painfully so. A gun lifted to your temple, digging into the skin by your hairline.

Your eyes widened, and your breath caught.

“Let er go!” Daryl bellowed, and it was the near desperation in his tone that made you look up at the scene before you.

They’d found you.

Joe’s group.

Rick had a gun to his head, as did Michonne.

You couldn’t even see carl, but you knew he wasn’t in any better place than the rest of you, and that made you feel sick to your stomach.

He was a child! How could anyone hurt a child?!

“No can do, Daryl,” Joe spoke smugly, eyes glued to the top of Rick’s head before they crossed towards Daryl’s eyes.

Joe sighed, pressing his lips into such a thin line that they were no longer visible.

“You see,” Joe started with a sly chuckle, digging the end of the gun further against Rick’s head. “I was gonna let the both of you go after you killed Len because…you did me a favour doing that,”

Joe’s eyes crossed towards yours.

Your blood had turned cold at that point.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t move.

Hell, you couldn’t even think anything straight anymore.

The blood ran down your cheek thick and fast, the potent stench of pure iron leaving you half dizzy.

“But now,” Joe continued. “I spot you hangin’ around with the guy that killed Lou?”

Your eyes moved towards Rick at that.

It’d been him they’d been tracking all this time.

“We ain’t owe you no damn favours,” Daryl spat, trying to get himself free.

Rick was silent, as was Michonne.

Dead silent.

Contemplating a way out of this.

‘We’ll deal with it if they come. Together.’

You trusted that.

You trusted Rick's judgement no matter what.

So with that, you couldn’t help but let yourself speak your mind.

“I bet your son of a bitch friend Lou deserved it, just like Len.”

The words dropped from your mouth like venom—harsh and spiteful, just like you’d meant for them too.

Joe studied you for a moment, a hum falling from his lips. Then he gave the nod, and you knew all too well that you were in for it.

“Don’t ya hurt er!” Daryl bellowed, his tone laced with fury as he noticed the threat against you, then—

He tore one arm free, long enough to throw a punch.

Then another.

But—

Before he could even get to you, he was dragged back, a forceful punch hitting his stomach.

“Get off of him!” You yelled, your voice cracking slightly. You tried your hardest to free yourself from the grip of the man who had a hold of you, but—

It was no use.

His fist met your face with a sense of brutality that you’d never encountered before.

Your head hit the ground with the force of the blow.

Everything went black.

Still.

Silent.

Empty.

The darkness cracked at the corners beneath your eyelids, followed by a throbbing ache at the back of your head that etched its way closer to the wound upon your cheek.

Everything was muffled but not enough so that you couldn’t hear your name being called out.

Were you dead?

Were you dreaming?

A breath ripped from your lungs, and the first waking thought that crossed your mind was to attack.

Your fist shot out, attacking whatever was closest.

“Woah, S’me,” the voice rang out over the heavy buzzing that lingered in your ears, a hand flying out to catch your wrist. “S’me.”

It took you a moment far too long to realise who it was.

“Daryl…?” You questioned weakly, your voice barely audible.

“S’me.” He repeated again, his eyes tracking over your face like he was making sure he wasn’t imagining any of this himself.

Your brows furrowed for a moment, then—

Your arms wrapped around him tightly, your chin wresting against his shoulder. You didn’t even expect him to hug you back; you weren’t even thinking.

You just wanted to make sure he was real.

Alive.

After what felt like a decade of unrequited touch—

His arm snaked around your back. The warmth of his chest heavy against your own. His heart beating just as fast yours.

Your eyes flickered towards the ground as you still held in him your embrace, trying your hardest to think, but—

Nothing came.

Obscured.

You could see bodies lining the ground beneath you.

There was blood everywhere.

“What…happened, Daryl?” Your question came out shaky against his ear.

Daryl pulled back at that.

“Ya not remember?”

You shook your head, your eyes dragging from the floor and towards his. It was only then that you got a proper look at the damage that’d been done to him.

Bruised and bloodied.

…why?

He spoke before you could even open your mouth.

“Ya fell and hit yer head,” he said carefully.

“…how?” You frowned.

He didn’t even get a chance to explain as the sound of footsteps cut him off and answered you rather.

Rick.

You recognised him immediately. His beard was covered in blood, and his face looked slightly hollowed out.

He looked…out of it.

“…She awake?” he asked Daryl, voice rough.

“Yeah,” Daryl replied.

Rick nodded slowly, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out: a water bottle.

“Here,” Rick said, crouching slightly, angling the bottle out towards you.

“…Is that for Rocky?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Daryl stiffened after the words left your mouth. His eyes shutting briefly, a hand rubbing over his forehead with a sigh.

You didn’t know why he reacted like that.

What you were saying was obvious.

Was it not?

“…What?” Rick answered, confusion dripping from his tone, his eyes crossing towards Daryl.

“My dog, Rocky…” You spoke out again, your eyes moving in between the two of them.

Nobody spoke for a minute, and that sent a sense of dread crawling up your throat, threatening to spill from your mouth.

“Ya told me about him,” Dary spoke finally.

“So you remember him?”

Daryl looked at Rick for a moment, then his gaze flickered back towards yours.

“I do.”

Rick didn’t speak—he was just listening. The bottle of water stayed firm in his clasp, still angled out towards you like he was waiting for you to take it but—

You didn’t.

“Ya showed me his picture,” Daryl continued. “Ya keep it in yer pocket folded up real careful.”

You glanced down, your hand moving towards your pocket instinctively, pulling the photo out.

“But he ain’t here,” he corrected you.

Your grip tightened on the photograph at that.

“I brought him with me,” you spoke shakily; the tone in your voice wasn’t as certain this time. “I brought him.”

Daryl shook his head once.

“Nah, you didn’t.”

A beat.

“Ya told me he died when everythin’ fell apart,” he added quietly.

Your brows knitted together, but you didn’t say anything.

“Ya hit your head,” Rick cleared his throat, finally interjecting into the conversation. “Your not thinking—”

“I know I hit my head,” you cut him off quickly. “But I know Rocky’s still here.”

A beat.

“He’s not here,” Daryl said. “S’yer head messin’ with ya.”

Your eyes flickered towards Daryl’s, your expression softening slightly as you looked at him.

Looked at the softness in his eyes.

Looked at the worry as it stayed firmly etched in his features.

It dawned upon you then that what you were saying wasn’t right, even if you believed it deep down.

“I think there’s something wrong with me.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, the tears flooding over your face now.

Rick shook his head.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with you,” Rick started, pushing the water bottle further towards you. “Just drink some water.”

A beat.

Then your hand reached out towards the bottle, taking it finally, feeling the defeat settle in your stomach.

The morning light cracked through the overcast, a pain rushing through your head that you’d never experienced before due to the exposure.

You hadn’t slept, not properly anyway—not when you still couldn’t think properly.

You could remember some things more clearly now: the prison, the others, but everything else was vague.

You knew it was all still there somewhere.

It was just lost at the minute.

“You daydreaming?” Michonne cut through your thoughts, startling you.

“Guess I was…” you responded, your voice hoarse.

You still didn’t know who’d caused it.

Michonne fell into step beside you, her shoulder bumping against yours. You were both walking dead centre of a train track. Rick was up ahead; Daryl and Carl were behind.

“Anything clearer in your head now?” She asked, her eyes glancing over towards you.

You shrugged.

“Some things,” you started. “Most of it’s still blurry.”

Michonne didn’t say anything for a moment, her eyes moving over your face.

The silence felt overbearing.

“I know it’ll come back,” she spoke finally, the tone in her voice soft and reassuring. “It’s just going to take some time.”

That was the problem.

You didn’t have time in a world like this.

You didn’t want to die not remembering half the things that got you to the point you were now.

You didn’t say anything back to her because you felt that if you did, you’d end up crying.

You didn’t want to be an emotional wreck.

Not when you were already a liability who couldn’t remember.

“Look,” Michonne started with a sigh. “We’re gonna be at Terminus soon. They’ll be able to check you and hopefully stitch that cut on your cheek,”

She took a breath.

Then she continued.

“Maybe it’ll make you feel a bit better.”

It wouldn’t.

You nodded regardless.

“Yeah…maybe.”

You walked in silence for the rest of the route that Rick was leading. You were soon off the tracks and walking through the woods. It didn’t take long to spot the outer fences guarding Terminus.

“We all spread out. Watch for a while,” Ricks spoke, eyes glancing over the four of you now rather than the fence. “See what we see and get ready.”

Michonne already started moving, Carl was following after her, and you…

You just stood there completely idle, completely unsure of what to do with yourself.

It felt like you needed someone to teach you how to function normally again.

You felt like a completely different person now than the woman you were certain that you were before.

“Ya comin’ with me?” Daryl asked, nudging your arm to snap you out of whatever you had going on in your head.

Your eyes snapped up from the ground, catching his under the flutter of your eyelashes.

You didn’t know if it was because of your recent circumstances or whether you’d always felt like this, but you felt safe with Daryl.

Safe.

You nodded once before following him.

“Daryl...?” You spoke quietly, almost as if you were convincing yourself that that was his name.

That was his name.

You knew that.

Didn’t you?

Hell, it felt like you were second-guessing everything you were more than sure of.

“Hm?” He responded, turning his head over his shoulder ever so slightly to get a glimpse of you.

You looked at him for a moment, eyes scanning over his features like you were trying to burn every detail in your mind.

You couldn’t even remember what you were going to ask.

“Nothing…” you sighed, your eyes flickering back towards the trails of orange on the ground.

Daryl stopped at that, turning towards you fully now rather.

“Ya remember John’s cabin?”

You didn’t.

“I…remember leaving the prison, and I remember…you, pulling me away,” you answered, the words catching in your throat every time you opened it. “But everything after that is…”

You swallowed.

“Gone.”

The word lingered between the both of you.

You felt like you were losing yourself.

You felt like a complete disappointment every time someone asked you something and you just couldn’t remember it.

Daryl didn’t speak.

He just looked at you with that same look that he had done when you started talking about Rocky after you’d woken up.

Then—

He pushed his hand into his vest pocket and pulled something out that caught onto the dull light that shone from in between the trees above.

You narrowed your eyes on it.

A lighter.

His?

Maybe?

“Are you gonna set me on fire with that or something?” You joked, trying your hardest to make light of the situation, but it probably just made you look completely crazy.

You couldn’t even tell by the way his face changed after that whether he was offended or amused, and that scared you because—

You could’ve sworn you remembered more about Daryl.

Daryl shook his head, pushing the lighter out towards you more.

“Nah.”

A beat.

“Take it.” He added, stepping closer to you.

You raised an eyebrow.

“What’s this for?” You questioned, your hand scooping around the lighter and taking it into your palm. The coolness of the metal felt grounding against your clammy skin.

He shrugged.

“Thought it might spark some of yer memories back.”

Your eyes darted between Daryl and the lighter as it sat perched in your hand.

This lighter must’ve meant something, but it didn’t piece together as you looked down at it.

Maybe it would at some point.

“You think it will?” You questioned, feeling a little spike of hope cross your chest.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, and it was then that you could see he was holding onto the same hope that you were.

Or was he?

“Maybe.”

You shoved the lighter into your pocket by the photograph of Rocky; the placement of it felt familiar, like you’d done it before.

Like it wasn’t the first time it’d been in there.

“Thank you…”

He just nodded at that and continued walking, making sure you were keeping up with him.

Everyone was soon over the fences round the back of Terminus after that. Rick said that he wanted to see them before they saw you all.

He didn’t trust it, and you knew that.

You all moved quietly through the warehouse. Your gun was in your hand now rather than its holster.

Funnily enough, after everything you couldn’t remember, you still sure as hell knew how to use a weapon.

You could hear a woman, her voice echoing slightly through the halls. Her voice was slightly distorted, but she was talking about Terminus and sounded like she was broadcasting.

You couldn’t exactly tell.

Then you spotted her after you rounded a corner.

“Hello.” Rick spoke abruptly, his boots pounding against the floor as he approached the desk she was sitting at.

Your eyes drifted from the woman and towards the hoard of people working on the other side of the room.

“Hello.” Rick repeated, louder this time, addressing everyone in the room.

One of the men sighed, turning towards the five of you as you stood side by side.

“Well,” the man spoke, a slightly sarcastic tone noticeable in his voice. “I guess Albert is on perimeter watch.”

You didn’t say anything, nor did the rest of them. It was so quiet, you would have been able to hear a pin drop.

The man moved closer, his footsteps echoing through the room.

“You here to rob us?”

A beat.

Your eyes flashed over the faces. Everybody looked…normal. There didn’t seem to be anything strange going on.

“No.” Rick stated finally, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth before he started moving towards the centre of the room. “We wanted to see you before you saw us.”

The man nodded.

“Makes sense,” he started before he neared the five of you himself. “Usually we do this where the tracks meet but… welcome to Terminus.”

Nobody spoke.

Then the man stepped closer again, his hands tensing slightly at his sides.

“I’m Gareth.”

A beat.

Rick nodded, then he stated all of your names one after the other.

Gareth’s eyes landed on you after your name left Rick’s mouth, his head tilting slightly.

“We can get that nasty cut on your face stitched up, but first,” he started, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment before they moved back towards Rick. “We need to see everyone’s weapons, so if you could just lay them down in front of you.”

Why did they need to see your weapons?

You looked towards Michonne slowly; she looked back, her eyes slightly narrowed.

Then, after a moment of silence, you were the first to move, laying your knife and your gun on the floor.

The others hesitated for a minute, and then they all followed.

After that, you were all being patted down by another member from their group.

Once satisfied, your weapons were handed back to you.

Easy enough.

“Hey Lia, take her to Jane so she can get that cut stitched up,” Gareth started, pointing towards you. “Alex, you take the rest of them to the front.”

Daryl shook his head, stepping forwards slightly.

“I’m goin’ w’her.”

You looked towards Daryl.

His eyes were practically burning into Gareth’s at the suggestion of you even going anywhere on your own.

“Can’t let you do that,” Gareth replied, shaking his head. “We don’t let more than one person in the infirmary at a time.”

“It’s fine, Daryl.” You spoke out finally with a sigh, pushing your gun back into its holster and your knife back into its pouch on your thigh. “I can go on my own.”

You didn’t want to argue back and forth with these guys, not when they were offering help and…

What’s the worst that could happen?

They all seemed friendly enough.

Daryl shook his head again, his eyes moving towards yours, his mouth opening as though he were going to speak, but you soon cut him off.

“I’ll be fine.”

Lia stepped forwards, a smile on her face.

“This way.”

You were soon sat in a chair, a needle and wire pushing through the torn flesh on your cheek.

“Ah,” you hissed, closing your eyes shut tightly. “Fuck.”

“This is sure a nasty cut,” Jane uttered as she pushed the needle through your face again. “How did you get it?”

That was the problem. You couldn’t remember.

“I don’t know…” you sighed, your eyes flickering towards one of the windows to your left.

Jane pushed the needle through again, dragging another curse word from your lips.

“You can’t remember?”

She almost sounded astonished with your uncertainty.

“I hit my head…” you sighed. “Well, that’s what Daryl and Rick told me.”

The needle went through your skin once more before Jane stepped back, studying you closely.

She didn’t say anything for a minute.

Then—

She stepped back and grabbed what looked like a flashlight from one of the tables behind her and shining it in your eyes immediately.

She didn’t speak for a minute.

“Looks like a concussion,” she started, crossing the light from one eye to the other.

A concussion?

This was just fucking great.

It was just one bad thing after the next at this point; how could you have let yourself get into this mess?

She stepped back, clicking the flashlight off and putting it back on the table she had originally picked it up from.

“Might also be post-traumatic amnesia.”

Post-traumatic what?

“What?” You replied abruptly, the word leaving your mouth in pure shock before you could even process it.

Jane's expression softened.

“It can be temporary, and you may start to remember things but,” she explained. "It can also be permanent and—”

The sound of gunfire cut her off.

You flinched instinctively, your hand snaking towards your gun.

“Stay here!” Jane shouted before she darted out of the room and disappeared completely.

Well, you certainly weren’t going to follow those orders.

You rose from the chair and left the room immediately, your gun now held tightly in your grip. You rounded a corner, following the noise with a new sense of urgency.

The others were out there, and you weren’t going to let a concussion stop you.

A door stood slightly ajar at the end of the hallway. Your hand slid against the gap when you reached it, pushing it open despite how heavy it was.

Your breath caught as soon as the room presented itself to you.

Bodies.

Torsos.

Limbs.

All hanging on hooks suspended from the ceiling, swaying almost imperceptibly.

“What the fuck...?” Your words came out shaky, your grip on your gun faltering slightly.

You weren’t completely incapable of realising that this was no damn sanctuary.

A noise rang out behind you.

You whipped around immediately, but it was too late.

Much too late.

An hand latched around your neck, cutting your breath off.

Your whole body went limp, your pistol slipping from your hand.

A voice rang out from what sounded like miles away—not one you’d heard before.

Unfamiliar.

“Get her in one of the train cars now!”

A/N: readers just going through it😭Daryl giving her the lighter back too😭 Guys I swear things will start to get WAY more apparent between Daryl and reader, just you wait! I hope you enjoyed, mwah

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the Taglist!🖤

"Sure he does. You a friend of Doctor Robby?" She eyes you curiously when you nod, but still smiles politely. "Do you want me to call him, let him know you're here?"

You shake your head. "Ah, no, I wouldn't want to bother him while he's working."

"Okay, honey. Well, go on in and a doctor will take care of you."

The doors buzz around the side and a young doctor opens one of them. He introduces himself as Dr. Shen and takes care to mention he's a student doctor. All of the triage beds are occupied by other patients, but he assures you that's not an uncommon issue. 

"Sorry, guess we'll have to join the band in the back," he says, giving you a goofy wink and a cheeky smile that immediately makes one of your own tug at your lips. "Don't worry, you're in good hands."

Whatever expectations and images conjured by your wild imagination of the ER from the times Robby's spoken of it with anecdotes of patients or his workers are blown away the second you find yourself actually inside.

It's…organized chaos. 

That's the best way you could manage in an attempt to describe it, anyway. At a first look from afar, everything overwhelms you into the inability to process a single thing. After you begin walking behind Shen, however, you see things little by little.

It's loud, in a gathered noisy sense of way. Everything's accumulated into a mass of noises and voices. Nurses are bustling about, and the screens above the station standing in the center of the ER contain a myriad of color codes and words you don't understand to overwhelm your vision. Curtains are pulled open and closed all around, with staff flittering about their patients. Your head snaps back when you see Shen hasn't broken his stride and is still walking, so you hurry after him.

The young doctor is in the middle of a word vomit about how he personally finds the day-shift ER a bit too chicken plain for his taste, and how he's been considering switching to nights at first chance when something on the wall to your left catches your attention, and you pause before it to examine it properly. 

"Oh," you murmur, glancing up at the wall of framed pictures, all of which contained healthcare workers who have passed on. A particular frame grabs your attention, and you step closer to read it. 

Dr. Montgomery Adamson

Chair. Department of Emergency Medicine

1948—2020

Robby had mentioned he and the other doctors of this ER had lost good people. Most had walked out from the severe stress the pandemic had brought, as well as other crushing factors. He hadn't exactly disclosed those exact reasons, but the internet held no secrets, and you'd quelled your guilt of being nosy about the matter by telling yourself you simply wanted to understand his situation better. Apparently it was a nationwide dilemma that was only growing much more severe.

Had this Dr. Adamson been whom Robby had been referring to when you accidentally prodded about whether he'd lost anyone to COVID?

Shen notices you're no longer following behind him and stops walking to turn back and look at what you were staring at. "Did you know anyone on there?" he asks. You shake your head, a small sad smile on your lips.

"No, I—I've only heard of one of them." You point towards Adamson's frame. 

"Oh. Yeah, apparently he passed away a while before I started my residency, think like last year."

Last year? And how long had it been after his death that Robby decided to sign up on a sugar daddy website? Or did that occurrence have nothing to do with his decision?

Your lips part to speak, but a hesitant, startled call of your name distracts you. 

Robby is standing halfway across the bustling ER, staring at you with brows furrowed in growing confusion and parted lips. In a few blinks, he's standing right before you, bending down to check you over in every which way. Despite yourself, a fluttering warmth grows between your thighs at the very much noticeable height difference between you, and it takes everything in you to fight off the dazed smile threatening to pull your lips from how obviously big Robby is. 

Your wandering thoughts about whether or not he might also be in other areas are unfortunately interrupted by the man's concern for your well-being. 

"What's going on? Are you okay? Hurt? What are—why did you come?"

"I'm okay!" you rush to say, squirming and fighting back a giggle while his large, warm palms sent a tickling sensation from their worried grasp. "I've been here for a bit and I haven't gotten worse, so." You shrug, beaming up at him. 

His brows knit even closer and a frown pulls at his lips. "How is a 'bit'?" With your choice of vocabulary, he knew that sometimes when you said something, it actually really meant something else entirely. 

"…Since eight," you say, looking sheepish when Robby's face drops into a deeper frown. It was currently noon. 

"You should've called to let me know you were here, honey," he murmurs. "Would've brought you in so much sooner."

"I wasn't even sure you worked here," you laugh lightly. "I was actually gonna go to Urgent Care, but it's—"

"Closed temporarily," he nods. "It's closed on certain dates as a provider for COVID vaccinations. Been like that since state expanded its eligibility this month."

Well, shit. You'd go above and beyond to keep yourself healthy and safe just to never have to end up back in that waiting room, then. You had better ways of spending your day than evading coughs from a man sat next to you who refused to pull his mask over his mouth and not jeopardize everyone else's health. 

"What did you come in for?" He frowns as he looks you over, then glancing up at Shen when the student doctor clears his throat, then at Dana, standing a few feet away at the Hub when she calls his name. 

"Central seven is open," she says. She's not even trying to be subtle about the fact that she's openly staring at you rather than Robby, to whom her words were directed at. There's a look of understanding on her face, as though a puzzle she's been trying to piece together for weeks has just been completed before her. 

"Let's go somewhere more quiet, yeah?" Robby says, growing acutely aware of the attention his VIP treatment was harboring. It seemed his display of concern had already brought the attention of a few staff who were nearby to witness it. Perlah and Princess will have something juicy to gossip for days, and if it still has some give, there'll be a betting board set up by Ahmad at the security office by the end of shift.

"My stomach started hurting really bad this morning," you're explaining sheepishly, sat on the edge of the patient bed. "Way worse than the cramps I get from drinking whole milk."

"Think it might have to do with the never ending supply of spicy noodles you keep stocked in your cupboard?" Robby quips with a raised brow. You squirm.

"I don't eat them every day," you protest.

"You eat them often enough," he retorts. You only huff and pointedly ignore his grin while answering Shen's further questioning. 

You'd figured it was a bad case of stomach pain from the spicy food you've been eating lately, but it's nice to be assured by doctors that's all there is to it. Even if you had to suffer through Robby's knowing look of your bad habit and the sigh he gives when you make a cheeky joke about having worse ones.

I am well aware of your little nicotine friend, angel, he had said before letting himself be pulled away into an incoming trauma while Shen finished up with you. 

Shen is a friendly guy. The two of you end up bonding over your love for movies after he made a Shrek reference, leading to more shared references to discover how many you both knew, which may have then ended in you offering a discount for your services at the nail studio. The "health worker" discount, you'd call it. 

You decide from that single conversation that you like Shen. He was cool and didn't make you feel bad for coming in with something as silly as a stomach pain.

"Believe me, you probably saved my ass. Dana gave me a bowel disimpaction case the other day," he grimaces. "I'd take filling out prescription orders for stomach cramps than do that again any day."

After your medication prescription is handled and your discharge papers are signed at the Hub, Dana says you're good to go. She gives a side eye when Robby practically materializes at your side once he's done in Trauma 2.

"I'll walk you out," he says, and his hand twitches to stop the reflex of placing his palm on your back like he always does when the two of you are together, alone and away from everyone else he knows. He idly ignores Perlah and Princess' stares and the way Dana is trying to pin him down with her gaze over her lenses.

Though you've missed the soothing sensation of the morning summer sun on your skin after so many cold winter days that had now waned into the cool spring, you're not looking forward to the infamous heatwaves Robby has mentioned that tended to bring larger amounts of clientele to his ER doors. One of the many under appreciated perks of the mid-season is its gentle breezes. From the small conversations you've had with clients over the past few weeks, however, many are eager for the transitional month of March to be over to be just a little closer to summer.

Today's weather is very agreeable. You'll soak up all the good spring days before summer inevitably catches up. Maybe if you feel better later, you'll take Sonny for a walk in the park. 

"Sorry I wasted your time," you say sheepishly once you're both standing on the sidewalk leading back into the street. "Pain just didn't feel normal."

To his credit, Robby makes no pointed comment about your spice intake. "Never apologize for being concerned about your health, OK?" he tells you firmly. "I'm glad you came in. It's good that it ended up being nothing serious."

You promise him you'll follow the medication instructions properly and skip the spicy noodle dinner tonight, though the second one is begrudgingly agreed to. After making you promise to come back if the pain got worse or if you began to experience other symptoms, he sends you off with a scruffy kiss to the corner of your lips that leaves you flushed and airily disoriented the entire walk home.

It's around 9PM when you end up back in the ER. This time, you're grimacing and talking in a breathless tone with Lupe, who doesn't seem to recall your earlier interaction until you mention knowing Dr. Robby. She says that you must be the girlfriend the nurses mentioned had stopped by earlier. 

"You could've told me Doctor Robby was your boyfriend, hon," she says. You're too busy trying to not puke your guts out in the middle of the waiting room to do much but allow your lips to pull into a wobbly twitch that's supposed to resemble a smile and is instead mistaken for shyness by the woman. "You wouldn't have waited here so he could see you. Anyway, he just left, but Doctor Abbot is our night shift attending, and he's very good friends with Doctor Robby. He'll see you in triage, OK?"

A small dread begins to bubble in your tummy, but that might also be the sharp cramps you were currently suffering through. Some part of you, a rather childish one, wants to delay the interaction for as long as possible, but it's snuffed out by the rational part of your brain firmly telling you to simply put on your Big Girl pants and get it over with. 

If Jack feels anything else apart from the surprise written on his face when he sees you, he does a superb job at not letting it show. 

"Lupe said a VIP was coming through."

You huff. "Everyone thinks I'm Michael's girlfriend." You wouldn't have minded if they did, had you already had a talk with Robby about yesterday's kiss that let you know where the both of you stood. For now, it was just a little embarrassing for everyone to think you were together before you did.

You end up in an empty triage room, where you're thankful for the quieter space to alleviate your growing exhaustion. All of his questions seem regularly concerned with your symptoms, except for—

"Any chance you might be pregnant?"

That makes you glare. Meanly. 

Jack doesn't know you, but the anger doesn't fit you, and he has half a mind for an apology and a lame excuse you'll both know is a lie about the question being pure procedure, rather than half curiosity and half accusation. 

You know he hadn't specifically asked about your sexual history with Robby and any possible consequences from it, but you were strongly aware the question was skirting around whether or not you were…compensating Robby for his financial support. And you're having none of it. 

"No, asshole. Michael and I—we haven't had sex."

His unspoken question lingering in the tension between you is promptly shut down by that answer and is instead addressed with a firm, silent statement: I am not whatever you think I am.

"Standard procedure question," he decides to say, choosing the lame excuse. 

"Sure," you mumble. "I already came in earlier. I—" you grimace, brows pinching together while you clutch at your abdomen. "I had really bad stomach cramps, so Doctor Shen and Michael prescribed me medication. But the pain is worse, like, right here—" you point to the lower right side of your abdomen. 

Jack unfolds the glasses hanging from the neck of his scrubs and leans down to examine your body. His eyes briefly flicker to yours while his hands hover over your tank top before he begins peeling it back tentatively. 

"Got some rigidity here," he murmurs, lightly tapping at the skin with the pads of two fingers. You let out a hissed whine and allow your head to drop back. "Looks a little swollen, too. Probably looking at appendicitis, but we'll do a CT scan and some lab work to be sure."

"Like a urine sample?" 

"And blood tests, just to rule out any infection."

"Oh." You swallow, and you're completely sure now that that the queasiness in your stomach has nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the thought of needles. "How long is that gonna take?"

Jack raises a brow. "Got somewhere to be with this maybe-appendicitis?" he asks dryly. 

"I-I left my dog at home," you stammer, and now it's your turn to sound as lame as you are honest. "He has food and water but he stresses if I'm not home on time—"

"You got any family nearby we can call? Friends that can drop by your place?"

With that, you mourn your chances of leaving this place without getting a needle stuck into your skin and shake your head. "Michael's the only one I know in the city."

Jack nods with a sigh, taking out his phone from his back pocket and frowning at the lit screen. "Service is shit in here," he mutters. "'M gonna go out to the ambulance bay, see if I can't get a good signal to call Robby. Dana's ready to leave, but Lena and her nurses will take care of you."

"How you doin', hon? Have any pain still?" It's Dana, or at least who you're about 99% sure is Dana, if any of Robby's ER anecdotes were accurate with the way he described her. Apart from the clear no-nonsense attitude she radiates, you also note that she's absolutely beautiful. 

Jeez, is it a requirement to be drop dead gorgeous to work here?  Even Jack, you thought begrudgingly but wouldn't dare ever confess, had a gruff attractiveness to him, with his husky, dryly-toned voice, peppered gray curls, and stupidly buff biceps you were absolutely sure had the nurses blushing. 

"No," you shake your head, then smile sheepishly. "No, miss. The meds really helped." Sore as your arms were from the blood tests taken from one and the IV currently attached to the other, you were grateful to have been given something to numb the pain. 

"Miss?" Dana chuckles. "Cute. Knew I liked you for a reason, kid. Robby went home already, but Abbot's just as good a doctor. You met him yet?"

Under worse circumstances, yes, you almost want to say, but you just nod instead.

"You're in good hands, alright? Wouldn't trust anyone else in the city but this crew to treat me if I was a patient."

"Thanks," you say. For some reason, you want her to like you, and that reason alone is making you nervous to be around the woman. "Um, it was nice to meet you."

She winks. "You too, kid."

"Does—" you pause, then look down at your lap with a quiet, "Does everyone know about me and Michael?"

“Much as I try and stop 'em, my nurses stay sane with gossip around here," Dana offers, not unkindly. "But I'd known there was a good reason why Robby’s been actin’ odd lately. Actually makes time to eat something other than those God-awful protein bars, and tries to go home on time when he can. 'S not much, but—" she shrugs. "It's better than nothin'. All makes sense now. You been taking care of our good doctor, yeah?"

A small smile forms on your lips at her words. It felt good knowing you could take care of Robby the same way (or something close to it) he did you. “Trying to,” you say shyly. “He’s very easy to care about.”

She chuckles and pats your back. "I'll see you around, hon."

You're surprised by how uncharacteristically barren the ER is once the transition from evening to night settles. Whatever you knew of the emergency room's typical environment came from the crumbs Robby offered over your nightly phone calls or when he was at your place, de-stressing over takeout and whatever show you had playing in the background. 

It's only when you begin to wonder whether Robby's alleged cases of mangled limbs and horrid injuries had been stretched for the sake of storytelling that a screaming patient is brought in by several paramedics and immediately rushed to one of the trauma rooms by Jack and several other staff members. You were so startled by the noisiness that you nearly miss the bone that's clearly sticking out from his knee.

You swallow back bile and turn your wheelchair away from the scene, pushing it to move elsewhere, to be anywhere but near that. 

"Hey, you're the doc's girlfriend!"

You look up to see an older man also sitting in a wheelchair with an IV attached to him, grinning widely.

"Um, yeah," you say. "I think."

He introduces himself as Louie, and after you tell him your own name he shares all too casually that he was brought in for alcohol poisoning, then asked for your reason

"Doctor Abbot said I need surgery," you mumble, rubbing at your teary eyes. "For my appendicitis."

"Oh, that's nothing!" Louie's quick to wave off. "The doctors here will take care of that quick. They're all great. You got nothing to be worried about, kid."

"I know, 'm just…scared of hospitals."

 Louie doesn't have the chance to reply before someone else is chiming into the conversation. It's another older man, but he didn't look quite as cheery as Louie

"Only thing to be scared of in this place are their damn tuna sandwiches!"

You can't help the small, wet laugh that escapes your lips. The man's promptly guided away by a nurse who promises to give him an egg salad sandwich, and soon enough Louie's also being pushed off by a doctor to be further treated in one of the trauma rooms. 

You've just managed to gather all your courage to seek a nurse and ask for a blanket when yet another patient in a wheelchair approaches you.

"Psst! What are you in for, sweet-cheeks?" It's a blonde woman, maybe twenty years older than you, staring at you with a bit of a manic look, but maybe she's just as tired as you are. 

"Appendicitis. 'M waiting for someone to take me upstairs. What about you?"

"See that pussy-ass cop standing over there, talking to Nurse Lena?" She points a wrinkled, manicured finger towards the direction of the Hub. "Brought me in here after I had a seizure."

"Wow, that's—that's really nice of him—"

"Bastard's gonna get what's coming to him," she mutters, glaring down sourly at something on her lap. You only then notice the handcuffs keeping her tethered to the wheelchair.

You blink in surprise. "Oh."

The woman must've noticed the way you begin eyeing her warily, because she grins and winks dramatically, tugging at the cuffs so they'd clink against the arm they were locked around. "Don't worry, honey, I don't kill cute girls."

You slightly tilt your head. "I am pretty adorable, I think."

"Ooh, cheeky. I like that."

"Behaving, Myrna?" Jack's voice emerges from behind. He walks around to look at the two of you, something akin to amusement at the sheer alarm on your face and the mischievous grin on Myrna's.

"Always, Doctor Abbot," she purrs. 

The man looks at you and opens his mouth, but he turns when your face eases into a grin at something behind him. 

"Mike!" 

Robby, who'd rushed in wildly through the ambulance bay entrance and was restlessly looking around the ER, turns at the sound of your voice and rushes towards you, disregarding the crack of his bones to properly kneel before you. He doesn't have a chance to ask what happened or if you're okay or why you were wearing a patient gown before you're wrapping your arms around him. He's thrown aback, but gentles his rigid shoulders to soften into the embrace.

"Hey," he murmurs, pulling back just slightly to look at you. His eyes soften when he sees yours are twinkling with tears. "What happened, honey?"

"I need surgery," you sigh. He nods, taking one of your hands into his and rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. 

"Jack told me," he says gently. "What surgery? Appendectomy? Cholecystectomy? Think Jack might've told me which one already, but I was too busy running out the door to hear him over the phone."

That makes something close to a smile tug at your mouth, but you're still worrying a lip under your teeth. Had he not been scared half to death just ten minutes ago, Robby thinks he could appreciate the humor of you, someone completely and utterly terrified of hospitals, going out with a man who stares at mangled injuries and bloody bodies every day for a living. 

"Appendectomy," you say. "The medication didn't help when I took it earlier, and the pain was really bad. I couldn't eat anything 'cause I was getting nauseous. You said I should come back if the pain got worse—"

"And you did," he says. "You did good, you know that, right?"

"I was scared," you whisper, and you feel a little silly now, growing teary again, but that's soothed when Robby pulls you into a tight, warm hug.

"I know, baby, I know." He stands up and glances down at the tablet Jack is holding. "That her chart?"

"Absolutely not."

"Excuse me?" Robby says flatly. 

"'S my ER for the next ten hours," Jack says pointedly. "My ER, my rules. Gotta keep the circus running smoothly."

"Yeah? Where's Myrna, then?" Robby jerks his chin towards Jack, making the man whirl around to face an empty wheelchair, where the woman had sat merely a minute ago and only a pair of lock-picked handcuffs remained on the seat uselessly. 

Jack mutters a curse under his breath. "Lena! Myrna just—"

The woman doesn't even look up from her tablet. "Already on it!"

"And that's our cue to leave," Robby leans down to whisper. 

"I like Myrna," you say, laughing softly while he pushes your wheelchair through the bustling ER. 

"That makes one of us," he says dryly, allowing himself a grin when you laugh again, but it wanes down to something quiet. "Scared the shit out of me tonight, angel. When I got that call from Jack saying you were back in here and needed surgery—" he sucks in a breath and shakes his head. "I don't know."

 "I'm okay," you assure softly, reaching back to rub his knuckles gripping the back of the wheelchair. 

He lets out a sighing breath. "You'll have to be on NPO for tonight until tomorrow's surgery," he says. "That's no food or beverage after midnight."

"I didn't get to eat dinner earlier 'cause of the pain," you mumble. 

"I know, sweetheart," he says sadly, leaning down to kiss your temple. "I'll bring you something from the vending machine to get you by, alright?"

It's then that Jack catches up, huffing and just close enough to catch what his friend had said. 

"Lena can ask Jesse to do that," he tells him. "You need to go home." Robby scowls. 

"If she needs surgery, I'm going up with her—"

"Michael," you murmur, reaching for his hand. He lets you rub along his knuckles, his lips falling into a frown. Despite his reluctance, he still softens under your touch. "You should go home. You were here since seven."

"You need surgery—"

"—but I'll have to wait a few hours before I'm operated on," you interrupt gently. "Go home, shower, have some dinner." You look at him pointedly, very much aware of his habit of skipping meals, like how he knew of your habit of over-consuming spicy food, to which he sheepishly rubs the nape of his neck. "I'll be here all night 'til I'm taken up for surgery. I'll just…play cards with Louie to pass the time."

That makes Robby's lips quirk into a small smile.

Jack watches the entire interaction with a strange look on his face.

It's a combined effort between you and Jack to get Robby to leave the hospital, which he comments on with a grumble, deciding he didn't appreciate the team-up to get rid of him. Nevertheless, he tells you he'll be back in the morning as soon as he can.

He doesn't kiss you, but his earnest promise is as good as.

Time in the ER is weird. It's slow, like a spoonful of molasses being dropped back into its jar. You wander the ER on the wheelchair, munching on a Clif bar and watching everything and everyone move. You find Louie in North 4, where you finally park yourself and stay with the man, who seems content with the company and keeps you entertained with stories from his work as a groundskeeper back in the 90's. When he dozes off, you stay and decide to stay awake with your phone.

Jack's doing rounds when he passes by North, hurrying as he does quick check-ins per bed before moving on. He gives you a small glance before doing a double take. In his abrupt stop, he notices what's on your screen. 

A guided meditation video. 

"Robby doesn't do yoga." It's said as a realization, and Jack's lips are parted while he looks at you with knitted brows. "You bought me that yoga book for my birthday?"

"Yeah," you mumble sheepishly.

"Why?"

"I don't know, I—" you sigh. "Michael asked me to help with a gift for you a while ago, back when he and I were barely—" you glance at him and shake your head. "He just seemed really stressed about buying the right thing. Something you'd like and actually use. He said you're ex-army, so I…I did some research on healthy rec activities for veterans that deal with PTSD. I do a lot of yoga, so I felt kinda confident buying the book."

Jack says nothing, continuing to take Louie's vitals quietly. You've just started growing comfortable in the silence when he speaks. "I do use it. The book. Every morning after shift."

The words are quiet and gruff, but nonetheless cause a small smile to spark at your lips. "Yoga always helps ground me for my day.  If I didn't have anything to do, I think I would've gone insane with the pandemic already."

That makes him huff out a chuckle. It's more air than laughter, but it's progress for both of you. "Could say that again."

There's another silence, though this one feels much more lighter now. Again, it's broken when Jack speaks up. "About that night at Robby's," he says lowly. "I was just—“

“Upset that Michael came to me for help instead of his best friend?” You say quietly. The faint frown tugging at his lips is enough of an answer, so you offer a small, dry smile  “I get it, okay?  You just didn’t have to be an asshole about it.”

An apology is needed, but the moment wasn't quite there yet. Jack must know this as well as you do, because he leaves you be once he's done.

Still, the shift between the two of you is subtle, but present.

The next morning, with bleary eyes and a newly bruised, scarred abdomen as only proof of the monstrous pain you'd endured, you're handed off by Walsh, the attending surgeon who'd introduced you the night before to the student surgeons who were to be assistants during your surgery, to Jack. 

They trade snarky remarks with every update and question on your condition, which you watch with loopy amusement. Walsh rebukes his sarcastic wave with a rude hand gesture of her own before he begins pushing your wheelchair. 

"I like Doctor Walsh. Think she's funny," you murmur, playing with a frayed edge of the blanket on your lap. Jack huffs.

"That makes one of us. Now let's go before Robby has an MI in the waiting room."

"Delivery for Doctor Robby," Jack announces dryly as you enter the main floor lounge. Robby looks as though he didn't sleep well, but he stands up eagerly all the same and groans when his knees crack. You stifle a giggle while Jack smirks. 

"Sure took your time with it," he drawls. 

"He was flirting with Doctor Walsh," you say. Jack immediately crosses his arms while Robby chuckles.

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah, and that's my cue to leave," Jack huffs. He and Robby share a side-hug before he heads back towards the elevator.

"How was the surgery?" Robby asks, sitting back down and grabbing your hands. 

You hum. "Weird. I fell asleep counting back from one hundred and woke up with stitches."

He smiles, rubbing your knuckles gently. "That's our best case scenario in that situation, honey."

You just hum again, grunting softly when you pull yourself forward and rest your head on him. Probably exhausted, poor thing. "Are you calling me an Uber so I can leave?"

Robby scoffs as if the mere thought of the idea offended him. "I have a perfectly functioning car in the parking lot that can drive us to your apartment. Besides, I need to have a vehicle in case I have to go buy anything at the store. You can't drive the first week of recovery, remember?"

The implication makes you perk up. "You're going to take care of me?" you mumble, cheek mushed against his warm chest. Robby hums, a deep, vibrational noise that makes something inside you settle, and kisses your temple.

"I'm always going to, angel. Let's go home now, yeah?"

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

a/n: this chapter is so late but i genuinely could not figure out some of the dialogue and spent like a good 2 hours total looking up everything about appendectomies😭that n I do have some personal stuff going on in my life that can't be put off (hate being 20 lol) i feel evil and sick having to tell u guys that angst is coming but this whole series was literally building up an idea i had so long ago that was purely based on angst. show me how is literally just a backstory fic for its main fic where the idea will finally be coming to life🫠 but im always open to requests/chats about this series since i really want to expand reader and robby's relationship before it sinks<3

She’s gone. 

You’ve been picking at your nails all day, like if you just get one more layer of skin, she’ll come back. You washed them under burning water until they were raw, as if she’d just been covered by some ash or grime. You’ve held them up to the light, under it, turned them over and checked everywhere else, to see if she’d moved. 

She hadn’t. 

Jo was just gone. 

She’d been gone when you woke up, your whole body alight with something bigger than pain. Cas had been sitting over you, hands flexing at his sides as he asked you low questions about what you remembered. You’d brought your hand up, to rub your eyes. 

Jo had been gone from your fingers, and you’d screamed so loud it might have shaken the ground. 

It probably did. 

The Silver is rolling around inside of you like a thunderstorm, and you don’t control when the lightning strikes. That scream had been the first, when you’d felt a flare deep in the cavity of your chest, and everything around you had rattled. It hadn’t just been the earth. It had been the air, Cas, a few distant birds that had changed their song. 

Started cooing with a long, lonely lament, of something lost. Circled over your head and come to sit at your side, as Cas kept trying to talk to you. He’d sighed, lightly taken your arm, and flown you away. 

You’re not asking why he can fly you now. There are too many other things to worry about. 

Cas brought you to Heaven.

And you remember it all. 

The basement. Raphael’s empty, colorless eyes staring up at you, his body a little more than hollow. Almost crystallized, and slowly melting to ash. You’d never seen an archangel die before. He’d screamed louder than anyone else had seemed to hear, and you could’ve sworn you heard the sky shouting back. 

Cas had muttered to another angel, that precautions might need to be taken. Retrieving his body. Figuring out if it’s safe to dispose of. If there is any way he might return, and if this might unbalance things. You don’t think it will—something in you would be able to feel it, if the universe was sick or developing a cancer—but you don’t say that. Your opinion isn’t exactly needed, or welcome. Not right now. 

He’s been trying. Cas has really been trying. When you got to Heaven, he’d awkwardly held your arm, and spoken low, soft words.

“I did not know that would happen. If I had- I would not have asked for you to take this on alone-“

“Cas.” You’d grabbed his hand, and smiled weakly. “It’s okay. I know.”

And you did know. You’d even done the spell so that the souls would go right to Cas, but- You must have fucked it up. 

You don’t fuck up spells. 

Another thing not worth worrying about. Not right now. 

The Silver isn’t under your control at all. There had been the scream, when you woke up. Then a white-hot flash of pain, through your blood, that had made it spill out of you like a wave. You’d cowered from Cas, your arms around your stomach and nails digging into your sides. Bitten your tongue, until you tasted blood. 

It had healed in a second. When you’d opened your eyes, Cas had been staring at you. 

In a giant crater of flowers and strange, sunlit water that was trapped below leaves. 

There hadn’t been a sun. 

You’d blinked at Cas. He’d opened his mouth slowly, watching you carefully. 

“How does it… Feel.”

“Strange.” You’d whispered, tugging your knees to your chest. “Just- Strange.”

“Does it-“

“Yes.”

“And are you-“

“I don’t know.” You swallowed, hot tears pricking at your eyes. “I- I don’t know, Cas. It- It hurts.”

Cas had tensed. Reached out, and held your shoulder lightly. You’d grabbed his wrist, clinging to it as you wiped your nose on your sleeve. The tears had fallen silently. You’d bowed your head, and watched them slide to the ground. Hit the water below you, sending strange, firework-like sparks through it like ripples. 

You’d failed. Done exactly what you’d promised, and still failed. Cas didn’t have any new power. Raphael had been killed by Dean.

He’d told you not to do it. You hadn’t listened. Dean was right, you never listen to him, and he’s usually right about this kind of thing, and you knew that, but you still just didn’t fucking listen. You’d just wanted to help. To be useful to Cas, because you’d promised him, and Dean was already angry with you. 

He’ll be angrier now. 

The tears had fallen faster, as his voice had echoed in your head. Roaring your name, before everything had gone dark. 

Less dark. More infinite. You can remember feeling truly nothing, because you felt everything, but it was all so small. The world had been rushing through you, like it was blood. You’d been attuned to every cell. The hopeful fear of a leaf, falling from the tree, not knowing it’s already dead but excited to hit the ground. The tension of a far off star, trying to grow a little bit bigger in the hope something will find its orbit, and it will never have to be alone again. The heartache, of a swan that had lost its mate, drifting through the world without any direction. Hoping something would show it the way. 

You’d felt your heart skip a beat, then another. You’d exhaled, and a feeling like Dean—warm and safe and certain, some type of gift that existed against all odds, yours and no one else’s—had passed through your lips. The swan’s heartache had faded.

You’d breathed again. 

But everything else is a blur. 

Your tears had slowed. A twisted version of Sam’s words—but in a voice that sounded more like Rowena—had echoed in your head. 

Are you just going to sit here and cry?

You’d looked up at Cas, wiping the last tears from your cheek. “What are we doing?”

“I am unifying Heaven, you should be resting-“

“No, Cas. I- I can help-“

He’d said your name. Soft, but firm. “You do not want to stand before Heaven.”

“I can-“

“Listen to me.” Cas had shaken his head. “You can’t.”

You’d glared at him. He’d held your gaze, face blank—even as a few of his wings had fluttered uneasily—so you’d glared harder.

“Let me go with you.”

“No.”

“Cas-“

“I am not Dean.” He’d said firmly, and your mouth had fallen open. “I am not going to change my mind.”

You’d stared at each other for a second, then you’d rolled your eyes. 

“Rude.” You’d snapped, and Cas had just kept looking bored.

“My-“

“Don’t say my apologies. We both know you meant it.” You’d wrinkled your nose at him, and his lips had twitched.

“I won’t say anything, then.”

“You’re saying things right now.” You’d grumbled, before giving him your best, pleading look. “Let me come with you.”

He’d sighed your name, and you’d shaken your head. 

“If you leave me here, who knows who’ll find me. Or- I could lose it again, and- Explode heaven. You have to keep me with you, Cas.” You’d paused, then added, “Please.”

He’d made a face, but you’d known you’d won. You don’t want to think about what Cas meant, by him not being Dean. You know, but you don’t want to think about it. 

About Dean. Back on Earth. Probably cursing both your names. Cursing you.

He hadn’t killed Cas, if he’d gotten the chance while they were looking for you.

You wonder if he’d kill you. 

The thought had crept into your head, as Cas had led you through one of those Heaven doors. Another hot flash of pain had wracked your body, and it had built in your back. Between your shoulders, like something was trying to split you open. You’d screamed, and doubled over. 

Beneath your feet, the ground had lit on golden, shimmering fire. From the sparks, strange, tiny birds had taken flight. 

When it had faded, Cas had frowned at you. Opened his mouth, probably to tell you go back. You’d ignored him, and walked right through the door. 

And Cas, the butthead, had been almost immediately proven right. There had been a few angel generals he’d introduced you too—all running with slightly duller, neon colors like his own—and you’d felt sick. They’d looked at you like they were seeing the Sun for the very first time. One had reached out to touch you, stopped only by Cas loudly clearing his throat. 

But you’d held it together. 

Right until Cas brought you before the army, you’d been barely holding it together. 

He’s trying to unify Heaven quickly. They’re all looking to him, to settle the war. 

But you stood next to him, in this strange place that Cas said was for Michael to hold assembly and command—large and empty, made of a heavy, glimmering stone, carved like a bowl with you and Cas on a closed off dais, and stretching all the way to the sky—and it didn’t feel like any of them were looking at him at all. They were all looking at you. Cas hadn’t introduced you, hadn’t even acknowledged that you were at his side as he addressed them, but there were thousands of angels in the crowd. 

And every single one was looking at you.

You couldn’t even see all of them. Not properly. When you’d looked up, their grace had looked more like stars, in a static free fall from the earth. 

All looking to you.In awe. 

You’d felt the Silver, rushing so quickly up your throat. The sky was looking at you again. The stars were shining in your name, and they wanted things from you, but you didn’t have anything to offer but sickness and pain and betrayal, and you hadn’t even been able to hold onto Jo-

Your hand had flown to your throat. Cas had faltered his speech—something about unity that you hadn’t been able to hear over the ringing in your ears—and looked to you with his wings flaring in his vessel and what you recognized as Cas’ worried expression. 

Someone had grabbed you. Pulled you off of the dais, into the small, empty waiting room behind it. 

You’d exploded, and the walls had burst with crystal and leaves. The glimmering from the stones had turned into waterfalls. A tapestry of an eagle had burst to life, and the pure gold bird had flown over your head. Made you think of Indy, and how you’d just left her- 

When you’d vomited, it had come out as flower petals. 

Balthazar had hummed, looking at you from the corner of the room.

“Isn’t that something.”

You’d wiped your mouth, and shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

He’d shrugged, and beamed at you, remaining silent. You’d curled back into yourself, waiting for Cas to finish his speech. 

He hadn’t said I told you so, when he came back. He’d just given you an exhausted look, and shaken his head when you tried to apologize.

“I’ll handle it. Balthazar-“

“Oh captain, my captain?”

“Bring her to Joshua. Stay with her. I’ll be there soon.”

Cas had squeezed your shoulder again, before he’d walked away. Leaving you with Balthazar, and his lazy, smug grin.

“May I speak to you now?”

You’d just sighed, and shaken your head. “Just- Don’t be a dick.”

“Of course, my lady. I would never do anything of the sort-“

“Uh huh.” You shot him a glare. “And don’t call me mommy again.”

Balthazar had snapped his mouth shut, looking a little annoyed you’d caught him before he could even try it. You’d sighed, and tipped your head back. Closed your eyes, and felt it. 

The Silver. Still a storm. 

Building into something more. Something bigger. 

Something you know you won’t be able to control. 

Balthazar brought you to the Garden, like Cas told him to. Joshua had taken one look between the two of you, and sighed. 

“I had a feeling I’d be seeing you soon.” He’d murmured your name. “Come further in. You need the rest. And Balthazar,” Joshua had shot him a glare. “If you take anything from my garden, it will wither in your hands and take your grace with it.”

Balthazar had made a sour expression, and you’d smiled to yourself. Given him an amused look, and he’d stuck his to tongue out at you.

“I’m on babysitting duty, I can’t take one little form of payment-“

“You do not have to be here.” Joshua had said, not looking over his shoulder. “Go, if it is such a waste of your time.”

Balthazar had scowled. But he hadn’t gone. 

And you’ve been here, ever since. 

Joshua says the garden goes on forever. That when he was younger—a millennia ago—he used to look for the ending, but there wasn’t one. It all just looped back around. He asked God about it once, and was told that true beauty doesn’t need to have an ending, does it?

“True beauty?” You ask softly, sitting in a soft patch of grass and watching Joshua prune a large, leafy bush that seems to be made of shifting flames. “What does that mean?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” He sighs, swiping at a stronger bit of flame that tries to lick at his face. “I don’t ask much of him. Most of us don’t have that liberty.”

“That-“

“You are in a unique position, as his Bride. Others would not dare question him.”

You frown. “Humans question him all the time.”

“Humans who do not believe in him.”

“And he… doesn’t care about that?”

Joshua pauses, frowning slightly. “He has told me that he doesn’t. That if humans cannot see his glory in their life, they will see it in their death. That a good father does not need the approval of his children, to know what’s best for them.”

“What about the angels.” You say pointedly. “You’re his children, too.“

Joshua laughs lightly, and shakes his head. “Technically, yes. We are his children.”

“But?”

“What is best for us, is not what’s best for humans. We are… Different. He fights for humans. We fight for him.”

You swallow, and glance down to your hands again. Jo still isn’t there. Dean’s gold is, but it’s been fading slowly. Sinking below your skin, making the Spiderweb—already howling and whining and almost pouring through your body with a song of Dean’s name—grow brighter and brighter. 

“You don’t leave the garden.” You say softly, and Joshua nods. “Do you… Know? Who gets into heaven, and who-“

“John Winchester is not in Heaven.” Joshua says softly, not looking away from his fire plant. “I do not believe he is in hell, either. There are certain souls that take… priority. That God believes requires his attention. And he keeps were no one else can find them.”

“Hm.” Your nails bite into your palm. “Is it painful? Where he keeps them.”

“Nobody knows.”

You don’t ask another question. The Silver burns up your throat quickly, and lighting strikes the fire bush. It roars upwards, searing into Joshua’s grace, and he stumbles back. You grab him, saying frantic apologies, and he just shakes his head. 

“My fault. It’s a holy fire bush, I should not have brought you near it.”

It would be nice, if you could argue with that.

But you really fucking can’t. 

Something is more wrong with you than usual. Your sickness is contagious, and spreading through the garden. Joshua lets you wander through it as you please—even shows you a soft, quiet spot for you to sleep—but you know he’s concerned. 

You know, because Balthazar fucking tells you.

“I need sunglasses.” He complains, and you frown over at him. You’ve been painting, on the thick paper Cas brought you when he visited yesterday. He didn’t tell you anything about what’s happening, outside the garden. Anything about Dean, or Bobby, or Heaven or Hell. About what’s happening to you. 

If it should hurt this much, to be full of Purgatory’s souls. If it should be making you feel infinite, while also crushing you from within. If you’re supposed to be almost boiling over with power. 

You made another holy fire bush explode, this morning. The tree—the one from Eden—has been growing, and Joshua says it hasn’t done that in two thousand years. He’d spent most of the morning, wrangling Jackelopes, golden tigers, and rainbow birds that made lightning strike whenever they flapped their wings. 

You’d exploded again, when you’d been exploring the garden and seen a plant made of a sweet-smelling fruit. You’d thought about how good a pie it would make. Which made you think about Dean. Which made you start crying again, which made you explode. 

That’s most of what you’ve done, the past few days. Cas won’t talk to you about Dean, but all you do is think of him. You can see him everywhere, here. In the permanent sunrise of the garden, painting the sky gold. When you get too close to a strange, blood-red flower—dappled with little, iridescent dew drops—and listen to it pulse a sound like Dean’s heartbeat. Everything you eat—small meals, that Balthazar serves you with a grumble of being a bloody handmaiden—makes you think of Dean, and if he’d like it. You wrap yourself in the blanket Cas brought you, and cling to Velma when you sleep. 

Cas had gone to Earth, to get her for you. You hadn’t asked, but he’d done it anyway. She’s still covered in Dean’s Gold, and it make you almost feel him around you. Strong arms that are safer than anything in the world. 

You cry into the grass, as you fall asleep. Wake up, and find the earth having grown around it, almost in a cocoon. 

And you smell Dean, everywhere. 

Heaven smells like him. Like cinnamon, and grass.

You wallow in it. You explode again, every single day. More and more. Your back aches with that odd, heavy pain, and you don’t feel like yours anymore. But you also don’t feel like everything. 

You just are. And it’s great. Grand. Massive. 

You want to pry it out of you. It’s going to burn you alive.

That doesn’t seem to be an option. The souls are in you. The Silver is eating them, and you can’t stop it. Can never stop it. Never control it. Cas had found you sobbing and screaming under the tree two days ago, as a heavy downpour swept through the garden. Which also isn’t supposed to happen, but you’re a plague, and you’re making everything worse, and you couldn’t breathe- 

Cas had brought you the paper and paints after that. Brought you Velma, and murmured that he was still trying to fix it. You’d nodded like a sick child, curled up under a tree to hide from the sky. 

He isn’t watching you, here. Joshua says he hasn’t spoken, since you arrived. 

You don’t believe him. You don’t believe yourself, when you can’t feel his gaze. 

Because you’re going insane. 

“You need sunglasses?” You give Balthazar an odd look, and he sighs dramatically. 

“You are blinding me. I am going to lose my sight-“

“Is that possible? For an angel?”

He scowls. “No.” 

You hum, and look back to your painting. Balthazar clears his throat.

“Can we bubble wrap you? Maybe put an umbrella around you, or a light filter-“

“I’m not doing anything.” You mumble, and he snorts.

“The sun doesn’t do anything either. You’re glorious,” he drawls your name, and you bite the inside of your cheek. “I feel like I should at least be a few feet away-“

“And yet, you’re here.”

“Castiel’s orders. Don’t want to displease the new king.”

You look up with a frown, about to protest that Cas isn’t a king. He’s just trying to get Heaven in order, after a war, and he was the leader of the—technically—winning faction, so of course he’s in charge right now- 

But the words don’t get out of your mouth. 

Because you see him. 

God. 

Small. Bearded. Smiling at you, gentle and knowing and cold.

You scream, and the paint explodes under your fingers. It turns into a million, jewel-colored butterflies, that take off into the air as Silver spills from your lungs. Your back feels like it’s about to explode, and you can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe- 

The Spiderweb flares inside of you. Drags you back down, almost by the nape of your neck. You take a ragged breath, and blink around.

He’s gone. Balthazar is staring at you like you’re insane, but God is gone. 

You don’t think he was ever there at all, because he’s not the only thing you’re seeing. You look at long shadows, and see strange people, pitch black and made of teeth and oil that shines with dark rainbows. Look up, and see strange angels on the branches of the trees, with softer feather and big, more doe-like eyes. You turn, and there’s a dragon—bigger than Indy, with thick, bronze scales—that watches you from a perch on a rock. Your fingers run through the clear river, that flows through the garden, and sharp-eyed, naked women with colorful hair smile up at you. 

And you turn. And God is there again. 

So you hide in the shadows, because they feel safest. Golden fairy lights drift through the air around you, to warm and luminate the dark. Balthazar sits with you, because he has to, and you paint. 

Whatever comes into your head, to keep yourself sane. Something you saw in the garden that day. Whatever hallucination plagued you, the hours before. Balthazar and Joshua’s wings, then Bobby’s soul. Then Sam’s soul. Your fake kitchen with Dean, from the cage, right down to the flowers on the table and pictures on the fridge. Cas’ wings, when he visits you again. Cas and Sam in Bobby’s library, with Cas’ trench coat made of feather’s and Sam’s laptop glowing on his face. 

You paint the Impala. You make her wheels blooming roses, the windows clear water, the body sleek and black, but more like a horses’ body. 

Dean would’ve loved horses, if you’d lived in a time without cars. The thought makes you giggle, then cry, then break a little bit more as the Spiderweb aches. 

You don’t paint Dean. Not just him, like you’ve painted Jo next to you on the couch, fast asleep on your shoulder.  

But you keep painting him in everything else. His Gold stains every single image.

And you write his name, everywhere. 

You miss him. You torture yourself, wondering if he hates you. If he’s looking for you. 

If you went back to him, if he’d forgive you. You wouldn’t forgive you. You won’t be able to blame him, if he doesn’t, and you could never love him any less. 

You draw his name in the dirt, when you run out of paper. When you look up, he’s there again. 

God. 

You don’t scream this time. You just bury your face in your hands, and try to breathe. Try to just think of Dean. His body pressed against yours. His hands on your face, thumb running down your nose. You can almost hear him saying your name, if you cover your ears and listen to your heartbeat. You can pretend that the fire licking around you is the heat from his body, rather than the Silver just falling out of you. 

The earth rumbles below you. Balthazar swears, from somewhere in the distance. Then, the flare stops. 

You open your eyes, and the flame slowly dies down. You look at Balthazar, opening your mouth to apologize, and he just shakes his head. He knows you can’t stop it. 

That doesn’t change that you wish you fucking could. 

Joshua calls your name, from outside your little cave of leaves and branches. Balthazar pulls them aside, glaring up at the angel. 

“Her highness does not wish to be disturbed, it is painting time-“

“Shut up.” You mutter, chucking a fistful of dirt at his face. “Joshua, is everything-“

“All the same.” He says, ducking his head down. “However, there may be something you should see.”

“Her holiness- Fuck-“

Balthazar groans, as you punch him in the gut while crawling past him. You miss your knives. 

You stumble a little, when you try to stand up. You don’t feel weak. There’s just a quick flood it. The power. Bursting from your fingertips at movement, vines shooting up from the earth to grab you, and steady you. 

You look up at Joshua, watching with mild curiosity. He gives you solemn, sad look, and neither of you have to speak. You brush the vines off your wrists, and take a long, deep breath. 

“What is it?”

Joshua presses his lips in a tight line, and nods further into the garden. “Follow me.”

You frown, but obey. He leads you through the plants and over the stones. Over that shining river, keeping your gaze from the water incase another jade-colored serpent tries to sing for your attention. You’re not sure if that was real, the last time it happened. You’re not sure anything is real anymore, but pain and the Spiderweb. All the creatures you’re seeing have color. God is made of his white-light, when he appears in your path and you stumble back. 

You fall into the river, and it feels real. The cool water wraps around you, and washes you up to the shore. You don’t feel a drop of it on your skin, and a warm breeze rushes past you. 

You huddle on the bank, staring at your hands. Maybe that was the Silver. Maybe it wasn’t. It’s everywhere, now, and you have no way to control it, and- 

“Hold my hand.” Joshua murmurs, and you blink up at him.

“I-“

“Just while we walk.” He offers you a small smile. “Don’t want my favorite guest to get herself any more hurt.”

You sigh, and take his hand. Let him pull you to your feet. There’s something in his face—in the green of his grace—that reminds you of Bobby. There’s a lump forming in your throat.

“I think I might technically be a squatter.” You mumble, and Joshua laughs. 

“I don’t think it’s squatting, if the house was built for you.”

You swallow. Look over your shoulder, as Joshua leads you further away from the river. God isn’t there anymore. He probably wasn’t there at all. 

Joshua leads you to the edge of a cliff. The sky stretches on forever, going further than the horizon. It turns to starry night, towards the end of where you can see. When you look over the edge of the rocky fall, there’s no bottom. Only another soft, warm wind that rushes through your hair and makes that ache in your back pulse. 

You look to Joshua. “I thought there wasn’t an ending-“

“This isn’t an ending. It’s…” He sighs. “I am not sure.”

“Have you ever tried to, I don’t know-“ You look back to the infinite bottom. “Climb down there?”

“I can fly.”

“All the more reason to go, you can just jump-“

“I have been quite strictly told not to investigate.” Joshua murmurs. “And whatever does lie beyond here- I have no interest in it. It makes me… Sad.”

You frown at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but in true angel fashion, he just fucking moves on like he didn’t just say something insane. 

“Sometimes, things come from here. Mostly just seeds, to grow. Once, an old type of metal that we’ve forgotten the name of, for Virgil to refurbish the soul-weapons.” Joshua sighs. “He was… Not my favorite brother. He was made of many sharp things. Most of my siblings are, but…” He shakes his head. “I worry, sometimes. That when we left old Heaven, we lost what we were supposed to be.”

Another thing, that might be useful to dive a little further into. You don’t even know who Virgil is. 

Joshua just sighs again—he does that a lot, which also reminds you of Bobby—and looks back to you. 

“It has something for you.”

“For- What?”

“Look for it.” He nods to the open air, and you take a cautious step forward. Peer over the edge, still holding Joshua’s hand tight.

There’s nothing but smooth, white stone and venom-green vines, tangles along the walls of the cliff. Not a bird’s nest or a bottom, nothing flying up at you, no hint of what lies at the bottom of this strange, seemingly blocked off feature of the garden God made himself. If you had to guess, you’d say it was a gate to something. Not Earth, the angels can and do fly there all the time. Maybe God’s house is down there, although you’d imagine Joshua would’ve noticed. Something other than God, one of those greater things that Eve was going on about, but why would God put an access point, if he never wanted anyone to explore it- 

Your thoughts stall, and your breath catches. Because you see it. 

Tangled in some of the vines, near the top of the cliff. 

Dean’s old amulet.

You lean down, letting go of Joshua’s hand. You might fall like in the river. If God really gives a shit, he’ll just toss you right back up, and- 

It shoots up into your hand. You don’t even half to try and reach it. The air just picks up, and gives it to you. 

On a fearful instinct, you look up.

He still isn’t there. 

You tuck the amulet into your jacket pocket, holding it tight in your fist, and turn back to Joshua.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, and he just nods.

“It is my duty, your majesty.” A teasing light shines in his eyes, and you give him a flat look. 

“Very funny.” 

“To me? Yes, it quite is.” Joshua smiles at you. “Do you wish to return to your cave?”

You nod, and hold onto Dean’s amulet a little tighter. Link your arm through Joshua’s, and let him lead you back through the garden. You watch the branches and leaves flow like water over your head. The air is just as clear as always. The ground is painted gold, in that permanent sunset. 

It turned to night, over the cliff. 

Like in Utah. 

With the Phoenixes.

It hits you again, this time like a volcanic explosion. There’s no fire, though. Only a burst of light that knocks the air out of your lungs, and shakes the ground. When you blink the white-hot, numbing pain from your eyes, Joshua hasn’t dropped you. He’s just look ahead with vague curiously, head slightly tilted. 

“Hm. I have not see one of those, in a long time.”

You follow his gaze, and swallow. 

It’s a tree, made of what looks like sandstone and marble. You’d think it was a sculpture, if it wasn’t buzzing with life that you could feel. It’s shaped like a weeping willow, with blooming flowers and leaves that seem to be made of silk. A bird shuffles through the leaves. Not a phoenix, but something similar. Inverted. 

Made of water, splashing iridescent light as it shakes itself. It settles, and stars to sing like a siren.

You swallow, holding Dean’s amulet tighter. Joshua gently stars to lead you forward again, and you let him. Looking back only to make sure the bird is real. 

It is.  

And you start to make a list. Write it onto the paper, that Cas brought you.      

You are real, because you can feel it. Balthazar and Joshua are real, because they are always with you, and they speak. The hallucinations don’t speak. Just whisper, in an old language you understand the same way you remember the giraffes and fish and birds speaking to you. Not with words. With something deeper, stronger than a radio wave and more certain than light. Like an old instinct, that you’ve had since you were born.

But everything speaks to you like that. The whole garden uses that language, so it can’t be the gauge. 

You are real. Joshua and Balthazar are real. The garden is real. 

God, at least the one that you keep seeing, is not real. 

The animals that appear after you lose control, they’re real. The ones that just appear—right before you lose control—are all in your head. 

Dean was real. Is real. You love him, and he’s still all over your body, and the Spiderweb is calling for him all the time, so he’s real. Sam was real. Bobby was real. 

Jo is gone from your fingers. Maybe she wasn’t real. You put her on the real list anyway.

You realize you haven’t seen Cas in a few days. Th last you did, he just asked how you felt, brought you more paint, then left. 

Maybe he wasn’t real either. 

Cas was real. Jo was real. You have to think that, or you’re just… Alone now. 

You can’t be alone. You can’t be alone. You’re in pain, and it’s worse than any pain you’ve ever felt before. You can feel everything and nothing, and beyond that is something big you can’t yet see, and you can’t be alone- 

It’s after about three weeks, that you start to get tired. Something heavier than iron—heavier than anything—presses over your bones, you’re not strong enough to fight against it. All you do cry into the bed of soft flowers, that had formed for you to sleep on. You sing to the garden, because sometimes it sings back and it makes the pain ease just a little. Tar is starting to creep through your veins, and the Silver is getting more and more unstable. Yesterday, you saw God again and it made another three of those strange trees shoot out of the ground. Joshua says he doesn’t mind—that he likes having new plants, to tend to—but it doesn’t help the gnawing, festering guilt in your body. 

You’re not doing anything. You’re just clinging to all the power of purgatory, while Cas tries to organize Heaven, and maybe he’s grown sick of you. He dumped you here so he wouldn’t have to deal with you. He hates you, he was real and got too close and you infected him, and now he hates you. You don’t know if Sam’s okay, with the bond severed. If Rowena got to go find Eileen, if either of them are safe, after risking themselves for you. If Bobby’s safe, or if you being gone put him in danger like last time. 

If Dean is okay. 

You don’t know if Dean is okay. If you’re ever going to see him again. If he’d want to see you. When you sleep, it’s not real sleep—just closing your eyes and feeling a little less pain, as the ground wraps around you—so you haven’t even been able to dream of him. He must have gotten out of the manor. Even if he and Cas are fighting, Cas wouldn’t just let Dean get trapped like that. He’s probably gone back to Bobby’s house. Maybe he moved out of your room, because he hates you now. He’d gone looking for you, but then you hadn’t listened, and he must curse your name every second and wonder if he should’ve killed you, something should’ve killed you, why hasn’t ever been strong enough to kill you- 

The pain shoots through you, and you scream. It’s so loud that this time, it splits open the sky. Shakes the sunset, sending a ripple of starlight and unending darkness over your head. Hot tears spill down your face—from the pain or just missing Dean, it doesn’t really matter—and when they hit the ground they turn into snakes and flowers. The snakes climb up your body, and move to rest in your head. 

You wipe your face with your hand, taking a ragged breath as the snakes settle into your hair. 

You miss him. You just miss Dean. 

And you want to go home. To beg for his forgiveness, or just sit near him, like a dog at his feet. A sick beast that’s going to rips itself apart soon, and just wants to find somewhere peaceful to do it. Somewhere safe.

Dean would be safe. And maybe you could tell him you love him, if you’re already gone. 

Some part of you feels like it’s already gone. 

The rip in the sky gets Cas’ attention. He comes to visit you, something flashing over his features and sparking in his grace, when he looks at you.

He mutters your name, kneeling down to your eye level with a tight frown. “What do you feel.”

“I- I don’t know.” You mumble, looking past him to Balthazar and Joshua’s solemn faces. “Cas- I don’t know what’s happening to me-“

“I know. I am working on it.” He rises back up, but pauses. Reaches forward and grabs your chin, carefully tipping it up with a tight frown. “Say something.”

“What?”

That apparently is enough. Cas nods, scans over your features, and lets go of your chin. 

“You will be alright.” He mutters. “Balthazar. I need you to come with me.”

Balthazar nods, and they leave the tiny cave. You look to Joshua, who has a heavy expression on his face. 

“Something’s wrong with me, isn’t it?” You whisper, and he sighs. 

“I don’t know. I have never seen anything like this before.”

“Like-“

“I do not think you want to know.” He says gently. “You know I have heard a lot about you. He has told me that you… Do not enjoy the power, that you hold.”

You frown. “He- He has?”

Joshua nods. “He doesn’t understand it. He believes that it is a gift, and has- Been deeply conflicted about what he’s doing wrong. If he did do something wrong. Often, though, he blames Amara. That is his solution for most things, though.”

You blink. “Who-“

“I understand, though. Why you don’t enjoy this. You did not ask for it. Although he rarely asks if anyone wants the burden he gives them, no matter how great.”

Joshua either didn’t hear your question, or pretended he didn’t. Either way, with the track record, it doesn’t seem worth asking. 

So you go for something else, instead. 

“What is it?” You whisper, rubbing your wrists until they ache. “What’s happening to me?” You pause, your voice dropping to only a breath. “Please.”

Joshua sighs, giving you a long, careful look. “I can say nothing for certain.” His words are slow. Careful. “If I were to try, I am sure I would be wrong. But I can tell you what I see.” He stops, waiting for your permission to continue. You swallow. 

Nod. 

And Joshua presses his lips in a tight line. Looks up to the roof of the cave—glimmering with the trapped starlight of night flowers, that have been blooming since you settled here—as he starts to speak. 

“I do not know his exact plan, for you. For anyone. It is why some of my siblings believe that I am simply insane. God is meant to guide us. If he has chosen to speak to me, why do I answer with opinion and not fact?” He chuckles to himself, giving you a sad look. “They do not understand, the difference. Between speak to and at. He only tells me his opinions. His feelings, or the limit of them. He does not… Feel like a human. Or an angel, or demon.” 

You open your mouth, and he shakes his head. 

“Not like you, either. Nobody has ever… Felt. The way that you do.” Joshua pauses, seeming to think through his next words. “So even I do not know, exactly what he intended for you to be. How it is different from what you are. But I do know that God is in a deep, deep love with you. Or at least,” he looks up again, voice dropping. “He claims to be.”

A little bile rises up your throat, lined with the silver. You scratch your wrists, forcing it back down. “Oh- Okay. I don’t- I’m not-“

“I know. But it is important for you to know that, with what I tell you.” Joshua leans forward, saying your Enochian name slowly. “I have not seen God, in over three thousand years. But I remember how bright he was. Even from a distance, even just passing his throne room in the halls, you could feel his heat. Anywhere in his home, you could sense his power. It tasted like… Salt. It was like being trapped in the ocean, because even if you weren’t in Poseidon’s castle, his world was still everywhere around you.”

Joshua waves a hand through the air, and you frown.

“You know who Poseidon is?”

“God is quite fond of complaining about the smaller gods he let humans make.” Joshua says dryly. “How ungrateful they can be, with the power he has allotted them. When his son decided to steal the identity of one… He was infuriated. But that is not the point.” He leans forward, holding your gaze. “I am telling you that anywhere in God’s domain, you could feel him. Do you understand?”

You nod nervously. You more than understand. You’ve felt him above you, your whole life. 

Joshua hums, speaking slowly. More than cautiously. Every word almost measured. 

“When you opened purgatory, I was here. I am always here. I have not left this garden since… Longer than I can even say.” He holds your gaze. “I have not felt the power of my father, since he left. Not even when he speaks to me. I did not feel it when Lucifer broke out of his cage. I did not feel it when he and Michael fell back in.”

“I- I don’t-“

“I felt you.” 

You blink at him, tears stinging behind your eyes. You shake your head, and Joshua nods firmly. 

“I was here. Not on Earth. Not paying much attention to anything but the trees. But I know the exact moment those souls poured into your body. There is not a single being that didn’t, at some level, feel it. For me, and likely my siblings, it felt like someone was shooting new, strong grace right into me. The whole garden bloomed. I have heard, that on earth, there were miracles all over the globe. Sick people, who were suddenly cured. Dying children who suddenly lost their hunger.”

“No- No-“ You choke on your own words. “That wasn’t- I didn’t-“

“You did. Whether you meant to or not. Castiel says you had not been using your powers, since you broke out of hell. That is almost six months of buildup, along the nuclear power of millions of souls. It jumpstarted you. But that power- It did not hurt a living thing.”

You shake your head again, almost frantically. Sink back against the wall, feeling heat rise into your face as your breathing gets shallow. It has to be a lie. You don’t fix things, you make them worse, you make everything worse, you hadn’t even been the one to kill Raphael- 

Joshua says your name, and you bury your face in your knees. 

If you’re not sick, you don’t know what you are at all. If you’re something good, the thing from Sam’s memories instead of yourself, then why have you been in so much fucking pain. 

“That’s- That’s not- I- I’m not-“

“It does not matter what you are.” Joshua says softly, and you blink at him under wet eyelashes.

“But I know what I am-“

“Nobody knows what you are.” Joshua says pointedly. “And if God cannot control you as he claims, as I believe.” He shrugs. “Then the only thing I am sure of is what I can see. Something so bright it can burn through God’s barriers. A woman so powerful, that I feel… More.”

You wipe your nose on your sleeve, frowning at him. 

Joshua smiles to himself. “We are all more. I believe it’s why Castiel keeps you here, even as he worries. Too many angels in your presence, we’d go right into another war.”

“Cas is worried about me?” You ask softly, and Joshua chuckles. 

“Of course he is worried about you. When your worlds are dying, one tends to try worry.”

That doesn’t make sense. If Joshua wasn’t so nice, you’d get pretty annoyed about his cryptic angel-talk. You let it go, because you’re tired. Your head is spinning, and you just want to go home.

You’re not something good. 

You’re not.  

And you still don’t sleep. You just stare at the ceiling, watching the star flowers glimmer over your head. You read up to touch one, and watch it burst with sudden color that spreads from your fingers tips over the ceiling. The colors sparkle like glass. The Spiderweb sings. 

Tears slip from your eyes again. 

You want to go home. 

Cas comes to visit you, a little more often. He comes back with Balthazar the next day, and brings you more paints the day after that. You start to work on the cave wall, and you don’t know if it was always a cave—or if it’s some kind of crime, to paint on God’s walls—but you don’t really care. Everyone keeps saying the whole world is for you. 

You want to make it something Dean would like. 

The skyline. The broad, night skyline over a desert. How it looks from the roof of the Impala, with the road trailing on and on and on. There’s a tiny little diner, with a neon light that glows in the night. You can’t paint music, but you can paint the colors of it. The colors that make up Dean’s soul. Sand that looks purple in the twilight. Deep green bushes and rivers, flowing through the earth. Deep blue in the sky. 

Silver stars, reflected in the water and over the whole image. Like he’s looking through the glass. 

“You are rather good at that.”

You don’t turn. “Thanks, Cas.”

“He will never see it-“

“I know.” You swallow. “I just- I had to.”

Cas is silent, for a moment. He walks over to your side, and sits next to you. You slowly lay down, and he awkwardly follows. 

“I’m not getting better,” you mumble, hugging Velma to your chest. “I- I know it. I can feel it.”

“I am going to fix it-“

“What if you can’t.” You turn to look at him, and if you weren’t about to cry, you’d laugh. It’s a crazy sight, Cas lying in your flowers, stiff like it’s hurting him. Arms locked at his as side, because you’re certain he doesn’t know what to do with them. Even his electric blue—a little deeper than you remember, brighter as well—seems to be wired with tension. 

Dean would love to see that. 

He turns to meet your gaze, and speak steadily. “I can. I will.”

“But-“

“You will be fine.” Cas says it like it’s final. You don’t think it’s worth arguing with him, because he knows. If what Joshua says is true, he can see how bright you are. Maybe even see the souls inside of you. 

You swallow, and look back to the ceiling. “I’ve been seeing things.”

“What kind of-“

“People. Monsters.” You pause. “God.”

Cas falls silent again. You hear a rustle, and he’s moving back to his feet.

“Cas-“

“I will fix this.” He says firmly. “You will fine.” 

“But-“

“I will return in a few days. If you need me, tell Balthazar.”

The air rustles, and he’s gone. You fall back into the flowers, and close your eyes. You want to go home. 

Cas is gone for more than a few days. It’s at least four. You get worse and worse, leave the cave less and less. Every nerve in your body is sensitive, like it’s tapped into everything in the universe, and the universe is mostly just fucking pain. Your back hurts so much you’ve started lying on your stomach instead. Balthazar brings you food and water. Joshua sits with you, showing you different flowers from the garden and explaining their properties. Sometimes one of the animals you accidentally created wanders inside, and keeps your company. 

You can’t remember the last time you actually slept. You have no way of knowing, either. Joshua says that, same as hell, time passes differently in Heaven. Which could either mean you’ve been here for five minutes rather than weeks, or that you’ve been here five hundred years. That Dean’s already dead, and if you ever get home, nobody will even be able to tell you where they buried his body.

You’d find it. Nothing could stop you from finding it. If he’d been turned to ash, you’d be able to track down every speck of him on the wind. You don’t know how. You just know you could. 

If it’s been fifty years, you wonder if he’s moved on. If you return, and time will have let him forgive you, but he won’t sweep you into his arms and kiss you. He’ll just smile sadly, and tell you that once, a longtime ago, he really did- 

“You need sleep.” Joshua says from behind you. 

You sigh. “I can’t, I’ve tried-“

“I made you something.” He cuts you off gently, and you glance over to see him offering you a wooden bowl. There’s a pure white, thick liquid inside of it. 

You frown at him. “Are you trying to drug me?”

“Will it help, if I lie and say no?”

“Hm.” You squint at the bowl. “What is it?”

“Something to help you sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy-“

“Your eyes are drooping.” He holds the bowl out. “Drink.”

You scowl, but grab the bowl from his hands. “You remind me of my dad.” You grumble, taking a long drink. “This tastes like- Eggnog.”

“I do not know what that is.” Joshua smiles. “But I do know of Robert Singer. He is a great man.”

“He used to make me pancakes on Sundays.” You yawn, and cover your hand with your mouth. “He put chocolate chips in them. One time-“ You settle back into the flowers, eyes already getting heavy. “One time my Dean bought me a whole bag of chocolate chips.”

“Dean Winchester-“

“He’s perfect.” I love him. “I miss him. He tastes like eggnog.”

Your eyes flutter shut. Your back still hurts, so you roll onto your stomach. The flowers smell like cinnamon. And the only thing you hear, as sleep sweeps through you, is that distant song of Dean’s name. 

Light is filtering through the drawn curtains. The heavy, dark ones that Bobby got you when you were eight. When you used to scream about the sky watching you. 

You’re in your bedroom. 

And Dean’s on the floor. 

He’s got a half-empty bottle next to him, on the floor. He’s holding a pen, and writing something on his knee. Brow tightly furrowed, bags under his eyes. You should probably look around the rest of the room, if this is like when you used to see him in hell. 

Real. 

You should use this to figure out how much time had passed. What the situation is, on Earth. What they’re doing, if they’re looking for you, or if they’ve just given up. 

But it only really feels like you need to be looking at Dean. 

He’s everything. Always everything. He’s Golden, and that tells you he’s real. Everything smells like him, and you take your first, deep breath in a long, long time. He looks the same as the last time you saw him–save for the heavy exhaustion on his face—and it means that much time can’t have passed at all.

The sheets are messy. He’s still been sleeping here.

He takes a deep drink from his bottle, not looking away from whatever he’s writing. You scan over the floor for more discarded, empty beers, but there don’t seem to be any but the one in his hand. And maybe it’s because you’re not really here, but when you sit down next to him, he doesn’t reek of liquor. It really just seems to be one bottle. 

Dean keeps writing. You keep looking at him, eyes stinging with tears once more. You’d think you would’ve run out, by now. 

With Dean, you never seem to be able to. 

“I miss you.” You whisper softly. He doesn’t look up. “I’m sorry, De, I- I’m so sorry.”

Still nothing. You let out a slow breath, and you wish Sam was here. Or Bobby. Even another girl, because that would’ve killed you worse than the souls are, but at least you would’ve been able to hear his voice. At least you wouldn’t have had to see him look so fucking sad. 

Nothing in the room looks clean. Those are the same sheets from when you left. He’d put away your books, and done the laundry, but just yours. His shirt is lying on the bed, on top of the comforter. 

Actually, that might be one of Dean’s shirts that you wear. 

You don’t want to think about it. So you look back to Dean. 

His eyes are a little red. His jaw is clenched, with a little bit of stubble growing further than you’ve ever really seen it before. When you look at his arms, one of them has what you recognize as Sam’s signature stitches, which at least means Sam is lucid enough to patch Dean up. You don’t think about why Dean needed to be patched up, though. Why his knuckles are bloody, or why there’s another set or stitches, near his collarbone. 

You place a hand lightly on his free knee. He stops writing. His muscle tightens, under your fingers. 

Dean looks around, a tight frown on his face. His eyes move right over and past you, but his nostrils flare. His frown deepens. His lips are cracked. His hair doesn’t look like it’s been washed in a few days. 

You reach up slowly, and run your fingers through it.

Dean snaps the pencil in his hands. Says your name, his voice a deep, rough rasp. 

And you could swear, that right before it all went away, he looked you right in the eyes. 

You wake up back in the cave, a sudden amount of panicked energy rushing through your body. You scramble up, wiping the sleep from your eyes, and wince as you stumble out into the light of the garden. Joshua looks up from his plant, a deep frown on his face, and Balthazar—who looks to have been drawing mindlessly in the dirt with a bored expression—shoots to his feet, trying to catch you before you fall over yourself. 

“You do not look well,” he says your name, sounding almost concerned. “You should return to bed, you are- Christ, you are rather, cold- Joshua, come look if she’s cold.”

Joshua starts to cross the clearing, but you shake your head. Grab Balthazar, the words almost pouring out of you.

“Cas, I need Cas- Balthazar, I need you to go get Cas, please-“

A sob breaks your voice, and Balthazar nods, exchanging a look with Joshua.

“Would you be a dear, and-“

Joshua sighs, and takes Balthazar’s place. He frowns, the second he touches you. You don’t know when you started sobbing. You might have been doing it the whole time. But breathing is getting a little harder, and all you can do is wrap your hand around your throat and try to keep the Silver down, as Balthazar vanishes with a whoosh.

Joshua leads you back into the cave. Rests you back into your bed, passing you Velma and settling himself near the edge of the walls. You don’t know how long you wait, for Balthazar to return. All you do know is that your back hurts, so you roll onto your side. That everything is so loud and big, and you are everything, so you try to make yourself as small as possible. You curl into a ball, hugging Velma into your chest, and just manage to breathe. 

Only as it settles, do you realize that you hadn’t held onto the Silver as well as you thought. That when you slowly sit up, Joshua is quietly weeding off the vines that had grown over the walls. When you crawl over to the cave entrance, there’s a massive tangle of bushes and burning flowers. Earth that has grown around the clearing, a massive fortress of stone, and a waterfall that falls down into a newly formed lake. Then you squint, and see the plants on the top of the cliffs.

You didn’t make walls shoot up. 

You made everything else go down. 

You sit back on your knees, gaze falling to the dirt. It’s wet with warm mud, that makes your fingers feel less numb. You gather it in your hands, and close your eyes. It’s sticky, and gooey, and the mess of it is so much fucking better than just the stark, harsh heat that Balthazar was probably going to blow on your hands like last time. You slowly open your eyes, as the Silver settles back down. 

And find yourself staring at Cas’ dress shoes, and… 

Flip flops.

You slowing drag your gaze up, and Cas is frowning down at you, and the mud in your hands. 

Gabriel, next to him, is beaming. 

Cas says your name slowly, frowning. “Why are you in the mud.”

“Because she’s having fun. Who doesn’t like to get a little dirty?” Gabriel winks at you, and you flush.

“My hands were cold.”

“Balthazar mentioned that.” Cas mutters. “Sit up, I am going to take your temperature-“

“Castiel.” Gabriel blocks his hand, sighing dramatically. “She’s cold. I can feel it from here, nobody’s gotta get probed.”

You blink. “Wha-“

“Well, probed any more than they need to be.” Gabriel rubs his hands together, looking around the garden. “This place looks different, than I remember. Joshy, you do a home makeover without me?”

Joshua blinks slowly, voice flat. “No.”

“Hm. Well, I like it.” Gabriel grins back to you. “You want to do this out here, or in your little nest?”

“It’s not a-“ You sigh, squinting up at him. “What is this. Why- Cas, why is he here?”

“He’s here to look at you.” Cas mutters, and you make a face.

“And he’s… Our only option?”

Gabriel frowns. “You know, you’re awfully mouthy for a girl who’s supposed to be in so much pain the world is crying over it.”

You stick your tongue out of him, he beams, and Cas sighs. 

“He is the last remaining archangel. I am hoping that he will have an idea of what is happening to you.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to figure it out. I’ve been around the block, sweet cheeks, nothing gets old Gabe confused.” He pauses. “Except those jellybeans that taste like barf. I don’t understand why humans would ruin something so beautiful.” Gabriel sighs dramatically, crouching down to your eye level. “I’m going to figure out what’s wrong with you, gorgeous. Just tell me, you want me in, or out.”

You give him an unimpressed look, and nod over your shoulder. Gabriel shrugs, walking right past you into the cave. Cas helps you up, walking you after him, then sets you carefully back down. He stands stiffly in the background, as Gabriel examines you. Watching with a heavy expression, and the slight shift on his face that tells you he’s worried. 

Gabriel put on blue doctor gloves and a lab coat, shaking himself out as he kneels in front of you. He makes you follow his finger without moving your head, and count backwards from ten, and name the president. You’re about to snap at him that you didn’t fall and get a concussion when he leans forwards, and holds up his hand. Holds it right over your chest, raising his brows. You nod, and he press his hand against your breast. Over your heart. 

He tilts his head like he’s listening for something. A shadow crosses over his face, so fast you almost don’t see it. He leans back.

“Tongue out,” Gabriel orders you, and you obey. He grins as he examines your mouth. “Look at you, such a good listener-“

You shoot your foot out, and kick him in the balls. 

Gabriel groans, then laughs. “Guess I earned that. Should know better than to think I’m Dean. Lucky asshole.”

“Don’t call Dean an asshole- Mph-“ 

Gabriel pulls your mouth back open, squinting down your throat. He frowns, then leans back, releasing you with an expression you don’t love. 

“What’s wrong.” Cas says from the corner, leaning forward, and Gabriel sighs. 

“She’s dying. Too many souls.”

You blink. Oh. 

You should probably have a bigger reaction than that. But it’s just… Blank. The Silver isn’t shooting up. You aren’t crying. 

It just feels you’re being caught in a net over a cliff, like you’re numb from anesthesia, and oh. 

Cas, though, is taking a step off the wall, a deep scowl on his face. His voice even deeper than usual, wings flaring in his vessel. 

“That is wrong. Look again.”

“I don’t need to look again. It’s what’s happening.”

“No. It is impossible-“

“Well apparently, it isn’t.” Gabriel stands up with a sigh. “She just popped her top, Cassie, and now she’s building back up too fast. And she’ll go supernova, if we’re not careful.”

Cas scowls. “Gabriel-“

“Maybe not supernova. I don’t know. I lied, I’ve never actually seen anything like this before. But I know she’s dying.” He winces, giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

You nod. Your voice sounds faraway. “It’s okay.”

“No, it is not.” Cas snaps. “Gabriel, she cannot die, you know she cannot die-“

“I don’t know. Neither do you.” Gabriel’s voice becomes firm. “And maybe she’s not dying. Maybe she’s going to big bang instead of supernova, and our pretty caterpillar gets to be an even prettier butterfly. I don’t know.” Gabriel narrows his eyes at Cas, and the room crackles with electricity. “You asked me to tell you what’s wrong, Castiel. I am telling you. Listen to me, little brother, or she will die.”

Cas stands a little taller. “You have a way to stop it.”

“Maybe. I told you, I don’t know-“

“No. There must be a way.” Cas glances at you, then back to Gabriel. “I brought her here. I have Heaven at my disposal, I have our arsenal, and knowledge, and power, and- You. Gabriel, you are an archangel. You must feel it. Feel- The power, it’s unlike anything else, and for you- Fix it.”

You’ve never heard Cas talk this fast. Never seen his voice sound like that. Uncontrolled. Frantic. 

Afraid. 

Gabriel sighs. “Castiel, there is no fixing it. You have to have realized that by now,” he laughs, bitter and mostly to himself. “Dad likes to make loopholes. Unsolvable puzzles, locks that can’t be open. Doors for us to see, and never touch.”

“This is not an act of god, brother.” Cas takes another step forward, and Gabriel sighs. 

“I know. Which is worse. This is… New. It’s her, and- Shit, Cassie, nobody understands what the hell is up in that pretty head, ever.” He gives you a half-apologetic face. “Again. Sorry.”

You shrug it off. You don’t always know what’s going on your head. 

“There has to be something-“

“Might be. But I don’t know what it is.” Gabriel stands up, giving you a once over. “The souls are killing her. I may only be a fake doctor when I’m messing with certain human pretty boys we all know and love, but I’d try getting the souls out of her. That’ll probably do… Something.”

Cas goes rigid, and nods slowly. Gabriel claps him on the back, and gives you a nod. 

“Always good to see you, hot cakes.”

“Thanks.” You mumble. “And- Thank you for coming. I know you don’t want to… Be involved.”

“Eh, I don’t mind this. It’s entertaining.” He frowns at the air. “Unless you die. It’ll just a real huge bummer, if you die. So don’t.”

“I’ll do my best.” You say flatly, and Gabriel laughs. 

“There she is.”

He vanishes in a rush of hot air, leaving you, and a silent, still Cas. You don’t say anything. You’re mostly still numb, and- 

Sort of really worried about him. 

You scoot over to the side, and give him expectant look. Cas’ lips turn slightly, lines forming on his face as he examines the spot next to you. You pat it softly. His chest heaves, and he bows his head slightly as he walks across the cave and drops next to you. 

For a second, you both just sit there. You look out the entrance of the cave, watching the moss and vines sway in the wind. You can feel Cas watching you, see him adjusting his seat in your periphery. When you glance back over, he’s moved his knees up to his chest. His hands rest awkwardly on his knees. 

You smile at him. “You can stand, if you-“

“No. This is- Comfortable.” He lets out a heavy breath, scanning over your face. “Back on Earth. Right before… This. You remember what I told you.”

You nod. “That the Whore is title for- Mothers. In defiance of God.”

“No. Well, yes. I haven’t had time, to look more into it, but yes. The Whore is a maker. But- The other thing I told you.”

You shake your head, and Cas blinks slowly.

“You and I, together. I promised we would figure this out.”

“Cas-“

“The other angels, they are… Angry with me. They do not approve of my methods, or my failures. Many… They are demanding to see you. And I will not let them.” Cas looks away. “I am trying to help them, but I am… Distracted. And they do not understand, they have never…” He shakes his head, and you reach out slowly. 

Grab his arm, and keep smiling, when he meets your eyes again.

“I can go to them. If you-“

“No. I cannot let you do that. They- They do not understand.” Cas lets out a heavy breath. “I have done so much, and is not- Has never been enough. I know, that you were raised among the ego of humans and may not understand-“

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, I- I get it. It’s- It fucking sucks.”

“It does.” He mutters. “I have been doing things, and- They cannot stand against me. Without an archangel, with you- It would be hard to dispose of me. But I do not wish to fail them further.” His throat bobs, eyes trapped on yours. “I do not wish to fail you.”

“You won’t-“

“I have.”

Silence falls over the room, and your nails dig a little, into Cas’ jacket. 

“What have you been doing, Cas?” You whisper. “While I’ve been- Here.”

He sighs. “Keeping an eye on Dean. Cleaning up, after Raphael, which has been messy. Making examples of anyone, who tries to sow discord or demands your presence-“

“Cas.”

“It is brutal, but- It is effective-“

“Has Dean ever made you watch the Untouchables?”

There’s another beat of silence. You haven’t talked about Dean, since Cas took you. He stares at you for a moment, the air in the room wired, then nods. 

“Yes. I believe you were with us.”

“Probably. I’ve lost track, of how often he’s made me.” You let out a soft, amused breath. “Once he got all the snacks out first, trapped me on the couch, then put it on. He lured me.”

Cas’ lip twitch. “He does have… Strange habits.”

“He wrapped me up like a burrito and hand fed me grapes, just so he could watch his stupid FBI propaganda movie.” You smile. You love him so much. “But- Do you remember what happened in that movie, Cas?”

He frowns, and you give him a tight look. 

“Elliot Ness brought down Al Capone on taxes. His empire was so tight, it was the only way they could prove he was guilty of anything. But it was tight, because he bribed people. I mean, he threatened them too, but a lot of bribes, and good will in the community. He treated his best men well, he ran a soup kitchen. He worked with marginalized groups, and built favor, and nobody would turn him over.”

“I do not understand-“ 

“You can’t just take control, Cas.” You squeeze his arm. “You have to have people in your corner. You have to be careful, and smart.”

Cas blinks. “I… Have you.”

“Yeah. You do.” 

“That… is good.” He sighs. “My siblings, they are furious. Crowley knows I betrayed him, so I can’t even go back there. Dean is angry with me.” 

You swallow. Something is rising in your throat. “About… Me?”

Cas nods, and you let go of his arm. Fold over yourself, pressing your face into your knees. The ache in the Spiderweb becoming almost as unbearable as the pain. You can’t keep going. Not alone. And you miss him, you miss Dean so much. You can still see him when you close your eyes, still feel the spiderweb humming his name, but the Gold-

It’s fading from your body. You haven’t seen him in so long, his Gold is drifting away. 

Like it was never there at all. 

You need it to have been there. You need him to have been real, because it’s the only thing you’re ever sure of. 

You need him. 

“Cas. I-“ You look up, your eyes stinging with tears. “I want to go home. If I’m going to-“ Your voice breaks. “I want to go home.” 

He lets out a long, heavy breath. “Alright. But- You have to understand, there is nothing I won’t do for what is right.” 

You nod, and he blinks slowly.

“I will fix this.”

You give him a small, sad smile. “Okay.” 

Dean didn’t remember what proper sleep felt like. He just knew he hadn’t goddamn had it. Not in at least a month. Not since Cas took Her and left. 

The first week, he really hadn’t felt anything but fury.

Fury at Cas, for getting Her to do something so goddamn stupid. He’d said there were reasons. Dean couldn’t think of a single goddamn one good enough to put her in danger over.

Fury at Her, for thinking that anything Cas was saying could be true. That they were without a place. That Dean wouldn’t crawl to Her through guts and bones to try and bring Her home, if She was taken from him. That he wasn’t going to lose his mind, the moment She was gone. 

And he had.

The fury had burned and burned, and Dean hadn’t seen anything but red. Bobby said that when they’d gotten back to the house, he’d been shouting about how there was only one outsider who’d they’d let in the house lately, one witch who could’ve given Raphael and Crowley access to it for them to take Her. That Dean had made some pretty graphic threats, about how he’d kill Her mother, if the bitch ever made the mistake of going near Her again. Sammy said he’d broken a few things. Driven around at midnight, the second day, and picked a fight until someone punched him in the face. Taken every bottle of beer in the fridge, and hurled it at the impounded cars in Bobby’s yard. 

He remembered that. He’d sat on a tire, drinking from the last bottle until the hollow in his chest eased enough he could breathe. Indy had flown up to him, and nosed his hand.

She’d been whining, since Oklahoma. Dean felt every sad sound in his bones. 

“I’m lookin’ for her, Indy.” He’d muttered, and Indy had blinked up at him with sad, glowing eyes. “Don’t gimme that look, I tried to stop her and she didn’t- I don’t want her to be gone either!”

Indy had whined again. Little wings flapping, as she settled into Dean’s leg. 

“I’m not magic. Can’t wave my hand, make her pop up. I tried calling her, she’s not picking up-“

Indy had made the saddest sound Dean had ever heard. 

“Yeah, I miss her too.” He’d let out a slow, heavy breath. “She’ll come back, okay? She-“ Dean had swallow, his throat tight. “She wouldn’t just leave you.”

Wouldn’t leave me. 

And there had been fear, as the days stretched and Her side of the bed started getting cold. When he’d reached out in the morning, and felt nothing but sheets. At least their room still smelled like Her apples. And when he opened her clothing drawer, it overtook him like a hit. 

But it wasn’t enough to curb that electric, buzzing fear. 

She’d looked so small, when the gate had shut. Her eyes had been closed, Her face colorless, body limp. Dean had no way of knowing if She was even okay, because he didn’t know where the hell She was. Cas might have taken Her off planet, for all they knew. And since Cas didn’t answer Dean’s screamed prayers at the sky—to just come back, he’d forgive and forget if Cas just came back and brought her with him—there wasn’t anyone with a line to tell them if She was even still-

No. She was. 

Dean would know, if She wasn’t. He’d have to know. That had to be a part of the whole soulmate thing. He’d sorta felt it, when She fell in the cage. He’d feel it if She-

He wasn’t letting himself think the word. It made him sick, just the idea. She had to be fine. If she wasn’t, the world would’ve stopped turning, or the Sun would explode, or Dean would just turn into a plant or something. 

Maybe a tree. So he could put roots down in the ground, and stretch up to the sky. So that no matter where She was, he’d be close to her. 

He missed Her. 

She was driving him out of his fucking mind, between the lies and shitty choices and never goddamn listening, but Dean still missed Her. Loved Her.

He’d have to feel it, if She- 

“Bobby?” Dean poked his head in the study, after two weeks. The fury at Her and Cas—being idiots, why did he have to surround himself with brilliant, magical fucking idiots—had given way to cold determination. Dean read more than he slept. He’d taken the Impala up to Canada, to get a look at one of those miracles that had happened after purgatory opened.

People all over the world, being cured on the brink of death. Areas devastated by wildfires suddenly overgrown and healthy. Cancer patients going into impossible remission, miscarriages reversing, sick pets being healed, ice caps freezing back over, blind people seeing and paralyzed people walking. Sudden pregnancies. Free, miracle abortions. Dead coral reefs, colorful and alive like nothing had ever happened.

Dean had overheard on Bobby’s radio, that people were calling it a great act of God. That everyone had prayed enough or whatever, and suddenly prayers were being answered like all it took was a coin in a fountain. It didn’t matter than money hadn’t just suddenly appeared or that no one had risen from the dead. A bunch of good things, everyone chalked it up to God. 

And Dean knew God hadn’t had a single damn thing to do with it. If he doubted that for a second, the doubt vanished when he went up to Canada. Bobby had gotten wind from that Garth dude that a town up near Vancouver had been granted one of those great miracles. Not just a free, magic healthcare one—it was Canada, they didn’t seem to need that as much—but a real one. A girl who’d hit her head and been declared brain dead. Only seven years old, doctors didn’t have anything they could do but keep her on life support until the family pulled the plug. 

She’d woken up. Brain scans said she was the same as she’d been, before the fall. Family was thanking God. 

So Dean had dressed up as a priest, and paid them a visit. Asked the girl a few questions, because they needed to be certain. He needed to be certain. 

If She was out there granting miracles, that meant She had to be out there. 

“Listen, uh- Child.” Dean had coughed. He hadn’t played priest in a while. Sammy had always been better at it, and She made a hot nun, and he missed Her- 

Focus. 

“Do you remember anything?” He’d asked the girl. “After your accident. Before God took your Mommy’s call and stepped in?”

The girl had frowned down at her skirt, and glanced over Dean’s shoulder. To where her parents were wandering in the kitchen. Dean followed her gaze, then looked back carefully.

“You alright?”

The girl had nodded, and leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret, Mr. Dean?” She’d whispered, and Dean had nodded quickly.

“Yeah, uh- I’m a priest. That’s what we do, kiddo.”

“Hm.” The girl had looked him up and down, voice dropping to a breath Dean could barely hear. “I went to Heaven.”

“Oh. Good work.” Dean had offered her a high five. The girl had shaken her head. 

“It was loud. I didn’t like it. Am I supposed to like Heaven?”

“Uh- Yeah? I mean, personal experience,” Dean had clicked his tongue. “Not great. But you should be fine.” He’d paused. “What wasn’t doing it for you? In heaven.”

The girl had frowned. “It was sad. But,” she smiled, wide and toothy. “Then I felt the angel, and everything was happy again.”

Dean had blinked. “The angel? An angel brought you back?”

The little girl had nodded eagerly, and Dean had worked his jaw. Looked back over his shoulder to check the parents still weren’t listening. Leaned forward. 

“What did the angel look like?” 

“You don’t see angels, silly.” The girl had giggled, and a weight had pressed on Dean’s chest. “You feel them.”

“Yeah, okay, how did she feel-“

“Good. Like Mommy hugging me, and ice cream, and- I saw a lotta colors.”

“Which ones?“

“All of them. Daddy says that was the angel rainbow.”

Dean had sighed. “Alright-“

“Do you wanna see what the angel gave me?”

That had made him pause. He’d nodded, and let the girl lead him over to her room. Dean had shifted awkwardly in the hall, fidgeting with his watch while she grabbed her angel gift. And he’d known what it was, before the girl even walked back out. 

He’d smelled it. 

Smelled Her. 

The girl had handed him an iridescent apple, shimming with a rainbow and looking like glass, and Dean had felt a lump in his throat so strong he hadn’t been able to speak. That was Her. Every single damn miracle on the planet, this was proof it had been Her. 

He’d taken a picture of it. Gone back to Bobby, and they’d agreed to table working on the miracles. Bobby had some hunters out there, doing damage control as people got riskier with magic and demon deals—everyone wanted a miracle, without understand it was a one-time trick that had nearly killed the love of Dean’s worthless goddamn life—and they had other things to deal with. Eve was still running around. Sammy wasn’t in good shape, and they didn’t have a witch or an angel to take a look at him and offer a soul-prescription. 

Bobby had been throwing himself into tracking Eve down. Jody had even been using connections in the real FBI to try and get a read on where strange actives had been popping up, but every damn monster on the planet seemed to be laying low. Like they’d all gotten a lockdown signal, from Mommy Dearest. 

And Dean needed to be thinking about it, too. He should be helping Bobby, spending all his time on Sammy, trying to get some angel to at least give him a read on the situation in Heaven. There was radio silence from the big sky kingdom, as well. For everyone’s prancing about acts of God, his children seemed to have gone off the grid. Even Hell seemed to be on a tight lockdown, with only select demon deals getting through.

There was a lot of work to be done. Dean couldn’t do it, until he was sure She was okay. Maybe all those miracles had wiped Her. Maybe Heaven was on locked down because they’d started another civil war, over Her power. Maybe Crowley had somehow napped Her, and Hell was fortifying to keep Her. 

Maybe Eve had gotten Her. Maybe She was- 

No. He’d feel it. 

He had to be sure that he’d feel it. 

“Dean.” Bobby muttered, looking up from his desk. “It’s nearly 3am, you should be sleepin’-“

“Can’t tell me that when you’re not sleeping either.” Dean grunted, and Bobby laughed humorlessly. 

“Fair point. You lookin’ for something?”

“Yeah, uh-“ He swallowed, glancing at the stacks of books on the floor. “Any of those on souls?”

Bobby made a face. “Some of them. Never read much. You know-“ Bobby said Her name, then just stopped. Like he couldn’t remember the rest of his sentence, or couldn’t bear to speak it at all. Either way, Dean understood. 

“There any notes?” He muttered, rolling up the cuff of his sleeve, just to make his hands do something. “I’m trying to check something. About- Uh- Soul connections?”

“For Sam?”

Shit, that was a good reason. “Yeah. You know, she used to tell me souls, uh- Moved for each other or something.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the pit in his chest aching. “She said it better. Kinda- Poetic. You know.”

“I do.” Bobby sighed, and nodded out the door. “Check the library. But Dean-“ 

He stopped in the door, looking back to see Bobby’s face a mirror of his own. Heavy. Tired.

“Not much we can do, without her.”

Dean’s hand curled into a fist. “Yeah. I know.”

He went into the library. Found the notes. They were all in Enochian, and Dean had no goddamn way to read them without Her or Cas. It was nothing but goddamn scribbles and lines. 

But he still shoved one in his pocket. It had that word, the one She wrote almost obsessively. Dean’s best guess, it was a protection ward. And he could use some protection. 

Even if it wasn’t, he just wanted to have some of Her with him, all the time. 

Another week passed. No sign of Her. No sign of Cas. Eve and Crowley were MIA. The miracles were starting to be questioned on TV, and Dean took another drive out, to see a ranger at Yellowstone who’d watched their wildlife double overnight. He’d found one of Her apples, too. A whole tree of them, that was still blooming. He let Dean take two of the apples home. He put one in the fridge. Took it out and stared at it, every morning. Fed the other one to Indy, who’d been whimpering all day. 

He saved a slice of that one, for Sammy. Hoped it would help him, offer up another miracle cure. 

It didn’t.

And Dean was really starting to feel it. The lack of Her. The empty space in everything, where something deep in his body was sure She was supposed to be. Somehow it was worse than before. He’d thought he’d known the depth, of how much he could miss Her. That the lowest low would be hallucinating Her on the bathroom floor of a dive bar, drunk with his hand bleeding and a welt on his face, after he called Her name during sex and gotten slapped in the face. 

But that had, at least, been more than pain. He’d had the comfort of seeing Her, even if she wasn’t real. He’d been able to feel the rotten mold over his heart and hands, from touching someone else. The ache on his face had been a good distraction from that hollow emptiness. 

Now, he wasn’t fucking anyone. Got in few fights, but always managed to see white-hot fury, and won them. He had one drink a day, because Sammy needed him, and if he had more he knew he’d go until he did see Her. 

She didn’t need him to do that. She needed Dean to be on his best game. Which meant one, maybe two drinks a day. 

But son of a bitch, he wanted not to feel anything at all. The pain. The absence. The sour betrayal and voice in his head—the one that kinda sounded like Dad—spitting that of course She left. He was nothing more than a weapon and shadow from the mud, and it didn’t matter how good he loved Her, he’d never had enough balls to say it. Enough of a spine to do anything about it. Never been man enough to save Her, never had enough to offer Her, and who the hell wouldn’t leave him. 

Who the hell would choose Dean, over power and literal goddamn Heaven. 

What good thing had he ever done in his life, to deserve Her. 

Soulmate. 

It didn’t add up, with everything else he knew. Maybe it was a one-way road. She was his soulmate, he wasn’t Her’s.

No. She’d felt something. 

She still left. 

Who wouldn’t? 

“Dean.” Sam muttered, as they took Indy for a walk. It was the only time Sam was going out of the house, lately. Dean considered the day a miracle if Sammy got out of his room. “Do you- I mean, I know we don’t really know anything right now, but- Do you think she’s okay?”

Sam didn’t have to say Her name. Dean felt a pain, just to the right of his heart, and he always knew. 

“She is.”

“But what if-“

“She is.” He snapped, kicking a pebble. “She has to be.” He glanced up, to see Sam making a face. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Sam-“

“I- I should have pushed it harder, Dean.” Sam’s brow knit, eyes going all damn puppy-like and sad as he stared at the wind. “I knew something was up with Her and Cas. I knew it, I could feel it, I could freaking- I could see it, and- I let this happen-“

“No.” Dean grunted, grabbing Sammy’s shoulder. “This one wasn’t on you. They made their choices.”

“I don’t think she did, though.” Sam whispered, eyes sad on Dean’s. “She was scared, Dean. I remember her face, it was-“

“Don’t.” Dean couldn’t hear it. It hurt too much. “Just- Fuckin’ don’t.”

Sam pressed his lips in a tight line. “I would’ve done it too.” He mumbled, and Dean scowled.

“That’s-“

“I would have.” Sam shrugged, voice soft. “I- I have. And-“ He laughed under his breath. “I don’t know. At least I was sure of it, right? Guess, that makes it worse.” 

Dean frowned, but didn’t say anything. This wasn’t Sam’s fault—for once, the kid had next to nothing to do with it—and Dean didn’t know who the hell he could blame, to make Sammy see that. Cas, maybe, but Dean didn’t want to talk about Cas. Himself, but Sam would just roll his eyes and snort. Raphael was an easy one, because he was dead, but Sammy probably wouldn’t buy that either. 

Her. 

She’d opened the gate. She’d hidden everything from them, then waited for the last fucking moment to tell them. Dean had found Her, and she’d still gone through with it. He’d begged Her not to, and She’d done it, and he was still goddamn furious with her, but-

She really had looked so afraid. 

And She’d screamed for him. No one else. Just Dean. 

“Are you still pretending to be mad at her?” Sam asked, and Dean blinked.

“That’s- I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are.” Sam gave him a knowing look. “Dean, she could blow up the world and you’d still be like- Obsessed with her.” He paused. “She wouldn’t blow it up, though.” The kid looked up, watching Indy do loops in the sky. “Not if you asked her not to.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. He had asked Her not to. And there was no way She’d think he’d be happy, with her pulling that-

“She actually doesn’t know you love her, by the way.” Sam said casually, and Dean froze. His voice dropped to a hoarse grunt. 

“Sammy-“

“I was in her head, Dean. During the coma. And- I can’t tell you what I saw, but-“ He gave Dean a sad smile. “She doesn’t know. Not really. Not enough that she believes it.”

Dean swallowed. “Shut up,” he grunted, because he didn’t want to hear it. She knew. She had to know. 

If Dean was, for once, going to drop the whole game of it, everyone knew. Bobby knew, Jody knew, hell, even Claire knew. She had to know. Not even that Dean loved Her, that he at least cared for Her. That the pain of being angry with Her—the pain of Her not trusting him—was never going to be stronger than the pain of missing Her. Of worrying about Her. She had to know that there was nothing She did, that Dean wouldn’t do with Her. 

He’d told Her. He’d said that if She’d just asked him, to help Her open Purgatory, he would’ve done it. If She wanted to help Cas, Dean would’ve been game before She even finished the pitch. That Dean felt so goddamn sick because he’d put his head on a spike for Her, but She hadn’t even fucking trusted him. 

Soulmate. 

Dean was Her soulmate. She had to feel it, at some level. He knew he always had. They were soulmates, why the hell wouldn’t She have trusted him when she looked up at him with such soft, bright eyes, when She ran to him and kissed him and flushed all pretty, just for Dean, and it could’ve all been a goddamn lie- 

It wasn’t a lie. 

Dean never should’ve accused Her of that. He knew whenever She was lying. 

But he had. 

He’d shouted that She had been tricking him, and- 

Son of a bitch. 

Of course She didn’t know. She was so fucking smart about everything, and so fucking stupid about herself. She screamed that She just made things worse. That She’d just wanted to be useful. That She never did enough, as if Dean hadn’t been struggling to breathe just because She was gone. He shouldn’t have yelled at Her. She shouldn’t have lied to him, but if Dean knew Her—and he did, he knew Her like She was scripture and he’d been the best Sunday school student in the country—She hadn’t heard him say that he didn’t mean it. That She didn’t need to help. 

She never seemed to hear it, when Dean said he needed Her. Never seemed to fully get it. Cas had said it better. So She’d gone with him. 

Dean didn’t know how to say it.  

He wanted Her to choose him, and he had this massive cheat card, and it wouldn’t count. 

Thinking about it didn’t help him feel better. It kinda felt worse. He was angrier with Her, now. For leaving again, when She swore she wouldn’t. For never listening, when Dean told Her something was going to be bad. When Dean said that he just wanted Her. To be okay. To be with him. 

And now he could feel that fury twisting in on himself. 

Why the hell couldn’t he have ever said it better. Why would he ever think he was worthy, of Her beauty, when he wasn’t even a good enough soulmate to say he loved Her properly. . 

He’d rather She be here and crying or fighting with him, than not here at all. 

Time kept passing. Another week, and the fury returned. Bobby got wind that something was happening in Heaven—there were strange cosmic events, making the news, and the Pope vanished for three whole days only to be found dazed, wandering the Vatican—but no one was taking their calls.

Dean wanted some fucking answers. For someone to look at him and say She was okay. For Cas just pop down and offer him the goddamn dignity of a debrief, even if he didn’t apologize and Dean wanted to sock him for being a fucking idiot. 

This anger wasn’t as consuming as the first week. Dean wished it was. He wished he was furious at Her, and just furious at Her. That he didn’t have to deal with this goddamn pull for Her, just to the right of his heart. That when he stared at Her handwriting on the note and cursed Her for not listening, he didn’t also see Her terrified face and want to pull Her into his arms. That he could take the watch She’d given him off, without immediately putting it back on as proof that She’d cared. That when he punched the mirror, unable to look at himself and work out why She didn’t trust him, he didn’t wish it was Her hands doing his stitches, and go to bed hugging Her pillow, trying to cling to the Apple smell of Her on the air. 

He’d never been angrier with anyone in his life. It hurt more than Sammy choosing Lilith over him. It hurt more than anything Dad had ever said. 

And Dean still didn’t hate Her. 

He could never hate Her. They’d fought before. They’d made up. And there was a worse punishment, than losing Her. One thing, that hurt more than Her betrayal. 

Her never coming back at all. 

It had been a month.

Desperate times. 

“We need to make another call to Crowley.” Dean told Bobby in the kitchen, and Bobby just sighed.

“Alright.”

Dean blinked. He’d expected more pushback than that. “Alright?”

Bobby nodded, taking a long drink of his coffee. “Nothin’ else to do, is there?”

There really wasn’t.

Bobby set it up. Got the ingredients, set it in the devil’s trap. Dean grabbed Excalibur—he’d been keeping it in the closet, since Oklahoma—and Sam sat quietly in the corner with Claire, who’d somehow talked her way into this. Dean was pretty sure Bobby was just too tired to argue.

Sam said the incantation. Bobby raised his shotgun, and Dean held Excalibur a little tighter.

Nothing happened. 

Dean scowled. “Do it again.”

“I did it once, it doesn’t get more effective-“

“Well, maybe you said it wrong-“

“I’ve done this spell a million times, Dean, I didn’t say it wrong-“

“He’s supposed to take the goddamn call, whole point of summoning a demon is that they gotta pick up-“

“Maybe he’s got a new secretary or somethin’.” Bobby muttered, and Dean shot him a glare.

“So we spam, until they pick up-“

There was a knock, on the door. Dean almost didn’t hear it, over the ringing in his ears. He needed this. Needed something. Needed Her, but She wasn’t here-

“I’ll get it,” Claire mumbled, and Bobby’s gaze shot away from Dean as she stood up. 

“Claire, kiddo, wait-“

“It’s fine. This is boring anyway.”

“No, that ain’t-“

Claire was already out of the room. Dean heard the door creak, and-

“Hello, dearie.” A cool, Scottish voice broke through the storm in Dean’s chest. “You aren’t who I’m here for.”

“Sorry,” Claire sounded bored. “We don’t take solicitors-“

“I am not a solicitor. I know your father, so if you could just- Step aside-“

Bobby was already running out of the room, and Dean followed. Sure enough, it wasn’t a solicitor.

And Dean was sort of impressed, with how well Claire was blocking Rowena from getting in the house. Bobby tried to pull her back, but she was committed. The kid was fourteen, and she was making the redhaired witch look like she was getting bounced at the club. If Dean wasn’t worried about Claire’s safety, he would’ve just let it play out. 

But this was, apparently, Crowley’s mom or something. A witch that She had called powerful. And Dean wasn’t going to gamble with Claire’s life.

“Rowena.” He grunted, and her head snapped up. “What the hell are you doing here.”

“I am here to help, Hunter-Boy- And- Move, you feral child-“

She tried to shoulder past Claire again, and Claire hissed at her like a cat. Rowena recoiled in horror, and Dean had to bite down a snort.

“Down, kiddo.” He muttered. “Bobby, can you-“

“Claire.” Bobby grunted, not lowering his shotgun. “Come here.”

Claire protested, but Bobby gave her a firm look, and she gave in with a room of her eyes. Dean took her place. Looked Rowena up and down coldly, trying to work out how pissed She’d be later, if he cut off the bitches head now. 

“You think you’re here to help.” He grunted, swinging Excalibur in his hand. 

Rowena sighed. “I am here to help-“

“Not from where I’m standing.”

“Well, you’re a young and foolish, barely a wee boy.” Rowena raised he chin at him. “You call for Fergus. You get me. At least I have a modicum of…” She made a face, like the words were sour. “Bother, for if you live or die.”

Dean snorted dryly, and Rowena narrowed her eyes.

“I did not wish for her to get hurt, Hunter. I… Did not think she could be.”

His blood went cold. “Don’t talk about her-“

“Why not? I spent three months, putting up with her moaning and whining about the right thing. She put up with me. I like to think we were friends.”

Dean scowled, and Rowena leaned forward, voice firm.

“I truly wish to help. And-“ Her lips twitched. “I don’t think you fools have many other choices, do you?”

Goddamnit. 

This was a bad idea. But there were a lot of those going around. 

She’d trusted Rowena. That had to mean something. She hadn’t even fully trusted Dean.

“You wanna help us get her back?” He grunted, and Rowena sighed.

“Unfortunately, it does seem that way.”

“You know I can kill you.”

“Yes, I’m sure you think that.” Rowena rolled her eyes at Dean’s scowl. “Yes, you giant oaf. You can kill me. Christ, I needed to talk to that girl about her taste.”

That last part was under her breath, and Dean paused. Bit down the questions about what the hell that meant. 

He was going to do the stupid thing. 

He let Rowena into the house—apparently, She’d put the witches name on the shortlist, which was another good sign he was going to cling to—and accepted her help. Bobby didn’t love it. Hell, Dean didn’t love it. But they needed fucking something, and this was all they got. 

It had been five weeks, now. 

Still nothing. 

Dean slept when his eyes got too heavy to hold up. It wasn’t even enough to dream. He ate when Jody came over, and cornered him and Bobby in the kitchen to feed them. He missed Her, and prayed to Her, because She had to come home. Even if it was just to fight, Dean had to touch Her again. Had to see Her. Had to know She was okay.  

He sat with Rowena, while she worked on her magic. She’d run them through it, when Bobby held the shotgun to her head and demanded she explain everything she was doing. 

“No need to be so dramatic,” Rowena had snapped. “It’s very simple, even Fergus understood it, and that boy has never been the brightest. Purgatory souls went into her body. Poor girl exploded, and now wherever she is, your angel is trying to stabilize her. Likely failing. But that’s just my guess, based on being alive for hundreds of years and knowing more about magic than anyone else on the planet.”

Dean had frowned. “Then how the hell are you helping us, exactly-“

“I’m making a spell to ensure the little tiger is safe.”

“She ain’t safe-“

“Not now, no.” Rowena had cut Bobby off with a flat look. “But that is what I’m doing. I’m here to help her, boys.” She gave them looks of thin disdain. “Not you.”

And Dean couldn’t argue with that. It wasn’t about him right now. It never was. He sat with Rowena while the worked, every day—just to keep an eye on her, after Her mother, he wasn’t taking any more risks than he had to—but didn’t ask questions.  Didn’t do anything but read and keep Excalibur within his reach. He was still looking for Eve. It would be awesome, if She got home and Dean didn’t have to worry about Her getting fucking grabbed again. 

If he could hold Her, tell her she was safe, and prove that he’d waited. Fought for Her. That even when he’d been furious with Her, he’d still tracked down Eve and killed the bitch, for Her. 

“Hm.” Rowena said one day, and Dean looked up to find her staring at him. “You are… A loyal mutt.”

“What the hell does that-“

“Oh, don’t hurt yourself thinking, pretty boy.” Rowena looked back to her book. “It’s a compliment. You’re better than I guessed you’d be. And I do hope you’re worth it.”

Rowena sighed, and Dean felt something squeeze around his chest. Ropes made of burning iron, that made his breath catch and fists curl. Rowena had heard of him. Enough to think about him. And that meant She talked about him. That the last time they’d played this out—the last time She’d chosen something else over Dean—She’d still thought about him. Talked about him. 

Choose to come back to him. Loyal mutt. Soulmate. 

Worth it. 

He had to have been, for Her to try and help him, even in Her insane, reckless way. Enough for Her to tell Rowena about him. Enough for Her to come back, over and over and over again. And She’d come back. She always came back. 

Dean went to other worlds and She loved him openly, but that wasn’t Her. She screamed for him, and gave him parts of Her no one else got, and wanting all of Her was selfish. But Dean was a selfish man.

So He’d wait, and keep loving Her with everything he had. He’d never let Her hurt herself again. Sam said She didn’t know, and Dean would let Her figure it out herself, because there really wasn’t a single world where he could ever touch at anyone else now that he’d touched Her. Had Her. Been so close to having Her, then lost her through his fingers. 

He loved Her more than anything, but the woman was like a feral fucking cat sometimes. Dean would have to leave the light on, and just keep waiting for Her to choose him again. 

Because the anger. 

It really was nothing, to the longing.  

Apr. 17th - 2011

Princess, 

Come home. 

I know that I’ve spent the last few months pissed at you. I know I wrote about twenty damn letters about it. And I know you’re gonna read them and only think that I hate you, but I don’t. Never did. Never could. 

You love something, you want it to be better. Heard that on TV, once. Might’ve been on the radio. Shit, maybe Sammy or you said it. But it’s the truth, baby. I love you, and I want you to be better. Not you, but you. I want you to be okay, and you aren’t okay. Not when you’re making crazy decisions like you think no one’s going to care if you go off the deep end. I care. Bobby cares. Sammy cares. And it goddamn kills me, that you think we don’t. So I need you to be okay.

I love you. You fucking killed me again, and I still love you. I’ve been trying to tell you. You never goddamn listen. You’re too smart for your own good, sweetheart. Can talk yourself into anything, and I- 

i think i feel you, sometimes. 

think i felt you now. 

its insane, but i feel you. the air smells more like you, and i can hear something that dont got words, but it sounds lie like you. and i know thats freaking batshit, but stranger things, right? you feel like an angel. you feel like everything good. and i wish you could understand that. sammy says you dont know.

you gotta know. i wish i knew how to tell you. 

i wish that you’d believe me, when i did. 

i can show you. i know people can say things all they want and you dont believe them. got that spelled out for me, when it took me pinning you to a wall for you to realize maybe i wanted to fuck you. so ill keep doing it like that. ill help rowena get those souls out of you. ill kill eve for you. i wont let you pull that shit again, cause im about to make it real clear that i love you, and you can think nothing about me all you want (you probably should) but nothing you say is gonna make me love you less. 

i let you boss me around about a lot, princess. youre not getting the upper hand on this. you break my heart, you either stitch it back up like my hands or leave it like that till i die. but no one else is touching it. so deal with that. 

Not much for life updates. Had to tie Sammy’s shoes yesterday, cause he keeps falling over whenever he does them. Been taking Claire out to shoot bottles, she’s getting pretty good. Rowena ate dinner with us, which was weird, because I didn’t even know she ate. I don’t think she sleeps. I know she doesn’t cause I’m not either. 

I love you. And you’re going to goddamn feel it. 

Yours,

DAW  

Rowena got the spell. It took her about two weeks, but she called Dean and Bobby—and Sammy, and Claire, although the former just wanted to go back to bed and the later was here despite Dean specifically telling her to go watch tv or something—into the library and smiled up at them with a smug expression.

“You are welcome, boys.”

Bobby narrowed his eyes. “You ain’t done anything yet.”

“I’ve given you a cure. Before, you would’ve been floundering around like worms, trying to figure out what you could possibly do to solve the little problem you find yourself in. Now,” she patted her notes. “All you need to do is go get the girl, and I can fix her.”

“Go get her?” Dean snapped. “What the hell do you think we’ve been tryin’ to do-“

“Don’t be angry with me, boy.” Rowena turned up her chin. “I have done everything, but I actually need the girl to perform the spell-“

“Well I’ve been doing goddamn everything, too, and she isn’t just gonna fall out of the goddamn sky-“

There was a whoosh behind him. Sammy’s mouth fell open, as Bobby lowered his gun with wide eyes. 

“Dean.” Cas said, and Dean had never been so sure the universe was out to get him. “I… need your help.”

“Oh, you need my fuckin’-“ Dean cut himself off, as he turned around. 

This wasn’t the smug, look who’s crawling back moment he’d dreamed about a few times. This was maybe the worst thing he’d seen, because it wasn’t gross, or violent, or hateful. It just made him feel heavy, made the pit in him sore, and Dean felt something like venom in his blood and hot needles over his skin.

Cas’ hair was messier than usual, and his tie looked like he hadn’t bothered to tighten it in weeks. There wasn’t a scratch on his body, but his eyes were dim. Something deeper, on his face, it was exhausted. 

And he was holding Her up around her waist. 

Dean body moved before his brain caught up with the sight. He rushed forward, pulling Her out of Cas’ arms and stumbling back as She collapsed over his chest. Her face pressed against him, eyes fluttering and unfocused, hands weak as they grabbed at his shirt. She made a weak noise of protest at the movement, but didn’t fight it. Dean hauled Her a little further up, cupping Her face and trying to get a good look.

She looked healthier than Cas did. Her clothing was the same as Oklahoma, but there wasn’t any dirt or wear. Her face was colored properly, Her hair just as shiny as normal, her skin soft to touch. 

But Her power, it was everywhere. In all the colors, and the lights that were suddenly bright, and the way the Sun seemed to angle itself, just to shine on Her. The air was clean, and smelled so strongly of Her apple Dean felt like he was getting high. Everything bent into Her. It was all the beauty from Oklahoma, settled deep into Her body and spilling around her like it couldn’t help itself. Maybe they were all just falling into Her, and her light was forcing the world to bloom. 

It didn’t matter. 

Because She was so damn cold. When Dean rasped Her name, she looked up at him. 

And Her eyes. 

They were pure silver. 

The pupils glowed like they were stars. Her iris’ were swirling like water, their normal color almost painted over to be molten and bright. When Dean repeated Her name, they flickered back to normal. When he brushed hair stuck to Her brow, she leaned in his touch.

He couldn’t remember why he’d ever been angry with Her. Couldn’t feel anything but the whole world off its axis, because She was in danger. Dean had one goddamn job, and he’d failed it, because She was in pain, and he hadn’t been there. 

“Dean.” Bobby muttered, and Dean shook his head. He dug his fingers into Her sides, even as She shivered, so fucking cold. “What’s-“

“I’m getting her to bed.” He muttered, glancing up to Bobby’s pallid face. “Bobby, she’s cold-“

“I’ll make soup.” He nodded, and Cas frowned. 

“Soup will not help-“

“You,” Dean shot him a glower. “Don’t get a fuckin’ opinion.”

Cas twitched like he was going to say something, but made the smart choice of keeping his mouth shut. Dean didn’t care anyway. He just had to take care of Her.

“Hold on, Princess.” He muttered in Her ear, and She listened. Feebly—but all the same—wrapped Her arms around Dean’s neck, and let him scoop Her up bridal style. 

Dean carried Her upstairs, without looking back. Kicked open the door to their room, and dodged Indy’s frantic wings as the dragon realized She was home. 

“C’mon give her some space, she- Indy. Down.” 

Indy whined, but shot over to the bed. Waited with her tail whipping, as Dean blinding grabbed one of his shirts and some new underwear for the drawer. She was limp on the bed, as he guided Her through changing. Like Her muscles simply couldn’t move. So he moved Her slowly, like he was handling delicate, priceless cargo. 

He was. 

At some point, Dean looked up and found silent tears streaming down Her cheeks. He rose up and wiped them way. She caught his hand, and squeezed it. Dean sighed, and squeezed back three times. She was okay. She was going to be okay.  

He didn’t even bother to try and leave Her. Dean found himself at the headboard, with Her curled up between his legs. Her face near his thigh, pressed into his stomach. Arms around his hips, legs tangled slightly with Dean’s. 

He’d dreamed of Her like this. 

Son of a bitch, he wished it was for any other reason. 

Neither of them spoke, for a while. Dean heard Bobby’s voice floating up from downstairs—he’d forgotten to close the door—and had Indy go nose it closed. After, the loyal thing sat at the foot of the bed, looking at Dean with pleading eyes. Dean sighed, nodded, and Indy rocketed forward. Snaked her way into Her arms, and cooed when She pressed her face against Indy’s scales. 

Dean swallowed. His throat hurt, his voice low and careful.

“Baby, if she’s too cold-“

“She’s fine.” She mumbled. “I missed her.”

Dean’s brows drew. He didn’t want to pull Indy away, but the dragon could be cool, and She was freezing—fucking shivering, curling so tight into Dean and worse than ice when her cheek pressed on the bare skin of his abdomen—so-

“I missed you.” She mumbled, and that ache in Dean’s throat was going to burst through his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He muttered Her name, and She shook her head. 

“I- I didn’t mean to, I didn’t- It wasn’t supposed to do that, I didn’t think that I would- I- I missed you, and I’m sorry-“ Her words were getting fast. Dean tried to reach down and force Her to look at him, but She just shied away. Pressed further into him, while shaking with force of Her sobs and hiding her face. 

“Princess-“

“I don’t wanna die.” She whispered. “Dean, I- I don’t wanna die-“

Her voice broke, and he felt his hands go numb. His heart pressed against his lungs, pounding in his ears while barely moving at all. It was either going to explode, or just stop beating all together. Either way, something was deeply wrong in his body. In his empty, almost burned head. In his body, as it turned to stone and his fingers moved mechanically. Pulled Her higher up his body, until Her face was in his shoulder, Her soft gasps and sobs right in his ear. He kissed the side of Her head. Ran his hand up and down Her spine, letting her take her time. Indy nosed her way between their bodies. 

Dean let her. When She finally cried herself to sleep, Dean needed someone in here that he trusted.

He kissed Her brow, and walked slowly out of the room. Just in case She woke up, and called for him. Just in case She needed him. 

But She stayed asleep. 

And Dean had things to handle, downstairs. 

He’d left Excalibur, on the doorway to the library. He grabbed it as he marched back into the library, never breaking pace on his charge. His red-lined, furious, resolved march over to Cas. 

Dean grabbed the collar of the angel’s shirt, and drove him back against the wall. Raised Excalibur, so if Cas tried to force him off, Dean had the upper leverage. But Cas just blinked at him. Didn’t even try to fight back. 

Good. 

“Dean-“ Sam shouted. “Dean, wait-“

“Shut it, Sammy.” He growled, pulling Cas forward, then slamming him back again. “You just gonna pop back in, with Her lookin’ like that, with her crying, and ask for our goddamn help?! Just going to act like you didn’t grab her, like you didn’t fucking do that to her-“

Cas’ eyes flashed. “I did not cause this, Dean-“

“Don’t.” Dean hissed, leaning in closer. Close enough that even if Cas looked anywhere else, he wouldn’t be able to see anything but Dean. “I told you. you don’t get to talk, Cas. I gave you a chance, I told you to stop, and you made her open the door. Whatever the hell is happening to her, you fuckin’ did that, you, and I-“ Dean shook his head, mouth twitching as he tried to find his words. “I told you, Cas. You didn’t fuckin’ listen. And you think you can just come crawling back like you didn’t burn that bridge?”

Cas didn’t flinch. Just blinked at Dean slowly, voice deep and measured. “Did I?”

Dean’s jaw clenched. Cas still didn’t waver.

“You prayed to me, Dean. I know you did.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“I was preoccupied.” Cas snapped, eyes flicked to the stairs. “I do not expect you to forgive me, but-“ He stopped himself, and Sam jumped in with a heavy voice.

“She’s dying, Dean. They had Gabriel look at her, and- All those souls. They’re killing her.”

Dean swallowed bile. He still didn’t move away from Cas.

“I told him about Rowena, and- It’ll fix this, right?” Dean could hear Sam’s voice rise a little frantically. Rowena sighed. 

“As I have said, thrice, yes. I do not do spells that fail.”

“See?” Sam said, still desperate. “Dean, just- we’ll handle this later, please.” Sam said Her name. “She needs this. Let it go, just for now. For her.”

Dean’s teeth were going to break. He flexed his hand on Cas’ shirt, and Cas still just waited. Eyes filled with no dare or challenge. Just… Exhaustion. 

Dean let go, and took a large step back. Cas smoothed the folds of his coat, and Rowena clapped her hands.

“Well, now that that is over.” She smiled. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

Dean grunted, and Cas just nodded. Dean could feel his gaze. It was soft, and sad, and he didn’t goddamn want it. He threw himself into helping Rowena set up the spell. Bobby was going up and down from the basement, gathering ingredients. Sammy was writing out sigils, and Cas was lighting them up with a tap. Dean had been put on smush the leaves duty. Cas paused near him every few moments, then walked away.

“Dean.” He eventually murmured while everyone else was busy, as Dean dumped something that smelled like cowshit into a Ziplock bag. “I am sorry.”

“Yeah.” Dean muttered. “You can be sorry.”

Cas didn’t say anything after that. Dean didn’t ask him to. And when Bobby sent him upstairs to get Her, Dean shot Cas a glare before he could even take a step. Cas wasn’t allowed near Her anymore. He was lucky Dean was letting him near Sammy. 

The kid had gone upstairs to rest, a little while ago. The light wasn’t on under his room, but Dean heard his voice, coming from their’s. 

“Has it gone away?” Her words were muffled through the door, and Dean paused with his fist raised. He shouldn’t listen.

“No. It started after you put in the bond, and it’s gotten worse. And-“ Sam said her name. “You had to take it out, that was the right call, but-“

“It hurt you.” She mumbled. 

Sammy sighed. “Yeah. A little. But you- Yours got better-“

“I think they did.” She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know yet. I- I should’ve known before this, Sam, why didn’t you tell me, or Dean-“

“Don’t tell Dean.” Sam muttered, and Dean’s hand curled. “Please. I don’t want him to worry.”

Dean’s jaw hurt. He knocked on the door, loud and harsh, because he didn’t want to hear it. How everyone was so afraid of worrying him, but clearly had all these goddamn secrets he didn’t get to know about.

“We’re ready.” He shoved the door open, looking between Her on the bed and Sammy on the floor. He’d push Sam about it later, figure out what that was about. Right now, Dean still had to worry about Her.

She didn’t say anything, as Dean got Her downstairs. He kept a hand on her upper back. She didn’t shrug it away. But She barely looked at him, either. All the tears seemed to have dried up, and Dean felt like he was supposed to be doing more. Less. Nothing or something or anything. Get on his knees and beg for Her to never leave him again. Just tell a joke and tease Her, like nothing had ever happened. Kiss Her, and drag her back up to the bedroom before declaring his love in the dark. 

He settled on sitting next to Her, while Rowena wrapped up the spell prep. Rowena herself, just walked up to them, held up a knife, and She sighed and exposed Her palm. Dean’s jaw clenched, as he watched Rowena cut right over Her scar. Rowena collected the blood, then walked away. Sammy passed them, and gave Her a nervous smile. She smiled back, but it looked a little faraway. Bobby walked over, touching Her arm lightly, and she held him there. Cas stood in the corner, doing whatever Rowena told him, and watching Her and Dean on the couch.

Dean didn’t touch Her. He just sat at Her side, elbows on his knees, staring at his shoes to stop himself from staring at Her. He’d do something stupid, like shout at Her about leaving and make Her cry. Something selfish, like tell Her they were soulmates. He wanted to hold Her. He didn’t care that Bobby was a few feet away. That Sammy was just across the room. Dean needed to hold Her in his lap, press his face into Her chest, and breathe Her in. He wasn’t touching Her. He couldn’t be sure She was here at all. 

“Are you mad at me?”

She was staring right at him, with those weird, Silver eyes. Dean swallowed, something sorta hypnotizing him. His palms were sweating. If he wasn’t so worried, it might be kinda hot. 

“Yeah.” He rasped, before he could stop himself.

She nodded, and looked back to Her hands. “I’m sorry we came back.” She murmured. “I made Cas do it. He wanted to use heaven, didn’t want to ask more of you, but- I made him. I’m-“

She cut Herself off, and Dean’s heat skipped a beat. She’d heard. She’d heard his fight with Cas, and-

He said Her name, reaching out to grab Her hand, right as Rowena stood up, and cleared her throat.

“Everything is in order. There may just be a… Wee catch. To the spell.”

“What kinda wee catch are you talkin’ about.” Bobby grunted, and Rowena sighed. 

“Well, it turns out I had to do some… recalculations, after testing our lovely girl’s blood. It seems like she’s already turned the more… average monsters into fuel.”

Sam blinked. “Fuel?”

“Think of it like… A battery. Getting hit by a lightning bolt.”

“Magic steroids?” Dean cut in, and Rowena gave him an approving look. 

“Exactly. Which brings me to the good news, and… The bad news.” Rowena winced. “Good news, it doesn’t seem you did take all the souls in Purgatory, like Fergus has been whining about. If my spell is correct, which it always is, the power increase indicates-“

Sam jumped in with a frown. “Why do you know so much about soul math?”

“I am old. There are many types of magic, and knowledge is one of them Samuel. The more you know about the world,” Rowena swayed her hand. “The better it bends to your will. Also, I was once with a necromancer who was obsessed with soul power.” Rowena frowned to herself. “I believe she died in a sludge of corpses, all very completely without souls.”

“Gross.” Dean muttered, and Rowena hummed. 

“It is, isn’t it. May I now continue?”

She glared around the room, and when no one cut in, she raised her chin and said Her name. 

“It seems that you were only holding about 1/1000th of the estimated souls in purgatory, when the door overloaded and closed itself.”

A long silence settled, and Dean could see on everyone’s face that they were all putting together the same thing. 

The miracles, that had swept the whole planet. Her silver eyes. The power, crackling through the room, and whatever it had looked like if she unleashed it. 

Cas had been gunning for every soul in Purgatory, to rocket himself up that power level. 

She’d barely tapped Purgatory at all. 

“What’s the bad news,” Bobby muttered, and Rowena sighed. 

“Well, the souls that haven’t been crushed, they’re almost certainly not going to go gently. And I knew this was a risk,” she held up her hands. “So I accounted for it. But I cannot get those souls back into Purgatory like I may have said I could.”

Dean sat up. “You did say you could, you said you could fix her-“

“And I can. But I’m afraid that she is too powerful, and with the kind of beast inside her, well,” Rowena sighed. “I will not be able to get them fully out, without something new to transfer them into. Which brings me to the next good news, we already have a volunteer!”

Rowena smiled at Cas, all teeth, and Dean’s eye widened.

“No, you’re not just- Filling him up like a stocking with who knows what-“

Cas sighed. “Dean-“

“Shut up.” He snapped, not sparing Cas a look. “These things are getting out of her, Rowena, but you are not just tossing them into him. There are plenty of shitty people out there, let’s go find one of them and load them up-“

“That wouldn’t work, you idiot.” Rowena sneered. “It has to be a vessel powerful enough to not explode upon contact.” She looked to Her. “Get your dog on leash. You know I would not propose something if it wouldn’t work.”

She was picking at Her nails, the furrow in Her brow scrunched. “No, I- I know, but- Cas, you don’t have to-“

“I believe that I do.”

“But- Rowena, it’ll kill him-“

“I am stronger than I used to be.” Cas shrugged, like they weren’t all talking crazy again. “Long exposure to your proximity. I will only suffer terminal injury.”

Dean shot to his feet. “Terminal means dead-“

“He means critical.” She mumbled, and Cas nodded. 

“Yes. I did mean that.” 

“Hell no, I’m not lettin’ this just happen like you two,” Dean pointed between them. “Didn’t just make a different stupid plan that backfired-“

“Dean.” Cas took a step forward, holding Dean’s gaze. “You do not need my apologies. Take my offering, before it is too late.”

Cas nodded to Her, and Dean glanced down to see Her looking up at both off them, with a pretty, worried frown. The whole universe, was trapped in the Silver of her eyes. Dean could swear She was glowing. 

But Her lips were stained with blood from chewing. And She was shrinking back into herself. Afraid.

Dean couldn’t think of a reason not to let Cas do it, that wouldn’t be selfishly killing off some random sucker. Cas was asking to. He’d take it. It might break his wings or whatever, but he’d be able to take it, and- And She’d live. 

“Fine.” 

Cas nodded, and they all looked back to Rowena. 

It was simple. Faster than Dean thought it would be. 

Rowena sucked all the souls out of Her, right there in the library. Dean shielded Sammy from the light, as it poured from Her mouth and into Cas’. He couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to, in case her blinked, and one of them dropped dead. 

Dean caught Her, when the transfer was done. Her eyes had opened, back to their normal color. He got one good look at Cas—pale, face twisted in pain and concentration, sweating through his suit—before vanishing into the air. Going off to somewhere empty, like Rowena had instructed him, to dump out the rest of the souls. 

It wasn’t worth thinking about what that would be right now. They didn’t even know if Cas would survive it. Rowena had started a timer, and if there wasn’t a detonation like nuclear bomb by the time it was up, that meant Cas had survived, and they’d have to go find him. 

Dean sat, and watched the timer. She’d gone to bed, right after they got the souls out of Her. After about two hours, She’d shuffled downstairs to get some water. Dean had heard Her taking to Bobby or something, in the kitchen. 

He’d stood with Her, in the shower right after. She’d let him wash Her hair, and buried Her face in his chest. Held him, long after they were both clean. Dean had rested his chin on the top of Her head, and just let himself breathe. 

She was safe. They had barely said ten words, since the spell, but She was safe. And Dean was still allowed to touch Her. Even if they fought in the morning, Dean was still going to be allowed to touch Her.

The timer went off. Dean grabbed Sammy’s laptop, and checked the news. No bombs. 

They were done. 

He muttered goodnight to Bobby, and headed to bed. Rowena wasn’t anywhere to be found, but Dean didn’t expect her to be. She’d said something about a tracker on Cas, and was hopefully still on their side enough to go grab him. Maybe kidnap him.

Dean would worry about it in the morning. Wasn’t much you could do with an injured angel, anyway. 

The lights were off, when Dean opened the door. Indy’s scales were catching the moonlight from the mattress, and She had burrowed herself under the sheets. 

Dean pulled off his shirt, and crawled in next to Her. She rolled over, right into his arms, and he closed his eyes. She was warm again. 

The world was back where it was supposed to be. 

“De?” She said softly, and he swallowed. He’d almost heard Her thinking, and that rarely added up to something good, this late at night. 

“Yeah?”

“I know you’re probably busy with things, and Rowena- She asked me to go with her. To look for Cas, and the other woman that was with us.” She held him a little tighter. “I’d take my phone. And come back, after we found them.”

But She’d be gone again. The world was tilted again. He’d barely gotten her back for a day, and She was already trying to run. 

“She can do it alone,” She mumbled, when Dean was silent for too long. 

Everything in his goddamn body told him to hold Her tighter, and never let go. But he’d tried that. Lost Her anyway.

And She had to choose him. 

That was the whole point, of not telling Her about soulmates. He wasn’t doing the overprotective thing Sammy accused him of sometimes, wasn’t being selfish like Dad said her was. It would be a horrible crime, if he just put her on that leash and yanked her around. He’d never prove that he was worthy of Her, by forcing her to stay.

It wouldn’t be fighting for Her. It would just be trapping Her, and She was too… Everything, to be contained. 

He wanted to be the one Her light chose to shine on. She had to choose Dean.

“Alright.” He muttered. “Go with her. Just- Check in. So we know you’re safe.” So I know. So I don’t rip up the Earth looking for you again. 

She was quiet for a long second. “Okay.”

Dean drew his thumb in small circles, on Her upper arm. This wasn’t like the time with Dad, or after his death, or the cage. This was like after Jo. She’d come back. 

He stared at the ceiling, as Her breathing steadied. One night. Not even a conversation, or run down of what the hell She and Cas had been doing, for almost two months. He’d get this for just one night, before She’d go again and he’d have to pretend that was fine. That he meant a single word he was saying, and didn’t regret them the moment they passed from his lips.

“Heaven smelled like you.” She mumbled into his neck, and Dean swallowed on the lump in his throat. Kissed the top of Her head, and closed his eyes. 

“Thanks, Princess.” 

She hummed, and Dean drowned in the sound. He wouldn’t sleep, for the rest of the night. 

But the room smelled like Her again. 

And She’d choose him. This time, when the ash cleared—when he killed Eve for Her, when he made it so clear that even Her bright, obvious eyes wouldn’t be able to miss it—She’d choose Dean. 

It’s so quiet. 

Heavy silence that sits in your lungs like iron, and creeps like poison into your blood. Your arms are wrapped tight around your stomach. Your head is turned down, so your vision can trace the wood lines on the floor. Your hand rests on Indy’s back, the cool of her scales keeping you from drifting away. Bobby’s voice is nothing more than a dull ringing in your ears. Every few moments he’ll say your name, and the Silver will curl like a feral, cowering animal. 

It’s festering. Bubbling like a volcano. It has been since you woke up. And it’s white-hot and toxic and brimming below the surface, turning like a parasite that’s going to eat you alive. 

You hope it does.

You hope that you vanish into nothing. 

It would be better than having to face this. 

Bobby did it for you. Bobby is the one standing with his arms crossed and a tired, measured voice. Who’s glaring at Sam every time he tries to cut in, and trying to offer as much explanation in your favor as he can. He’s taking the bullet for you, because you’re too much of a weak fucking coward to do it yourself. You’re just sitting uselessly in the corner, where you hope the shadows will grow over you and swallow you whole. 

They aren’t. They won’t. And every few moments Bobby says something like she made sure Raphael didn’t get to you boys and she was keepin’ Crowley in line best she could, and you don’t deserve it. If you were stronger, you’d interrupt Bobby with the scream that’s building in your throat. 

This is all your fault. You’re a liar and a traitor and they should just leave you in the woods to turn to stone. Maybe return to the Earth like ash, because at least then you’d be useful. 

You couldn’t hurt anyone if you were ash and dust. God couldn’t find you. Bobby wouldn’t have to worry about you. 

Dean. 

Dean would never have to think of you again. 

You can feel his gaze. While Sam is trying to make sense of it—as if it’s unfathomable, that you could’ve been that stupid and cruel—Dean is just silent. Watching you from the couch, legs braced on the ground like he’s going to launch himself up. 

And you can imagine his face without seeing it. Jaw in a tight clench, mouth pressed in a thin line. He’s either paper-white with shock, or a wrathful shade of red from fury. But you can’t even bring yourself to look higher than his clenched fists, so you don’t know. Don’t want to know. 

You want to go back. To just an hour, when you’d woken up and stared at the ceiling. Dean had kissed your neck, grumbled something about more sleep, and you’d hummed in agreement. He didn’t get that much rest as it was. And if you could, you’d figure out how to slow the turn of the Earth so he could sleep as much as he wanted. 

Lying there as the watery light started to break the seams of the silence, you’d just watched him. You already had everything about him memorized. You wanted something deeper than memory. Something that went all the way down to your bones. You soul. 

You’d trace soft fingers over his face. Wrapped yourself in Gold, before you lost it forever. Let the Spiderweb sing something that sounded like morning, felt the Silver flow easily like electricity through a wire.

Conducted and controlled, as long as Dean was here. Still not able to breach the surface, but not painful. 

Peaceful. 

You’d drowned yourself in the peace of it. You’d covered your hands in Dean, until there was only him and Jo’s blue on your fingers. You’d tried to will it to sink into you, but it wouldn’t. You’d rubbed it on your arms and legs in the bathroom like a balm, and it had painted you but lingered only on the surface. 

Then you’d sat down on the edge of the mattress, and Dean had curled his head into your lap. His nose had pressed into your stomach, his arms resting loosely around your hips, and you’d only been able to feel him. It hadn’t mattered the fear rising like bile. The Silver leaking in strange places as it threatened to explode, making you the age of the roof, trying to protect everyone but worn down by the beatings of rain and snow. 

You’d just been you. And Dean, glowing Golden in your arms, had been an anchor in a tide that had always threatened to sweep you so far down you’d never see light again. 

A shaky breath had left your lips. 

You didn’t need to push him into your bones.

He’d been there your whole life. He’d wormed into your foundation the moment you’d seen him. You’d never been able to fully pry him out. You never will be. 

And the tears hadn’t come, as you’d watched the clock move forward. It had been like an impending avalanche. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. 

Just something like the end. Something that was going to crush you, and bury you alive. 

It had. Just like you thought it would. 

Bobby’s covered everything. Cas approaching you with a deal. You working with him and Crowley, sabotaging hunts and lying about everything. Raphael’s threats when he’d raided Cas’ base. The alternate plan Cas had proposed, and how you’d betrayed Crowley as well. How you’d planned to steal Eve, so you could open purgatory. That you were worried God wanted Cas to succeed. 

He’s trying to make it sound better than it was.

But you can only cover an open wound with so many bandaids. The ugliness of it still peeks through. 

And you can’t look Dean in the eyes. 

“Cas don’t know she told me yet.” Bobby finishes, and his voice is heavier than when he started. You’re a horrible fucking daughter. “Which means he ain’t gonna know you boys know either. But we also don’t know what he’s up to, ‘cause she’s been avoiding him.”

“It’s- Bobby, if Cas is after Eve, we just left her alone at the house-“

“Please, Sam.” Bobby waved his hand in dismissal. “We both know even Cas ain’t able to jailbreak someone outta that room. We should be worried ‘bout them talkin’, but that’s it.”

You can hear the frown in Sam’s voice. “Well, what do we even do, then? I mean-“ He pauses. “I don’t like the lying, that’s- Shit-“ He sighs your name. You pull your knees to your chest. “I mean, it’s not good, and I really- You should’ve told us when Cas offered you the deal-“

“You didn’t have a functioning soul, Sam.” Bobby drawls, a little sternly, and Sam cringes. 

“Well, yeah- But she could’ve told Dean-“

“We ain’t here to point fingers-“

“I’m not pointing fingers! I’m just- I’m trying to understand, okay?”

“Think of it like she’s dopin’ on demon blood.” Bobby says, voice steady and almost cold. “And she didn’t want people gettin’ pissed at her for makin’ the choice she thought was right.”

Sam’s silent for a long, horrible moment, and you press your face into your knees. You didn’t mean to. It was the right choice, it just got out of hand, and God started shining for Cas and killing Phoenixes and you weren’t strong enough, you even managed to ruin this plan, you didn’t mean to, didn’t mean to, you thought you could handle it and you were wrong and you didn’t fucking mean to-

“Well, could it be the right thing?” Sam asks softly. Your nails dig into your shins. “If opening Purgatory means Cas gets to be in charge, and he gets to, I dunno, reset the Bride thing, I don’t see why that itself is bad. It takes care of our two biggest problems. Three, if you count robbing Crowley of power-“

“It ain’t about that. We’re stoppin’ it, Sam. That’s that.”

“But- We could do it right this time-“

“Sam.” You whisper, and the whole room falls silent. 

When you finally drag your gaze up, they’re all watching you like you’re volatile. Bobby’s tall and tense, watching you cautiously. Sam really just looks confused and nervous.

Dean’s face is blank. Too blank. No fury. No shock. Just nothing, as he stares at you with clouded eyes. His Gold is burning and twisting through him, just like after you got Indy. Trying to press out of him, before turning back. It’s shining and molten, like a dying star. The core of him, in his chest, is almost pulsing. Every rhythmic beat of it makes the Gold burn brighter. 

But he just stares at you, while Bobby and Sam watch you like you’re a feral animal, that’s either going to cower and whine or sneer and bite. That’s how they see you right now. They’re not wrong. 

That makes it hurt more. 

“We- We can’t let him do it.” You whisper, trying to force your gaze onto Sam. You can’t look at Dean too long. You’ll start crying. “Purgatory, Cas can’t open it. Not by himself. I- I don’t trust it.”

Sam frowns. “Don’t trust Cas? I mean, I don’t know, but- You guys have been working together-“

“No, it’s not- It’s not about Cas.” You’re almost pleading. “It’s him, Sam. I- I think he wants Cas to do it-“

“Why? Did G- He tell you?”

You swallow, and shake your head. “No, not- Not with his words. It’s just- It’s a feeling. When I see him, it’s like-“ Like he’s angry with you again. For trying to mess with his plans. 

For ruining everything, just for Dean. 

“I don’t know.” You mumble. “I just know, Sam. He wants Cas to open it. Just Cas. And I- I don’t trust him.”

Sam presses his lips together, and you can almost see his brain trying to work through the logic. “I just don’t- Why would God want Cas to take over for him? That doesn’t- I can’t see the logic behind it at all-“

“We don’t know that it would make Cas God.” You say softly, running your fingers up Indy’s spine. “It was always a gamble. We knew it would give him power. More than enough for Raphael. But-“ You sigh. “It’s- No one’s ever become God before. We don’t know what other consequences that could have. And maybe- Maybe that’s what he’s after.”

“The consequences?”

You nod, glancing over to the window. 

You’ve really been a fucking idiot. So caught up in your own little need for freedom, wallowing so deep in self-pity about the grave you dug being about to bury you alive, you didn’t stop for five seconds and think logically. If you know one thing about God, it’s that he doesn’t give his things up. That he doesn’t let anyone take what’s his. 

It’s why you don’t tell Dean you love him. Even if all your other rules have been all but stripped away, you can’t say it. God would be furious. And you don’t want to think about what he’d do, to the beautiful, golden man that’s trying to steal his bride. 

That’s already stolen her. Taken her so well that, even if he never speaks to you again after today, you’re going to love him until you return to that earth.

And even then, you’ll grow for Dean. He’ll never be in danger from the Sky, because you’d move the trees to shield him. Nothing would ever strike him down, because everything that breathes would have one order. Protect Dean.

That’s what it’s always been about. 

So you don’t say you love him. 

And you know. If God would never let go of you, he’d never let go of himself. 

Which means that whatever happens, when Cas opens Purgatory, it’s not going to be good. And you should’ve thought of that from the very fucking start. 

“Cas- I want to try and talk to him.” You look over to Bobby, whose brow furrows. “You can come to- Watch me. But I need to talk to him. I- I need to. Please.”

Bobby stares at you for a moment, before grunting, “What would you tell him.”

“To stop.” You whisper, sitting a little taller. “I could get him to stop, Bobby, please.”

Bobby sighs, running a hand over his face. 

But before he can speak, Dean cuts him off. 

“I’ll talk to him.”

You blink, and when you turn, he’s staring at you. Face still blank. Voice rough, and low. 

Eyes branding you. Turning with so many emotions you can’t pick out one of them. You want to reach out. Comfort him. 

You’re not sure he’d want your touch. 

“Dean-“

“No.” Dean cuts Sam off with a shake of his head. “I gotta get his side. And-“ His jaw tightens. “I’m not leaving them alone together.”

There it is. 

He doesn’t trust you. Dean stares at you, hands in tight fists, nostrils flaring and spine straight, and he’s never going to look at you softly again. 

You’d crawl on your knees, for his forgiveness. 

You don’t think he’d let you get that close. 

And you can’t seem to pull yourself fully away from him, even if you should. It doesn’t matter that the smart thing to do would be giving him space. You try to hide in the kitchen, but your heart aches like it’s being pulled apart, and when Dean walks into the room you can’t will your feet to run. You sit at the table, watching Bobby make the holy oil, and when Dean walks through the room, you can’t stop your eyes from following him, even as he makes a point of only muttering something to Bobby. Pretending you’re not there at all. He takes Indy out for her flight, and you linger on the porch to watch them walk. Dean takes Indy out for her flight, and you linger on the porch to watch them walk. 

He looks like he’s talking to her. Some twisted, masochistic part of you wants to know what he’s saying. 

He looks back, for just a moment. 

Your eyes meet. And, even on the porch, you take a small step forward. 

Dean looks away. 

He hates you. 

Dean hates you, and you fucking deserve it. 

You can’t even find it in yourself to cry. It’s too empty, too hollow. You can only feel the nothingness, and that doesn’t allow for tears. It would be like trying to pull a single star out of the vacuum of space. You just can’t. 

And you know that, soon, it’s going to collapse in. That you’ll go from feeling the emptiness to being all of it, feeling all of it, and then you’ll cry. But for now, you just want to hang onto the nothing. 

It’s still impossible to breathe. Dean still brushes right past you in silent fury, when he returns. You catch Indy as she barrels into your arms, and watch Dean stop at the kitchen counter without even an acknowledgment of your presence. 

He hates you. 

He fucking hates you. He’s never going to speak to you again. Even if you talk Cas out of the plan, Dean’s going to tell you to go, and you’ll have to. It’s the least you can give him, after ruining everything. After finally breaking things so horribly, he isn’t going to try to fix it. You only ever stay for him anyway. 

You don’t think he knows. Don’t think he really understands, that if he tells you to take out your heart and pass it into his hands, you’ll do it. If he still tells you to leave after, you’d do that too. And abandon your heart for Dean to do what he pleases with it. That’s what would happen anyway. 

Whether Dean asks for it or not—and he won’t, because he’s too good of a man—your heart is his. 

You’d always rather he break it, than not pay it any mind at all. 

Which is why this fucking hurts. 

And you can’t even try to talk to him. There’s nothing for you to say. This isn’t a misunderstanding, isn’t just a secret you’re afraid to tell him. 

Dean understands perfectly, what’s happening. 

And he wants nothing to fucking do with you. 

The plan is to call Cas out in the woods, trap him in holy fire, and try to reason with him. The holy fire is a bad idea—it sends the message that he’s already the enemy, rather than a friend you’re trying to reason with—but it was Dean’s bad idea. And right now, you don’t have the willpower to tell him. 

You barely have the willpower to get out the door. The emptiness keeps growing, and you feel like you’re just drifting. Waiting for something to drag you down, down, down. Nobody will try to save you, this time. Your anchor is gone. And you carry too much weight, too much sickness. If they let you fall overboard, they’ll have a stronger chance to get safely to the other side. So you just shift on your feet by the door, hugging your stomach and staring at your shoes. Your hair is a mess. When you look at your nails, they’re chipped. Your skin feels dry, and you’re disgusting, and why would Dean ever try to save something so hideous and worthless and wrong- 

Warm hands grab your forearm, carefully avoiding your wrists. You look up to find Dean, barely a breath away. 

Not looking at you, as he drags your arms out.

You can’t stop looking at him. 

He’s so pretty. Always pretty. There are bags under his eyes, his brow knit with tension, but he’s still pretty. Full lips chapped, and you know you have no right, but you still want to kiss him. 

His whole body is warm, and you want to lean into it. Let it envelop you. Keep you safe, even when you’re the horror. The threat. The evil. 

The Silver bubbles and riots under your skin. You hold your breath until you’re lightheaded, to keep it down. 

To keep yourself from breathing, and contaminating Dean.

To stop words you won’t be able to control, from spilling from your lips. 

His touch is so light. As if he could press the wrong spot on your knuckles, and you’d shatter completely. You’re so caught up in staring at his face and feeling his fingers, that you don’t realize what he’s doing until he pulls away without another word and walks away. 

Your hands feel weird. Warm, but a little smushed. 

And when you look down, you’re wearing mittens. 

Dean was putting on your mittens. 

Then he just walked away. 

He still doesn’t speak to you, as you trudge through the woods for a quiet, isolated spot. Bobby has one in mind, and is leading your small group. Dean’s bringing up the rear, Indy flying over your heads.

Sam—after a small fight with Dean, and downing maybe a whole bottle of Advil—is walking next to you. No one has tried to speak.  

The silence is going to drive through you like a bullet. You deserve it. Deserve their wrath. They only ever cared about you because you tricked them in the first place, and now they see how sick you are, and this is how it always should have been- 

“Do you actually think he’ll listen?” Sam mutters, and you blink up at him. 

“Huh?“

“Cas.” He mutters, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Is this just so we can say we tried to reason with him? Or- Are you actually expecting him to back down?”

You swallow, looking back to the path under your feet. The ground is packed and frozen. There’s a root that’s sticking out, frost gathering tight around it. 

It’s cold. Afraid. 

Lonely. 

“I don’t know.” You murmur, only just loud enough that the wind doesn’t sweep your words away. “I- I hope so, but- He really thinks this will work, Sam. Like, really.”

“Hm.” Sam pauses. “Did you really think it would work?”

You nod. You did. 

And even if you didn’t, you would’ve done it anyway. You would do anything, to protect them. Protect Dean. 

“Do you have an alternative for him?” 

“A what?”

“Well, like-“ Sam frowns at the air. “If this is about winning Heaven’s civil war. You need to have something else to offer him. I know he has the soul weapons, but that obviously hasn’t been enough to fully neutralize Raphael. Just his threat to us. Which is probably because it seems like each one has a specific user in mind, and none of them are for Cas-“

“Sam. I know.”

“Right. Sorry, forgot.”

“It’s okay.” You kick a loose leaf, and a lump catches in your throat as it rips in half. “And I do. Have an alternative.”

Sam nods slowly, and when you don’t elaborate, he sighs. 

“Is it something Dean’s going to hate?”

You laugh dryly. “Yeah. Probably.”

It’s all you have. And he already hates you. You might as well-

“He doesn’t think this is going to work.” Sam says casually, and you frown. 

“Dean?”

“Yeah. He thinks Cas isn’t going to care what we offer him. That if he knows anything, it’s that Cas is stubborn. That if he was able to talk you into it, that means he’s already talked himself into it. And he doesn’t have your- Uh-“ Sam’s ears turn red. “Never mind.”

Something to the right of your heart twists, and you can’t stop yourself from glancing over your shoulder. Dean’s trudging with a scowl behind you. Stomping like the ground has personally offended him. 

Your eyes meet again, the moment you dare to look at his face. 

He looks away. 

You swallow, and look back to Sam. You ask. You have to. You shouldn’t, but you have to.

“My what?”

“Nothing.”

“Samuel.”

“Your emotions.” Sam mumbles, folding so fast it’s almost impressive. “Cas feels things, but- Dean says it’s different. And- He doesn’t like being wrong.”

“No one likes being wrong-“

“Dean says it’s worse with Cas. That he hopes Cas will stop, but- If it’s come this far, he’s not hopeful he will.”

You frown. Dean’s not wrong, but- Cas is smart. He’d listen to you. He’s listened to you before, and he was always trying to give you a way out, and he’ll see the danger in this, if you explain it. He might not have your emotions, but he has emotions. Dean knows he has emotions. 

That you and Cas had just been doing what Dean would do, if he were in your position. 

“Why is he doing it then?” You say, keeping your voice hushed. “If he thinks it’s a bad idea?”

Sam gives you a sad smile, with something behind it you can’t quite place. 

“Because you want to do it,” Sam says your name, and you swallow. 

Look back to Dean again. 

Your eyes meet. 

He looks away. 

When you reach the clearing, you stand silently as Bobby and Sam set up the holy oil. Dean stands a few feet away, fiddling with the matchbox in his hands. He only fiddles when he’s nervous. When he’s wired, and unsure. He doesn’t think Cas will listen.

He’ll have to. Cas really might not listen if anyone asked, but he’d listen to Dean. He’d listen to you. You’re friends, your family. If he’s willing to open Purgatory for you, he’d have to be willing to give up for you. 

And you have something else, to offer him. To turn the tide of the war. 

He’ll listen. Cas will listen. 

The wind bites at your ears. Get through your jacket, until you’re shivering. Your fingers shake, even in the mittens. You crouch, trying to block the wind, and watch Bobby and Sam through watering eyes. 

Something presses on your shoulders, and warmth wraps around you. The smell of cinnamon hits your nose like a drug, and when you look down, you’re draped in Dean’s jacket. 

You look up, and find him standing over you. He’s not meeting your eyes, but he’s there. 

“Dean.” You murmur. He doesn’t look down. “Dean.”

Still nothing.  

You’re going to scream. Wrap yourself around his ankles and plead. Do something pathetic and needy, just so he’ll look at you for more than a split second. Just to hear him say your name, even if it’s coated in loathing. Get something, anything, just enough attention to apologize, so he knows. He has to know you’re sorry. Before you go, he has to know- 

“Alright.” Bobby calls, walking back across the field. “Let’s get goin’. Someone get Cas on the line.”

Sam and Bobby both look at you and Dean. 

You just look at Dean. 

Dean’s eyes flick to yours, for less than a heartbeat. He sighs, grumbles something under his breath, and closes his eyes.  

There’s a ruffling swoosh on the wind, and you’re staring at Cas’ dress pants, already gathering mud. 

“Dean.” He says, then pauses. Adds your name, his voice slower. Deeper. 

You can’t look him in the eyes either. 

Somehow, you managed to betray every single person you love in one, stupid fell swoop. Maybe if you asked God to take you now, you’d do it. You don’t mean it, but there’s no doubt that you want to get out of here. 

“Why are we… In a field.” Cas mutters, and you feel Dean shift behind you. 

“We need to talk, Cas.”

“We talk quite often- Dean-“

You hear the match strike. Dean tosses it over your head, and you should probably move. You’re standing right next to the line of holy oil. You can’t. You’re frozen, because to move would require caring, and you’re made of nothing-

Dean shouts your name, Hands grab you under your arms, right as Cas takes a step forward. You’re dragged backward, right before the flames reach you. 

Cas freezes, his path blocked by the fire. Says your name, and it drives right between your ribs. Into your heart. 

You lean against Dean’s legs, fingers curled in the frozen mud, and meet Cas’ gaze. It’s not blank, or furious. Just sad. 

Hurt. 

He tilts his head at you, looking you up and down. He looks to Dean, then glances over to Bobby and Sam. You know he’s already worked it out. He’s just trying to assess his options. 

“You told them.” He mutters, looking back to you. 

You swallow. “Cas-“

“Why?” 

“I had to-“

“No. You did not.” He’s not looking anywhere but you. You shrink back into Dean’s legs. “If you had told me what was wrong, I would have fixed it, I would have helped you-“

“I think you’ve helped enough, Cas.” Dean grunts, and Cas’s eyes shoot up.

“Dean. If she has told you what we have done, you must know that it was done only with the intention of saving you-“ He looks to Bobby and Cas. “Saving all of you. I am not seeking the power for my own gain-“

“Really?” Bobby raises his brows. “‘Cause I’ve seen a lot of men rise and fall in my time, Cas. They all walk in, talkin’ about how this is for everyone’s good. They end their lives, cold and alone.”

Cas sighs. “I am not- I am no man. You do not understand the power, that Raphael has. The threat he poses, to all of us.”

“To you.” Sam mutters. “We’re safe from Raphael, Cas, he hasn’t made moves in months-“

“Thanks to me!” Cas snaps, looking back to you. “And you! It was your idea, the way we handled the soul weapons. You are the one who has kept Crowley in check, who I have-“ He shakes his head, stepping right up to the edge of the fire line. “I told you. All I needed you to do was stay at my side.”

“She was staying at your side, Cas.” Dean mutters. You keep staring at the dirt. “It was killing her. What you asked her to do, that’s not caring about someone, man-“

Cas rolls his eyes. “Please, Dean. I did not force her to do anything, I asked. She agreed. And we both had the same goal, the same thing we wanted to save-“

“What?” Dean scoffs. “Humanity? You going around preaching free will to your troops, but can’t even let us stupid humans get a say in how you save us?”

Dean’s words echo on the wind, and Cas is silent. You look up to him slowly, and he looks back at you. 

You shake your head, and Cas sighs.

“No, Dean. It was not for humanity.”

“What-“

Cas ignores Dean’s confused, angry words, and says your name. “We were so close. You should… Not have told them.”

“I couldn’t lie.” You whisper, voice cracking. “You know I can’t lie, Cas. You- You know I can’t.”

He sighs, and nods. “I do. I did. I... Did not expect you to make it to the end.” 

You blink. “What?”

“You are… deeply important to me.” He says your name slowly, holding your gaze. “But you never have the will, to do the hard thing. I admire your compassion. I admire your heart. I do not know what I might have done, if you were not here with me. But…” Cas shakes his head. “This is the part that requires knowing that the hardship will pass. And I have known you would not be able to go through with it.”

“Cas…” You whisper, sitting up slightly. “What are you-“

“I have it handled.” He says, looking back to Dean. “You will not be able to stop me, if you cannot understand what I have done. I recommend you do not try.” 

“Cas.” Dean’s voice is dropping. More desperate. “Don’t do this. Whatever shit you’re in, we can get you out of it. Just- Whatever you’re planning, please don’t do it.”

Cas gives him a sad, almost pitying look. “I told you. I’m taking care of it.”

“You don’t need to do it by yourself-“

“I wasn’t.” He mutters, and you can feel his gaze. “I told you, Dean. Sometimes there is not another way. Not for us.”

“And I told you.” Dean snaps. “That I wanted to help.”

“You will help.” Cas says coolly. “You will stay out of my way.”

A heavy silence falls over the field, broken only by Sam’s slightly unsteady voice.

“Cas, you don’t even have a way to open Purgatory, and if Crowley knows-“

“Crowley is inconsequential.” Cas grunts. “And I have a way.”

Dean stiffens behind you. “Cas.”

He sighs. “Dean.”

“Not that.”

“You know I do not understand implications-“

“Eve.” Dean hisses, and Cas freezes. “You can’t seriously be- Son of a bitch, I swear, I’ll kill you-“

Cas sighs. “Dean-“

“No.” Dean roars, and when you look up his face is twisted in fury. “I trusted you with that, I- I trusted you at all-“

“That is not-“

“You say another goddamn word-“

“Dean.” Bobby cuts in, glaring between him and Cas. “What the hell are you talking about.”

“Eve-“

“I got that, what about her-“

“She’s got a way to open Purgatory.” Dean snaps, still glaring at Cas. “Death told me.”

“Death?” Sam frowns. “When did you talk to Death?”

“Scotland. That’s not- Castiel, I fucking swear-“

“I am not going to kill her, Dean!” Cas shouts, holding Dean’s glower. “You can not think that low of me. Cannot believe I would even consider her death as an option, when I- I swore. To you. To myself.” He sighs, eyes flicking to yours for only  moment, and your blood goes cold. 

“Cas.” Dean almost growls. “You know you can’t control that bitch. And what she wants isn’t going to change, just because you give her a deal.”

“I am aware. And I will be careful. No harm will come to her, Dean.” Cas mutters. “To either of you. I have another use for Eve, but I am warning you, one last time. Do not step in my way.”

Dean’s hands curl into fists, his jaw clenched, and your words are so soft you almost don’t hear it, over the wind. 

“Who aren’t you going to kill, Cas?” You whisper, and the world seems to still. 

Cas glances to Dean. You push up to your knees, your voice breaking.

“Who does Eve want to kill?” You look over to Dean. “What- What did Death tell you?”

Dean lets out a long, heavy breath. His face twists, like his words are going to pain him. Cas mutters his name in low warning, but he shakes his head. 

“I can’t do any more lies, Cas.” He mutters, before looking down to you. His eyes shine, as for the first time all day, he looks at you. 

Looks at you like he’s already lost you. Like you’ve slipped through his fingers, and you’re already gone.

“You, Princess.” He rasps, and your heart stutters. “Eve wants to kill you. To- Open the gates. But I’m not gonna let her-“

He says something else. About how he’s going to kill Eve, or if Cas is insistent on being an asshole, he’ll protect you or something. 

You don’t hear it. 

You can’t breathe.

You. You could open Purgatory. You’ve always been able to open Purgatory. And if you weren’t strong enough to do it with your hands, you’d only have to spill your own blood. There is something so horribly wrong with you that not only do monsters worship you, not only do the worst demons think you’re the violation of everything on earth, your death would open Purgatory. 

Maybe not only Purgatory. Maybe your death would just destroy something, and Eve would use it for Purgatory, but Crowley could use it for Hell. Raphael could use it for Old Heaven.

Or the Cage. 

You’re nothing more than a death. You’re nothing more than too much of everything, trapped in a body, and maybe you were just made to die. Maybe God’s been lying the whole time, and he’ll never take you. Maybe someone has to kill you for him to take you, and he’s just waiting to see who’s strong enough. Your change as the Magdalene will be tearing the world in half. 

John Winchester should’ve done the job when you were eighteen. Jo would still be alive. Nobody would be fighting. Everything would be better, without you. Sickness. Fucking sickness. Wrong, vile, crude and sick girl who’s nothing more than a lamb for slaughter, who can’t even do the one thing she’s supposed to and die- 

The Silver isn’t building out. It’s crashing in. You’re everything, but it’s moving into you like a black hole. You’re the hope of the frozen trees, waiting for the sun to be good again. You’re the high wind currents, far in the stratosphere, made of only movement and wondering if they will ever get rest. The water far below the earth, that doesn’t know what’s up above but dreams that it’s something free. 

The holy fire, flickering. Already tried, because it burned so bright so fast. Wanting to help those who started it. 

Wanting to give up, because it’s exhausting to hold it together. 

Their pain presses down on your heart, with everything else. You give the fire permission to go out. 

It does. 

Chaos breaks out around you. 

Bobby and Sam draw their guns, as Cas takes a step over the line. A shot—you think Sam’s—rings out, but Cas doesn’t look away from you. He takes another step. His hands reach for you, and you lean forward because there’s nothing a lonely, sick animal wants more than company. 

Dean grabs you again. Pulls you away from Cas, into his arms. 

Raises Excalibur, pointing it right at Cas.

“Don’t make me.” He mutters, and you can hear the desperation in his voice. “Please. I don’t want to Cas, but I swear- I’ll do what I have to.”

Cas sighs, his voice quiet. “I know, Dean. You always do.”

There’s another ruffle of feathers, and Cas is gone. 

You didn’t get to him. You didn’t even get to offer him you. To tell him that you’re ready to try fighting Raphael yourself. 

Again. 

You failed. 

You’re folded tight into Dean’s arms, balancing on weak legs, head spinning from the sudden movement. Your blood is rushing to your head, your vision going black, and Dean’s voice is too far away for you to really hear it. 

He’s touching your face. Holding you. Golden. 

You blink up at him, slowly, and murmur his name. His shoulders sag, and relief washes over his features. 

Like he still cares. 

Your body moves into his gravity of its own accord. You lean against his chest, fingers curling in his flannel, your eyes searching his. The wind still bites, and there are other things to deal with, but you need to say you’re sorry, he needs to know, you need to be close until he’s gone forever.

Dean mutters your name, right as God flashes over your head. 

You take a sudden step back, paralyzing fear sinking into your bones. 

He’s watching. 

Dean’s hand flexes, moving out for you. But a shadow crosses over his face, and he drops it. 

“Dean, I-“

“It’s fine.” He grunts, looking over his shoulder. Not at you. “We should head back. Gonna get dark. Bobby, we need to-“

“I’ll make calls when we get back.” Bobby mutters, walking up beside you. “C’mon, kiddo. You tried.”

You did. 

Not hard enough.

You could kill Raphael. You could. You saw yourself in Sam’s head. You heard what Gilda told you. God is flashing in brighter and brighter warning over your head, and he knows you could. You could at least try to. And if not, you could die trying and take Raphael with you. 

The cabin is turned into a war room, when you return. Jody and Claire are still out, and you have a feeling Bobby told them to stay clear until you all leave, then stay here until he gives the all clear. You can’t imagine Claire is happy about that. And from what you’ve learned about Jody, you don’t think she’ll love it either. 

But it’s the right call. Claire’s young. And if left unsupervised, she’s going to make her own plan to handle it, not fully understanding that going up against a crazy cult with fantasy goo is a hell of a lot easier than fighting an angel, archangel, mother of monsters, and king of hell. 

Maybe fighting two of them. Or one, and hope the others take care of themselves. 

There doesn’t seem to be a general consensus about what the move should be. Dean wants to handle Cas first, grumbling screw them when Sam reminds him of Raphael and Crowley. Bobby wants to go after Crowley, because he’ll be the easiest. He’s only a demon, and not a remarkably powerful one. Most of his shit comes from bein’ the king. Kings fall. Sam wants to go after Raphael for the exact opposite reason, saying that you always want to handle the biggest threat first. 

You sit in the corner and listen. You don’t get to have an opinion on how to clean up the oil spill you caused. You have to let them, and take your punishment when it comes.

Dean still won’t look at you.

Your head keeps spinning around Eve and the door to Purgatory. Your hand glides back onto your throat, to try and keep the Silver from getting out of hand again. Dean’s eyes dart over to you, but so fast—so brief—you might have imagined it. 

You can’t just sit here. You’re going to drive yourself insane, pulling apart every motion of Dean’s fingers, every second he shifts in his chair. You’re going to start crying about nothing as the numbness slowly wears, and gives way to pain, and then you’ll just be a greater problem.

Sam is already touching his brow, the way he does when he has a migraine. You’re already a problem. 

You take a shaking breath, and stand slowly. Bobby glances up, muttering your name.

“I’m gonna go to my room.” You mumble, resting your hand on his shoulder for a second. “Do some reading.”

Bobby frowns, but nods. Sam nods at you, before you walk away. 

Dean doesn’t look at you at all.

And you really can’t blame him. 

You settle in the corner of your room, the door closed and lights off. You consider locking it, but that will freak Bobby out if he tries the handle, and you’ve already caused enough stress for one day. You pull out the Book, and flip through the pages. Read the words without really reading them, your eyes too glazed to pick anything out. Your head is moving too fast, and can’t sort one word from the rest of them. Your fingers pull at the edge of a page, and pull it before you even finish a sentence. You need to be helping. In whatever way you’re allowed, you can’t just cower while they fix everything. They won’t want apologies. Won’t want your input.

So all you have is research. Trying to figure out what alternate plan Cas might have, for Eve. 

But it’s circling through your head. The same thought, over and over and over.

All they’d have to do is kill you. 

Your focus is flighty. You can’t get yourself to read more than three words, and they float right through your head. Thinking about plans seems like an order higher than catching a comet, as it falls from the sky. 

But when you see the word Eve, you focus. That you can think about. 

And the Book is big. So big and detailed, you’ve been studying it for years and still only combed the surface. There are codex’s, and strange things you don’t understand, whole parts that—while written in Enochian—seem to use slang words you don’t understand. You’d been meaning to ask Cas about those. If there was formal and informal Enochian, and if he could help you with the informal. 

You don’t get to ask Cas for anything, now. You don’t get to ask anyone for anything. You don’t get to be anything, because the one thing you’ve always been good at you can’t bring yourself to do, and maybe you should die. Cas could open the gates, Dean wouldn’t have to deal with you, and God could have you. Sam just said they never want to lose you, but that was before he knew. And now all they know is that you’re powerful, but too pathetic to do anything about it, and they couldn’t possibly still want you after you fucked up so bad, so you should just- 

A soft sob leaves your throat, and you realize you’ve been crying onto the pages of the Book for a few minutes. You close it, put it off to the side, and barely manage to muffle the next sob in your hands. Nothing. You’re nothing. You’re just fucking nothing, and- 

Cas wouldn’t kill you. Wouldn’t let you do it to yourself, or let Eve do it. He’d promised. 

You can’t even die properly.

Your fingers scratch blindly at the sheets, as you look for your phone. Eventually your fingers find it, and you wipe away your tears with your palm to squint at the screen. 

At Rowena’s contact. 

She might know, what’s going on with Eve. With you. And you’ll need somewhere to go, when Dean asks you to leave. You’re not supposed to worry about her and Eileen. They’d just been laying low from the Men of Letters, and that’s why they haven’t tried to call you in a while. You’re not supposed to worry and bother them-

It’s not worrying and bothering, if you have a question about what they’ve found. The whole Whore thing. If every whore dying can open a gate, or if it’s just another fun thing for only you. 

Your thumb lingers over the call button. 

There’s a small knock on the door, and you look up. 

Dean walks in, holding a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He went too hard in, on both parts. The peanut butter is smeared all over the bread. The jelly is spilling onto the plate. 

He holds it out to you, raising his brows. You drop your phone, and take it with slightly shaking hands. Your fingertips brush his knuckles. A feeling like being jumpstarted rushes through you, and his eyes drop down to where you’d touched. He rubs his thumb over the spot, when he pulls back. You stare at each other, and you can’t take any more silence. 

“Why?” You breathe out, because it’s all you can think.

His throat bobs. “You need to eat,” Dean mutters, looking back down to your hands. Not your eyes. “Didn’t think you’d come out and do it yourself.”

He’s right. You wouldn’t have. But before you can even mumble a thanks, he’s turning. Walking away. 

No.

You’re not ready. 

You shove the plate onto the nightstand, almost rushing to your knees to try and grab him. You manage to catch his wrist, right before he’s too far out of reach. 

Dean freezes. Doesn’t turn back around, but doesn’t try to pull your hand away either. He mutters your name, low and heavy, and you tug on his wrist lightly. It’s selfish. You need him to look at you. 

“Dean.” You whisper, and he stands a little taller. “Please, I- I’m sorry.”

That gets him. For better or worse, Dean slowly turns. Looks you dead in the eyes, his Gold burning like it did this morning. You can almost feel the heat and strength of it. It’s searing itself into your palm, next to Jo, but you’re not going to let go. 

You’re not ready. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t- 

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, and it feels hollow. You’ve never meant anything more, but it’s just not enough. “I’m sorry, Dean, I- I’m so sorry-“

You take a sharp breath, because you won’t cry. Then it will be Dean’s problem, and that won’t be a real apology.

“I’m sorry.” Your thumb traces over his skin. You want to crawl into him, and never move away, but you can’t. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. You’re the one who fucked up, who lied after being mad at him about lying, and Dean has every right to just walk away. Just leave you here, like he should have so many times before-

“Why didn’t you tell me.” Dean’s voice is a rasp, and you look up at him in surprise. He’s got the same expression from the field. From when he cried in your lap. 

Like he’s lost, and in pain. 

This time, it’s your fault. 

“Raphael was going to hurt you,” you breathe out, and he snorts humorlessly.

“I can take care of myself, sweetheart. I survived Raphael before. Survived Michael and Lucifer-“

“I- I know, that’s not what I-“

“Did you think I wouldn’t have helped you?” He cuts you off with a glare, and you can feel the Spiderweb whine and cower. “That if you’d come to me months ago, and said you needed help with this, I wouldn’t have been in your corner? In Cas’ corner?”

“Dean, no-“

“Is this really why you were gone?” He sneers, and your grip on his wrist tightens. “Were you setting this all up, and that’s why you were MIA for months?”

“No- I was- Cas didn’t find me until I was already coming back-“

“So you just hid it, the whole time? You were just lying, the moment you came home? Working with Cas and Crowley and trying to get us to go along with your little plan, and-“ He shakes his head, voice straining. “Was any of that shit real? Or was the whole thing just a trick, to get me dancing like a monkey for you?”

“Was-“ Your mouth falls open. You might be about to vomit up your own organs. “No, no- I- I wasn’t- I would never-“ You let go of his wrist, crawling backwards. Your skin feels like it’s covered in grime. You need to get away from Dean, before it gets him too. “I didn’t- That was- No, it wasn’t a trick, I promise it wasn’t a trick-“ You can’t breathe. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t-“ A strangled sound leaves your throat. “Dean, it was real, it was real, I’m sorry-“

“Hey, woah- I-“ He tries to reach for you, an odd expression flashing over his face. Pained like before. Panicked, too. Almost guilty. “I didn’t mean- You know I didn’t-“

You lean away from him. He can’t touch you. You’ll contaminate him.

Dean’s hand falls flat on the bed, his expression openly pained. 

“I didn’t- Fuck-“ He runs a hand over his face, collapsing to the side of the bed. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He mutters.

“I- I’m sorry.” You repeat, and he chuckles dryly.

“I know, Princess. And it ain’t like-“ He shakes his head, looking back to you with tired eyes. “You wouldn’t have had to do that anyway. For me to do it with you.”

You blink at him slowly. You don’t understand. “What?”

“I would’ve helped.” He rasps. “You wouldn’t have had to sleep with me. I woulda done whatever you asked anyway.”

He’s staring at you. You swallow weakly. 

“I would’ve helped, if you just fuckin’ told me-“

“You always help.”

Dean frowns at you, opening his mouth, and you shake your head. Crawl a little further back.

“You- You always help me, Dean. You always help me with my family, and the fairies, and sleeping, and you- You handle me-“

“I don’t handle you-“

“Yes, you do.” Your voice is rising. Not a scream. Just a panicked, broken cry. “You always fucking help me, Dean, you do everything, you fix it and forgive me and I never do anything but cry and fuck up, and I- I just wanted to save you-“

“You don’t have to save me-“

“But you. You save me, Dean-“

He’s twisting. Moving himself further forward. He’s going to try and touch you again. 

There’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more. Nothing you’ve ever been able to have less. 

“This wasn’t saving me,” he says your name hoarsely. “You shoulda just told me-“

You shake your head frantically. “You- You would’ve been angry-“

“Yeah, and this way, I’m fucking thrilled.” 

“You would’ve been worried, Dean, I didn’t want you to worry about it for once, I’m sorry-“

“Stop- Stop saying sorry.” He takes a deep breath, rubbing his face with a scowl. “I know you’re sorry, you- You’re not getting it-“

“Dean-“

“I was worried anyway.” He snaps, glaring at you. “I was so damn worried about you, this whole time I thought I was going crazy, thinking something more was wrong with you, but- I wasn’t crazy, you were just lying to me.” Dean works his jaw, and you stare at him in stunned silence. “I was so damn worried about you, Princess. I lost sleep over it. I- Son of a bitch, I wouldn’t have cared. I don’t give a flying shit about Heaven and Hell, I just-“ He shakes his head. “If you’d just told me.”

You stare at him. He stares right back at you. 

You’re not supposed to be sorry. He doesn’t want your apologies.

But you can’t stop the tears. Not the silent, empty ones from moments ago. 

The full, body shaking, chest heaving, hot-faced sobs that wrack you, making your head spin so fast because you’re drowning in tears, your skin crawling with disgust from being attached to your body. 

Dean’s here. It’s safe to cry like that. 

Fucking useless, and selfish, and sick-

The first sound rips from your chest, and it’s not the sound of just sadness. It guttural, almost primal, like a dying animal. You shrink into yourself, unable to meet Dean’s eyes as your face twists into something that must be hideous to look at. It feels hideous. You feel hideous. You’re the one who messed up, you have no right to cry, not in front of Dean, but you can’t stop it. It’s like a tsunami, rising so fast and crashing over you. Hot tears burn your cheek, mucus bubbles in your nose, and you scratch at your wrists and forearms to try and get just a little more fucking grounded, but- 

Dean says your name, voice rising with panic, and you shake your head. Curl away from his touch. He shouldn’t comfort you, shouldn’t be near you, he should just go, why won’t he go- 

“Stop doing that, just-“ A strong hand catches your arm, and you don’t fight as Dean pulls you forwards. 

You collapse over his chest, crying into his flannel. You bunch it between your hands as a high, weak scream rips from somewhere fragile over your ribs. 

Dean rubs his hand up and down your spine. The touch is slow. Firm. 

He should be leaving you.

Why isn’t he leaving you. 

“Breathe,” he murmurs your name, and you gasp for air into his shirt. “No, not like- C’mere-“

Dean pulls your face back, cradling it between his hands. He’s trying to angle it up, to make you look at him. 

You won’t. Every time he tips your chin higher, you shift your gaze away. Dean sighs, running his thumb down your nose, and your breathing steadies a little more. You slump fully, your chin propped on his chest, fingers still curled in his flannel.

They slowly loosen, in Dean’s arms. Your eyes droop, and he lets you turn your cheek to press on his shoulder. Your face dips forward to press in his neck. Even through your stuffed nose, you can smell his cinnamon. 

And you would never blame Dean, if he dumped you in the bed and walked away. He didn’t even have to use time to calm you down. 

But instead, he kisses your brow, and slowly twists so he’s sitting against the headboard, and you’re still held steady in his lap. The world starts to feel faraway. Everything but Dean feels faraway, and even he’s just a thread of Gold, as you drift off to sleep. 

“I just want you to stop hurting yourself, Princess.” You could swear he murmurs against your hairline, right before you pass out. 

You’re standing alone. In a great, wide dais, alone. 

The whole room is clean. The carpet and windowsills don’t have a speck of dust. The chandeliers sparkle, casting rainbows around the room. 

You walk over to the window, and there’s a great, sprawling garden outside. It goes as far as you can see, and probably further after that. 

“Wouldn’t this be better?” A voice you know too well murmurs in your ear. “I would never be angry with you. I understand what you’re supposed to be, and I’d never demand you be any way else. It would be nice. Don’t you want things to be nice?”

Not like this, is all you can think as a hand slides around your hips. It must be coated in acid, the way your skin burns. Never like this. 

“Hm.” The voice sighs. “You’ll see. They don’t understand you. I do, and- One day. You’ll understand.”

No, you won’t. 

“Yes, you will.”

You wake up in a cold sweat, hand flying to your hip. Where he’d been touching, just a moment ago. You’re supposed to be safe here. he’s not supposed to be able to find you, but he- 

There’s nothing in you to vomit up, with the sandwich still on the bedside table. You dry heave at the toilet for a few minutes, before shuffling back to bed. You force yourself to eat the sandwich, just for Dean. He put work into it. With the way the bed was indented when you woke up—the mattress still warm—he’d sat with you for a while. And after he left, he’d tucked you in. 

After you betrayed him. 

The least you can do is eat his fucking sandwich. 

You wolf it down, and shuffle back into the hallway, the plate tight between your hands. It can be a peace offering. Another, stupid apology. You ate his sandwich. He has to forgive you.

Fucking stupid. 

Bobby and Dean’s voices drift down the hall, and you pause. You shouldn’t listen in. You can’t remember how to move. 

“Say we do get ‘im, Dean. Then what. You stab him and we all move on?”

“I- No. Yes. I don’t know, Bobby, I’m making solutions, not more problems-“

“He’s been pretty damn clear, boy. He doesn’t want us in his way.”

“So we just give up? Let him do whatever stupid thing he’s planning, maybe-“ Dean snaps your name, and you swallow. “We can just tell her to go help him, and they can run off into the sunset together-“

“Dean.”

“We gotta do something, Bobby. If it broke her, it’s gonna get him too, eventually. And I-“ Dean pauses, voice dropping. “I can’t lose them both. Not together. That’s- I’m not doing that again, Bobby. Ever.”

You can hear Bobby’s heavy sigh. A lump is forming in your throat. 

“This ain’t the way, Dean. You don’t want to do this.”

“I don’t. But I told him. I told him, and he didn’t listen.”

“Maybe we can try to make him listen again-“

“No. I’m not stalling.”

Bobby sighs again. “You wanna hear what I think, Dean?”

“What, you haven’t been telling me the whole fuckin’ time?”

There’s a slight whack. “No, ya idjit. I’m thinking that you won’t be able to do it. Not cause you’re no hero, or you don’t got the will. But cause it’s Cas.”

“Bobby-“

“And,” Bobby cuts off Dean’s low words with your name. “She’s gonna hate this. Even you don’t go through with it, which you won’t, she’d be horrified you even thought of it.”

“So we don’t tell her.” Dean grunts. “Don’t give me that face, Bobby. She just pulled the same on us.”

“That’s different, boy-“

“Is it? They say they did this for me. I’m doing this for her.”

Killing Cas. 

You’re not an idiot. You know what Dean’s talking about.

He’s going to try and kill Cas.

Bobby’s right. He won’t be able to. He won’t. Just over Eve, over the chance that she might try to kill you, Dean wouldn’t kill Cas. Just like he’d never kill you or Sam. He wouldn’t. 

But he’s going to try. And Cas- Cas won’t be that forgiving of it. Cas can be… vengeful. And after all he’s done for Dean- 

Bobby isn’t trying to talk him out of it. Why isn’t Bobby trying to talk him out of it. 

You set the plate on a hallway table with shaking hands. Take a slow step back, and glance over your shoulder. 

You didn’t get to give Cas your full offer. He can’t have broken Eve out of the safe room. You have time. 

You can fix this. 

Sam seems to have gone back to his room. Bobby and Dean are still in the kitchen. It’s easy to avoid them all, as you sneak out through the porch. With one long whistle, Indy perks her head up from the docks—she must have been terrorizing the fish again—and darts to youR shoulders. You let her bump her snout against your face, and stroke her wings slowly. 

“Indy, blackout.”

She leans back, giving you a quizzical, displeased expression. 

“I’ll be home soon. Just-“ You glance back into the cabin. Still clear. “Blackout.”

She whines, and you kiss her horn.

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

You raise your wrist, and she ambles onto it before pausing. Nudging your face again, then taking off into the sky. You sigh, and pull out your keys. You’re going to fix this. 

The Firebird is low on gas. You barely get an hour out, before you have to stop for gas. Dean’s first call buzzes on your phone. You ignore it. Bobby’s follows soon after that. You ignore it too. And they don’t stop, as you keep driving. You put your phone on silent, and keep your eyes blankly fixed on the road in front of you.

You get home around midnight. Everything is quiet. Too quiet. No birds that brave the winter. No howling wind chasing somewhere warmer. Not even a bat, swooping happily in the dark. Like everything knows.

It’s better to be quiet right now. 

You go inside, and the door to the basement is closed. Cas could’ve just flown inside. 

You place your hand on the doorknob, and pause. Something feels wrong. 

The Silver. It’s building. Buzzing. And you don’t have time to think about how the instinct is back. 

You whirl around, your knife tight in your hand. You’re not fast enough. 

Something hits you over the head, and the world goes black. 

And you’re back in the house. The clean, empty, polished house. But you’re alone. And you run and run and run and run, but the halls never end. Your hand rises to a door, and it opens for you. 

You’re back in the throne room. Of Old Heaven. You take a step back. Another. You turn, and spring back through the door. 

This time, you don’t come out in the palace. 

You’re in Bobby’s cabin. 

Dean is on his phone. Tapping fast, rough texts, before closing the contact and switching to yours. His thumb hovers over the call button. He tenses, then hits it.

You walk over to his side, as he holds it to his ear. Run your fingers through his hair, while it rings. He shivers slightly, letting out a slow side, and you could swear his head tilts in your direction. 

The call goes to voicemail. He opens his mouth. 

You wake up to a bright light, right in your eyes. “Fuck-“

“There you are.” A familiar voice drawls from somewhere to your side. “Finally deemed us worthy of your waking presence, little tiger.”

“I…” You slowly sit up, head pounding. When you try to rub your eyes, your hands are yanked back, and you’re wearing fucking chains. The metal tingles on your skin. And- “Iron?”

“I told them it wouldn’t hold against you the same, but you know men. Arrogant fools.”

“You-“ You lean back, just enough for the light to stop blinding you, and there she is. 

Rowena, with her hands in the same chains as yours. Her back stiff and nose turned up. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

She sighs dramatically, tossing her hair so that her curls bounce slightly out of her eyes. “I got sabotaged, Dearie. Ambushed. Jumped, like some common street rat-“

“Don’t say street rat.” You mutter, leaning back against the wall. “I mean- Literally. Why are you here, you and Eileen were in Jordan or something-“

“We’d actually made our way down to Egypt.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know that, because you don’t tell me shit-“

“We have been busy,” Rowena rolls her eyes. “And given I am your only ally here, I’d recommend you start playing nice.”

You roll your eyes, kicking the light stand with a tight scowl. “You start playing nice.”

Rowena sighs your name, and you scowl.

“I’ve had a bad day.” 

“How unique an experience.”

You shoot her a glare, and she just gives you an unimpressed look. 

“At least I was caught off guard. You should have been able to fend them off, little tiger.”

“I thought I was in a safe place.” You mutter, then pause. “Eileen, is she-“

“Oh, she got out fine. I gave myself for her, you know. I doubt the bitch will even care to say thank you to my corpse.”

You snort. “Gross.”

“It is a… morbid thought.” Rowena frowns at the air. “But we have both seen worse. And it is not unfounded.”

Fuck. You turn your head, watching Rowena carefully in the dark. You have a few guesses, for you got you. It can’t be Eve, or you’d be dead. It could be Cas, but he wouldn’t chain you up. If it’s just the Men of Letters being asses again, this will be easy. If it’s not…

“Rowena.” You mutter. “Where are we?”

She makes a sour expression. “In Fergus’ dungeon, while he and his little angel friend wait for sleeping beauty,” she gives you a pointed look. “To wake up.”

You frown. “Fergus?”

“I’m sorry.” Rowena rolls her eyes. “He’s parading around calling himself Crowley now.”

Oh. Crowley and… An angel. Interesting. 

Also, not the worst. It could have been Raphael. 

“What do you mean, now?” You ask, looking around the room for something you can use. “His name is Crowley. Does- Do demons change their names?”

“No, but humans who turn into demons choose disgusting, dramatic names that sully their heritage, and disappoint their mothers.”

“Oh. Right.” It takes a moment for the words to sink in. “Wait- What?”

“Fergus was a good name.” Rowena’s muttering, mostly to herself. “A strong, warrior’s name. My father was a Fergus, and he was a rotten man, but his father was a king among men, ruthless and strong. Also a Fergus. Although, it seems that strength skips generations-“

“Rowena.” You cut her off firmly. “Explain.”

She gives you an exasperated look. “I am Crowley’s,” she spits the word. “Mother.”

Your mouth falls open, and it feels a little like you’ve been shot. Small world, Dean jokes when you run into other hunters on hunts.

Too fucking small. 

“You’re what-“

“Mother.” The door opens upstairs, Crowley’s voice echoing through the room, and you cringe. It’s just fucking wrong. “Unless she’s up, I’ll be leaving to deal with some important business-“

“You don’t do important business, Fergus.” Rowena calls back. “And the girl is awake, so grab your feathered twat of a friend and show your face like a man, rather than a sniveling bitch.”

You gape at her, as something shifts upstairs, your voice dropping to a hiss. “Why did you tell them I’m awake.”

“These cuffs might be nothing more than a pill for you, girl, but I would rather like them off-“

“I could have gotten them off!”

Rowena scoffs. “With what. Your dormant magic and no ingredients-“

“With my fucking hair pin.”  

There’s a moment of silence, as Rowena’s eyes flick up to your hair. You always keep a hair pin, at the base of your scalp. Most people who kidnap you are just smarter, and search you first. Tie you up better. Point a gun at your face or something.

For how good at being an evil businessman Crowley is, he’s a pretty fucking shit demon king. 

“Well.” Rowena frowns. “Shite.” 

“Yeah. Shite.”

“You could have told me before-“

“You could have trusted I know how to get out of chains-“

“Well, I’m sure you and your hunter get plenty kinky, dearie, but this isn’t about that-“

“Rowena-“

“Mother, stop tormenting our guest.” Crowley drawls, walking down the stairs slowly. The candles flicker for effect. He’s adjusting his stupid collar. “She’s what we call precious cargo.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You can teleport, dipshit.”

“I enjoy dramatic effect.” He stops in front of you with a smirk. “Strikes fear.”

“Yeah. I’m about to piss myself.”

Crowley clicks his tongue. “Dirty mouth. I wonder if you got that from Dean, or if he was a perfect little altar boy before you got your hands on him.”

The Silver curls. “Don’t talk about him.”

“I’ll talk about whatever I want. This is my dungeon.” He keeps looking smug, for a long moment. You frown at him, and glance at Rowena, who’s busy looking at her nails. 

Crowley sighs, and frowns at the ceiling.

“That was supposed to be your que.”

There’s a ruffle, and a cool voice fills the room. “I do not take cues from demons.”

“And yet, you ally with us.” Crowley rolls his eyes at you, like you’re sharing an inside joke. You barely see it. 

You’re busy staring at Raphael. 

This is the bad option. This is the worst option. This is the worst option you can fucking imagine.

Raphael meets your gaze, lips curling. “Only against whores. Hello,” he says your name in Enochian, and bile rises in your throat. 

You look back to Crowley in horror. “What the fuck did you do?”

“You and Castiel broke our deal.” He shrugs. “I took my business elsewhere.”

“To Raphael? He wants to break Lucifer out, you said that was bad for you-“

“I have built loyalty. Lucifer will be too busy being smited to worry about us demons, and Raphael has a lovely contract with me where Hell will remain untouched, and there will be sanctioned soul deals after Michael’s victory.”

Rowena snorts. “You’ve been scammed, Fergus.”

“I have- Quiet.” He shoots Rowena a glower, and she just looks unimpressed. “I know what I am doing. I have thrived well without your advice.”

You tilt your head at Crowley, watching how he holds himself. Tall. Certain. His tone is more frustrated, than worried. Bad king. Good businessman. 

You glance over to Raphael. Arrogant angel.

You’d bet everything you own that there was some fine print in that contract Raphael didn’t see. Which is maybe more terrifying, than the prospect of sanctioned demon deals. You really don’t want to know what that fine print is. 

“Crowley.” You say slowly, trying to buy time. Weigh your options. “How did you get in our house?”

“Raphie had knowledge of your wards. My lovely mother is a witch. It’s quite simple, actually.”

You glare at Rowena. “You helped?”

She raises her chained hands. “I did not have much of a choice.”

You wrinkle your nose at her, and try not to think too much about Raphael’s knowledge. You have a feeling you know what it is. You don’t want to think about it right now. 

“And let me guess.” You glare between Crowley and Raphael. “I’m either bait, or a bargaining chip? Or- No, wait.” You smile between them. “Neither of you has the strength to open purgatory, and you needed to bring in someone with balls.”

Raphael’s lip curls, and it’s always fun to watch his bronze pulse with such pure hate. You know he wants to smush you under a single wing, and wipe you off like a bug. But he won’t. If he could, he would’ve done it before. 

Crowley just gives you another, smug look. “Now I see how those lumberjacks get so much done. I wonder how they’ll fair, having lost their brains, beauty, and muscle?”

“I think they’ll be fine.” You tilt your chin up. “And I’m not opening the cage for you, Crowley, so you should start planning your succession for when he finds me.” 

Raphael scoffs. “This place is warded specifically against Castiel, he will never be able to find you-“

“Not Cas.” You look back to Crowley. “Dean. Which, I think, is worse. Cas would just kill you. Dean will drag it out.”

You don’t even know if Dean will find you. If he’d still bother fighting for you, or just let you go. You think he’ll fight. 

He’ll probably be mad at you for running, after. You said you wouldn’t.

But he said he’d chase. 

And he might be mad at you, and you might deserve it, but he won’t let anything hurt you. That might be the only thing you do know. 

That, and how the threat is just as effective as you thought. Crowley’s eyes narrow. Flick to Raphael, then back to you.

“Well, how delightful that I’m not asking.” Crowley leers down at you. “You owe me a favor, darling. I’m collecting.”

You blink at him. Fuck.  

“I know how the Magdalene’s work. There is nothing you cannot do, with magic. And in case you get stuck, my lovely mother will be here to help you along.”

Rowena sighs dramatically, again. You glance over to Raphael, who mostly just looks annoyed he has to be here for the dramatic showboating. 

Crowley is just watching you smugly. He knows he’s got you, at least on this. One favor. For anything.

You might not need magic, to open the doors. The way Gilda said it, you almost certainly wouldn’t need magic. 

But having to work out a spell buys time. And that’s all you need. A little more time. 

“Okay.” You glance down to your wrists. “I’ll need you to untie me.”

Crowley shakes his head. “You’ll be let out when you do your job.”

“I can’t be in iron, for magic-“

“You don’t need magic to use your brain, do you?” Crowley snaps. “Here.” He snaps his fingers. The chains grow longer. “Wander about, send a prayer to Raphael if you need… ingredients. Or when you have succeed, and gotten me a gate to Purgatory.”

You glare at him. “I need all your research.”

Crowley sighs. “I’ll pass it on to Raphie.”

Raphael scowls. “That is not my name. And I will not be your errand boy, Crowley, I am a son of God, an Archangel, Michael’s second-in-command-“

“Yes, and I’m the king of hell and the son of a bitch.” Crowley rolls his eyes. “We’re all in the same basement. Do what she tells you, like a good boy.”

“I do not take orders from Whores-“

“Do you take orders from your Queen?” You snap, and the word leaves a bad aftertaste on your tongue. “Or your mommy? Will that be better for you, if you think of it like that.”

Raphael’s gaze might burn through you. You don’t break it.

He vanishes without another word. Crowley sighs something about emotional angels, and vanishes a second later. 

You slump back against the wall, tilting your head up and closing your eyes. Raphael said this place was warded against Cas. You send out a prayer anyway, and pray he’s can’t get over the fight long enough to tell Dean. That Dean will be smart enough to not try and kill him, the moment they see each other. 

All you have to do is buy time. Stall, until they find you. Crowley just asked you to open the door. There’s no timeframe, and you can stretch it. 

You’ll get through this. You don’t know what’s on the other side, but you will. You always do, just this time-

You might not come out the other side.

A small rush of white-hot, burning pain splits you open like lightning. Jo glows neon on your fingertips. You screw your eyes shut, swallowing the Silver down with a firm bite of your tongue. 

Sam. Still bound to you. You can’t let this hurt Sam.

Rowena is frowning at you, when the episode fades. “What’s wrong with you, girl.”

You shake your head, letting out a heavy breath. “Rowena I- I need you to do something for me.” You hold her gaze, lips in a tight line. “Please.”

Her mouth twitches. She nods.

“If it will get us out of this disaster.” She sighs. “I will do whatever you want.”

Mar 4. - 2011

Princess, 

Goddamnit. 

I told you not to run. You promised you wouldn’t fucking run. And I know I made you cry, and I know I’m pissed at you, and I know you’re never good at hearing me when I say I don’t want you to leave, but I don’t. I never do. Hell, you could stab me and I’d be happy long as I got to bleed out next to you. 

And I am pissed at you. But we’ll work it out. I’ve been pissed at you before, and we worked it out. I don’t scare easy. You know I don’t. I stuck with Sammy, after the blood. And this ain’t half a bad. 

It’s not good. It’s pretty fucking bad. I wish you’d told me. I would’ve been with you. All the way down. Just come back don’t leave.

i don’t know how to do anything without you. i cant try to figure it out again. it almost killed me sucks. i need you here. you said you’d be here. you said you would leave me us. and we’re gonna work it out. i know you probably think i’m not with you, but im never done with you. that’s the only damn thing i know, baby girl, is that ive tried to be done with you and its never fucking worked. dont even think its the soulmate thing. its just you. always just you. 

i dont love you less just cause youre crazy sometimes. just like you dont love me less cause im a dumbass dont care about me less when im doing something stupid. 

i promise. well figure it out. 

come back. i cant do this again. i need you to come back. i need you. 

yours, 

DAW. 

He hadn’t slept in about a day. Not since he’d walked into their room, and She hadn’t been there. Or out in the woods with Indy, because Indy had been moping and nesting in their blankets. Dean had poked his head in on Sam. She hadn’t been there either. He’d searched the whole house, then finally glanced out the window, and the Firebird had been gone.

His heart had stopped for a moment. Dean had fucking felt it, halt and stall like a broken engine. Time had stood still. He’d run out to the driveway, like She’d just be driving up with a smile and apology for giving him a fucking medical episode.

But She hadn’t. 

And when he’d called Her, she didn’t pick up. Which wasn’t great, but they were fighting. Then Bobby had called Her, and she hadn’t picked up. Worse. She always picked up for Bobby. 

Sammy had called Her, once. Nothing. 

“Indy.” He’d gotten on his knees at the edge of their mattress, like he was some schoolboy praying. “She’s the treasure.” Damn right, She was. “Find the treasure.”

Indy had just blinked at him. Slowly and sadly. Then sighed through her little nose, waddled across the bed, and burrowed her snout in Dean’s neck. A long, slow whine had left her. Her wings had angled up, wrapped around Dean like a hug. 

“Indy-“

“There’s a command.” Sammy had muttered from behind him, and Dean had craned his neck with a frown. 

“What?”

Sam had said Her name, his face pinched. “She taught me all of the commands.”

“Yeah, she taught me, too-“

“No, she just told you the ones you asked about, Dean.” Sam had sighed. “I asked about all of them. She wrote them down for me.”

Dean had frowned, something that had been sour and aching in his chest all day sinking further. “What, did she not think I’d fuckin’ want to know them-“

“She probably didn’t want to bother you, Dean. You know how she is.”

“She- I’m never bothered-“

“Yeah, which she obviously knows, because you guys are so great at communication-“

“Sam-“

“There’s a command to override the tracking, Dean.” Sam had raised his voice slightly, eyes puppy sad on Dean. “If she used it, Indy won’t track her until she tells her to.”

The sourness had landed all the way in the pit in Dean’s gut. A chasm, splitting further open, making his heartbeat too fast and muscles feel heavy. She didn’t want to be found. She’d known he’d go after her, she’d known he’d still care and, and she’d made sure he couldn’t. 

So if She knew Dean wasn’t angry enough to abandon her—he could never be angry enough to do that—why the hell had She run. 

He’d spent the day calling Her, over and over. Bobby had called Rufus, and he hadn’t seen Her. He called a few other hunters, with spots like the old roadhouse, and She hadn’t popped up there either. Dean called his own backup phone, that he kept in the Firebird’s glove compartment. Nothing. He called all ten of Bobby’s landlines. Voicemail. Bobby asked Jody to call the sheriff’s department, have someone go up to the house and wait for her. 

They got a call back, about an hour later. 

Two cars were parked in the drive. Bobby’s truck, and Her Firebird. The door was unlocked, but closed. The yard was empty. The cop had searched the whole place—but stayed out of the basement, upon Jody’s orders, under the guise of asbestos being treated—and found nothing. 

She’d been there. Nobody was home. 

Dean had felt that cold, horrible and iron-like dread, sinking over his bones. Wrapping around his ribs, and pressing into his heart. Sammy used the ward-check spells that She’d taught him, and they showed that four people had been in and out of the house, in the past twenty-four hours. Or that’s what Sam said it was telling them. The tea leaves had arranged into a bunch of strange symbols Dean couldn’t make. sense of, and there were only three of them. 

“This one has a tally.” Sam had pointed to the second symbol with a tight frown. “Which means it’s a repeat of… Whoever that is.”

Bobby had frowned at him from the kitchen table. “This spell ain’t able to tell you who’s been in and out of my house?”

“Well, no. I can’t tell, because I can’t read Enochian. These are like- Soul DNA codes or something. But-“ Sam had sighed Her name. “She’d be able to tell. Or…” He’d glanced at Dean. “Cas. Cas could read them.”

Dean had scowled. His hand had tensed on the gun he’d been cleaning. Cas would be able to help them. If Cas wasn’t with Her, he’d probably want to help find her, too. 

But Dean didn’t want to talk to Cas. He didn’t want to see the angel’s righteous, sad, puppy face until he was chopping it off his body, and even then, he didn’t want to look at the aftermath. It would make him sick. 

Bobby thought he couldn’t do it. He could. He had to, or Cas was going to get Her killed. Get himself killed anyway, working with Eve. Get all of them killed, opening up the gates to damn Monster-Land. It didn’t matter that they’d had a plan. It was a shit plan. 

A shit plan they’d left Dean out of. She and Cas had been lying to him. He’d been right about the one thing he never wanted to be right about. The one thing he’d convinced himself he wasn’t right about. He’d sworn to himself, up and down and left and right, that She and Cas would never lie to him like that. That they’d tell him, if they were planning something together. That they were a team, and Dean was important enough to these two celestial fucking beings that they’d care for his input, even though he was barely more than a ugly, dull thing from the mud. 

He should have known better. He’d been luckier than he deserved to even be in their presence. 

But he’d really damn thought they’d trust him. That he’d matter to them. 

He’d been wrong. 

And She’d confessed. She’d cried and tried to apologize and hidden herself like Dean would never want to look at Her again. He did. He’d needed to look at Her, to check that she was still real. Needed to touch Her—with casual, fake-accidental brushes in the kitchen and halls—to double-check. To see if She’d just been reckless, or if She actually didn’t care enough about Dean to tell him these kinds of things. 

It had been the former. Dean knew it was, and that didn’t stop the furious, turning pain in his chest made of She’d lied, but it helped him keep moving. They’d said all the way down. This was part of that. He’d lied to Her before. They’d fought before. And She’d come clean. 

Dean hadn’t caught Her in the lie. She hadn’t been able to go through with the plan, not because She was weak, but because She couldn’t. She’d said she couldn’t like the idea of fully betraying them—Dean, betraying Dean—would’ve killed Her. 

But Cas was still going through it. In Her name, Cas seemed Hellbent on finishing it. Cas had talked Her into it. He’d been ready to lie to Dean, the whole way through. 

Dean wanted to forgive that. He glared at Excalibur in the kitchen corner, and hated that he had it. Hated that he had to do this. Something was burning in his chest, trying to rip it in half for even thinking of it. 

But Dean knew two things. 

Cas wasn’t going to come around. Wasn’t going to be talked out of it. Once he committed to being a dumbass, it didn’t matter who told him to stop. God his damn self could drop from the Heavens and tell him to cut it out, and Cas wouldn’t waver. 

Dean didn’t let the people he loved get hurt. That was all he was for. It was all he’d ever been for, since Dad had shoved Sammy into his arms. Dean was Her shadow. He was Sammy’s keeper. Dad’s best weapon. The only person Bobby had trusted with Her. 

Cas’ best friend. 

But Dean couldn’t let just Cas outweigh the rest of them. He couldn’t. 

And a tiny voice in the back of his head muttered that he might. He might be putting more effort into talking Cas out of it. Trying to reason, against all odds. 

The tiny voice hissed that it was only Her, tipping the scales. Dean didn’t want to think he ever traded lives. 

He’d trade the whole world for Her. 

So he had to kill Cas. And She could hate him after. Sam could look at him with that pity.

They’d all be alive and safe. That was all that mattered. 

All that mattered. 

Dean stared at the tea leaves, an hour after Sammy had left them to try and look at highway footage or something. Bobby was still making calls about sightings. Right now, Dean could hear him on the phone with someone named Garth about magic waves or something. 

Dean’s hands flexed on the back of the chair he was holding. He glared at the tea leaves, trying to make some damn sense of them. The first one was made of sharper points and a smooth outside. The second one was just smooth, but sort of chaotic in the center. That was the one that had visited twice. 

The third one was complex. So complex, Dean would wonder if Sammy had messed it up, if there wasn’t such a clear, neat pattern to it. 

Neat was the wrong word. It was chaotic. The leaves branched and wove together and sprawled without reason, but they were all connected. Like tree branches, or those pictures of the nervous system Dean had seen on Science lab walls. Like all the galaxies, in that one documentary She’d made him watch. Like a spiderweb.

Dean didn’t know how he knew. But he did. 

That was Her. 

Which meant She’d been home. And still, no one could find Her.

The wood of the chair whined, under Dean’s grip. He squeezed his eyes shut, and let out a heavy breath. All that mattered was that She was alive and safe. They were running out of options. He opened his eyes, and glanced over to Excalibur. Maybe he should grab that first, before making the call. 

No. Olive branch. 

There might still be a chance to talk him out of it, if Dean made it about Her. Not the right thing. Just the one thing he knew would get through to Cas always, because it always got through to him.

Dean closed his eyes. Cleared his throat. 

“Cas, we got a problem. Ceasefire kinda problem.” He muttered Her name. “She’s missing. Not just- Running missing. Off the face of the Earth. She was at the house, then vanished. Two other people have been there, but- We got no idea who. She might be in danger, and I- I need you here.” Dean bowed his head, dropping his voice to a breath. “Please. I don’t care about the civil war, or the whole Purgatory thing right now. I just- I need you here.”

There was silence. Dean waited, and got only silence. He let go of the chair with a bitter sigh, and-

Something ruffled behind him, and Dean whipped around with wide eyes. 

He scowled. “You aren’t Cas.”

“Really?” Balthazar drawled. “I hadn’t realized, Dean. Thank you, for the astute observation.”

“I prayed to Cas-“

“Cas is out at the moment. He gave me his passkey. I am the cavalry you get, like it or not.” Balthazar gave him a bored look. “But if you don’t like, I can fuck off. Enochian only takes about a hundred years for a human to learn, but I’m sure you can learn it in seventy-five or so, if you’re committed-“

“No, just-“ Dean pinched his brow. He’d wanted Cas. “Whatever. Read the leaves.”

Balthazar hummed, crossing the kitchen to the table. He squinted at the leaves, and Dean crosse his arms over his chest. They didn’t have time for this, She might be in danger- 

There was a shout of pain, from across the house. Dean didn’t think, before he moved. Sprinted out of the kitchen, down the hall, following the sound to Sam’s room. He shoved open the door, and felt his heart drop at the sight of the kid on the floor. Pressed against the wall with his face in his hands, a low, almost animal like sound of pain leaving him. 

“Sammy- Sammy-“ Dean crouched down, and pressed his hand to Sam’s brow. He was burning. “Sammy, what the hell- Bobby!”

There was a shuffling in the hall, and Dean grabbed Sam’s face. Turned it up, trying to see what was wrong. Sam’s eyes were glazed and unfocused. His mouth was open, with that whining sound. His body was deadweight and limp, when Dean shook him. This could just be another one of their episodes. 

Which would mean She was in danger.

“Dean what-“ Bobby cut himself off in the doorway, and Dean looked back to see Balthazar standing next to him. “What the hell is goin’ on-“

“I don’t know, he just collapsed-“

“And the angel?”

“I’m doing translation work.” Balthazar said smoothly, and Dean shot him a glare.

“Well get in here and do some damn medic work, too-“

“That isn’t possible.” Balthazar sighed. “This is a soul wound. I am not God. And from what I understand, even he would not be able to fix this degree of damage.”

Bobby frowned, saying Her name. “She’s been fixin’ it. Dean, this might just be another one of their episodes, from the bond-“

“Bond?” Balthazar cuts in, tilting his head slightly at Sam. “There is no bond in our lovely little Sam. Not anymore.”

Dean froze, and looked back to Sam. The way the episode was long, and barely easing. How even as he stopped shaking, his breathing was labored and head lolling to the side. No bond. There was no bond- 

“Balls.” Bobby muttered, and Dean reached up to touch Sam’s brow again. 

Still hot. Clammy, and hot.

“Dean, if she severed it-“

“I know.” Dean grunted, and Bobby sighed. 

“We can’t keep just stallin’ and hope she pops up. We gotta look.”

Dean nodded, still looking at Sam. His breathing was slowing down, but not shallow. They’d had the bond for at least a month. Hopefully, that was going to be enough. 

“Balthazar.” He turned in his crouch, keeping a hand on Sammy’s shoulder. “Who was in the house.”

Balthazar hummed Her name, holding up a finger for every person. “A human with a rather cold witch soul, from a holy family, and a demon.”

Bobby stiffened. “You ain’t able to give us names?”

“No.”

“You can read Enochian-“

“And you can read English. But tell me, Mr. Singer, if I asked you to read a DNA helix, would you be able to tell me the name of the specimen?”

Bobby scowled, and Balthazar looked back to Dean.

“If my service is done, I’ll be taking my leave. However-“ He paused, expression pausing. “I would move quickly. It’s quiet. That is never a good sign.”

Dean nodded, muttering thanks, and Balthazar vanished into the air. 

Balthazar was right. In this world, quiet was never good. It meant a storm was brewing. And they didn’t have enough time to prepare.

Dean really wished it was a storm they could sit out for once. Every single damn storm seemed to demand their attention. It would be nice if there were some other poor assholes who could take over. Just for a single world ending disaster, they could be sidelined. Go back to just two days ago, when they’d been on vacation. Where Dean hadn’t been thinking about Heaven or Hell or Purgatory. Eve had been secure. He’d trusted Cas. Had Her in his arms, and no sense that in just 48 hours he’d be tearing down the interstate, trying to figure out who the hell had taken Her. 

Because She had been taken. The bond had been severed, which meant danger, and there had been a demon and witch in the house, which was never good. Later, he’d try to piece together a timeline or something. Right now, logistics couldn’t fucking matter less. 

Sammy was curled in Baby’s backseat. Bobby was still making calls, even as they drove. Giving Dean low updates, about Garth’s lead not panning out but the demon thing giving him some other ideas. A muttered talk about who the witch might have been that Dean only half listened to, because he already had a feeling. A few ideas about what to do with Sam, namely some temporary cures that She’d mentioned working on. That would act like magic Advil or something. 

“We’ll need to use it lightly.” Bobby muttered. “She said he could build up a tolerance or somethin’.”

Dean grunted, glaring at the road. Bobby sighed. 

“You should pray to Cas.”

“No.”

“Dean-“

“I reached out once. I’m not acting like some rejected schoolgirl and spamming his angel line.” Dean’s grip on the wheel was painful. “He chose what he wanted to do. And we don’t need him.”

Bobby muttered something under his breath. Dean didn’t bother to listen to it. They didn’t need Cas. Dean could find Her alone. He already had a plan. 

It might not be a great plan. Some people might call it insane and stupid. Dean might be part of some people. 

They didn’t have the luxury of options. This would have to make do. 

He only paused, when they got back to the house, to help Sammy inside. Bobby lay him on the couch, going to the study to search for Her soul-painkiller and try to make it himself, and Dean grabbed Excalibur. Stomped down into the basement, and shoved open the door to the safe room. 

Eve smiled at him from the cot. Opened her mouth to say something evil and pointless. Dean didn’t have the patience for it. 

“You.” He pointed Excalibur at her, and she closed her mouth. “You listen. Not a damn word, unless it’s an answer to my question. Or I cut off a hand, then the other, then your feet until you’re just a head to answer my questions. Understand?”

“Hm.” Eve eyes Excalibur wearily, but still gave Dean an amused look. “Am I allowed to answer that?”

Dean scowled. “Yes. But just nod.” His fist as his side curled, as Eve nodded. “Good. What deal have you got, with Cas.”

“Cas?”

“Castiel. Little angel, trench coat, tie-“

“Ah.” Eve examined him. “I don’t think you’ll care to know, Dean Winchester-“

“Try me.”

Eve sighed, sitting taller on the cot. Treating it like a throne. “Well, then, it is rather simple. Even you will be able to comprehend it.” She held Dean’s gaze, still looking bored. “I give him the spell, to open Purgatory. After he absorbs the souls, he leaves the rest of my children alone, and frees me from this hole to watch over them. He ensures I remain untouched by heaven and humanity for a century. I promise not to hurt the Whore.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, and Eve sighed dramatically. Said Her name. 

“Her. I won’t touch your precious, perfect, demon woman.”

“Don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that-“

“Like what? The truth?”

Dean ground his teeth, hand flexing towards his pistol on instinct. Not now. He needed Eve alive. 

“Well, what if I say I got a better offer for you.” He said slowly, taking a step forward. Keeping Excalibur raised. 

Eve hummed. “Is it an offer? Or a demand.”

“Call it whatever the hell you want, long as you take it.” Dean held her cold gaze. “I let you out. You use whatever… magic you got, to find her.” Dean said Her name, and Eve gave him a look of surprise. 

“What makes you so certain I can even do such a thing?”

He didn’t waver. “Can’t you?”

Eve stared at him. Her lips twitched. She laughed, and it sounded like wind chimes made of bone.

“For a Man, you are one of the least foolish I have met.”

Dean grunted. “Thought I was just as dumb as the others, or whatever.”

“No. You are… different.” Eve gave him a strange look. “You remind me of the last human I cared for, Dean Winchester. And I do not say that lightly.” She made a face. “God was cruel to him, as well.”

Dean felt something almost slither, up his spine. He didn’t have time to think about it, or participate in magic, cryptic riddles. “Cool. You in, or am I chopping off your hand.”

“I am in.” Eve stood slowly. “But I ask you don’t spend all our time together, pointing that abomination at my face.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. Before he could snap there was no way in hell that was happening, Eve sighed. 

“I understand, that I will not get the chance to backstab you before you take my head. Now, please.” She gave him a stern, almost motherly look. It was weird. “Sword. Down.”

He didn’t like it. But they had to get moving. 

Dean lowered Excalibur. He’d have time for that later.

Now, he had to find Her.

Bobby didn’t love the plan. Sammy—once Bobby finished the painkiller, and he was walking around, if not a little unsteadily—wasn’t a huge fan either. Dean ignored their judgement. If She hadn’t been taken by a demon, he’d be making another deal, so they could shove it and realize this was far from the worst possible option. 

And it wasn’t like Dean was a big fan of the whole thing either. Eve was a smug bitch, who kept calling them all foolish men, and making offhand comments about Sam being the only one worth something, which didn’t seem to be helping the kid feel good at all. At one point, Bobby gave her an ingredient to restore her senses or something, as she called it the worst quality she’d ever seen. 

It had been owl shit. Dean wasn’t a witch or whore or whatever—he still didn’t even damn understand what a whore was—but he didn’t think owl shit should have quality. It came out of an owls ass, or it didn’t. That should be the whole damn thing. 

And it didn’t matter anyway. Bobby’s low-grade owl shit did the trick, and soon they were packed back into the Impala, following Eve’s directions to Her. 

Apparently, She was in Oklahoma. 

Exactly where Dean would’ve guessed a demon would take her. 

“How do you, uh- Know?” Sam asked nervously. He was in the backseat with Eve, because she seemed to like him best. The kid had still put Indy in between them. “Not that I think you don’t know, just- We’re not using a tracking spell, and um- Angels have told us she’s impossible to track?”

Angels meaning Cas. Cas had told them that. Dean felt kinda sick.

“I am no angel, Samuel Winchester.”

“Um- Just Sam, is fine-“

“And they are correct.” Eve continued, ignoring Sam entirely. “She, herself, is impossible to track. But I am not tracking her, I am tracking her signatures. The aftermaths, left in her presence.”

“Spikes in power.” Dean muttered, because that’s how Cas had found Her the first time. “She sends out waves or something, Sammy.”

Eve gave him an impressed look. “Correct, Dean Winchester. But the waves only give me a scope. After that, I check flares in the climate. The wildlife. Human souls. My children, and how they are behaving.” Eve sighed dramatically. “A mother always knows.”

Dean grunted, and Sam nodded, giving up on questions for the rest of the ride. 

It wasn’t that long. Dean might be committing a felony, with how fast he was driving. It was a damn miracle he didn’t get pulled over. But he turned a seven-hour drive into a five-hour one. He’d call it worth it. 

She’d be pissed, that he was driving so dangerously. He didn’t yield right of way once. 

She could yell at him, when they got Her back. 

Eve had tracked Her to a manor, in a small town called Blackwell. It seemed like it should be named that. There were damn shadows on every corner, in the middle of the day. 

A good place for a demon lair. 

A lot of space, to make the demon layer as goddamn dramatic as possible. 

It was a manor. A large, sprawling manor that looked dusty and abandoned—a trespassers will be prosecuted sign on the wooden gates—but Eve said it was the place. And Dean didn’t have a choice but to listen to her.

They didn’t split up. Not with Sammy just upright enough to talk Dean into going in, and Eve not being allowed out of Dean’s sight. They’d stick together. Eve would get them in, to Her, and they’d get out. Simple plan, no detours, no bigger thing to handle. Dean just wanted to get Her back. 

They didn’t bother with subtly. There wasn’t any point to, when Dean had a dragon. 

He slammed the doors open, gun in his belt and Excalibur in his hands. Two men, stationed in the hall, looked up in surprise. Their eyes flashed black. 

Jackpot. 

“Indy!” Dean shouted. “Jump in the line!”

Indy rocketed forward, fire blazing from her mouth. And it was an effective way to cleave a path, right up until demons started coming from behind them. But Dean had Excalibur. Sam and Bobby had those holy water bullets She’d made them. Eve was striding along with them, not lifting a single finger to help, but at least not making it worse. 

Then a woman appeared. Flashed past Indy’s flame in a blink. 

Pulled out an angel blade, the lights sparking over her head. 

Shit. 

Angels.

Dean raised Excalibur, and drove it into her chest. Her eyes did that dying flicker, but he barely got a chance to pull the blade out before a demon was rushing him, and he had to swing it around. Another three charged in its wake, and Indy lit them up, but an angel was coming up behind Bobby and Dean had to sprint to take care of that, leaving his back exposed to another demon. 

Instinct was taking over. Dean slashed and dodged blows and shots, but there were angels. He had to keep Bobby and Sammy from the angels, and Sammy’s reaction time was slow, and Eve wasn’t being helpful and Indy was still pretty damn small, and why the hell were there demons and angels- 

A tall, slim blonde woman charged at Sam. He froze, eyes wide in horror. 

“Jess?” He croaked, and Dean ducked under an angel’s blow. Sammy wasn’t going to fight the demon. 

He got there just before the bitch launched Sam halfway across the room.

The angel he’d been fighting grabbed the collar of his shirt, and slammed him into the wall. His hand was pinned down, the space too small for him to twist away, the angel too heavy to shove off, an angel blade aimed right at his throat and he was going to die and leave Her, she was in danger and needed him and Dean was just going to die like a bitch and She didn’t even know he loved her- 

The angel’s mouth opened, and they roared in Dean’s face. He braced himself—maybe he’d just go for real, instead of a one-way to hell—and tried to pray. To Her. Cas. God, if he wanted to call another truce. Anyone. 

Death didn’t come. 

Dean squinted, and the angel’s face was frozen in that scream. Their hand was limp, off to the side. Their eyes empty. When Dean nudged them, they fell right to the side. 

Cas stared at Dean, his angel blade still in his hand. Every angel and demon around them was limp. Dean blinked slowly, and offered a weak smile. 

“Good timing, buddy.”

Cas shrugged, unblinking. “You called. I was in the area.” He sighed Her name. “I assume you are-“

“Yeah.” Dean’s fist tightened on Excalibur. “Cas, I appreciate you saving my ass, but if you think I’m handing her over-“

“You are the one bringing Eve too her, Dean.” Cas said cooly, and Dean scowled. 

“I lost all my magic… people. I had to improvise.”

“Interesting choice of improvisation.” Cas said dryly, and Bobby cleared his throat. 

“Cas, I didn’t know you had… This kinda edge.” 

He nodded to the bodies, and Cas sighed. 

“I am on edge. Think of it like… A mother bear. And her very stupid cubs.”

Sam snorted, and Dean didn’t think his face could handle a deeper scowl. 

“If you’re just here to insult and be a dick like the rest of them-“

Cas said Her name coldly. “I am here for her.”

“She betrayed you-“

“She tried. I told her, I never expected her to succeed. And at least she,” he glanced to Excalibur in Dean’s hands, and he realized he’d been slowly raising it. “Still trusts me. And does not see me as a villain, when everything I have done has been for- The good of humanity.”

Dean lowered Excalibur. He hadn’t been about to do it. He hadn’t. He wouldn’t. It was just precaution. 

“Cas.” He muttered, and it didn’t matter how useless the plea was. He couldn’t stop himself from saying it. “Don’t do this. Save her, help us, then- That’s it. Don’t try and take her, don’t- Nothing. Just let it all be over.”

Cas blinked at Dean slowly. “I must finish it. Raphael will win.”

“I don’t care who wins, I just want our people safe, Cas, want her safe, please.” Dean’s voice broke. “Give it up. It’s not over, man. We still got time.”

“We do.” Cas murmured, but Dean knew that tone. Cas wasn’t going to budge. “We will find her faster, if we move together.”

Cas turned, and walked away. It was done. Dean had given the chance, Cas said no. His grip tightened on Excalibur. He wouldn’t. Not now. 

His arm felt heavy. 

Not for a while. 

With Cas, they made quick work of the rest of the manor. Eve directed them to a small, locked door, and Cas blasted it open. Dean went first. Shouldered his way forward, and sprinted down the stairs. She was close, She had to be close, Dean could smell apple and color was brighter so she had to be- 

There. 

With a chain around Her ankles, huddled over a book, hair kept out of Her face. It had barely been a day, but there was something more hollow and tired to Her features than before. In the low light, Dean could see Her wrists were red from rubbing. 

He said Her name, frozen at the top of the stairs. 

She looked up, and Her eyes were bright. 

“Dean-“

He didn’t think. He ran across the room, and pulled Her tight into his arms. Pressed a kiss to the top of Her head, and swayed her back and forth. She hugged him. Tense, but with Her fingers digging into his back. Indy barreled towards Her, settling happily on her shoulders, and she pressed Her face into Dean’s neck. Safe. 

Dean pulled back, grabbing Her face between his face and turning it around. Unscathed. Just tired. 

Good, for the idiots who had kidnapped Her, and put her in the basement. Chained Her up. 

They’d get to die faster. 

“You scared the damn fucking shit out of me, Princess.” He muttered, looking back to Her blinding eyes. “C’mon, these chains- There a key, or- Fuck that- Cas-“

“Dean, wait-“ She reached up, grabbing his arm. “Dean, I need to tell you something-“

“It can wait. Cas- Shit.” Dean flinched as Cas appeared next to him. He could’ve walked. “Get the chains off of her, we gotta go-“

“Dean.” She said, voice raising and eyes darting over his shoulder. “Dean- Cas.” She shuffled her feet away from Cas, as he crouched. “Cas don’t touch them.”

Cas frowned up at Her. He looked pretty worried, and Dean got why. She was shaking, in his arms. When he smoothed Her shirt, she leaned further into while curling Her legs away. The little pinch in Her brow was the serious one. Her lips were swollen from biting. She was still so pretty.

Dean needed to focus. 

Cas said Her name slowly. “These chains will need to be removed, even if I fly you out of here.”

She frowned. “You can’t fly me, Cas-“

“He’s a mother bear, and we’re idiots.” Dean muttered, shooting Cas a glare. “And you aren’t takin’ her anywhere.”

“Well unless you have a faster evacuation plan, Dean-“

“I don’t care if I’m riding out on a moped, you aren’t-“

She covered Dean’s mouth. Her hand was soft. 

“Cas.” She said firmly. “They’re trapped. If you open them, it sends out a flare signal.” 

Cas glanced to the chains, then back to her. “How do you know that-“

“Guys?” Sam yelled from across the room. “There’s like, another lady here? And she’s- Mean?”

Dean twisted, reaching for his gun. Sammy and Bobby were backed into a corner by a redhead with a sharp knife and sharper face. 

She pulled Dean’s hand down with a sigh. “Rowena. Friends.”

The red-head—Rowena—made a face. “They are hunters-“

“And they’re here to save us. Be nice.”

Rowena paused. “These are the hunters?”

She flushed slightly, eyes shooting to Dean. “Um- Yeah.”

“Hm.” Rowena lowered her knife, frowning between Sam and Bobby like she was evaluating livestock. “And is it tall boy, or old man?”

She pointed the knife at Sammy, then Bobby. Sam shot Dean a panicked look. Bobby scowled. 

When Dean looked at Her, she had her sex expression on. The one where Dean teased Her about blowjobs or told Her she was beautiful, and She looked like she wanted to die. It was the cutest, sorta hottest thing he’d ever seen. It didn’t feel that appropriate.

“Rowena, that’s- No- It’s this one.” She shoved Dean, and he blinked. 

Rowena looked at him. Assessed him. This might be worse than Bobby. At least Bobby would just shoot Dean and be done with it. Rowena looked like she’d carve him up for parts. 

“You.” She said slowly. “Boy. Do you understand how periods work?”

Dean swallowed. “Uh- I think?” He glanced at Sammy, who shrugged unhelpfully. “The, uh- Something sheds. And falls. And that’s… the blood.”

“Hm. Can you shoot a gun?”

He raised his pistol. “In the job description.”

Rowena nodded. “Can you cook? Are you a twat about the color pink?”

“No? I mean- Yes, then no.” Dean tried his best winning smile. Rowena raised her chin. 

“Good. Can you fuck well enough to please the dirtiest whore at the whorehouse?”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Bobby cut in, glaring around the room. “We got plenty of time to talk, when we’re out of here. C’mon. Cas, the chains-“

“I can’t.” Cas muttered. “They’re cursed.”

“My work. Apologies.” Rowena sighed. “Fergus is convincing, when he’s got an archangel standing over his shoulder like a smug brute.”

Sam froze. “An archangel-“

“Raphael.” She muttered. “He’s working with Crowley.”

“Awesome,” Dean grumbled, looking to Rowena. “Well, how the hell are we supposed to get these chains off?”

“I cannot reverse the spell with them on.” Rowena snapped. “But-“

“Reroute the signal?” She cut in, rubbing the scar on her palm. “You used a sigil, not an inaction, which means it can be altered, and- De, can you please get me something sharp, like- Rowena’s knife.” She nodded to Herself. “Rowena’s knife. Get that, please.”

Dean nodded. She’d called him De. 

He was supposed to be pissed at Her. Right now, his heart didn’t really seem to be able to remember that. 

Dean crossed the room, and Cas trailed after him, examining the notes and jars and tables.

“Crowley and Raphael…”

“Making me open the cage.” She muttered, eyes flicking to Eve. The bitch had been standing quietly in the stairwell. She smiled at Her. 

She smiled right back. 

“Are you here to try and kill me?”

Eve hummed. “Not now, no.”

“Oh. Fun.” She looked back to Cas. “I was stalling on the spell, and they were just here, but we should move fast. They come to check back.”

“It will be fine, little tiger.” Rowena said, passing Dean the knife. “As long as your cavalry didn’t break in through the front door, Fergus is none the wiser.”

Dean froze. Looked at Sam, who’d gone pale. Bobby was red, and sputtered a cough. Eve looked just mildly amused. Like she knew.

“You didn’t break in through the front door.” Rowena said, narrowing her eyes. “Tell me you boys are not such fools-“

“It was unguarded!” Sam burst out. “And- We didn’t think there would be like magic cuffs-“

“Oh, Moose. There are far more than magic cuffs.”

Dean’s blood went cold. He whipped around, tossing aside the knife, and raised Excalibur high over his head-

Crowley flicked a finger, and the blade flew across the room. He was standing between Her and Dean. Her and Cas, too. 

She was isolated, across the room. Alone, with wide eyes, and- 

Raphael. 

Standing right behind Her, a hand firmly on her wrist. Dean saw Her eyes go glossy. Her breathing start to grow fast. He couldn’t get to Her. Not fast enough. They were fucked. 

“Mother.” Crowley drawled. “Restrain them.”

Rowena sighed, and Dean had a feeling he’d missed something. “I am not your slave, Fergus-“

“You are when I can kill you with a snap of my fingers.” Crowley snapped. “All of them. Restrained.”

Rowena sighed, and picked up her knife. Held it up to Dean’s throat, and gave Crowley a pointed look. Crowley scowled, and she rolled her eyes. 

“I am only one woman, Fergus. Without my magic, this is all I can do.”

Crowley sighed dramatically. “Fine. If any of you move,” he glared at Bobby, Sammy, and Cas. “My annoying mother slits Dean’s throat, and then everyone’s favorite dog dies.”

They all nodded slowly. Eve remained mostly silent in the corner. Dean didn’t know why the bitch wasn’t running. Maybe she couldn’t teleport at all, and needed a ride out. But she was staring at Her and Raphael across the room. Dean didn’t like it. But he didn’t like any of this.

Sam coughed. “Mother?”

“Not the time, Sam.” Bobby grunted, and Dean agreed. He’d like to get the knife off his throat before they addressed insane family dynamics. 

“Well, now that we’re all in good places, here’s how this is going to go.” Crowley clapped his hands, turning back to Her. “You open the gate for me. I don’t kill your pet humans. I do kill Castiel, for betraying me. I give you to Raphael, because at least you were semi-helpful. Understood?”

She swallowed, eyes flicking to Dean, and he shook his head. She couldn’t. Her lips pressed together, that little furrow tight in her brow. Dean shook his head again. Firmer this time. 

“Don’t.” He rasped, the blade nicking his jaw. “Don’t, Princess-“

“I’m not asking for votes, Squirrel.” Crowley snapped. “And you,” he whipped back to Her. “We had a deal. You open the door, or I kill all of them. Actually.” Crowley’s mouth curved crudely. “I kill Moose and Papa Bear, then I just strip Dean for parts. Let you watch. Let you choose, if you want to keep his heart, or hands, or finger, or-“

“I’ll do it.” She whispered, and Dean didn’t think his body could take more fucking dread. “I- I’ll do it.”

Raphael smirked behind Her. “Smart bitch.”

“But-“ She swallowed, raising her chin slightly. “I need the energy of a primordial being. To open the gate.”

A heavy silence hung over the room. Raphael’s face twisted in fury, because he was the primordial being. Cas had explained this to him one. Demons were some long word Dean couldn’t remember. Angels were Celestial. Archangels were Primordial. It was Archangels, God, and a few other things. Like-

“Well…” Crowley said slowly, eyes sliding to Eve. “Good thing we have a few spares lying around.”

Eve didn’t panic. Didn’t protest. Her eyes just narrowed, voice smooth.

“Or the Whore.” She nodded to Her, and Dean could feel more dread. “Her death opens the gates by itself, boy king. It would be… far simpler.”

Fuck. That’s why she’d stayed. The bitch kept talking about how much she knew, of course she would’ve had an idea of where this was going. And Dean had brought her here. Like a useless fucking idiot. 

“I like that plan,” Raphael leered over her. “Crowley, unless you have foolish sentiments…”

Crowley frowned. Thinking.

Dean had a second. A moment, before Raphael killed Her, and blood that could never be cleaned was on his hands. Before he lost everything, and started making foolish plays for Death’s attention. 

He looked to Cas. 

Cas looked back. 

And Dean didn’t need to think about it. Cas got what was about to happen. He got that, under no fucking circumstances, was She about to die. 

Dean darted his eyes to Raphael, then Excalibur on the floor. Not that far from Cas’ feet. Cas blinked at him slowly, head dipping down. And Dean closed his eyes. 

The flare of power was blinding. For a second, Dean felt like his skin was being peeled off his bone. He didn’t sit in it. He just moved. Skid across the room as Rowena’s grip went loose, opening his eyes just in time to see Cas kicking him Excalibur. He grabbed it, getting back to his feet, and rushed forward. To Her and Raphael. 

He raised Excalibur high over his head, and drove it through Raphael’s chest.

It really could kill anything. Raphael stared at Dean for a split second, mouth twisted in fury, then his eyes started to flicker. His hands went slack on Her, and Dean caught Her before she could fall forward. Raphael stumbled back. His eyes flashed. 

He fell to the ground, nothing more than a husk. 

And there was one more thing, Dean needed to kill with this blade. 

He turned, sparing a second to make sure She was steady, and marched back across the room. His lip curled, as he approached Eve. He raised Excalibur high once more. 

A hand caught his wrist.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Cas muttered, squeezing Dean as he stepped forward. “I need her. There is… more at play.”

Cas pressed his fingers to Eve’s brow, and she vanished. 

Dean froze. His grip on Excalibur was going to break his hand. But Cas had just- Dean had killed Raphael, the thing this had been about, and Cas had saved the bitch who wanted to kill Her, with only a goddamn sorry- 

“Witch, with the… hair.” Cas looked to Rowena, who frowned. “Restrain Crowley.”

Rowena glanced at Raphael’s body, Dean’s face—which he was sure didn’t look all that calm—Cas’ firm expression, then where She’d pressed Herself, back against the wall. Afraid. She was afraid, and Dean had been about to kill the last thing she should fear, but Cas had goddamn- 

“Mother.” Crowley hissed. “Do not-“

“Quiet, Fergus.” Rowena hissed, yanking him into a corner. “This is a fight we cannot win.”

And she was damn right about that. Nobody was going to win this. Dean could only see red. He opened his mouth, to roar something at Cas, but the angel turned. Gave him a sad look. 

“Dean. I do not want to hurt you.”

“That’s a shame, then.” He grunted. “Because you either hurt me, or take it lying down.”

Cas just sighed. “For once, just let go. I am handling it-“

“Sure, don’t look like it from where I’m standing-“

“Dean.” Cas dropped his voice. “Do not do this here.”

In front of Her.

Dean’s eyes flicked over. He’d never seen Her look so fucking colorless. So small, with Her arms around her stomach and eyes moving between Raphael’s body, Dean, and the ceiling. Dean took a step forward, something to the right of his chest pulling him to Her, to help, She was in pain and he had to help-

Cas raised his hand. Dean froze. 

Not from panic. 

He couldn’t move. Cas had stopped him from moving. Dean could only watch. He tried to open his mouth, roar for them just to stop. 

He couldn’t make this nightmare stop. 

Cas didn’t look back, as he walked towards Her. He said Her name softly, slowly, and She blinked at him with bright eyes.

“Cas… I can’t-“

“I know. But- We have to.”

“No, it’s- Raphael’s-“

“Dead. But there is more work to be done. I have been… looking into things. God will not let you go, will he.”

She shook Her head weakly, and Cas nodded. 

“I have learned,” Cas murmured Her name. “The Whore. It is a title for mothers. Givers of life, that stand in defiance of God.” He took another step. “You are in defiance of God. And there are places I never looked for him. Places you have shown me before. Raphael’s supporters will not go quietly. Mine may be conflicted, by our methods. They will not understand. They never understand.” Cas said Her name again. “You and I- We are no longer… Of a place. If you help me, we will figure this out. I promise.” Cas gave Her a small smile. “Then we can go to another planet. Together.”

She swallowed. Looked to Dean. He tried to tell Her with his eyes. Don’t do it. She had a place. She had him. It didn’t matter that they were fighting, he’d looked for Her, he’d keep looking for Her, he’d never stop looking- 

“What about… Them.” She whispered, still staring at Dean. 

Cas sighed. “They will come around. Then they can join us. But that does not begin until you help me. I cannot help, cannot handle all of Heaven, if you do not open the door.”

She looked away from Dean. Back to Cas.

Nodded. 

And there was nothing Dean could do. 

Time moved slowly. He could only remain frozen, as Cas let Her out of her chain. She sorted through Her notes. Drew a sigil on the wall. Knelt over Raphael’s corpse, and slowly pick up his arm. She held her hand out, and Cas passed Her his angel blade. She cut open Raphael’s arm, dragging the blade through the wound, and it came out covered in a strange, gold liquid. She smeared it on Her hands, a paused for a moment. Eyes painfully empty in a way that made Dean feel sick.

She smeared the gold on the wall. Took a deep, heavy breath. 

Paused. 

Looked to Dean. 

He blinked at Her twice. Over and over, in a firm pattern. She had to stop. Everything felt wrong about this, he’d already forgiven Her, She had to stop, please- 

She blinked at him three times. Looked back to the sigil. 

When She spoke, and Dean didn’t understand a word of it, but something in the room shifted. The air. The energy. It felt cold. Still. 

Dead. 

A rotten smell filled his nose. A cold, frost-like sensation settled over his skin. The sigil glowed, and his bones felt like they were made of lead. 

She stopped chanting, as the sigil became so bright Dean could barely see more than their silhouettes. Cas, right in front of the sigil. Her watching the light with an empty expression. The light flared brighter, and brighter, and brighter- 

It died. Went black. A for a split second, the world seemed to stop turning. 

Then, time moved too fast.