Gemini Flanagan’s Personal Assistant.

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. 

The sigil lit up. The ground shook, and the wall cracked, and Dean could only watch as pure fucking light poured out of the chasm. But not into Cas. 

Into Her. 

Every single soul was rocketing into Her. 

And Dean felt the angel spell Cas put on him break, as Cas shouted Her name. She was being beaten into the ground, but the force of the power. Her scream ripped through the air, and Dean could swear he felt it, in the cavity of his chest. It was more pain than he knew how to describe. White-hot and burning and cold and tearing and slamming together all at once, and still more. His heart was beating so fast, he was worried he’d explode. 

Then Her scream turned to his name, and Dean lunged forward. Tried to get to Her, be with Her, help-

Sam grabbed him. Stopped him from reaching Her. Dean roared Her name, but he didn’t even know if She could hear it, and She was alone. Even Cas had been tossed against the wall by the force of it, and She was in pain, alone- 

The last of the light slammed into Her body. 

She didn’t stop glowing. It wasn’t just Her pupils and hair, floating around her head. It wasn’t just the world bending into Her. 

The light was pouring out of Her like a star. Where the air had been cold before, it was humming. Singing. Something old and beautiful and tragic, that Dean didn’t understand. Flowers bloomed, in the place where the door had been. A few cracks in the floor pooled with water, and moss around the edges. The dull stone of the steps burst with crystal, and the wood of the tables was branching into the softening, dirt ground. It tore past the basement. Through the world, so strong Dean felt it, like a wave of pure…. everything. 

She was more than beautiful. More than ethereal. Something bigger. That Dean didn’t think anyone had a word for, because there was nothing like it. 

Just Her. 

Glowing so bright. Made of only light, and a few strange shadows near Her back. Shadows that flared, as She rose up off the ground. 

Then vanished, as She collapsed right back down. 

Dean shoved Sam away. Ran for Her. 

Cas was closer. 

Cas could fly. 

He appeared at Her side, and picked Her up. Gave Dean a sad, heavy look, and sighed. 

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

It almost sounded like he meant it. Like Cas was really damn sorry, as he vanished, and took Her with him. 

Dean hadn’t really left Her side, since she woke up. 

There had been the brief few moments where he’d had to. When Bobby had come into Her room, pretty much kicked Dean out, and closed the door behind him. Dean had checked on Sammy—who’d been tired, and confused, and a little red-eyed and puppy-faced, but wasn’t in any danger of passing back out—and watched Charlotte awkwardly touch his head and try to make small talk. 

“Sam Winchester,” she’d said, fingers shaking a little. “You and my daughter, you have known her a while-“

“Don’t talk to him.” Dean had grunted, and Sam had sighed.

“Dean-“

“No.” Dean might not think Charlotte was actively going to betray them anymore, but he still didn’t damn trust her. “Claire, make sure she doesn’t talk.”

Claire had nodded dutifully, and Dean had left them with her on the edge of a chair, glaring at Charlotte with enough intensity Dean felt a little nervous. 

Claire must have been practicing Her intimidating face. It was eerily similar. Narrowed eyes and arms crossed, a glint in their eyes and lips a little curled. Something haunting behind their eyes, that seemed to promise a wrath greater than any hurricane or plague. 

They must have gotten it from Bobby, though. Because after he’d come out of Her room, Dean had tried to go back in, and Bobby had grabbed his elbow. Dragged him away with a tight grip, ignoring Dean’s protests and only stopping once they were in the kitchen. 

“Bobby, I gotta check on-“

“She’s gonna be alright.” Bobby had cut off Dean's snap of Her name with short words. “Need you here for muscle, Dean.”

“Muscle? Bobby, you got a gun like the rest of us, fuckin’ us it-“

“Nope. Need you. Sit.” Bobby had pointed to a chair, and Dean had scowled. Looked out the doorway with his hands in tight fists. He didn’t know what the hell She and Bobby had talked about, but it couldn’t be anything good. Not with the lines on Bobby’s face, and the way She’d been losing it just fuckin’ moments before Bobby had kicked Dean out. 

She might need him. What if She needed him, and Dean wasn’t up there. What if She wanted to tell him about whatever the hell was going on with her, but now she thought he didn’t care enough to go back and check on Her. She’d been in a coma for two days, what if She was hungry-

“She’s fine, Dean.” Bobby had muttered, and the weight in his voice hadn’t been very convincing. “Indy’s up there watchin’ her. And I need you doin’ this with me. It’ll go better, trust me.”

Dean had frowned. Let out a heavy breath through his nose, and—even as his hands almost itched to go touch Her and check she was still real—sat down. Bobby had given him a small nod, and they’d sat in awkward silence.

Bobby had been pretty weird, too. He’d been looking up the stairs, making a face like he’d smelled something bad, and rubbing his face a lot. A few times he’d just stared out the window, glowering at the sky. Walked up to the calendar on the wall, and examined it like it might have changed. Dean had been seconds from asking what the hell was up with him, when Charlotte had walked into the kitchen. 

And that was why Bobby had wanted Dean there. Apparently, he was a good insurance body, in case Charlotte decided to get all witchy and violent when Bobby kicked her out of the house. 

“I- I have done nothing but help!” She’d protested. “And you have no right to keep me away from my daughter-“

“She ain’t your daughter.” Bobby had grunted, arms crossed. “And this is my house. I appreciate the help with Purgatory. Get out.”

Charlotte’s eyes had narrowed. “You listen to me.” She’d raised a manicured finger at Bobby, and Dean had almost snorted. “I appreciate you taking care of my girl when she was… volatile. But all you hunters think the same. And I-“

“You what?” Bobby had snapped. “You gonna fight me, in my own home. You gonna tell me you’re takin’ her with you, or I don’t know what’s best for her?”

“I-“

“No, you listen to me, lady. You wanna be around, it ain’t just showin’ up once. You mean it about wantin’ to be there for her, you leave. You let it go. And you let her keep comin’ back to you.” Bobby’s voice had cracked slightly, and Dean had sort of felt like he was intruding on something. “‘Cause I’m the one who should be thankin’ you, for giving me the chance to raise such a strong young woman after everyone else in her life failed.”

A heavy silence had fallen over the kitchen, and Dean had really felt like he was intruding. He didn’t need to be here, as Bobby and Charlotte glared at each other. His opinion—She was Bobby’s kid—didn’t seem like it would help the situation at all. 

But Charlotte had glanced at him, something flashing in her eyes, and Bobby had spoken before her mouth was even fully open. 

“You want anywhere near her, I’d be real careful what you say to him.”

Bobby had jerked his head at Dean. Charlotte had scowled. And that had been it. 

Charlotte left. Dean tried to ask Bobby what the hell was going on with him, and only gotten a grunted she got to see everythin’ was gonna be okay. And that’s all we promised. 

Dean probably should’ve pushed more. But Bobby had also said Her name, and given Dean permission to go see Her. Like he was a suitor in the 1800s, and not… 

Whatever they were. 

Attached seemed the best word for it. For the rest of the day, they’d just been attached. Dean had walked back into their room, and found Her lying flat on her back. She’d been petting Indy’s spine, the dragon nuzzled comfortably into Her shirt—Dean’s shirt, on Her—with her little tail wagging back and forth. Dean had crawled next to Her in bed, brushing hair from her face, and bright eyes had slowly drifted to meet his. 

“Dean.” Her voice had only been a breath. He’d grinned at Her, even as something pulled just to the right of his heart. 

“Hey, Princess. Sleep well?”

She’d shaken Her eyes, and Dean had been able to see the tears before they even started to form. He’d sighed, and pulled Her right into his chest. Indy had made a disgruntled sound, as Her arms flew around Dean’s torso, and wiggled out from between them, resettling at Dean’s back. 

Dean didn’t know how long they’d just been lying there. Her face pressed into his chest and fingers digging into his back. He probably could’ve just stayed like that for about fifty more years, if Her stomach hadn’t started to growl. Even then, he hadn’t really made Her moved.

All that had to be done was get Her to her feet, herd her downstairs—his arm around Her stomach, lips grazing Her neck as he murmured in her ear—and sit her at the table as he grabbed some fruit. 

He’d made Her pancakes, because he could. She’d blinked at him, then the food, and Dean had kissed the little wrinkle in Her brow. Traced his thumb down the bridge of Her nose. 

“Eat, Princess.” 

“But-“

“Nope.” He’d given Her a stern look, his mouth still curved in a smile. “Eat. For me.”

He’d added that last part at the last second. Mostly as a joke. 

It seemed to have done the trick.  

She’d eaten fast. Every few seconds, Her eyes had darted to Dean, like she was checking he was still there. He’d smiled at Her every time, tossing scraps to Indy when she came down the stairs. A little syrup had gotten stuck to Her lower lip. And She’d been so damn beautiful—even with swollen lips and a shine in Her eyes like she was about to start crying again—that Dean had been almost lured into a trance. 

He’d reached out, and swiped the syrup off Her lip. Watched Her flush so prettily, Her eyes fluttering and lips parting as Dean brought his thumb to his mouth. Licked it clean, holding Her gaze. 

His pants had gotten tight, as he heard the hitch of Her breath. 

And he really might have damned it all and picked Her up right there. Sat Her on the table, kissing her until all they could taste was each other, then made his way down Her body. Over Her shoulders, palmed Her pretty tits, kissed fold of Her thigh against her stomach as he guided Her knees apart. Held Her gaze as he sunk to his knees. Kiss the inside of Her thigh, bit a little—just to leave a mark—and buried his face against her, right through her fucking underwear-

But Sammy had walked in. 

So he’d settled on pulling Her right into his lap, and kissing a soft spot on Her neck. 

Nobody had tried to pull them apart for the rest of the day. Which was good, because Dean was a little worried that the moment he walked away, She’d either take off like a bird or go back into a damn coma. She and Sammy both still looked constantly tired. Bobby had run to the store and gotten some painkillers Dean was pretty sure needed to be prescription. Claire had put on some TV show for them to watch, and She’d barely glanced up at it. 

She’d settled between Dean’s legs, on the floor. He’d tried to coax Her up onto the couch, but she’d just shaken Her head. At the very least, She’d still been touching him. Her head leaning against Dean’s knee, where he could reach down and pet Her. It made Her relax a little—and sort of made him feel like king of the fucking world, which wasn’t as important but still pretty damn nice—and when he’d murmur Her name, she’d looked up at him with glossy eyes.

“What’re you doing, baby.” He’d murmured, trying not to disturb Claire and Sam’s focused attention on the show. 

“Drawing,” She’d whispered back, and Dean had hummed. 

It hadn’t looked like drawing. It had looked like She was spinning the Scalpel in Her hands, examining it and scribbling down notes, when they were supposed to be just watching TV. Even Sammy had gotten the no research memo. 

Which was also pretty worrying. Dean had never seen Sam neglect research for TV.

“Can I see?”

She’d hesitated. But nodded. Crawled up on the couch to hand him all the paper She’d been scribbling on.

And the drawings had been exactly what Dean expected. A lot of Enochian. A lot of color. Something like a map, or a tree. Nothing he could make sense of, but something he craved to understand. He’d looked over to Her, and she’d been staring at him. Eyes wide and face open in the dark. 

Dean had swallowed. She’d been looking at him like the Earth only turned in his name. Like She only was breathing, because he was next to Her. 

And he couldn’t make sense of that, either. 

But son of a bitch, he needed to. Needed Her. Loved Her. 

Soulmate.

Dean had pulled Her into his lap. She’d squirmed, trying to get back down to the floor. And as much as Dean had loved that, he wanted Her here. In his arms. 

“You know, I think you coulda been like an artist or something.” He’d whispered in Her ear, just trying to keep her close. 

She’d given him a flat look. “De, those are shit and you know it-“

“I don’t know anything, Princess.” Soulmate. 

“Don’t say that. You- You know things.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Her eyes had scanned over his face in the dark, and She’d sighed. Slowly molded into Dean’s arms, turning Her face to be half-pressed into his chest. 

“Things.” She’d mumbled. “Everything.”

Dean had chuckled. “You know I don’t know everything-“

“You know everything important.” She’d yawned, cuddling further into him. “You- You always know what to do.”

Dean had wanted to protest that he didn’t. That most of the time, he was just fucking winging it, or making educated guesses that turned out not to get them killed. But She’d been relaxed. Her attention had finally been off the drawing and scalpel, and Dean hadn’t had it in him to disturb Her. So he’d just kissed the top of Her head, and watched Her glow in the dark. And not like some plastic star, that he’d bought from the dollar store when he and Sammy were kids. That he’d stuck to the motel ceiling, and flipped off the light proudly to show Sam how cool things could be. 

She glowed like something from one of those Animal Planet documentaries. The plants and kelp and fish, who lived at the bottom of the ocean and became all kinds of pretty colors in the pitch black. Or the caves near the beach, with coral and shit that did the same thing. 

Bioluminescence.

He’d remember that one on his own. He’d memorized it, the moment it had come up on the TV screen and enchanted Her. And he didn’t need to disturb Her, to pretend to ask. 

Dean had just kissed Her neck, and hoped things were getting better. That She sighed happily against him, and grabbed his hand, because things were getting better. That the next time he brought up the bond, She’d agree to break it. That Cas wasn’t dropping in because he was winning the war, and he’d take care of Crowley for them. That Eve was going to offer real answers, and Dean would cut her head off, and they could all finally fucking retire. 

She was acting different. Less wired, less on the verge of snapping in half. When Dean had gone to make dinner, She’d trailed after him. Stood right next to him, talking about the show they’d been watching and hanging off of his arm as he worked. When they ate, and Dean’s hand found Her thigh under the table, She’d stared at him with wide eyes. He’d smiled, and raised his brows in a silent challenge. She could push him away, but She didn’t. Instead, Her finger laced through his, and She held on so tight Dean would’ve thought she was clinging to a life line.

Which was strange. This whole damn day had been strange.

Dean had been expecting more tears and stress, after She woke up. He’d been expecting Bobby to be running damage control, while Dean tried to coax Her into just drinking water. But instead he brought out pie after dinner, and She rest her chin on his shoulder, looking at him with pretty, hopeful eyes.

He'd would’ve been a goner before he ever really knew Her. 

“You want some, baby?” He’d rasped—She’d been so close, and he’d been a little high on Her apple smell—and She’d nodded. Dean had fed it to Her. Her lips had wrapped around the fork, and all he’d been able to think of was Her between his knees earlier. How—if he was sure it was allowed, because he didn’t really understand what the hell was happening at all—he might have kicked Claire and Sam out. Just to test if he slid his thumb into Her mouth, She’d take it. If he asked to take Her up on the offer of eating him, Her face would get all flustered and pretty, and She’d nod like a bobblehead. 

Dean could do most of the work for Her. Take off his belt, his pants and boxers if that made her more comfortable. Guide Her up and down, tell Her what to do, because She didn’t seem capable of even talking about sex unless Dean was leading Her. But if She wanted to try herself, Dean would have to be a real asshole to complain. Fuck, just the thought of Her drooling around him, face all flushed because She was worried she wasn’t doing it right, asking for Dean’s praise and approval, bright eyes fluttering and shining with tears as She tried to take him deeper, grinding on nothing as Dean was stuffed in Her mouth-

“Dean, you look constipated.” 

He’d snapped out of his daydream at Claire’s snide comment, and frowned. He probably did. 

And he should be more worried. This should all be more worrying. 

But everything felt… oddly peaceful. Nobody was trying to pull Her away from him. She wasn’t trying to run. Sammy was in pain, but he’d been moving around all day and, when Dean had said he was going to take Indy for a walk, had volunteered to go. 

Which was the only other time She and Dean had been separated. Claire had long been sent to bed—although Dean was pretty sure she was just reading or watching TV in her room—and She and Bobby had stayed in the kitchen, talking quietly, so Dean had taken Sam and Indy out on a walk through the yard. 

At first, it had been a little awkward and tense. Dean had watched Indy’s scales flash and glow in the light, and whistled a few times to watch her blow out a little burst of fire. He’d grinned, and Sam had cleared his throat. 

“You’re going to start a forest fire, Dean.”

“She’s twenty feet in the sky, man. I think we’re good.” He’d stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching Sam from the corner of his eyes. “So. How are you feeling?”

Sam had shrugged, eyes fixed on the path ahead. “Fine.”

“Fine? You were just in a- What, a magic coma? And you’re fine?”

“Yep.”

“C’mon-“

“Really, Dean. I’m fine.” Sam had shot him a firm look, and Dean had clenched his jaw.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, Sammy.” He’d grumbled, glaring back to Indy. “I mean, I don’t know what the Hell went on in your head while you were out, but- I can’t imagine it was a fuckin’ vacation.” 

Sam had made a strange expression, and shaken his head slowly. “It- It wasn’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m not fine.”

“Yeah? Cause in my experience, magic comas never make you come out the other side feeling anything but shit-“

“I didn’t say I was good. I said I’m fine.”

“Sam-“

“Look, it’s not my place to say everything, Dean.” Sam gave him a firm look. “We got knocked out, stuck in each other’s souls. We got out. That’s all I can say.”

Dean had blinked at him. “You what? Stuck in- What the hell does that even mean-“

“I was in her soul. We walked to mine.”

“You walked through souls-“

“Yeah, Dean. But it was… It was like Heaven. Only sad things, too. Just-“ Sam had sighed. “Any important memory. Just walking through that.”

“Huh.” Dean had muttered, and his head had moved fast. Trying to imagine what Her most important memories had been. How many of them had been of Dean, if any. Which ones She deemed important, if he was important, if he’d always been lingering on the edge of every moment, like the shadow he was. If, in Her head, he’d been made of mud and rust, or polished into something a little more worthy of Her soul. If She found him worthy enough, if he’d looked any different to Her, if when Sam had looked at Dean in her head, he’d been able to tell if She knew they were soulmates- 

“You were in there, Dean.” Sam had drawled, and Dean had scowled at him.

“I didn’t ask, Sammy-“

“Yeah, but you wanted to. And I’m telling you, you are. You’re like,” he’d laughed to himself, shaking his head. “Everything to her. It’s kind of fucking stupid, actually.”

“Hey-“

“I’m serious.” Sam had shrugged, watching Indy do flips in the sky. “It’s insane, how much she…” He’d sighed, making a sour face. “You just need to tell her, dude. Soon.”

Dean had scowled, refusing to grace that with a comment. He would tell Her. He spent the rest of the night, when She’d passed out in his arms—after about an hour of sleepily rambling about birds—Dean had stared at his box of letters. Opened it, with Her right there, and let his fingers card through them. Looked at Her in the dark, and tried to work out how She’d react if she woke up and saw them right now. If She’d freak out, and disappear into the night. Start crying and apologizing about how he shouldn’t love Her, splitting Dean right in half until he grabbed Her face and shouted that they were soulmates. 

Kiss him. Soft tears streaming down Her face, from joy and not pain. Then She’d push up on Dean’s chest, and just kiss him. Like something wasn’t very much still wrong. Like She and Cas still weren’t being strange, and Sam hadn’t—maybe—been right that something was going on with them. 

Dean had put the letters back in their bag. Kissed the top of Her head, and known he’d have to work out what the hell was up with Her first. Before he made things more complicated, by telling Her. 

Sam didn’t get that. Didn’t understand that loving Her was the simplest, easiest thing Dean had ever done, and taking care of Her was the most important. And that meant he couldn’t just say it. He had to do it right. With the proper words—planned out, so he didn’t mess up and ruin everything—and something dumb and romantic. The way he’d been planning, before She fell in the cage. Before everything had gotten confusing, and they’d had to deal with cults, and Her family, and fairies and angels and demons and Eve.

They still had to deal with Eve. 

They’d all gathered in the safe room, specifically to deal with Eve. 

Mostly so She could deal with Eve. Dean was just sort of standing there, swinging Excalibur and puffing out his chest to look intimidating. He was also watching Cas, and how close they were standing together. They weren’t looking each other in the eyes, but Cas was staring at Her. And She was rubbing her wrists, which was never a good sign. 

Cas couldn’t have told Her about Eve’s plan to open Purgatory. He’d sworn to Dean he wouldn’t, and Dean had trusted that promise more than anything even Sam had ever said. Cas didn’t make promises lightly. Cas didn’t do anything lightly.

Which made the staring more concerning. And Dean narrowed his eyes, spinning Excalibur faster in his hands. He could understand why She did this with Her knives all the time. It was oddly calming-

“Stop waving that… Thing around like a toy.” Eve hissed, and Dean blinked at her. 

“This?” He raised Excalibur, smirking at the way Eve’s almost porcelain face somehow paled. “What, you scared of a little sword that could cut your bitch head clean off?”

Eve’s eyes narrowed. “It is not just a little sword-“

“Well, yes.” Cas frowned. “It is Excalibur, a weapon of Heaven, one of the soul weapons-“

“Oh, it is so much more than that, you naive angel-“

“Cas, don’t argue with her.” Dean said, and Cas shot him a look. 

“Dean, I am not naive-“

“I mean, you can be, buddy.” Dean almost laughed at the look of offense on Cas’ face. “But, hey, I’m not judging. She’s just being a baby ‘bout how I can kill her with this little sword.”

Eve laughed. The high, bone chilling laugh, that made Dean feel sick. Her eyes were flicking between them, lingering too long on Her, and there was no way the bitch could make a move in the safe room, but Dean still hated it-

“You don’t know what that blade is made for, Dean Winchester.” Eve drawled, and Dean felt all his muscles tense. “And I don’t think you will be so fond of it, once you find out.”

She took a slow step forward, still rubbing Her wrists. Dean lurched slightly forward, barely fighting the urge to grab Her and pull her back. Behind him. Out of the room. 

Anywhere Eve couldn’t look at Her like that.

Like She was an answer to a question nobody should have ever asked. 

“Are you going to tell us?” She asked. “What it’s made for?”

Eve smiled at Her, all pearly white teeth. “No, darling. I think those questions are better left answered by time. Or…” Her lips curled like a shark. “Unanswered forever, if you cooperate with me-“

“We’re never working for you, bitch.” Dean spat, and Eve sighed.

“You would not be working for me. It would be a partnership. I can offer you things-“

“I know what you can offer.” Her voice was soft, as She cut Eve off. “And I’m never going to want it. So if you could please answer our questions, I would appreciate it. Of course,” She shrugged. “The other option is I let Dean cut your head off, and Cas disposes of your body somewhere in the Marina trench. So it’s up to you.”

Eve’s smile split her face again. “You are… everything I dreamed-“

“Yeah, I know. I’m great.” Dean didn’t love the way She said that. Like it wasn’t true. “Are you going to cooperate, or not?”

Dean expected Eve to tell them to shove it. He was already ready to swing Excalibur, the moment she gave the signal. Just to cut off a limb, and show they meant business. Even Cas was tense at his side, ready to attack the same. 

But Eve’s smile didn’t falter. Her gaze didn’t break from Her—which Dean understood, She was ethereal—and when she spoke, her words were silky and almost kind.

“What questions do you have for me, little one? I am more than happy to answer.”

She tensed strangely, an odd look flashing over Her face. Dean glanced at Cas, who seemed just as confused. That was… too easy.

Dean could be cautious, and still take advantage of it. 

“We wanna know what the hell you were talking about, with the you and Lilith bull-“

“I was not speaking to you.” Eve cut Dean off with a look of disgust. “You remain silent, with your foolish sword and lack of sight-“

“Don’t talk to him like that.” She snapped, taking a step to the side. Blocking Dean from Eve’s view. “And answer his question.”

Dean swallowed, something to the right of his heart swelling at the venom in Her voice. He didn’t get to sit in it, though. Because Eve’s smile just spread. 

“What was I talking about with Lilith and me?” She echoed Dean’s words, a snake like look in Her eyes. “I mean, have I not been clear? Adam,” she spat the name like it was vile in her mouth. “Was chosen by God with his wife. He got sick of her, like any child with a toy, and asked God for another. I was chosen to be the new witness. Lilith… Well,” she smirked at Dean. “You know what happened to her.”

Cas frowned, head tilting. “Adam did not get sick of Lilith. She fell to Lucifer’s temptation-“

“And what do you think he was tempting her with?” Eve laughed softly. “No, she was even more foolish than he was. She thought Adam would go with her, once he realized what she could do. She was wrong. And I was stuck with him after. He didn’t even love our boys, he did nothing but whine and try to control things, and when Cain made his mistake-“

“His mistake?” Dean snorted. “You mean killing his fuckin’ brother? That mistake?”

“It was more complicated than that.” Eve spat, eyes narrowing. “It was not his fault, something impossible was asked of him-“

“Lady, I get he was your kid, but murdering your brother isn’t complicated-“

“Dean.” Cas murmured. “It is… more than just that.”

Dean gaped at him. “Dude, You can’t be serious-“

“I am.” Cas sighed. “There are… stories. I will tell you later.”

Dean sort of didn’t want them later. He’d appreciate them now, so they could kill Eve on the sooner side. But She was already talking again, and Cas’ attention had turned, so Dean would have to bug him later. 

“Lilith told me she was the first Magdalene.” She murmured, watching Eve carefully. “Dean said you’re the first whore. And I’ve had… People. Who thinks that I’m-“

“You’re the Whore.” Eve hummed, and She stood a little taller.

“Like I’m… The Magdalene?” She waited for Eve to nod, then took a small step forward. “Does that make me your descendant as well?”

Eve laughed. “No. My bloodline is made up of fools.” Her eyes darted to Dean. “At least, the human one is.”

She frowned. “So Whore is a title. Like… Man of God.”

“Yes, and no.”

Dean snorted. “Be more cryptic, bitch-“

“I am sorry,” Eve snipped at him. “That your mere mortal mind cannot fathom the complexities of our world-“

“My mind is not mortal.” Cas interrupted, expression slightly disgruntled. “And I am… also having trouble understanding your words. Men of God are hereditary. The Winchester bloodline-“

“Is not the catalyst of this universe, Castiel.” Eve rolled her eyes. “Although to you, I’m sure it is. Men of God can be made. Magdalenes are born. Whores are born, and made.”

Dean blinked slowly, and Bobby snorted from the corner of the room. 

“I’m too fuckin’ old to try and understand this shit. You’re a whore. We all got that.” He gave Eve a bored look, and Dean was pretty sure he was the only one of them actually pulling it off. “The hell does it mean.”

“That, Robert Singer, son of-“

“Don’t pull that shit on me, lady.” Bobby snapped. “You gonna give us a clear picture here, or am I gonna have to let Dean cut off your head?”

Dean—trying to be helpful—raised Excalibur with his best threatening, master of torture, famed hunter, vessel of Michael face. Eve didn’t look all that worried. 

“All I can offer you is this.” Eve looked to Her, and Dean could see Her wrists starting to get raw. “I am a Whore. Lilith was a Magdalene.” She smiled again. Dean was really hoping she’d stop before he cut her head off, so they wouldn’t have to look at that while they burned her body. “You,” Eve said Her name slowly. “Are the only Bride.”

She was silent, and Bobby sighed. “Alright, Dean. Queen of Hearts her.”

Dean nodded dutifully, raising Excalibur, and She held out an arm. Stopped him. Dean muttered Her name, and She shook her head. 

“Just… Not yet.”

“Princess-“

“Crowley.” She said carefully, looking at Eve. “And Raphael. How do we beat them.”

Eve’s mouth curved into a crude smile. Dean felt that one in the lowest pit of his stomach, and in the marrow of every bone. 

“You talk to the fairies, of course.”

It was the exact kind of great, cryptic answer Dean had expected. He’d been ready to raise Excalibur, and finish this for good now that they had it. 

But She’d looked at Cas. Then Bobby. And turned to walk upstairs, without a single glance back in Eve’s direction.

Dean scrambled after Her. Ran up the stairs, dropping Excalibur on the kitchen table and grabbing Her shoulder. Frowning at the wide eyed, innocent expression on Her face—which made his cock twitch, but that wasn’t the point—and walked Her back against the counter. 

“I’m gonna go back down and kill her, Princess-“

“No.” She shook Her head. “We can use her.”

Dean worked his jaw. She didn’t know. “Look, you just gotta trust me on this one-“

“I do. You can kill Her, De, after she sorts this all out. In the safe room.”

“Or, you could let me kill her now.” He muttered, because he’d taken Eve for answers. He knew he had. And this made him a hypocrite. But having Her and Eve in the same room had made some things pretty damn clear. Mainly that he never wanted them to be in the same room again. And he would beg. He’d say Her name with a plea, and hope She understood that he had to. As long as Eve was kicking, Dean was going to be worried about Her, and there was already enough of that to go around, so could he please just cut the bitch’s head off- 

“I still wish to take her to Heaven.” Cas muttered, walking into the kitchen with Bobby in tow. 

Dean shot him a glare. “No. We’re keeping her here, until her majesty says I can gank her. Then, we burn the body.”

Bobby hummed, walking right past Her and Dean without a glance. “I thought you didn’t wait for anyone’s permission, boy.”

She giggled. Dean wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or worried, because just two days ago he’d been so worried about Her it made him sick, and now She was giggling.

“You think that’s funny, Princess?” He drawled, and She shrugged. 

“A little. Sorry, Deano.”

He didn’t think She was that sorry. Dean wasn’t sure what was up with Her at all. Last night, She’d thrashed in her sleep and stumbled to the bathroom to vomit at two in the morning. Now, She was all pretty smiles and words. Soft in Dean’s arms, bright in Her eyes. Her voice was musical, and Her face was enchanting, and it would be so easy to grab Her hand and drag her upstairs to properly make out, like they were fucking teenagers. But there was something straining just to the right of Dean’s heart, and it made all the colors neon.

Flashing like a warning sign, in a way he wasn’t sure how to understand.

And Cas looked just as confused as Dean felt. But when he looked to Bobby, the old man was whistling. Washing dishes and whistling.

“Well, we’ll deal with the Eve question next week.” Bobby shrugged, and Dean’s eyes widened. 

“Next week? Bobby, we got her in the basement now-“

“And she’s still gonna be there later. That place more secure than Heaven’s asshole. We both know she ain’t gettin’ out any time soon.”

“Heaven does not have an asshole.” Cas muttered. “And I agree with Dean. We should deal with Eve immediately, she is a top priority-“

“Really?” Bobby looked up from his dishes, a challenge shining in his eyes. “‘Cause from where I’m standin’, Cas, it’s looks like there ain’t anything to rush about at all.”

Cas blinked slowly. Bobby didn’t break his gaze. 

Dean felt like he was missing something.

“Uh… I mean,” he glanced at Her, then Bobby. “I gotta be honest, Bobby, I just don’t see the point in putting it off.”

“Well, good thing I got one for you.” Bobby shrugged. “We’re going on vacation.”

Dean blinked at him slowly, the words not really sounding right. “What?”

And he’d thought Bobby would say it was a joke. That he was just doing a weird bit, to get Cas off their asses about letting him take Eve. Or there was a hunt, that really needed attention, and that was a vacation from the whole celestial drama thing they’d been dealing with all winter. Maybe a storm was coming, and they’d all need to lock down in the cabin, which meant no killing Eve until they’d be able to go outside and dispose of her body. 

But Bobby meant vacation vacation. The type of thing normal people did, where they all packed into an RV and drove to Disneyworld. 

Dean had never been to Disney-world. He didn’t really care to, and he certainly had no interest in trying to share an RV with everyone. They’d all be shitting on top of each other, and bumping against one another, and if She needed a quiet moment they’d have to find somewhere secluded that also was out of God’s creepy gaze. 

But that wasn’t what Bobby was planning either. And where he’d expected Her to protest, she was just… Letting it happen. Letting Bobby take Her away from work. 

Something was going on. And Dean was going to get to the freakin’ bottom of it. 

On the vacation. 

Because apparently, without his freaking consent, Dean was being dragged on a family vacation. 

He didn’t know how those worked. He’d really never done them before. Dad’s idea of a vacation had been dropping them with Bobby for a weekend, or letting them go to an arcade for twenty minutes so he could get drunk at the bar and pick up single moms. 

He and Sammy did go to Vegas every year, unless one of them was dead, and that was pretty close. But it wasn’t to rest, it was to blow off steam, then hop right into hunting. From what Dean understood—from movies and TV, which were usually right about this kind of thing—vacation was where you took your wife somewhere with a bunch of beaches, room-service, and a big bed that was specifically for sex stuff. You wore fluffy robes, and fed each other grapes, and walked around while everyone at the resort catered to your every whim. 

In this scenario, Dean would have enough money to leave massive, life changing tips. And then he’d look at Her, and She’d be proud of him, and they’d go back to their room to use the bed as it was intended. Nobody would bother them. She wouldn’t stop smiling the entire trip, and would always remain within Dean’s reach. 

None of those things were true about this vacation. They weren’t going to sunny Mexico, or some kinda island in the Caribbean. They were heading up to the cabin Bobby had. In Alexandria. In the middle of the fucking winter, when the lake would be frozen over and they’d have to cut wood for the woodstove. 

It wasn’t going to be just Her and Dean. It was everyone. Claire, Jody, Bobby, Sammy—not Cas, he had a whole war to deal with, and gave Her another weird look before vanishing in his usual ruffling sound—and Indy. It was a family vacation. The RV Disney situation, but worse, because Dean could’ve dealt with that in fifteen years. If they got married and had kids, and they were shitting on top of each other. But this, this was hell. 

This was everyone trying to pack into the Impala, realizing there was no way that would work, and then deciding that the only possible solution—if they ignored Dean’s let’s just not do this at all pitch—was that they needed to split up.

Splitting up was never a good idea. On a hunt, it promised someone was—at least—going to need stitches. 

Here, it meant that Dean was stuck on a four hour drive with Sam and Bobby. Alone. 

He couldn’t turn the music up too loud, because Sammy had another migraine. He couldn’t stop looking into the rearview mirror, to check that the Firebird was still somewhere behind them. Then Bobby would catch his eye, and Dean would have to clear his throat and look back to the road. 

He didn’t know how the hell he’d let this happen. There had to have been a point he could’ve put his foot down, and said no. We’re not leaving Eve and going up for a weekend at Bobby’s cabin. But wherever the window was, he’d missed it. And now, they were over halfway there, and there didn’t seem to be a place to turn back. 

She called him, when they crossed the border into Minnesota. Dean nearly dropped his phone, fumbling to pick up the call, and got a disapproving look from Sam that he really didn’t need. 

“Hey, Princess.” He said smoothly, sticking his tongue out at Sam’s annoyingly amused expression. “What’s up?”

“Can we please stop at a gas station?” She said, voice a little muffled from the engine, and Dean glanced in the rearview mirror. 

He could almost see Her pout, through the windows. There was no way in hell he was going to say no.

“There’s one coming up, sweetheart. If it’s the bathroom, we can pull over and I can grab a blanket-“

“It’s not the bathroom.” She sighed, and before Dean could ask what it was, Claire shouted from the background. 

“I’m starving! Did you tell him I’m going to die if I don’t eat? Tell him I’m going to die if I don’t eat-“

“Claire.” Jody’s voice snapped. “She can’t tell him anything if you’re shouting.”

There was a sound like Claire grumbling from the background, and Dean fought his smile. 

“Claire’s going to die if we don’t eat.” She informed him, and he chuckled.

“Tell her if she can hold on for ten minutes, Cheetos are on me.”

“Okay.” She let out a slow breath, and Dean was definitely smiling like an idiot now. “Thank you, De.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” He paused, fingers drumming on the wheel. “See you soon?”

“See you soon.”

The line clicked, and Dean beamed at the road. “We’re stopping to feed the gremlin.” He informed the car, and Bobby just grunted as Sam let out a long, anguished sound that made Dean’s grip on the wheel tighten. 

Sammy was still sick. The bond was still hurting them both, and he knew now wasn’t the time to bring it up or start that fight again, but son of a bitch. They needed to get the rest of this sorted so he could. 

When they pulled into the gas station, Dean told them to wait in the car. Sam did. Bobby didn’t. He followed Dean out, muttering something about needing to stretch his legs, but really watching the Firebird just as intently as Dean was. It parked next to the Impala, and Claire flopped out like she’d just been released from twenty years of prison. 

“I’m so hungry.” She whined. “Like, oh my god, Dean, I’m going to starve-“

“Yeah, alright kid.” Dean snorted, grinning down as She shuffled over to his side. “You want anything, Princess?”

She shook Her head, dropping Her face against his bicep and wrapping her arms around his torso. Dean felt warmth flood through his body, and felt stronger than any mountain, felt taller than Sammy, and-

“Dean.” Bobby grunted, and his gaze shot up.

Bobby and Jody were standing a few feet away, and Dean could tell they were holding hands. Bobby knew he could tell, based on how the old man’s eyes narrowed. So Dean, very slowly, put his arm around Her waist and tugged her into his side. She made a sweet little sound that made his heart feel like it was glowing. Bobby just sighed, like this whole thing hadn’t been his damn idea. 

“We’re goin’ for a walk.” He said, and Dean shrugged. 

“Be safe. Use protection.”

Bobby jaw ticked, and Dean was pretty sure the only reason he didn’t get his head blown off was because Jody pulled them away. 

And it wasn’t like Dean did anything. He didn’t need a supervisor, to hang out with Her. She was still his best friend, and wanting to spend time with Her was allowed. 

Even if that time was walking around a gas ’n sip with Her barely looking up from Dean’s feet, and his hand resting possessively on Her hip. This place was full of creeps who might want Her. Who didn’t understand—like Dean did—that She was gorgeous and powerful and unfathomable. Like looking up at the sky as a kid, and trying to make sense of it all. Like the first time Dean had actually bothered to pay attention in science class—a PBS show that Sammy had left on the TV—and the guy had explained the big bang, and the infinity of the universe. 

Dean still didn’t understand any of it. But it was real. Important, and everything. 

She was everything. 

And She was stuck to Dean. 

He got Claire Her Cheetos. Got Sammy a Gatorade, because he needed it. Bought Her some candy she’d refuse to eat now, but would want later. And when they wandered back to the cars, She hadn’t once strayed from his side. He’d whispered teasing words into Her ear in the coffee line, and She’d just flushed and slapped his arm. Then held on tighter, and whispered a weak, teasing joke back. 

She was holding on so tight. 

“De?” She mumbled as they leaned against the Firebird, waiting for Bobby and Jody to come back. “Can you… ride with us?”

Dean swallowed a joke about riding, and sighed, rubbing his hand on Her spine. “I’m not driving anything but Baby, you know that-“

“Then I- I could ride with you.” Her nails were digging into his shoulder blades. He didn’t mind. 

“But- Someone’s gotta drive your car-“

“Bobby can drive Dean Jr. If- You want me there.”

Dean sighed. Of course he fucking wanted Her there. He couldn’t see a world where Bobby left Her alone in a car with Dean. 

But he really needed to stop trying to guess what Bobby was going to do. Because he was dead wrong.

Bobby looked between them, sighed, and reached out his hand for the keys. They switched. 

The rest of the ride was spent with Claire, Bobby, and Jody in one car, and Her, Sam, Dean, and Indy in the other. Dean let Her put on her music, even as Sam groaned dramatically. She’d gotten shotgun—Sammy had wanted to lie down—and Dean grinned at the road as he rested a hand on Her knee and just listened to Her and Sam bicker. 

“It’s not a good album,” Sam said Her name, rolling his eyes. “I mean, it’s a rock opera, and those are famously the worst-“

“Oh, shut up, I know you like Celine Dion.”

“She’s a powerhouse! She did the Titanic song, and- Yeah, the movie isn’t great but she’s got range! This is just noise! I mean, Dean, c’mon, just tell her Zeppelin is better-“

“I’m not telling anyone anything, Sammy.” Dean drawled, and Sam rolled his eyes. 

“God, you’re useless-“

“No, he’s not.” She twisted in Her seat with a glare that seemed a little violent for the situation. “He just doesn’t agree with you-“

“He agrees with me.” Sam said Her name flatly. “I’m just not you, so I automatically lose.”

“Shut up.” She threw something, and Sam let out a high sound like an animal. 

“What- When did you get jerky-“

“At the gas station.” She shrugged, throwing another one. Sam whined. 

“Dean, stop her-“

Dean didn’t want to. This was the best thing that had ever happened. 

Being the oldest sucked. 

“Princess.” He grabbed Her hand, before she could lob another jerky missile. He gave Her a stern look, and She flushed. Son of a bitch, she was pretty. It was distracting. “I didn’t buy that jerky, did I.”

Her flush deepened, and Her eyes fluttered. Sam was still in the back seat. This was torture. 

“I thought you’d want it.” She mumbled, and Dean’s huffed. 

“So you stole it?”

“It was an Exxon station, De, they’re not going to go under because I took one jerky.”

“I know, you little felon.” Dean grinned, pulling up her hand to his mouth and taking a large bite of the jerky. He didn’t have to glance over, to know She was making that face. The one that made him want to pull over, and just drag Her onto his lap. Kiss Her stupid, pull his cock out of his pants, fulfill about fifty different fantasies at once, and-

“Never mind.” Sam groaned from the backseat. Dean had forgotten he was there. “Let her attack me, that’s better than this.” 

“Alright.” Dean dropped Her hand, and squeezed Her thigh. “Get him, baby.”

“No, no- wait-“

Dean laughed as She dropped the jerky, and turned up the volume so loud he could feel it in his chest. And sang. She sang, loud and free, grinning at Sam the whole time as he pretended to groan and spent most of the time fucking crying and missing d cover his ears. Dean couldn’t stop his laugh, and he didn’t know any of the words to this damn album, but he knew Her voice blended perfectly with the singer’s. He knew he’d listened to it over and over, while She was in the cage, and missing Her. 

He knew that this was the lightest he’d felt in… maybe forever. 

Bobby had said before they left, when Dean tried to protest, that this was because they all needed a break. Dean had been pretty damn convinced someone was slipping the old man something. 

But now, he got it. 

He never wanted this feeling to end. 

They got to the cabin in after the Sun had set. Split up briefly, so She, Sammy, and—despite protests—Claire could go get enough food for the night, and Bobby, Dean, and Jody could get the water system going and a fire started. Dean forgot his gloves, while getting the pump into the lake, and Bobby had stared at his raw, red fingers, and sighed like he was the one about to get frostbite. 

“Sit by the fire.” Bobby muttered. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate, and we’ll pray that gets better before she gets back.”

Dean nodded, and fought the urge to mutter under his breath that he wasn’t made of glass. He wasn’t gonna freakin’ shatter, and leave Bobby to explain that he’d just been an idiot, so now She had to go out and find a new guy to coddle and hug in parking lots. 

He glowered at the fire, imagining some other asshole holding Her hand in the car. Listening to Her sing. Kissing the top of Her head, as she rambled about different Oreo flavors. They wouldn’t be Her soulmate. They wouldn’t pretend to like Her music, just because they loved Her and the worst thing in the world was Her thinking that things She liked were bad. 

She wouldn’t make a choked, angry sound like a wet cat when She found their hand. And get on Her knees before them, turning their fingers over and rubbing them with Her hands.

“I’m fine, Princess-“

“Shut up.” She ordered, and Dean’s felt fucking high.

He leaned down, until Her nose was bumping his. She didn’t look up from his fingers, but Her breath hitched. And that was enough. 

“Bossy.” He whispered, and that little furrow formed in Her brow. Dean kissed it, and Her eyes finally flicked up to meet his. “Hey.”

“Hi.” She whispered, and fuck, it was like staring at the Sun. But Dean couldn’t think of a better way to go blind. “Dean, you- You have to wear gloves. You could’ve lost a finger-“

“But I won’t.” He kissed Her nose this time, savoring the way Her eyes widened. “You’re taking care of me, aren’t you?”

She made a sweet little sound, and looked back to his fingers. “Someone has to.”

Dean chuckled. He could say the same damn thing about Her. 

Only She had Bobby. And Cas. And Jody, who’d come up behind Her and dropped a blanket on her shoulders while she fussed over Dean. And Indy, who’d sprawled out in front of the fire, pawing lazily at Dean’s foot until she started to snore. And Sam, who—even in his addled state—had shuffled over to tell them he and Claire made their bed. Dean was pretty sure She had fuckin’ God—even if his methods of care made Dean want to punch him, the asshole would probably claim he cared for Her, ignoring the fact that he’d let Her fall in to damn Hell—and the whole Earth itself. 

She had everything.

Dean had Her.

He was starting to feel his fingers buzz—like when he used to pass out in the Impala and his leg would fall asleep—after a few more minutes of watching the fire flicker over Her face, making Her look almost like a painting. He flexed his hand, and grinned at Her, kissing her cheek. 

“There we go. You fixed me.” He pulled Her up, into his lap. “C’mon, sweetheart, Jody’s making something with meatballs. And- Y’know. You could have that twice tonight, if you seduce me-“

“Dean.” 

He laughed, keeping Her well bundled in her blanket, and pushed her in front of him into the dining room.

Deep down, he knew that wouldn’t be happening this weekend. She and Dean might have gotten their own room, but Bobby was just down the hall, and the walls were thin. Dean was pretty lucky that he got anything at all.

He’d been hoping for just some nice kisses. His hand allowed to stay on Her back, or thigh. Her in his lap, when they sat on the couch. 

He got all that, and what he hadn’t even dared to think about. 

They all filtered off to bed, and She closed the door behind them. Stood against it with Her chest heaving, eyes fixed on Dean, and a slack face. He frowned, a little worried She was going to pass out again. Dean took a half step forward, reaching for Her carefully. 

“Princess, what’s-“

She almost flew at him. Dean let out a low oof as he caught Her, and stumbled back from the force of it. It was just a hug. She was hugging him, so hard Dean was worried he was going to disappear. His knees hit the edge of the mattress, and he grunted as he fell down. Landed on his back, with Her still hugging him like, if She squeezed tight enough, their bodies would just fuse together and nothing would ever be able to pull them apart. Unfortunately, Dean knew that wouldn’t work. 

He’d looked into it before.  

“Woah, hey. Easy, baby- Shit-“

Wrong thing to say. She whined and nosed his neck, legs fully locking around Dean’s waist. He grabbed Her ass, trying to keep them steady.

“It’s okay, Princess, I didn’t- Just, c’mon.” He pulled Her carefully up, until she was just straddling his chest. Blinking down at his chest with glossy, brilliant eyes, fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt. “Can you look at me?”

Her eyes dragged slowly up, and Dean grinned when they met his. 

“Good girl.” He said, and another mistake. He couldn’t stop his fingers digging into Her, when Her thighs clenched around his torso. Focus. “You okay?” 

She nodded slowly, fingers twitching, and didn’t say a word. Dean raised his brows.

“Well, is there something you want that’s got you trying to Hulk Hogan me?”

She pouted. “Sorry-“

“It’s alright. Always alright.” Dean reached up, tracing Her cheeks, and forced down a groan as She shivered under his touch. “You just gotta tell me what you want.” 

For another moment, She was silent. She searched Dean’s face, then looked back to his chest, and frowned. Dean was ready to try and use other methods to get it out of Her, but then she looked back to him. And son of a bitch, She looked like she was about to burst into tears from need. 

“Can you, um-” Her eyes dropping to Dean’s lips, and he licked them. 

It made a high noise leave Her throat. He needed to do that more often.

“Dean…”

He grinned, letting his hands wander teasingly up Her side. “It’s okay, Princess.” He cooed, and She ducked her head like she was trying to hide. “You want me to fuck you?”

Dean made sure to linger on the vulgar word, and She looked so adorably flustered. Her mouth was hanging open, Her eyes blown out, and Dean was going to fuckin’ work himself up into snapping the tension. Into ordering Her to be silent, and pulling Her cunt—probably soaked, and he wasn’t helping himself—onto his face. Muffling his own groans in Her arousal, fucking his hips into the air as he suffocated on the addicting taste of Her, watching Her writhe above him, her nails scratching at his scalp- 

“I- I-“ She shook Her head, still shying away, and Dean carefully grabbed Her chin. Guided her gaze to his, and raised his brows. 

Waited. As long as it took. 

Given the soft moan that left Her, when Dean swiped his thumb over Her lower lips, really not that long.

“Can we...” She swallowed, voice dropping to a whisper. “Kiss?”

Dean damn near burst out laughing. The only thing that stopped him was the open, vulnerable expression on Her face.

“Yeah, baby.” He muttered, pulling Her down. “We can kiss.”

And maybe he took kiss and ran with it. Maybe Dean squeezed Her ass and let her grind down onto him, opening his mouth and letting her chase whatever She needed. Maybe he dragged his hands over Her ass and up her spine, getting lost in the feel of Her, so perfect in his arms. 

But She certainly didn’t seem to mind. Not with how She kissed him back, with such force and pure goddamn wanting. She writhed above Dean, almost suffocating him, and it would’ve been a noble death if the feeling of Her wiggling over him didn’t become so unbearable he had to flip her over. 

Dean dropped his hips, pinning Her against the mattress, and moaned into her mouth at the pressure. Her nails dragged through his scalp, and Dean felt sort of like an animal—rutting against Her and barely even coming up for breath—but couldn’t bring himself to stop. She was too reactive below him, too happy to let Dean move down to her neck and make out with Her every sensitive spot. 

Steps sounded outside the door, and She tensed. Wrapped Her arms around Dean’s neck, and hissed when he pushed up on his forearms. He grinned down at Her, as the footsteps faded away. Started to kiss all over Her face, until She was giggling and trying to shove him away. 

“De-“ She squeaked as he pinched Her side. “Dean, shh-“

“I’m shushing.” He muttered, smirking as he nipped Her throat and her whole body bucked up. “Easy, baby.” He kissed behind Her ear. “Was just Sammy taking a piss-“

“He could hear.”

“Hm.”

“Dean-“

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” He rolled off of Her, dragging her into his side and kissing Her brow. “But we coulda kept quiet. If you’re thinking about tomorrow.”

She made a grumbling sound, rolling so She was holding on his side. “Good night, handsome.”

Dean might be flying out of his body. He might have died and gone somewhere better than Heaven. All he knew was that She’d called him handsome. He grinned at the ceiling and let out a slow breath. “Night, Princess. Sleep well.”

And She did. Dean did, too. When he woke up, cool winter sunlight flooding the room, he hadn’t been so rested in his whole damn life. 

He should be more on edge about everything. Her and Eve and Cas and Crowley and Raphael. But he couldn’t find it. 

He felt like he was walking through a dream. 

When he got up and kissed Her nose, she made the most adorable sound he’d ever heard. Tried to crawl over him in Her sleep, and grunted when Dean pulled Her away. He’d be back. He was just going to put the coffee on. 

Which Jody had already done, when he got to the kitchen. That, and started working on some food that was making Dean almost slobber. 

“That smells good.” He muttered, grabbing two mugs from the bathroom. “You and Bobby makin’ breakfast?”

“Just me.” Jody hummed. “I made Bobby sleep in, for once in his life.”

Dean wiggled his brows. “Oh, you got sleeping power over him now-“

“You know, Dean.” Jody gave him a flat look. “You’re the second one up. Sam beat you to it, he wanted to get some water. And he seemed pretty disturbed by something he heard last night, after we’d all gone to bed. Coming from your room.” She raised her brows. “You know anything about that?”

Shit. “Uh- Nope. We were out like, y’know…” Dean cringed, pouring the coffee. “Something that sleeps?”

Jody didn’t look impressed. “Uh huh.”

“Yep.” He paused. “Don’t tell Bobby.”

“It’s between us.” Jody said Her name, looking back to the food. “Just tell her I have breakfast when she’s up.”

Dean nodded, and retreated back to their room with the coffee. She was up not long after that, and all it took was Dean wrapping her back in the blanket and shuffling them out the door—Her back to his chest, face still puffy from sleep, and walk more a waddle with the restriction of the blanket and Dean’s arms around Her—to get breakfast. 

And this. This was a life Dean wanted to live. 

Sam still wasn’t doing well. She still was acting strange, and kept glancing at Her phone. But compared to everything else they’d dealt with. This was nothing. This was awesome. 

There was nothing to do, which meant there was everything to do. Dean helped Bobby chop more wood after he got up, pointedly wearing gloves so She’d stop glaring at him, and glanced through the window to see Her, Sam, and Claire on the couch. She was reading a book that didn’t look like an old, leather-bound lore guide. Claire was angrily doing a puzzle, and Sam was poking through the shelves. Probably looking for the old movies Bobby used to have up here, or his fish book. 

Dean looked out towards the lake, and there was a thin sheet of ice that broke off the further the water went. He could probably kick a fair hole in it, but- 

“Are there fish up here in the winter, Bobby?”

“Should be.” Bobby grunted. “But you know she don’t like fishin’, Dean. Honestly, I’ve been surprised she ain’t a vegetarian or whatever for years-“

“She would be if she thought about what she ate.” Dean shrugged. “’s why I only buy that well-raised shit. Just in case.” He swung his axe, and the wood cracked in half. “And I’m not thinking about her. I’m thinkin’ about Claire.”

Bobby paused, and when Dean looked up, he was nodding slowly. Starting at the window. 

“That… ain’t a bad idea.”

Dean grinned, and followed his gaze. Jody had joined Claire’s puzzle, and She seemed to be leaning over Her book to give them occasional orders about pieces.

Sam had given up on his search, and was hunching over to help. Sometimes She’d tap his shoulder, and he’d hand Her a Sam-sized fistful of popcorn to eat. Dean smiled, and when he glanced over at Bobby, he could swear he was looking in a mirror of his own joy.

“I wish we’d come up here before.” He said, and Bobby gave him a surprised look.

“I thought you were all on finishin’ it all, fast as possible.”

“I was.” Dean shrugged. “But- And you know I don’t say this much and mean it, this good. I like it, Bobby. It’s- I’d like it up here. For a while.”

Bobby hummed, raising his axe. “Yeah.”

The thud of wood cracked, and Dean looked back to the window. To the slump of Sammy’s shoulders. To Her smile.

“Yeah. I would.” 

They got the wood they needed, and hauled it into the house. Bobby kept the fire going as Jody hassled him about eating, and Dean dragged Her and Claire outside. 

Mostly dragged Claire. She was shockingly invested in the puzzle. All Dean had to say was wanna come sit with me, Princess? And She did. 

Dean grabbed a few extra blankets for Her, to sit with them. Set up three of Bobby’s fold-out chairs, and sat himself in the middle, with Claire on one side and Her on the other. And it didn’t take Claire that much time, to get the hang of casting the line. Dean was more worried she’d decide it was boring, and throw the whole rod in the water. At the very least, she was entertaining herself by asking Dean a million questions, and acting unsatisfied with every single answer.

“How old were you, when you started hunting?”

“Too young.” Dean muttered, and Claire rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, but you turned out fine! I mean, look at you, sweet car, good at… fishing and cutting wood. Hot girlfriend. Not hideous, for like, an old man-“

“I’m thirty fuckin’ two-“

“Basically a gargoyle.” Claire shrugged. “Were you hotter, when you were in your twenties? Is that how you landed her?”

Claire nodded to where She was humming softly to herself, and reading a book. Dean sighed in heavy relief. She was lost to the world. 

“We’re only three years apart, Claire.” He muttered, looking back to the slight ripples of his line, and she gasped dramatically. 

“You’re a cradle robber.”

Dean gave her a flat look, and she just grinned. He couldn’t think of a good comeback that wasn’t also a dick move. Arguing with teenagers was the fucking worst.

“De.” She reached out of her blanket to grab his hand, and he turned immediately. 

“What, what’s-“ 

“‘m tired.” She said, eyes wide and shining, and Dean sighed. 

“Princess, it’s 2pm-“

“I know. I- I’ll be okay.” She yawned, and Dean bit back his smile. “‘m just telling you."

“Alright.” He leaned forward, kissing Her forehead. “Thanks for telling me.”

She hummed, eyes fluttering, and looked back to Her book. Dean squinted at the words, but he couldn’t make anything out. Maybe Claire was right. Maybe he was getting old.

“Dean!” Claire squealed, and he turned with a tight frown.

“Claire, are you-“ He sighed. She’d just gotten a bite. “Alright. Just reel it in.”

Claire nodded, then looked to Dean with a panicked expression. 

“I, um- How do you do that?”

Dean sighed, and stood with a gesture for her to do the same. Claire tried to pass him the rod and he shook his head. She was going to do this herself. And all Dean had to do was move her hand for the first few pulls—the hard part, when the fish was deep—and she took the rest easily. 

“Holy shit!” Claire yelled, and Dean frowned.

“I, uh- Don’t swear-“

“Dean, it’s so- Ugly!” Claire laughed, squinting at the fish wiggling on her line. “And freaky. Do they all have eyes like this?”

He snorted. “Yeah, they do. Now toss it back.”

“Toss it back? I just caught it-“

“And we don’t run an aquarium. Just chuck it, we’ll catch another.”

“But-“

“Claire.” He said firmly, trying to subtly jerk his head at Her. Dean didn’t like fishing for game that much altogether. And if they killed that fish, She was going to start crying. 

Claire got the memo, and tossed it back to the water quickly. Dean made sure she had the line back out, and collapsed back in his chair with a grunt. 

He closed his eyes, and She leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Your line got pulled, while you were helping Claire.”

Dean sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t care. Just… Glad we’re out here. I can get another, that was her first.”

She hummed, and Dean slowly dragged his eyes open. Looked at Her in the silver light, and whatever Heaven was, She was what it should be. She looked like she had a freakin’ halo, Her nose tinged red at the very tip, and her body curled tight into the blanket. Her expression was so fucking soft, and affectionate, and Dean really felt like he was on top of the freakin’ world. 

His eyes flicked up, to the sky. Then back to her. And just to check-

“Can he see us?”

She paused, then shook Her head. “No. Not here.”

Dean nodded, and slowly moved forward. Reached over to tuck Her further into the blankets, giving Her his best, casual grin. This could be it. If God couldn’t see them here, and She wanted to, they could just stay here-

The door slammed back at the cabin, and Dean looked up to see Indy darting out of the door, barreling straight to the dock. She tackled Her, wings flapping eagerly, and Dean scowled, shouting up the hill.

“Sammy, I told you to keep her in-“

“I tried!” Sam shouted back. “She opened the door, Dean! How am I supposed to stop that!”

“It’s okay, De.” She hummed, rubbing Indy’s spine, and he sighed. 

Leaned back, and let it go, but just for Her. And he probably shouldn’t have. Indy dove into the water and caught a fish in her mouth five times. She even tossed it right back, after showing it off like Claire and Dean had been. To make her stop—he was worried she was going accidentally bite one wrong and kill it—Dean had to give up his own fishing and play fetch with her. 

Which was sorta calming in its own way. Dean could chuck it wherever the hell he wanted, and Indy would still find it. That meant the lake, the woods, the roof, or anywhere else his arm could go. She’d even flap in the air for a few seconds, like she was trying to give it a fair start. It was pretty entertaining to watch, and eventually, Claire dropped the fishing to take over. Dean got to go back to his fishing, and got a few more catches as the sun set. She’d dragged Her chair closer to his, and grabbed his free hand. 

Dean squeezed it once. 

She paused, then squeezed three times back. 

They got called back in for dinner, which was something with a lot of vegetables that Jody said was healthy. Dean sulked about it until She whispered that they’d made pie, while he and Bobby had been out chopping wood. She laughed, when he almost perked up like a dog. 

Dean dragged Her into a corner, and kissed Her neck and face with an open mouth. Dragged Her leg up to his waist, and hauled her higher up to press her against the wall. She grabbed his shirt and deepened the kiss, fingers combing through his hair, and Dean didn’t need pie if he could just have this, for the rest of his life- 

“Dean!” Bobby called, and he shot back. “Kiddo, where the hell did he wander off to-“

“He’s- Um-“ She blinked a few times, and little dazed, and didn’t see Dean’s frantic head shaking. “He’s with me?”

He groaned, and dropped his head into Her tits. It was the last thing he wanted to feel, before Bobby chopped him up into so many tiny pieces even Indy wouldn’t be able to fish him out of the lake-

Bobby’s footsteps stopped, down the hall. Dean took a deep breath of Her apple smell, forcing himself to barely breathe as She kept freaking petting his head, and he was going to die with blue balls- 

“Idjits.” Bobby muttered, and that was it. 

Dean didn’t question it. Despite what Sam claimed, he didn’t have a fucking death wish.  

Dinner was—for vegetables—pretty good. Jody was almost as fidgety as She was, and Dean got that. One time, Dad had a younger lady try to watch Sam and Dean, and at the time he’d just been sure that she was a nervous chick. Sure, he’d seen her hugging Dad, but that might just be an adult thing. Dad never hugged them, so it must have been. 

That was one of those things Dean was never going to tell Her. She’d get Her murder face, which was hot, but pretty useless when aimed at a dead guy. And Dean wouldn’t have told himself about Dad having a girlfriend either. Dad supposed to love Mom, and nothing else. 

And even though Dean knew Dad had been a dick to Her, he sorta still wondered if he could’ve fixed that. If somehow, he’d been able to have Her and not lose Dad at the same time, everyone could’ve gotten along. Dad would’ve realized how awesome She was, if Dean showed him. She still probably wouldn’t like Dad all that much, but at least could’ve done thanksgiving or something. With Sammy, if he was fixing everything in his stupid fairy tale world. 

“Good food, Jody.” He muttered, because at the very least he could do Bobby a solid, and maybe get away with marrying Her and not having Bobby threaten to castrate him. 

Jody beamed, sitting a little taller. “Thank you, Dean. It’s- I wasn’t sure about the sauce-“

“Sauce is good.” Sammy muttered, because he’d picked up on what Dean was doing, and She cleared her throat. 

“Thank you. For cooking.”

Jody’s smile widened, and the whole table settled into something like comfort. They ate, and laughed, and it was so damn strange, but still good. Like the time a girl had shoved a finger up Dean’s butt, but family. 

He’d find a better analogy to tell Her later. Dean was pretty sure if he said butt, She’d look at him like he’d started quoting a porno at Her. 

Then probably crawl up to him in bed, and mumble that She’d try the finger thing, if Dean liked it. And he might, but he was pretty sure they should ease through sex stuff before jumping right to ass play. She had offered to blow him. Twice. He could take her up on that-

“I was listening to the radio, earlier.” Sam said as Jody was serving out the pie. “And get this, there have been reports of strange activity all over town. One guy called in and said that he saw the flowers dancing.”

“This town has always been full of crazies, Sam.” Bobby muttered. “Don’t mean there’s a case.”

“Yeah, but- Bobby, maybe there is?” Sam cleared this throat, shooting Her a nervous look. “I mean, you guys used to come up here all the time, right? And this stuff, disappearing books, cassette tapes turned into weird art pieces on people’s floors, animals yelling at the moon and getting random extra food the owners didn’t buy? It sounds like-“

“Fairies.” Dean muttered, and Sam nodded. 

“Yeah. And, maybe, because,” he said Her name nervously. “You guys always came up here, and no one thought fairies were real…”

Sam trailed off, and Bobby sighed. Looked over to Her with a questioning expression. She made a tight, unsure expression, and Bobby leaned back in his chair. 

“This ain’t a vacation thing, Sam-“

“Sorry-“

“But you got an itch.” Bobby muttered. “You’re gonna scratch it. Just- Save it for the morning.”

Sam nodded quickly, and looked back to his food. 

Dean wasn’t sure if they were trouble magnets, or trouble compasses. But he did know that—until Sammy’s stupid morning case—he was still on vacation. And that meant no thinking about hunting, until it was splattering blood and guts all over his face. 

They moved out to a campfire, after dinner. Dean had expected it to be colder than it was, but the pit was big, the wind had gone down enough to let the flames rage—Indy curling up in the fire, probably helping it—and they had a crap ton of a blankets. 

And Dean had Her. In his arms. He sat down on one of the logs, expecting Her sit next to him again. Then they’d edge closer and closer together, neither of them saying a word, until she was almost on top of him. But instead She stopped in front of him, shifting on Her feet, and glanced down to the dirt in a silent question. 

Dean nodded, and spread his arms. She shuffled into them, sitting right at his side. Her thigh pressed against Dean’s, Her head on his shoulder, and the blankets being shuffled around so they were sharing. Dean slowly looped his arm around Her lower back, and sighed in relief when She scooted a little closer. It was dark enough that Bobby wouldn’t be able to see exactly how cuddled they were. And if he could, he didn’t say a damn word. 

“Haven’t been up here in the winter in a while.” He muttered, looking out to the icy glow of the lake. “You get any fishin’ bites?”

Dean opened his mouth to answer, and Claire almost screamed over him. 

“Yes!” She all but shrieked. “I did! Bobby, I caught the biggest fish in the fucking world, Dean said it was big, and it was so scaly and sharp- You could probably slap someone with it.”

Sam frowned. “Like… In a cartoon?”

“Yeah, it would work.”

“Well, so would dropping an anvil on someone, but no one ever uses that in real life-“

“Nah, Sammy.” Dean grinned. “The one Claire caught? It was a freakin’ dinosaur. We might’ve discovered a new monster.”

Sam sighed. “Or all monsters are actually just animals, like we are-“

“Sam.” Bobby grunted. “Talk about taxes or gun control all you want. No huntin’ politics till morning.”

It only took a few seconds after Sam’s grumbled agreement for Claire to jump in, and keep going with her fishing achievements. Sam asked her about school—Bobby had convinced her, somehow, to go to actual school with the bargain of I’ll teach you lore at him, and you don’t gotta like it—and that turned into a long rambling about how two bitches in the math class thought she was a bitch, but the joke was on them because she didn’t care what prissy prep girls thought of her. 

Claire swore a lot, for a fourteen-year-old. Dean was going to call that one Cas’ fault, somehow. 

And the night drifted on, with any pressure or anxiety for it to just end. Dean sort of hoped it didn’t. That he could really figure out how to freeze time, and just be here forever. None of them looking over their shoulders at the dark. Her head on his shoulder as She kept reading in the low light, and Sammy’s legs stretched comfortably out into the dirt. 

Listening to Jody talk about her experience in high school—and wondering if that was the kind of drunken expression on Bobby’s face that Dean himself made when he looked at Her—and Sam’s stories about their favorite high school when they were kids. Dean threw in a few extra stories about teaching Sam to drive on a stolen gold cart, at one of the fancier schools Dad had somehow scammed them into. Bobby talked about coming up here in the summer with Her, and realizing She’d been stealing all his flashlights to read under the covers until two in the morning. 

But time kept moving. And Sam, making a pinched face at the flames, muttered goodnight and wandered off to bed. Somewhere close to midnight, Claire’s line got drawer, and Jody took her to bed. Bobby followed not far behind, clapping Dean’s shoulder as he passed, pausing at Her.

He offered Her a hand, and she took it. They stared at each other for a few moments, expressions Dean couldn’t read in the dark dancing over their faces, and Bobby heaved a sigh. 

“Night, kiddo.” He glanced to Dean. “No fuckin’ on the docks. You’ll get splinters.”

Dean choked on the air, stuttering out a protest, and She just giggled. 

“Glad you think that’s funny, sweetheart.” He grumbled as Bobby wandered off, and She smiled at him, voice a low whisper. 

“They’d get in your butt.”

He snorted. “Well, who the hell do you think would be pickin’ them out? ‘Cause it ain’t gonna be Sammy.”

She rolled Her eyes, even as Dean saw her flush in the dark, and looked back to the book. He grinned, leaning over to try and at pick out one or two words.

“What’ve you been reading, sweetheart?”

The book snapped shut, and She looked up at Dean with wide, bright eyes. “Nothing.”

He raised his brows. “Nothing? You just been staring at empty paper all day?”

“I- Yes?”

Dean reached out under their blankets, and found Her hands pressed together. She was twisting the skin of Her finger, and Her breath hitched when Dean gently took her hands between his, and pulled them into his lap. 

“Liar.” He hummed, and She just stared at him. “Jesus, Princess, your hands are freezing.”

“‘m okay, De.” She mumbled, but didn’t fight it when Dean dragged Her forward. Guided Her arms around his torso, forcing himself not to even grunt when Her freezing fingers dug into his bare sides.

He kissed the top of Her head, and when her nose buried in his neck, even that was cold. 

“We should go inside-“

“No.” She cut him off, words a little slurred. “I- I wanna stay here. Please.”

Goddamnit. He could never say no to Her. “You gonna tell me about your book?”

She shook Her head, mumbling against his skin. “It’s… You won’t like it.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh.”

“Alright.” Dean shrugged. “I’ll be the judge of that.” 

He sneaked a hand out of their blankets, grabbing the book right off Her lap. She squeaked, darting back and trying to grab for it. Dean held it high over Her head, grinning as shoved his chest and pouted. 

“Dean, give it back-“

“I wanna know what you’re reading, didn’t know that was a crime-“

“You won’t like it.” She whined, straddling his lap and trying to climb up his body. Dean had to splay a hand on Her lower back to keep her steady, and she kept wiggling right over his crotch. He’d sort of brought this torture on himself, and he couldn’t bring himself to complain. 

“I might like it.” He craned his neck, keeping his thumb carefully wedged at the spot She’d been reading as he flipped it to the cover. “Wild Hearts. Baby, this kinda looks like a-“ He turned it over to the back cover, paused to scan over the blurb, and burst out laughing. “You’re reading fuckin’ porn?”

She slumped over his chest in defeat, arms wrapping around his neck. “It’s not porn, it’s called a bodice ripper, and- It’s got good character and plot development-“

“Hey, I’m not judging.” Dean flipped to where She’d been reading, scanning over a few paragraphs as he rubbed her spine. This could be helpful. Whatever She liked to read about with this, it was research for him. “You read a lot of these?”

There was a pause, until Dean looked down and said Her name in prompting. She wiggling further into his arms, and nodded. 

“Huh.” Dean squinted at one of the most graphic sentences he’d ever seen, then back down to how she was almost trembling in his arms. “Princess, if you wanna do this stuff, you just gotta ask.”

She made a high, pretty sound, and Dean grunted as She almost squeezed the air from his lungs. 

“Shit-“ He set down the book, devoting his whole attention to Her beautiful, flushed face. “Look, I’m really not judging.” He kissed the corner of Her mouth, and She turned her face away with a little whimper. “C’mon, baby. You know I’m in no place to be playing high and mighty about sex.”

Her nose wrinkled, and She pressed her face back into Dean’s neck. He sighed, and just held Her there gently. Rocking Her a little in his arms, rubbing his hands in firm patterns on Her hips. Trying to work out if he should apologize, or keep trying to make Her understand that he really didn’t damn care- 

“Did you… Read any of it?” She whispered, and every bit of Dean’s attention narrowed to Her. 

“Yeah, uh- A little.” He cleared his throat. “Nice to know you were into the cowboy thing we did in Utah. Don’t want to, uh- Push my stuff onto you. But…” He paused, something sore suddenly worming under his skin. She was Her, and sometimes he forgot that everything they’d done together was all She’d done. That She’d said she didn’t even know what she liked, and son of a bitch, what if he’d been taking advantage of that. “You liked it?”

She was silent for a second, and Dean didn’t breathe until She nodded against him.  

“Cool.” He grinned at the fire, watching the gold dance against Indy’s silver scales. “We can, uh- Do more stuff like that. If you want.” Dean swallowed. “I mean, you and me. Figuring out what you’re into. Together. I’d- I’d help.”

Dean glared at the flames, as if it were their fault he was talking like an idiot, and She leaned back. Dean met Her gaze, offering her a small grin, and Her lips pulled between her teeth.

“You- You don’t have to, De-“

“I want to.” He murmured. I want to be the only one. Is what he meant. I’m your soulmate, Princess, and if you want someone else I’ll let you have them, but if never sharing is on the table, I’m going to choose that. 

“Really?” Her voice was barely a breath. 

Dean nodded, and She eyes shined with something that was even brighter than usual. Almost a supernova, made of a million colors Dean would be so damn happy to get lost in. To devote himself to, for as long as he had. 

“I- I’d like that.” She breathed, and his face slowly spread with a wide grin. 

“Awesome.” 

And he wanted to say he loved Her. He wanted to tell Her all the time. 

But Her eyes fluttered, and she leaned into his arms, and he could just have this. It was good. 

Under the all the stars, only really the two of them in the whole universe. This was good. 

Feb 25. - 2011

Princess,  

One day, I’m gonna get us a place like this. I can fish and chop wood and cook. You can raise as many dragons and magic birds as you want. Indy can herd sheep. We’ll make money with the wool and eggs and other farm shit. We’ll keep a few spare rooms for Sammy and Claire. 

You can run the business. You could make a blind man buy glasses. 

And I love you. 

Just wanted to tell you. I think you’re going to need to hear it a lot, until you believe me. I love you, and that’s nothing God or the angels did. That’s just me.

Yours. 

DAW

“Claire, you’re gonna keep quiet.” 

She rolls her eyes at Dean, pulling at the collar of her shirt. “I didn’t come here to just watch, Dean-“

“That’s exactly what you came here to do.” He grunts, glaring around the diner. “And stop touching your outfit. You gotta act like these clothes are a second skin.”

“Whatever.” Claire makes a face, sinking into the seat. “I should be doing something, otherwise you’re going to look like a weirdo who brings his teenage daughter on his FBI cases.”

Dean’s head snaps back to the booth. “I am not old enough to be your dad-“

“You are if it was a teen pregnancy.” Sam offers. “Thirty-two minus fourteen, that’s eighteen. So actually, it’s not that unrealistic, and, uh-“ Sam coughed under Dean’s withering glare. “Yeah.”

“Helpful, Sammy.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and Claire started tapping her fork on the table. 

“So what, am I your daughter? We’re just a family business of FBI agents? The teen pregnancy division?”

Dean tenses, and you put your hand over his. You know he’s already grumpy about having to do this at all. Punching at each other isn’t going to help at all. 

“Claire.” You say softly, giving her a pointed look. “Don’t provoke him. You know he needs his nap.”

Claire grins, Sam snorts, and Dean gives you a look of pure betrayal. You smile back softly. You know he’s not really mad or hurt. Not about this. 

He’ll have plenty of reasons to be later. 

“So we know this is fairies, right?” Dean nods as the waitress passes out the food, and Sam sighs. 

“It sounds like it. Tommy, the guy I got on the phone, everything he told me lines up with Rosewood and Pontiac. If it’s not fairies, then- I don’t know. It’s gotta be fairies.”

“And there are older reports too, right?” Claire jumps in eagerly. “And those are-“

“Also fairies.” Sam nods, and Claire puffs out her chest. “There’s really no way it’s anything else, Dean. The question is just how we get to them, if we have to. For…” He swallows, glancing at you. “Eve.”

You sigh, and choose to focus on your juice. Dean ordered it for you, even after you said you weren’t that hungry. And you know he got the share size portion to try and feed you some, even if he just winked at you after placing the order and drawled that he’s got a big appetite. 

You’re really trying not to worry him. The whole point of this is kinda don’t worry Dean. Don’t worry anyone. Act like everything is better than normal, and it’ll be okay. 

It’s what Bobby said, after you told him everything.

Every single thing. What Michael and Lucifer had done in the cage. How you’d broken out with strange gold on your hands. God watching you, and the deal you and Cas made with Crowley. Cas’ plan to betray Crowley, and free you from the Bride. Every time you’d sabotaged the Alpha hunts, every lie you told, what you’d really been doing while Sam and Dean were being hunted by Raphael. That you’re pretty sure Crowley knows he’s on the outside. That Cas won’t be able to take Eve without you freeing her from the safe room, but he wants to. 

And the deadline. The end of the month. 

Bobby had let out a slow breath, his hands braced on his knees and face painfully exhausted. 

“I- I’m sorry-“

“Don’t apologize, kiddo.” He muttered, giving you a firm look, and you’d shaken your head. 

“No, I-“

“You fucked up.” Bobby had placed a hand on your shoulder, voice unwavering. “But you came clean. And I told you, I’m gonna fix it. The deed ain’t done yet. Car’s just wrecked, not totaled. We got time to put it back together.”

You’d sniffed, wiping your nose with your sleeve, and Bobby had reached up. Wiped your tears with his own hands, and offered his arms. A broken sob had left your throat, as you folded into his hug, and Bobby had just let out a slow breath. Let you shake in his arms, until your breathing was even, and he spoke softly. 

“We’re gonna keep this between you and me, kiddo. Just until it’s fixed. Then we can deal with the boys.”

“But-“

Bobby had sighed your name. “You know Dean’s gonna want to confront Cas right away. And Sam, even if he’d deny it, is gonna wanna tell Dean. You said there’s a timer on this?”

You’d nodded, and Bobby had pulled you back gently, voice solemn. 

“Then all we gotta do is run out the clock.”

When you’d told him, there had been five days left to open Purgatory. Now, there are three. 

And that’s the plan. There’s a deadline, you just have to waste it. Vacation. Pretend it’s all fine, until it passes and you tell Sam and Dean once the only threat is dealing with Cas and Crowley and Raphael as they are now. No power boosts. No Purgatory. Just another hunt. 

You’d been expecting Cas to show up and try to whisk you away, after maybe twelve hours. But he hadn’t. Which was, itself, worrying. 

You wanted to see him. To try and talk him out of it. Explain that, if he just gave you a little longer to fix Sam, you’d use your powers to help him with Raphael. And if he pushed about why you’d changed your mind, you would have to tell him about trying to give yourself over to God, and his rejection. 

The only thing you hadn’t told Bobby about. Any more exhaustive disappointment on his face might’ve killed you. 

You’ll tell him after Cas drops in, and you talk him down. Then you all just have to wait, and you’ll heal Sam and kill Raphael yourself. 

He should count himself lucky, you’re just going to kill him. Crowley should pray you don’t tear him to shred for fucking with you at the diner and sending you into a magic coma.

A problem for after you tell Dean. After the path is clear. 

After you figure out how to wake the Silver back up, because it doesn’t seem to have gotten the we’re back memo. Except in Dean’s arms, when he rubs your back or nose, and your every bit of starlight washing on the ice and the peace and quiet for the winter woods. The birdsong of the only ones brave enough to stay through the cold. The relief of the firewood even as it’s burned, because at least it gets to be warm again before everything is gone. 

It’s peaceful. Safe. 

Not very helpful, when it only spreads like a peaceful veil in the only place you don’t need it. You’d spent the day after you woke up trying to convince yourself to look in the Scalpel and see your own soul. Check if it was buried, or more broken than you thought. If there was a button or something, that said poke to release. 

You hadn’t managed to. You’re barely managing to play pretend right now, to act like the world isn’t crumbling beneath your fingers. 

Dean says your name, and when you smile at him, he smiles right back without a thought. 

Bobby said it’s not too late. 

You don’t pray. God doesn’t need to hear what you want. 

But you’re doing something close to prayer, for this. For this sacred thing you’ve wanted for years, that’s starting to bloom greater than anything else in the world, is going to be stronger than you are. That it won’t burn or decay, just because you’re sick. That it will stay.

You’re whispering it to the lake and the fire, and touching him like he’s the altar. 

He’s the only one whose forgiveness you ever need anyway. 

“Hm?” You blink at Dean, and he raises his brows. 

“Sammy asked you a question, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I-“ You frown at Sam. “What?”

“No, I was just saying that you’re like, their Queen. So we don’t need to figure out how to get them to talk. You just… ask.”

“Um- Yeah. I think.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head at the fries on his plate. “Fairy Queen. Should we start bowing?”

You whack his chest. “Do not bow, Dean.”

“Yeah, I’m more of a curtsying guy.” He pushes his plate towards you. “Fry, m’lady?”

You flush, shaking your head, and Dean rolls his eyes. Picks up a fry, and presses it on your lower lip. You glare at him, and he just grins back. 

“You promised you’d eat if I let you play the music, Princess.” He reminds you, and you did promise that. Fuck.

You open your mouth with a pout, and Dean grins.  

“Good girl.” 

He needs to stop doing that. You know he gets what he’s doing to you, and he always looks so smug, and you want to hit his stupid, handsome face, that

“Agents?” A weedy man with thick hair and thin glasses approaches you’d rip open the sky just to see and remake all the oceans just so the currents spell his name- your booth, and Dean sits up. His arm remains slung around the booth—fingers brushing your upper arm, sending shivers up your spine—but the rest of him shifts into undercover mode. It’s amazing to watch, sometimes, how he and Sam do it in perfect tandem. 

Claire looks between them, trying to copy their mannerisms. Arms braced on the table. Chins raised, shoulders back. You can feel yourself slipping into it as well, and when Dean nods and tells Sam to scoot over, the man’s eyes dart to yours.  He’s made of a light, lime green that’s just as flimsy as he seems to be. You don’t blink or look away, and his cheeks turn a little red.

“I, um-“ He glances up at Sam, dwarfing him even sitting down. “I didn’t think I’d be talk to so many of you. I mean, Agent Mulder?” He frowns at Dean, who gives him a winning grin. 

“And Mulder.” He nods to Sam. “No relation. And this is Agent Scully. She’s the expert.”

The man’s eyes flick over you again, then to Claire. “And… the kid.”

“Junior agent.” You lie smoothly. “She’s just here to study.”

“Pretend she’s not even there.” Dean waves a hand, and Claire scowls. 

“Right, well…” The man looks around the booth nervously again. “This isn’t a trap, right? You- You really believe me?”

“Of course we do, buddy.” Dean shrugs. “We would be wasting our time if we didn’t.”

Sam sighs dramatically. “What he means is that we do believe you, Derek. We want to know everything you’ve seen.”

Derek nods slowly, and huffs a soft laugh. “I mean… Where do I even start?”

The answer to his question is, apparently, twenty years ago. When he started noticing change in his hometown that fluctuated with the seasons. More in Summer and Spring. Almost none in Fall. In a few of the bordering towns as well, but primarily Alexandria. And it’s all fairy things, just like Sam said. He even mentions coming across a few shrines, and a strange painting of flowers in the woods. 

Then he looks at you, rubbing the back of his neck, and murmurs, “Forgive me, I might just be finally, properly losin’ it, but- The lady in the painting looked just like you, ma’am.”

Dean’s hand, which had been rubbing small circles on your upper arm, froze. He exchanged a quick look with Sam, who nodded. 

He looked back to the man, leaning further forward. “And you got any leads on where they might be coming from? An origin point or something?”

“No, but I’m close to finding it.” The man perked up. “I’ve been studying them for years. I’ve noticed patterns, in the seasons, and they’ve never been active in the winter. There are a few things I have to confirm, but- I’ll have it soon.”

“Great.” Dean said smoothly. “Call us when you got it.”

And then suddenly, he’s standing. And you’re standing with him, because he’s made of gravity and you passed the event horizon so long ago. You look back to see Sam and Claire following suit, leaving your only lead at the table, and look up to Dean with a frown. 

“Dean, we should help him-“

“Nah.” He shrugged. “You hear him, he’s close. And this is his life’s work, Princess. Don’t want to take the big epiphany away from him by lettin’ you get it in twenty seconds.”

“I wouldn’t-“

“You would.” He kisses your head, and you sigh. 

Just let the time pass. 

“Their stuff is hard to miss,” Dean murmurs, voice a little softer. “And we’re on vacation. Let him catch the head of it, then we’ll sort it out.”

Let it pass.

“Okay.” You mumble, and Dean shoulders open the diner door, grinning at you like you told him he won the lottery. 

“Okay. You wanna go to the library?”

You nod, and press your face into Dean’s shoulder. Hiding your face from him.

God. 

Flaring over your head as Dean gets you to the car, and burning through the sky out the window. 

He’s been bright, the past few days. It’s easier not to think about it, when you’re at the cabin. For a reason you’ve never really been able to—or until the past year, thought to—understand, God couldn’t see you there. He can see you almost everywhere else, but even out of the docks, it’s like a veil is being pulled over the world. Keeping you safely hidden.

It’s not the case in the town in general, though. Maybe he’s a little dimmer—like whatever’s shielding you in the cabin is leaking out—but that’s still so bright. And furious. 

Since you told him, he’s been blinding and furious. Radiant and nuclear. 

So you just hide from him.

You’re already hiding from everything else anyway.

You’d take the Impala, to the diner. You’re tucked in the back with Claire while Sam groans in shotgun.

“Can we go home-“

“You can walk home, Sammy.” Dean shrugs. “We’re going to the library. You should be excited, isn’t that place like your mating ground?”

Claire laughed loudly, and Sam grumbled. You lean forward as they keep sparing, pressing your face into Dean’s neck. He reaches over his shoulder, and gently pets your hair. 

And Sam’s worry about too many people—which was fair, you also hadn’t been a big fan of that—turns out to be nothing. He finds a quiet corner and paper cup to fill with water, carding through some old novels while you lead Dean through the shelves.

“This place smells like old wood.” Claire mutters, and you shrug.

“That’s probably the books. De, do you think if I get these, we’ll have time to give them back?”

“We’ll make the time.” He mutters, and you can feel him smile as he kisses the back of your head. “Didn’t know you ever returned things, though-“

“Dean?” Sam calls from across the library, looking incredibly guilty when he gets shushed, and resorts to try and wave Dean over.

He glances at you, but you nod, gently shoving him over. He can’t watch you both at the same time, and you’ll be fine. You’ve got your knives, while everyone has collectively decided that maybe letting Sam carry a gun right now isn’t the best idea. So you’re left with Claire, as Dean shuffles over with a frown. And when you look over, she’s pulled out a comic book with some of the most comically large tits you’ve ever seen. 

“Come on.” You grab it out her hands. “I’m looking for something.”

Claire rolls her eyes, whining slightly. “I don’t want to read your stupid books, those looked cool-“

“We’re looking for a lore book.”

That gets her on board immediately. After you tell her what to look for, she’s intent on it. Scanning over the shelves with narrowed eyes and a firm expression, arms over her chest. When she finds it, she presents it like she just found the holy grail. And as you shuffle up to the desk—Sam and Dean still talking in the corner—she leans over your shoulder, trying to catch a few of the words. 

“Wait-“ She grabs your arm suddenly. “Don’t we have to like, get a card-“

“I have a card.” You reach into your jacket, pulling out the tiny plastic.

Claire frowns. “Do you keep that in your jacket all the time?”

“No, I keep it in my bag.”

“Did Dean tell you that we were coming here?”

“No, but- Um-“ You swallow, placing the book on the counter.

You’d mentioned it. This morning, before you went to the diner, you’d made a passing comment about finishing your book, having already read everything here, and wanting to go to the library. You look over to Dean, and his eyes dart up from Sam. He smiles, and the whole world almost dances with color, like a kaleidoscope. 

“I had a feeling. Go get a comic book.”

Claire darts off, and you think you’re free of her questions. But when the lady checks you out, and you’re carrying the novels and lore book over to the corner, she clears her throat. 

“Dean’s like, so pathetic for you. It’s gross.”

You blink at her, but she’s already moved on. And maybe you’re running out of reasons, to keep Dean away. He’s kissing you all the time. He seems to know everything you want before you want it. You might have just made a sex pact last night, and that’s not really a friend thing. 

And it would be so nice, to just have him. For him to forgive you, and you climb him until you’re bathed in Gold forever, and nothing can ever take him away from you again. 

But you step outside, and you remember why you don’t say it. 

God flashes over your head.

And you try not to leave the cabin property for the rest of the weekend. You do puzzles and read and stay up late, combing through the fairy lore book you’d grabbed. You even draw out a few basic monster photos for Claire, just so that she can identify one if she ever needs to, and defeat them just as fast. You lie in bed between Dean’s legs, and he plays with your hair while you read, his music softly playing in the background.

“You should read aloud, Princess.”

You flush, shaking your head. “No- I- I’m good.”

“But I want you to read to me-“

“I told you, De. You won’t like it.”

“Probably.” He leans down, lips ghosting over your ear as he squints at the text. “You’re my rock, Damien.” He makes his voice high and breathy. “I’ve loved you a million years. I’ll love you forever. Now come here, and prove you love me.” He clears his throat, hand spread over your chest, forcing you to stay pinned down. “I don’t have to prove anything, Scarlett. But I’m going to make you feel so good, you forget your own name- Hey-“ He drops the ridiculous, somehow deeper voice, returning to his normal one. “I think I did that one to you, in Chicago-“

You toss the book at his face, and turn to hug him around his middle. Dean laughs, slumping down to hold you better, and then you forget again. Why you’re fighting this, when it’s a little more natural than breathing. You—very often—forget how to breathe. 

You never forget how to love Dean. 

But then you go out again, and there he is. 

Angry. So angry, for reasons you don’t understand. 

You slump in the Firebird, at the grocery store. Dean knocks on your window, and you don’t roll it down. You just unlock the doors, and wait for him to slide in next to you. 

“Hey, I was waiting for you-“ Dean cuts himself off with a grunt, as you almost tackle him. Hug him tight, and bury your face in his neck. 

God is still shining. You just wish he’d go away.

“Hey, woah-“ He pets your head, voice low and soothing. “It’s good, we’re good. Are you- Is there something-“

“Him.” You whisper, just low enough for Dean to hear, and he tenses. 

“Outside?”

You nod, and Dean sighs.

He wraps you almost into his jacket, to get you inside. Bribes you into going with him using candy, and distracts you with the same on the drive back. He takes Jody to get the Firebird—filled with produce and toilet paper—and you wait in the kitchen, eating a candy bar when Sam pokes his head inside. 

“Hey, uh- Where’s-“

“Groceries.” You mumble. “What’s up?”

“It’s Derek.” Sam says, holding up his phone. “He thinks he found it.”

You nod slowly, and take another bite of your candy bar. This is important. If you can find the fairies, they can offer another way to defeat Raphael and Crowley, without trying to wait on the Silver to cooperate. And that might be more convincing to Cas. There’s less than two days left, until the window expires. He’ll drop in soon, and you will be able to talk him out of it. 

It doesn’t take a lot, for Dean to talk the location out of the guy. It’s a mix of threats, warnings, and casual well, I still remember my first time going to a fairy site. Man, though, do I miss my first tongue, that gets him to hand it over. Dean’s good at that, but he’s good at most things. 

Including, apparently, bundling you up like a toddler on their first winter, and canoeing. 

“De.” You twist around, squinting at him against the setting sun. “I can help.”

“No.” He grunts, flipping the paddle again. “Too many cooks. We’d tip over.”

You’d argue that there aren’t enough cooks. That it’s only Sam hunched over behind him—because Dean decided the heaviest should be in the back—and you in front, neither of you able to lift a finger as Dean insists on paddling you to the island alone. 

Because it’s an island. The fairy portal—or base, or whatever—is a little island on the lake. Bobby and Dean had broken out the canoe, so you could look for fairies on an island. You would’ve loved this story, when you were nine.

You’re pretty sure you did. 

Because you’ve been to this island. Dean beaches you, and helps you out on the rocky beach, and…. You’ve read this one before. 

“Huh.” You mumble, looking up to the sky. He’s gone, again. He’d been raging above you on the canoe, but—strangely—God is gone once more. 

Dean gives you a curious look. “Huh?”

“I- I just used to come here. All the time. When I wanted to be alone.”

Sam hums. “What, you’d take the canoe.”

“No?” You frown at him. “I’d just swim.”

Sam and Dean exchange a strange look, and Dean’s eyes flick briefly out to the lake to the shore, just a line on the horizon. Sam shakes his head and clears his throat, looking up at the woods of the island.

“Alright, I guess we just… Go into the woods. And find the fairies.” 

“We’ve done worse, Sammy.” Dean shrugs, his arm wrapping around your waist. “At least it’s not go into the woods and find the person-eating monkey.”

You nod. “Yeren.”

“Bless you.”

“No, De, that’s a monster. A yeren. Monkey-monster.”

Dean looks horrified, and you giggle. It’s almost enough to take most of the weight off your chest. 

Almost. 

“Holy shit.” Sam says, ducking under a tree and walking into a small glen. “This is probably it-“

“No, it’s not” You sigh, pressing your lips together. You don’t even really have to see to know what he’s talking about. “I made this, not the fairies.”

It’s your fortress. You’d forgotten about it, because sometime after you were thirteen you’d stopped coming here. It had seemed foolish, and there had been other things to worry about anyway. It’s shoved right into the things that made people call you strange bottle, and you try to never think of those at all. The crows that came to die peacefully at your window. The tire nest that you’re pretty sure is still in Bobby’s yard, where you’d raised a little raccoon family. The time you’d tried to cure a wendigo, and the time you tried to do public school, and the reason you’d stopped going out into town unless you had to.

And this. This belongs, very securely, in the bottle. Your strange little castle-fort of sticks and logs and bushes, that you’d asked to grow over your head, and had. The moss bed is even still inside, when Dean pulls aside a few ferns.

The whole place is so oddly preserved. Even cleaned, and well-kept. The only difference is that it’s a little more overgrown than you remember, but it had never been that weeded to begin with. 

“Are those rocks?” Dean—squatting down—points to a far corner of the fort. Where, indeed, about twelve or thirteen rocks were in little nests. 

“Oh. Yeah.” You stand back up, resting your mittened hand casually on his head. “Those were my friends.”

Dean drags his gaze up to yours. Sam clears his throat. 

“Your- What?”

“My friends.” You mumble, flushing as you realize that is not a normal thing to say. “I- I was a lonely kid, okay? The rocks on the beach, they were always together, and they had- Community.” You sound insane. You can’t stop talking. “And I wanted to be a part of it, but I wasn’t a rock, and they were really racist-“

“Rockist.” Dean says quickly, and when you glare at him, he just smiles and kisses the back of your mitten. “Sorry, Princess.”

You grunt, and let him pull you to sit with him in the mud. You didn’t like these pants anyway. 

“These rocks didn’t want to be rocks.” You mumble, frowning. “They wanted to be people. And- My friends.”

“’Course they did.” Dean kisses the side of your head, and you sigh. 

When you squint, you can swear it’s still there. 

The little bit of color you’d given them, so long ago.

Something rustles, far above your head in the trees. You look up, and your breath catches in your throat, because you know that bird. He used to visit you at the cabin. He finds you shiny things, and brings them as gifts. And you don’t know how, but you’re certain. 

It’s been almost fifteen years. 

The bird is still alive. 

And the whole world freezes. Dean at your side. Sam, frowning up at the trees. 

Shit.

“I don’t like the time freezing thing.” You say, slowly moving to your feet.

Gilda bows her head in apology. Apparently she did so well last time, she’s been chosen to speak to you again. 

“It is, tragically, our safest way to talk. I imagine you have… Many questions.”

“Yeah. You’d imagine right.” You sigh, and pull off your mittens. “This is the fairy portal?”

“It is our realm.”

You blink at Her. “Your… Realm.”

Gilda nods. “This was the greatest replication we had, until you left Hell, and we got to come with you.”

“Come with me?” You frown, and she sighs. 

“From our world. Where we had been… in limbo.”

“Oh.” You glance over to the fortress. “Is that good?”

“Very. Our door had been closed for centuries. With your call, it was open.”

You look back to her. “My call?”

“You screamed. Or,” Gilda looks to Dean. “More accurately, He did. But you screamed back, and we were free.”

“Great. Freedom- That’s great.” You take a deep, slow breath. Answers. Eve said this would be where there were answers, and you have to check. “Can I open purgatory? By myself?”

“I believe you already know my answer. I can say it, if that will give you comfort-“

“No. That’s- Thank you.” You wrap your arms around your stomach, looking down at Dean’s gold. If you run your fingers through his hair, the Gold ripples, like a happy little wave. You wonder if, even in the frozen time, he can feel it. “Is that how I defeat Crowley and Raphael?”

“That depends on what you wish to win.” Gilda hums, and it’s a lovely, useless answer. “If it is the souls of purgatory, yes. That would be more than enough.”

“Okay.” You really don’t give a shit about some random souls. “And if I want to win… other things?” You swallow, still watching Dean. 

Gilda sighs softly. “That is… a more complicated question.”

“Of course it is.” You mutter under your breath. Fuck. “Well, purgatory closes in a day, so-“

“Purgatory does not close in a day.” Gilda cuts you off, and you blink at her. 

“What?”

“Purgatory is open from the winter solstice to the summer solstice. Reversed, in your lower hemisphere. The door requires a certain imbalance of light, from what I have been led to understand-“

“But- It closes in the summer?” You almost shout, shaking your head frantically as Gilda nods. “No- No. Crowley, he said within the month-“

“Yes. The celestial month. Two mortal seasons.”

“Fuck.” You breathe out, and Gilda reaches out a gentle hand.

“You are able to open it, regardless of the door.”

“Oh, great. That’s great.” You take an unsteady breath, looking up to the sky. “I can open it whenever I want, and kill Raphael. That’s- Super great for me.”

Gilda frowns. You have a feeling she’s not reading the sarcasm. “You can do… much more than that. But yes. Easily.”

“Great.” You breathe out. “That’s great.”

And for a moment, you and Gilda just stand in silence. And you could swear that, over you, God is shining bright enough that there’s nowhere in the world you could see. Still waiting. You don’t mean it, but God is still waiting. 

You look back to Gilda, and she’s watching you so carefully. Delicately. Almost reverent.

You feel sick. 

“It’s always going to be me,” you breathe. “Isn’t it.”

Gilda presses her lips together. Nods. “I’m afraid so, my lady.”

You sigh, and look back down to Dean. “Okay. Thank you, for speaking with me.

“Of course.” Gilda bows her head, taking a step back. “You call on us, we will always come. No matter what. We… do not serve him. We serve you.” She pauses. “Everything does.”

Something whispers on the wind, and she vanishes as time begins to move again. 

And there’s no fight, but the blur kicks in anyway. You sway on your feet, and Dean catches you. Frets over you, and your lack of words, as you just try to hold onto him. 

Summer. 

You can’t wait this out until the summer. Too many things change too fast. Cas will realize you’ve betrayed him. Crowley will pull something stupid.

And it’s all you can think, after you get out a soft breath that they were here, and Dean understands. Gets you back into the canoe, paddling you and Sam home with you between his legs, because he seems to be a little worried you’re going to pass out on him again. 

You can’t wait. There’s no way out of this. You really have to go through it, and with how God is burning over you, you don’t think you get to come out of this one unscathed. 

Bobby’s on the shore, when you beach again. He and Dean exchange low words, and then you’re being led into the cabin. You’re still in the blur. Covered in more mud than you thought you were. Your head spinning, and Bobby not seeming to understand from your pleading eyes that you have to tell Dean now. That before something happens and you lose him, he has to know. That you did this for him. That you’re sorry. That you don’t know if you’d do it again, because it did keep him safe. That you want to fix it. 

That you need him to forgive you. 

And he doesn’t leave your side, for the rest of the afternoon. Dean strips you out of the soggy, cold clothing, and runs a warm bath. Shuffles around while you’re curled in the water, grabbing candles from cabinets and swearing under his breath as he tries to figure out how the bath bomb he’d grabbed—because it was sparkly, and girly, and he thought you’d like it—works.

“You just drop it in the water, De.” You murmur, and he grunts.

“Right. There.” The water starts to fizz, and he clears his throat. “I, uh- Call if you need anything.”

He starts to rise, and you grab his wrist. He can’t go. He can’t go yet. 

“Can you…” You swallow, Dean’s eyes wide. “Stay? Please?” 

His eyes flick down, to where the rest of your body is hidden beneath the colored water. 

“Yeah.” He rasps. “I can stay.”

And he does. He drops on the tile next to you, and starts to talk about work he wants to do on Baby while holding your hand. After, he wraps you in a towel, and guides you back into your room. He’s out before you are—loud snores with his arm over your waist, something meaningless playing on your laptop—when your stomach growls. 

Dean stirs. Like even in his sleep, he’s going to try and make you eat something. You smile, kiss his cheek, and roll out of his grip. You don’t want to eat. You want to wake him up less. 

Bobby’s in the kitchen, when you shuffle inside. He looks up from his mug, and you sigh. 

“Bobby, I told you to stop drinking coffee at night, it’s bad for you-“

“Everythin’ in this life is bad for me.” Bobby grumbles. “And this is tea.”

You pause, the fridge half open. “Jody?”

Bobby nods, and you look back to the produce shelf. Dean bought all the fruit you like. You’d forgotten to ask for it.

“I like her.” You mumble, settling on some yogurt, and Bobby chuckles. 

“Yeah. Me too.”

For a moment, you just eat in silence. There’s no shift of God outside. Nothing but the sky. 

And it’s beautiful, out here. Even through the foggy window, it’s all so beautiful. 

“Month doesn’t mean February.” You whisper. “It’s a celestial month. Two of our seasons. The door locks in the summer.”

Bobby sighs. “Ah.” 

“Yeah.”

There’s a moment of silence, before he speaks again. “Kiddo, what bad thing happens, if Cas opens the gate? I mean, you two did it all wrong, but- I can’t see that big a pitfall in him killin’ that angel and breaking you from the Bride.”

“He can’t break me from the Bride.” You murmur, still looking out the window. “And I- I don’t know. It’s just, I think-“ You swallow, and the sky almost simmers.

In a warning. 

A promise. 

“I think he wants him to.”

God.

Bobby sighs, your words sinking in, and nods. “We’re heading out tomorrow night. We’ll tell them when we get home, work out what’s next from there.”

You nod, and Bobby says your name softly. 

“We’re gonna work it out. Promise.”

You can only nod again. You toss your yogurt in the trash, and give Bobby a small hug before you shuffle back down the hall. 

Back to Dean. 

You smile, when you see him. Indy had flopped over him, while you were gone, and it had obviously woken him up. He’s watching the laptop with bleary eyes, and shoulders Indy away the moment he sees you.

“Bathroom?” He mutters as you crawl in next to him. 

“Kitchen.” You curl into his arms, and he kisses the top of your head. 

For a moment, you both just lie in the dark. In each other. The laptop is still going in the back. It isn’t louder than Dean’s heartbeat. 

“I liked your fort.” He murmurs in your ear, and you smile.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” He pauses, hands rubbing firmly at your sides. “Y’know I’d…” He yawns, and the Spiderweb sings. 

He’s so beautiful.

“I woulda been a rock with you, Princess.”

“Yeah.” You smile at him, and trace light fingers over the line of his jaw. 

Nothing else is ever going to compare. 

“I know.”

You had spent almost a day with Joe and his group now, not under your own will but under the pretence that if you helped, a bullet wouldn’t be shot straight through yours or Daryl’s head.

Daryl wasn’t happy about it.

He was even quieter now than he had been the whole time you’d known him.

That made you feel guilty.

If you hadn’t gone off the trail in the first place in an attempt to free yourself from the awkwardness between the two of you, maybe you would have avoided all of this in the first place.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Still—

You felt responsible for all of this.

“Daryl,” you whispered, your eyes flickering over towards his as you both moved in sync. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t respond. He wasn’t even looking at you; it seemed he was too busy scouting out the surroundings.

“Daryl.” You repeated his name, your voice slightly louder this time but still low enough not to alert the others.

Nothing.

“Daryl, are you listening to—” you started, but Daryl cut you off, placing his index finger dead centre of his lips.

A signal for quiet.

You narrowed your eyes, mouthing the word ‘What?’

He gestured his head towards a crack in the trees that lined the field you and the group were walking on.

It took you a minute to catch on that he was clearly suggesting a way out.

“Now?” You whispered again, your voice barely audible.

He gestured once more, his eyebrows raising slightly as he did so and then—

You were both sprinting across the clearing.

Well, this had escalated yet again.

Len was on you both like flies on shit, his crossbow raised as he sprinted after the two of you.

The others weren’t far behind him, calling out yours and Daryl’s names.

You slipped behind one of the trees; running was too open when there were six of them and two of you. Daryl was right behind you, his crossbow lingering slightly by the side of your face.

His chest bumped against the back of your left shoulder, his breathing slightly unsteady.

Close.

Too close.

Yet, you didn’t move.

“There.” He panted, his hand snaking its way forward as he pointed towards a figure moving through the trees ahead.

It was Len.

You didn’t even wait.

You pulled your gun from your holster at the sight and moved stealthily towards his position.

“I told ya, girl, yer claimed,” Len chuckled, his back turned to you. “So ya better come out.”

He didn’t even know you were behind him right now. You raised your gun up high and took the shot before he could realise.

The bullet whipped through the air.

Loud.

Precise.

Blood splattered onto your face slightly from the back of his head as the bullet marked its place, the smell filling up your sense almost immediately.

Metallic.

Thick.

Strong.

Everything stilled for a minute as you looked down at the corpse; the adrenaline of it all was causing an uncontrollable shake to course over you.

Len deserved that; he deserved to die.

Yet no matter the growing satisfaction you felt looking down into the entrance wound on the back of his head—

You still couldn’t help but feel sick with all the things he’d said.

Claimed.

You knew how things would’ve ended up if he had got to you first.

That’s why he needed to die.

Daryl brought you back, his hand snaking around your arm as he yanked you back to reality.

“We gotta go,”

You could hear the alerted yells of the other group members; they had heard the shot, of course.

So you ran.

Again.

Always running from a fate you didn’t want to face yet—death.

You ran until you couldn’t hear the yells of your names anymore; you’d been running for miles.

This was all too familiar to the events after the attack on the prison.

You had ended up at some kind of lake surrounded by pebbles beyond the forest.

Daryl was onto clearing the area immediately, taking out a couple of walkers that strayed along the shore.

You just lay on your back, panting heavily, the stones digging into your skin through the material of your shirt.

“Here,” Daryl’s voice cracked through the silence, his hand visible through your peripheral vision.

You looked up towards him, catching his eyes before catching onto whatever he was holding.

He pushed his hand out further towards you.

It was then you looked down. He was holding a rag, probably the one he’d had hanging from his back pocket. It was damp, droplets leaking through the material and falling onto the pebbles.

“Ya should clean yer face,”

You sat up, taking the rag from him immediately, the wet material contacting your skin.

“Thank you.”

Daryl sat beside you on the rocks now, gazing out towards the lake.

He was close.

Close enough that every other noise around you went quiet, the only thing clear being the patterns of his breathing.

Slow but not steady.

You turned towards him, wiping your skin once more.

“Is it all gone?” You questioned quietly regarding the blood on your face, the rag still clutched in your hand.

He turned his head, eyes flickering over your face.

“Missed a spot on yer cheek.”

You scrubbed your face again, the friction burning against your skin.

“Is it gone now?”

He shook his head, gesturing towards the left side of your face.

You groaned, scrubbing harder this time. You would’ve done anything for a mirror right now.

“Now?”

He didn’t answer for a moment—you could tell he was thinking.

A beat.

“Give it.”

You hesitated for a moment, then—

You handed the rag over.

The material grazed over your skin again, softer this time now that it was Daryl rather than you. The tips of his fingers brushed over your cheek briefly, the warmness of his touch sending a slight chill down your spine.

He was careful to mind the bruises that lingered on your face.

Careful in general.

This felt intimate.

Too intimate considering the way the two of you had been with one another over the past week.

Daryl pulled his hand back, chucking the rag onto the rocks.

“S’gone.”

You coughed, his voice snapping you back from your thoughts.

“Thank you…”

Daryl didn’t say anything, his eyes running over your face once more before they returned back to the lake.

You turned away yourself, closing your eyes so you could attempt to process what had just happened.

So you could try and process everything that’d happened between you two.

The kiss.

The lighter.

But—

All you got was that same flood of confusion you felt before kissing him that night.

Had he always been like this, or were you only just realising it now?

Why on earth were you thinking about him this much?

All you did was think about him.

Constantly.

Your eyes flickered open, settling on the view ahead of you. You didn’t speak; you didn’t move either—you just stayed perfectly still by Daryl’s side.

“Should start movin.” he said, pulling himself up from the position he’d just been sat in and grabbing his crossbow from the rocks below his feet.

You didn’t want to go, but you knew you had to.

You still had to make it to Terminus.

You still had to look for the others.

You still had to move carefully, knowing that Joe's group could be tracking you back to your very whereabouts.

“Yeah,” you sighed, dragging yourself to your feet.

Then that was that.

The sun was beginning to dip slightly now, a warm orange glow outlining the trees ahead.

You’d been walking for hours, your feet aching with every step; it was almost unbearable to move any further.

Almost.

Daryl stayed a few paces ahead of you, crossbow gripped in both hands across his chest.

You watched his back closely as he moved.

“Hold up,” Daryl muttered, lifting a clenched fist up.

He’d spotted something.

A sign post: Terminus.

That’d been the first one you’d seen since parting from John's cabin.

Safety for all.

Sanctuary for all.

All who arrive survive.

In all honesty, it was the best bet at finding the others. They could be there.

“Must be close,” you spoke lowly, joining Daryl by his side as you both looked at the sign.

Daryl’s eyes parted from the red writing on the sign, dragging towards your face.

You didn’t look back, your eyes still glued to the sign, but you could still see him through your peripheral vision.

He didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then he adjusted his grip on the crossbow and started moving.

"...C'mon."

You fell into step beside him immediately.

The sign disappeared behind you both quickly as you continued. You pushed through regardless of the growing pains in your feet.

You couldn’t stop moving.

The silence was beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable. You would’ve preferred to talk, but what could you say when all your thoughts circled back to him?

You were in an apocalypse, and all you could think about was Daryl damn Dixon.

You hated it.

Hated how distracted you felt.

Hated that every time he looked over his shoulder to make sure you were still behind him, your chest seemed to tighten for a reason you didn’t understand yet.

“D'ya hear me?”

Your head snapped up.

“What?”

Daryl had stopped walking. He was looking at you now, one eyebrow raised.

“Said we should cut through there.”

He gestured with his chin towards a narrow trail winding its way through the trees.

You hadn’t heard a word of what he’d been saying. You’d been much too distracted.

Shit.

“Oh.”

He studied you for a second longer.

“Y'alright?”

“Yeah.” You answered abruptly, trying your hardest to look composed, trying your hardest to look like you knew what he’d been saying.

He looked unconvinced, but he didn’t push, and you were thankful for that.

"Mm,”

He started walking again.

You silently cursed yourself; you needed to get a grip of yourself.

You spotted something in the dirt shortly after. You crouched, your hand brushing over what you'd spotted.

Footprints.

Fresh.

Daryl knelt beside you, his own hand brushing away a few of the leaves that obscured the full prints.

“Three,” You spoke quietly, pointing towards each distinctive set of boot marks. “Look fresh.”

“Real fresh.” Daryl muttered, pulling himself up into standing position.

“Could be the others.” You uttered, following the track with your eyes as it continued pushing up ahead.

Daryl shrugged.

“Ain’t gonna know if we don’t follow it.”

The track continued for about a mile, then—

It went cold as if the people you’d been tracking had become aware that they were leaving prints.

“Shit.” You muttered, your eyes scanning around the area to see if anything else gave them away.

Nothing did.

Daryl grunted, lowering his crossbow slightly so that it was now hanging by his side.

This was beginning to feel impossible.

You wanted to give up on it all at this point.

Maybe it would’ve been easier going straight to terminus.

“We should just go to—” You started but immediately cut yourself short when you heard a twig snap.

Multiple twigs.

Not far away either.

“There,” Daryl whispered, his crossbow raising up fully towards the source of the noise.

You pulled your gun out, moving slightly so you could get a better view.

This could be Joe’s group, and you definitely weren’t taking any chances with them again. You’d already killed Len, and you’d kill the others too.

Daryl kept his eyes glued on the scene in front of him, his grip on his crossbow unwavering.

You moved again, spotting one of the figures tucked behind one of the trees taking cover. You could see the edge of some kind of hat poking out.

You narrowed your eyes.

It was a sheriff's hat.

Carl?

“Carl, is that you?” You bellowed, your voice cracking slightly with anticipation.

A beat passed of pure silence.

Then your name carried over the wind in the form of a question. You recognised the voice immediately.

It was Carl.

And then you spotted him as he stepped out from behind the trees, followed by two others.

Your heart nearly stopped when you noticed all of the familiar faces.

Rick.

Carl.

Michonne.

Neither you nor Daryl spoke for a second.

Both of you just as shocked as each other.

Yet Daryl hid it much better than you.

Your gun slipped from your grip, landing onto the dirt beneath you with a dull thud.

Carl was the first to move, breaking into a run so fast, his arms wrapping around you.

“We thought you were dead...” His voice cracked.

You froze for only a second before your arms wrapped around him.

“Do you remember what I told you, Carl?” You started, your voice shaky. “I told you I wouldn’t die.”

That’s what you had told him that day before you went out into the woods on your own after your injury.

Well—

Not on your own.

With Daryl.

You pulled back from the embrace, a lone tear dropping from your eye.

Rick stepped forward next and for a moment, he simply looked at you.

Looked at the dirt.

The bruises.

The blood that had dried over your shirt.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, his tone one of relief.

“Had better days.” You replied softly.

A tired laugh escaped Rick before he closed the remaining distance between you and pulled you into a hug.

Firm.

Protective.

Rick stepped back, giving your shoulder one last squeeze before his eyes drifted past you and towards Daryl.

Daryl still hadn't moved.

He stood a few feet away with his crossbow hanging loosely at his side, watching like he wasn't quite sure where he fit into all of this.

You watched him for a moment, as did Rick.

“Daryl,” Rick started, his eyes flickering over Daryl’s face. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Daryl answered quickly, the crossbow hanging loosely by his side.

Rick didn’t waste a moment after that, grabbing Daryl by the shoulder and pulling him into a hug.

Daryl stiffened instantly; you knew all too well that he wasn’t keen on things like this. He wasn’t keen on vulnerability.

Then—

He lifted one of his arms, patting Rick’s back once before they separated.

You caught the smallest shift in his expression after Rick stepped back. The way his shoulders relaxed slightly. It looked like relief.

“You two look like hell.” Michonne finally spoke up with a chuckle.

You rolled your eyes at what Michonne had said, crossing the distance between the two of you and pulling her into your arms.

When she pulled away, she rested both hands on your shoulders.

“You hurt?”

“Sore.”

“Anything serious?“

“No,” you replied with a sigh, adjusting your position slightly so that you rested your weight on your other leg.

You pulled back. Michonne's hand stayed on your shoulder regardless, but her eyes drifted towards Daryl.

“You look terrible.”

Daryl grunted, but you could tell he was finding it amusing by the way the corners of his lips upturned.

A beat passed.

“Were you two headed to Terminus?” Rick questioned, eyes glancing between you and Daryl.

You looked over towards Daryl, waiting to see if he’d answer.

He didn’t.

“We were,” you started. “But we ran into some trouble.”

Joe’s group.

Len.

It made you feel sick.

Daryl noticed it immediately, and for once, he finally took over.

“There was this group,” he added, his voice gruff. “They were lookin’ for somebody and asked for help.”

“You help em’?” Rick asked, his eyes on Daryl now, but Daryl didn’t look back.

His eyes stayed on yours, almost as if he couldn’t look away.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look away either.

“Nah,” Daryl muttered, wiping a hand across his jaw. “We ran.”

You sighed, looking down towards the ground, kicking away a stone that lay in your vicinity.

“I killed one of them.”

“I’m sure they deserved it.” Carl spoke, his voice quiet, almost reassuring.

“He did,” you said abruptly.

Neither Rick nor Michonne said anything to that but you knew they understood.

“And the rest of them?” Michonne enquired, lowering her head.

You didn’t know about the others; God, you didn’t know anything anymore.

“I don’t know,” you spoke quietly, shaking your head.

Rick sighed, his hand pinching the skin between his eyes like he was deep in thought.

A beat passed of pure silence.

Then he finally spoke up.

“We’ll deal with it if they come. Together.”

A/N: oh so now reader is realisingggg hehehehe.

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

“Dean.” Cas stared at him from the bottom of the stairs, hands hanging at his side. “You are… up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Dean muttered.

And he really couldn’t. He’d tried. He wasn’t just restlessly turning, or staying up too late watching cartoons. He wasn’t some foolish kid who’d eaten too much candy, either.

Sleeping was just damn impossible. It was like asking him to walk on damn water in heels. Insane and impossible and backwards. He couldn’t. 

Couldn’t do it, without Her asleep next to him. 

Dean had spent the whole day, going back and forth between Sam’s room, and theirs. Sammy had gotten pale, but color was slowly coming back into his face. Bobby and Cas thought that was good. Dean didn’t think they had the right to call anything good until She and Sam woke the hell up.

Which they weren’t. They weren’t waking up. Between checks on Sam, trying to answer Claire’s questions best he could, and talking to Bobby about options, Dean had just been sitting on the bed at Her side. He’d pet Indy—curled loyally at Her feet—and used Sam’s laptop to kill time and research. He’d held Her limp hand, made sure no hair got on Her face, and tried to talk to her like she was awake. She would be awake. Whatever had knocked them down wasn’t something Cas seemed able to evil-be-gone away, but She’d wake up. 

Bobby didn’t know what was getting Her, and neither did Charlotte—who’d mostly just been awkwardly wandering around the house—but they’d both wake up, so Dean could warn them never to do anything like that again. 

“May I see her?” Charlotte had asked a few hours ago, lingering outside their room as Dean exited it. 

He’d sighed. She’d want him to say no. 

Looking at Charlotte’s washed-out face—so similar to Her’s, and so damn exhausted—he hadn’t been able to drag that no up from his chest. 

“Why.” 

“She’s my daughter, I care about her-“

“Do you?” He’d muttered, running a hand over his face, and that had been a shitty thing to say. 

But he was so damn tired.

And he couldn’t fucking sleep.

“I do.” Charlotte had gasped, looking a little like a cartoon of a lady clutching pearls. “I have had to make very hard choices, Dean Winchester, and everything I did, I did for her-“

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” He’d heard that line before, and didn’t have the energy to replay twenty years of arguments with Dad. “Here.”

Dean had swung the door open, just enough for Charlotte to see inside. See Her, knocked fully out on the bed, tucked in and safe. Charlotte had leaned forward. Dean had side-stepped to block her with a firm glare, and she’d gotten the message. 

“Thank you.” She’d murmured, staring at Dean with an odd expression. “Have you been able to figure out what-“

“No.” Dean had grunted. “Bobby’s been looking all afternoon. Nothing. Even Cas is coming up with jack shit.”

“Is there anything I can do to-“

“Tell Bobby everything you know about soul bonds.”

Charlotte had blinked at him. Echoed his words. 

And Dean had realized they hadn’t actually told her about the soul bond. 

The rest of the day had been somehow more exhausting. Charlotte had yelled at Dean about how he could let Her and Sam make a soul bond—as though he hadn’t been the asshole trying to stop them—before yelling at Cas and Bobby, the latter threatening to make her sleep in a motel if she didn’t stop shouting at him in his own home. She’d shared everything she had about soul bonds. Claire had hung on the edge of the room, until Dean had muttered that Charlotte could have the last spare room, and dragged her out to get dinner. After that, he’d wandered back to their room to try and sleep. 

He’d wanted to crawl in bed. Pull Her into his arms, kiss the top of her head, and promise it was all going to be okay. Pray that She could hear him, when he said all the way down.

But sleeping with a girl in a coma—even a magic coma, even a girl he’d been in love with forever, been with twice, and had given some very firm indications that a third time was on the table—was creepy. It didn’t matter that it would be just sleeping. If She woke up screaming and thrashing and got freaked out, Dean would never goddamn forgive himself. 

So he’d tried to just sleep near Her. In a chair, with his head on the mattress. 

Her fingers had found his scalp in Her sleep, almost petting him, and he’d barely managed to swallow the lump in his throat. 

He’d tried everything else. Sleeping further near Her feet, but her leg just tried to lock around his head, and that couldn’t happen. Closer to her stomach, but She’d tried to curl around him. On the floor, which had hurt his back like he was a million years old, and he’d just kept staring at Her in the dim light. So then he’d moved to the bathtub, which was worse because he could still smell Her apple and vanilla, and felt cold. 

Dean had dragged himself downstairs. Tried to sleep on the couch. 

There hadn’t been enough of Her there. 

He’d given up, and shuffled to the basement to try and get Eve to talk. They hadn’t had any luck so far. Apparently ancient, powerful bitches didn’t appreciate being shoved into trunks of awesome cars. 

And now Cas was staring at him. Walking slowly up from the basement at what had to be two in the morning, and the expression on his face like Dean was the one doing something insane. 

“Thought you were out with your troops or whatever.” Dean grunted, rubbing his face as Cas stopped right in front of him. 

“I wanted to check on you, Dean. And-“ Cas said Her name in a voice softer than Dean ever heard. “Is she…”

“Still down. And not in the freakin’ basement, Cas, what were you doing-“

“Looking at Eve. I wanted to ensure her bonds were holding, before… The morning.”

Cas’ sentence ended slightly lamely, and Dean frowned. 

He’d been acting weird, all fucking day. Since they’d packed everyone in the Impala and headed back to Bobby’s. At first Dean thought it was because Meg was in the car, and she offended his angel sensibilities. But they’d had to drop Meg, at the property line, because of Her wards, and Cas had kept being weird. 

Her wards.

Even Her mother had been shocked at the strength of them. And if Bobby’s house was like Fort Knox, his safe room was like Alcatraz. 

No one got out.

“Don’t worry about the wards.” Dean said, watching Cas carefully. “You know she made that room a damn saw trap for monsters.”

Cas nodded slowly. “Yes. That is what I found, while checking them.”

Weird. And not normal-Cas-weird. Whispering with Her ,and trying to make Dean hand over Eve, and showing up in the middle of the night without even telling Dean he was here, weird. 

Sam said something was up with Her and Cas. But it was Her and Cas. 

They would’ve told him.

“Why are you going to the basement, Dean.” Cas asked, and Dean shrugged, swallowing the lump in his throat. It wasn’t his heart. That was sinking into his stomach. 

“Told you, man. Can’t sleep. Got some questions for Eve.”

Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder, and made to walk past him. 

Cas caught his wrist with a frown. 

“Dean…” He muttered, grip tightening slightly. “Maybe… It is best if you go back to bed.”

Fucking weird.

“I’m good.” Dean yanked his arm away, holding Cas’ burning gaze. “Night, Cas. See you in the morning?”

He paused, more than he wanted to. 

But Cas still nodded, and echoed softly. “See you in the morning.”

There was a ruffling sound, and Cas was gone. 

Dean didn’t have the fucking energy to think about it. What the strangeness meant. Why Cas was being like that, what Sammy had suggested, and what Cas had even been doing here. He needed answers. Any answers. He didn’t care, as long as he asked something and didn’t a huge freaking question mark in response. 

Which is why he was going to talk to Eve. She knew things. And she was going to fucking tell Dean about them.

She was waiting, when Dean pushed open the safe-room door. Smiling at him from her perch on the cot, looking way too put together for a lady who was being held captive. 

“Dean Winchester-“

“That’s my name.” He muttered, crossing his arms. “Don’t wear it out, sweetheart. I’ve been hearing it too much already.”

Eve smiled, and Dean felt that chill over his bones. “I heard the fighting from upstairs. Trouble in paradise?”

“Nope. Just trying to work out the most humane way to gank you. I’m thinkin’ tar and feather, but Sammy pitched something called draw and quarter that I loved.”

He’d watched a documentary with Her, a few weeks ago. It was about medieval torture methods. Apparently, he’d retained a lot.

Eve drawled Her name, and Dean’s hands curled into fists. “And what does she wish to do with me?”

“That’s a surprise.” Dean grunted, and Eve’s smile widened. Became shark-like. 

All teeth. 

“I don’t like telling you this, Dean, but I know the Whore and the Demon-Boy are… not in the best condition. They need a mother’s touch.”

Dean snorted. “Lady, if you think I’m letting you anywhere near them with your head on your body, you’re in for an ugly fuckin’ surprise.”

“I do not wish them any harm-“

“You wanna kill her.” 

Dean’s hiss slipped out before he could stop it, and Eve gave him an almost disappointed look. 

“Oh. You poor boy. There is so much you do not understand.” 

“I think I understand everything pretty damn clear, you want to fucking kill my-“ 

He cut himself off with a ragged breath, before he said something stupid and possessive. Girl. Her name. Soulmate. 

He’d almost said soulmate. 

Eve tilted her head, voice silky smooth. Almost fucking pitying.

“It would not last.” She murmured. “Her death, it would never last. And you would be defying him.”

“I don’t-“

“You should care, Dean Winchester.” She gave him a firm look, and Dean’s mouth snapped shut. “He likes to play games with us. Make promises, then rip them away because his word- It is hollow.”

Eve spat the last word, and Dean didn’t need to ask to know who they were talking about. 

“What, he ever promise you something?”

“Oh, yes. Soulmates.” Eve laughed, cold and hollow. “He swore that I had a soulmate. He said he made us for each other, but I loathed him. Adam was a righteous, weak-willed fool who missed his Lilith. He cast her out to begin with. I didn’t ask to be his replacement, to be made for such a puppet of a man.”

Dean cleared his throat. God hadn’t promised Dean soulmates. The dick actually seemed pretty opposed to it. And Death wasn’t the lying type. 

He had to keep asking. Get as much as he could, before he cut this bitch right in half.

“Soulmates? I didn’t know that was something God did-“

“He doesn’t. Every great thing, it has always been against his will. He will not say it. But I defied him.” Her eyes glinted. “You may, too.”

 “I’m thinking about it.” Dean muttered under his breath. “But… that’s how you ended up,” he nodded at her. “Like this, isn’t it? Monster Mommy?”

Eve’s lips twitched. “I wanted more. I took it. That is all there ever is, Dean Winchester. Finding what you want, and taking it. I have my children, and the Whore, and I will take what I want. With or without your help.”

 “You’re not getting anywhere near her, bitch.”

She was silent for a moment. Staring at him, a strange shine in her eyes. “May I offer you some advice?”

“Maybe, but I got an appointment for a fortune cookie after this.”

“You are… amusing. I will give her that.”

“What the hell are you-“

“Do not concern yourself with these matters, Dean. But know this.” Eve smiled at him, and it wasn’t just a chill anymore. 

It was sinking, cold dread. 

“Nothing is what it seems.” She whispered. “Not even the people you love. And remember, you know so little.” She laughed again. “Almost nothing at all.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he took a half step forward. He should’ve brought Excalibur. Should’ve been ready to swing and finish this—protect Her—because something in his gut promised that a horrible thing was about to happen, but he only had his fists and a hotline to Cas, and- 

“It has been lovely,” Eve murmured. “To finally meet you. I do not care for your kind. And I am sorry that, in the end, you have no way to win.”

“Lady, I don’t know what the hell kinda advantage you think you got, but you got another thing coming if you think you’re leaving this room.”

“Maybe. But…” Eve smiled, and a chill ran right down to Dean’s bones. “I think I have a better shot than you think.”

“Don’t touch ‘em, kiddo.”

You nod, but don’t lower your hand. The giraffe is so close. It’s looking right at you, and bowing its head, and if you just get on your toes, it could bump your hand with its nose- 

Bobby grunts your name, pulling you a half step back.

“Bobby-“

“I said don’t touch ‘em.” He gives you a firm look, and hot shame starts to crawl over your skin. 

You did something bad. Bobby’s glaring at you, holding your hand tight, and you did something horrible because he’s angry, you made him angry and ruined everything and the air is suddenly so thin-

“Hey, hey-“ Bobby’s eyes widen as you start to sniff, and you try to curl away. Hide from his wrath. 

He won’t hurt you. Bobby never even raises a hand. But he’s still mad, and maybe you deserve to be hurt because something has to keep you in line, and you’re not strong enough to cure yourself of the cancer of you, breathing, taking, infecting and wrong and sick-

Bobby snaps your name, pulling you off to the side and kneeling down to your eye level.

“Breathe,” he moves your hair out of your face, as you try to bow your head and avoid his gaze. 

“I- I’m sorry, I- I just wanted to-“ A sob escapes your throat. 

Bad. You did something bad and wrong, because you are bad. Wrong. 

“I’m sorry, Bobby, I’m sorry-“

“I know.” He lets out a heavy breath, taking your hand gently. “It’s alright, sweetheart, you just gotta stop touchin’ or we’ll get kicked out. Alright?”

You nod weakly, breathing still fast and shallow. Bobby sighs, and raises your hand slowly up and down. In and out. You just have to breathe in and out. 

“It wanted me to touch it.” You mumble, once you can speak again. “It asked me to, Bobby. It- It asked me and I- I thought it was okay-“

“I know. I know you did. But the giraffes don’t talk, kiddo-“

“They talk to me-“

“But they ain’t able to talk to me.” He wipes your nose with your sleeve. “Or anyone else. So if…” He sighs again. “The giraffes, or- Anythin’ else, I guess. If they start askin’ you to touch, what do you say?”

You blink at him slowly, trying to remember, and Bobby prompts you gently.

“Same thing we told the fish in Seattle.”

“Oh.” You swallow. “I’m sorry, I can’t swim with you.”

“Good. But, uh- Say somethin’ like I can’t touch you instead.”

You nod, glancing up at the giraffe. It had followed you over to the shaded corner and was watching curiously. Bent its head down, in a silent question you understood perfectly. 

“I’m sorry.” You echoed Bobby’s words. “I can’t touch you.”

The giraffe makes a long, sad sound, and Bobby starts. 

“Jesus fuckin’-“ He looks over his shoulder, shaking his head at the sight of the giraffe. “Balls.” He follows the giraffe’s gaze back to you, and sighs. “He talkin’ to you now, kiddo?”

You nod, and Bobby runs a hand over his face. 

“Course he is. You wanna go get some ice cream, then look for the lions?”

“Yes, please.” You wave to the giraffe, who makes another sad sound that echoes in your chest. “I’ll come back!” You call, and it whines again. “I will, I promise!”

Bobby mutters something under his breath that you can’t understand, but is made of now we gotta come say bye to the fuckin’ giraffe, too, and leads you away from the savannah exhibit. You skip next to him, holding his hand as all the tall—strangely faceless—people walk around you. The zoo is crowded, and loud, but for once it’s not like you’re drowning. There’s more than just angry, bright people. There are plants that grow up to the sun, and animals who are all so nice. They rush up to meet you, whenever you get close to their pen. They all have something to tell you that’s interesting, and it never ends in a demand or insult. 

And you get ice cream. It’s a good day, with the sun warm but not suffocating.  

It’s a rare, good day. 

Just you and Bobby.

Then someone calls your name, and you turn with a frown. Everything seems to freeze, like a video that’s being paused. Bobby stops walking, mouth open and his sentence about American waterfowl is cut off. Every single person and animal in the crowd is hovering in the static, some of them suspended slightly off the ground. 

Every person, but one. 

Sam. 

Sam is running through the crowd, a confused expression on his face as he calls your name. He’s purple—really Sam—and about two heads taller than everyone else. Even Bobby, whose elbows you could barely reach just a second ago. 

But suddenly, the height difference is less stark. Your hand isn’t folded completely in Bobby’s, because it’s not tiny—barely able to hold two of his fingers on its own—but rather just… your hand. You’re still wearing the plaid dress you’d chosen for the day, but it’s longer, because you’re taller. 

Shit. 

This isn’t real. 

That still doesn’t explain what the fuck Sam is doing here. At this point you expect Dean, to crash a dream like he crashes everything else in your life—barreling into you like a comet, falling down, down, down and healing and remaking you all at once—but not Sam.

He’s been in a few dreams, lately. At the tail end, before you wake up. You’ve chalked it up to stress.

But this is different.

Dean is nowhere to be found. 

“What are you doing here?” You hiss as Sam stops in front of you, and he frowns.

“I don’t know? I mean, I don’t even know where here is?”

“It’s a zoo, Sam.”

“I mean, yeah, I knew that, but I’ve never been to a zoo-“

“You’ve never been to a zoo?”

“Well…” He pauses, frowning at the air. “I guess I went to the Oakland zoo once. With Jess. But you know how my Dad was. The most I got was when Dean took me to a petting zoo in like, fourth grade.” Sam’s frown drops to you. “I’m surprised you’ve been to the zoo. Didn’t Bobby homeschool you?”

“Homeschooling is… Generous.” Bobby had done his best, but he’d been more concerned with you making it to adulthood. Most of the things you learned, you taught yourself. “But this was a vacation.”

“You guys took vacations?”

“After the hunts were done, yeah.” You shrug. “Bobby brought me to San Diego for a chupacabra. We got it early, and he decided to stay for the extra few days we had the motel. Hence,” you gesture around yourself, and Sam nods slowly. 

“Zoo?”

“Yep. Zoo.”

“Huh.” Sam makes a pinched, confused expression. “Have you told me about this before?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I’m just trying to figure out why I’m dreaming about you and Bobby going to the zoo.”

You blink at him, his words sinking slowly in. 

That can’t be good.

“You’re not dreaming, Sam.” You tell him. “I’m dreaming.”

Sam scoffs your name. “That’s interesting, but this is definitely my dream.”

“No, it’s not-“

“It is. You’re in my head-“

“You’re in my head, Samuel. This is my fucking memory, my dream. You’re back out in…” You trail off, eyes widening as it hits you. 

The diner. The cult, and the motel, and the mansion. Your mother, and Crowley. 

Crowley, lunging at Dean with a knife. Driving it right into his heart. 

The Silver erupting.

The feeling of being everything again. The certain movement of the smallest ant, sure of its mission. Its place in its colony, its purpose, its every move. The rocks at the very bottom of the ocean, unable to see the sun and uncaring that they can’t, because it’s peaceful in the dark and they’re too far down to even understand that there might be something more above. The air and lightning that were turning over some mountain, restless and loud and desperate to be heard. The bubbling fury of a wildfire, trying to clean everything around it and ripping through the world until someone tells it that it can rest. 

Then it all went dark. 

And you were here. 

“Fuck.” You whisper, looking up at Sam with wide eyes. “Dean’s going to kill us.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, probably.” He pauses. “Why?”

You give him a flat look. “The bond, Sam.”

“Right, he’s still pretty pissed about that, and-“ Sam cuts himself off, mouth falling open. “Oh. No.”

“Yeah.” You press your lips in a tight line, rubbing at your wrists. “That.”

“But, how-“ Sam shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit, this is- How does that even happen?”

You fuck up. That’s how it happens. You ruin everything, and you fuck up and make things worse, and you don’t listen to Dean when you know you should, and you’re going to betray them all, and you should have just stayed in the cage. 

If you had, Sam wouldn’t have gotten soul-bound to you. Crowley wouldn’t have tried to crash the Eve party, because you and Cas wouldn’t be working with—and also betraying—him. 

And he figured it out. That’s why he attacked Dean. Crowley realized you and Cas were going to betray him, you’d seen it in his eyes, and he’d attacked Dean. You’re so fucking sick and wrong you can’t even properly protect Dean, the one person who you do this all for. You don’t deserve him, don’t deserve anything, you’re fucking nothing and you can’t stop ruining everything. 

Sam says your name, voice coated in worry, and you just shake your head. 

Everything is getting loud and big. You’re empty and hollow and nothing, but you need to get it together. To get through this. 

And once you do, Cas is going to get Eve. Get the way to Purgatory. And it will all just… be done. 

At least Sam and Dean will be safe. You just have to get through this, and they’ll be safe. 

You’ll be alone, and Dean will never kiss you on the hood of the impala again—never tease or smile at you, never wrap your hand in his shirt like you’re the most priceless thing in the world—but he’ll be safe. Like you swore he would be. And that’s all that really fucking matters. 

“When I went into your soul to make the bond,” you murmur, and the skin of your wrists is getting sore. “We landed in a memory. Of you-“

“At the store.” He finishes softly, and you blink.

“You remember that?”

“Kind of, yeah. But I still don’t get what’s happening-“

“In Scotland.” You wrap your arms around your stomach, forcing yourself to hold Sam’s gaze. “The fairy, she said our souls are creating an energy loop or something. I’m healing you, but I’m also- My power, Sam. Your soul is feeding into it. And... At the diner…”

You trail off, and Sam finishes with a heavy sigh. 

“Crowley attacked Dean. And you-“

“Lost it.” You whisper. “I must have- I don’t know. Tapped into the loop. And it ended up knocking us both down.”