#simwin

              “I haven’t had visions in years,” Sam nearly spat.

              “No, but if she did infiltrate both Heaven and Hell’s communications; she is a threat. Sound like the kind of thing you and Dean are familiar with?” Cas’s tone changed. Sam glared back at him; lips pursed.

              “Excuse me! Right here?!” Emery waved in Castiel’s face. “Hi, okay, Sam said you’d been there. To Purgatory?”

              It was Cas’s turn to glare, Sam postured in smug retaliation. “I have. I don’t know why that is relevant.”

              “Could you go back?” Emery soldiered on.

              Cas softened. “Oh, Emery, no. But there are reapers or---”

              “Billie.” Sam nodded.

              “Billie?” Cas and Emery asked simultaneously.

              “Sam, do you really think she would help?” Cas continued.

              Sam shrugged with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Dunno. But I do know that Naomi gave Em a bad deal. And Death is the only way in to try and fix it.”

              “Death?” Emery asked.

              “The entity, not the act,” Cas reassured.

              “You guys know Death. Death--- scythe and all?” Emery swallowed; their expressions obvious in the affirmative. The air seemed to shift around them as Cas and Sam held a silent conversation.

              “There is something else we must consider and something else I need to tell you,” Cas looked at the ground before meeting Sam’s barely contained rage.

              “Cas?” Sam balked.

              “It’s Dean. Jack said--- he said Dean was in danger. That he was being held in Heaven,” Cas began.

              “Yeah, we kind of figured as much, Cas. But what’s Jack doing going after Dean?” Sam pressed.

              “He--- Somehow Lucifer contacted him and Dumah has Jack. In Heaven.” Cas shifted, Emery paced around the small path, listening but keeping Bandit busy.

              “Lucifer’s dead, Cas.”

              “I know. But they said he reached from the Empty. He’s not gone. Not completely.” The regret laced through every word; Cas didn’t want to put this on Sam.

              Sam froze, panic, anger and guilt washed over his face in a split second. Emery circled back, seeing the emotion roll off her husband.

              “So, what?! Everything was for nothing? This deal. Dean’s deal with Michael? Lucifer is still going after Jack and I am stuck here when our kid---?!” Sam inhaled, jaw set and shoulders tight.

              Emery waited until Sam seemed more in control, in a timid voice she asked, “I don’t understand, Jack is yours?”

              “Not in that way,” Sam brushed her off.

              Cas gave her a sad smile, “Sam, Dean and I were raising him. To protect him from his father, because I promised his mother, Kelly that I would.”

              “Sounds like we’ve got a lot more to do that we initially thought,” Emery surmised. Sam’s head whipped around to look her in the eye, confusion and weariness etched around his eyes.

              “Emery, this is a lot bigger than you realize---” Sam tried to explain.

              “And I’m sure you’re right, but they’re our kids. We do what we have to. Right?” Emery looked to Cas for agreement. Sam felt his chest tighten in a stifling kind of way, his respect for her intensifying before his very eyes.

              Later, after their plans had been outlined, and out of earshot of Emery who had skipped ahead to give Bandit a good run, Cas walked beside Sam out of the natural theatre walls. “That still leaves Dean’s deal, Sam. We don’t know exactly what he promised Naomi.”

              “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too,” Sam said. “Let’s just see what we can figure out from here. Do me a favor? Don’t tell Mom about this, yet. I don’t want her more worried than she needs to be.”

              “Sam, with Jack missing, I don’t know how long I can keep this all from Mary,” Cas countered.

              “I know, just give me some more time. I wasn’t expecting to have to explain a wife and a dead kid on top of everything else.” Sam dragged his hand down his face.

              “Sam, none of that is your fault,” Cas tried to placate him.

              Sam huffed. “I know, it’s just more than she needs. So--- can you keep this side of things quiet at least? For me? For Emery’s sake?”

              “I’ll do my best,” Cas acquiesced.

              “Thanks, man,” Sam sighed, a hint of a dimple shining through.

              “Do you think she’s ready for what we have to do?” Cas asked thoughtfully, watching Emery tease Bandit with the handle of his leash, bright smile shining despite the road ahead.

              “We’ll see. But I’ll tell you what,” Sam leaned back against the hood of their crossover. “She hasn’t stopped surprising me since I married her.”

              Cas watched Sam take Emery in, saw the affection and concern, however guarded in his every glance. “Maybe it’s supposed to be this way. Without Dean, without Jack. We need someone as dedicated, as stubborn to get them back.”

              Sam chuckled under his breath. “Maybe you’re right. But we need to start thinking about her son too, Cas.”

              “And we will.”

              The reaper that had been held at bay by the power of the area’s natural vortex appeared just as Emery was checking her mirrors. The nimble woman squinted after their taillights, suspicion and frustration lacing through her. Tailing the Winchesters had become more difficult the past year, but she wouldn’t be the one to lose them now.

^*^*^

              Dean had been white knuckling it for weeks. He felt Baby’s exhaustion as strongly as he did his own. Everything was too much. Too heavy. Too hard. The tank had been on E for somewhere between an hour and a day. Time was fleeting. He wasn’t stopping, he couldn’t give in now.

Michael had remained oddly quiet through it all, which did little to reassure Dean. Where the hell was Naomi? The more Dean tried to remain in control, the less he could feel parts of his body. His fingers seemed to hover over the wheel no matter how intensely he concentrated on his grip. His head pounded one moment and then was light as air. In the distance, the familiar rush of water echoed, approaching. The sputtering of the engine sent him growling into the perpetual night.

“Come on, Baby. We got this,” Dean insisted.

Michael smirked to himself, shifting in his seat as he felt the vehicle decelerate. They crawled to the side of the nameless road, crunching into the gravel of the shoulder. Dean pumped his foot, jostling the wheel, willing them to move forward. This was it. They were out of gas. Dean had lost. Before he realized, Michael was out of his seat and yanking the driver’s side door open. Then everything went white.

Michael realized many things in the first seconds of control. That Dean’s strength had kept him under far longer than he imagined. That his vessel was in immense physical distress. But most importantly, that he was home.

He remained on the crude surgical table in wait, rods and prods all still attached as he gained his bearings. This was an altogether different Heaven and somehow his very essence was holding it back from complete collapse. It was simply fascinating. However pathetic.

^*^*^

              “You smell good,” Sam interrupted, kissing her a little deeper.

              “Nope, nice try though,” Emery smirked, holding him at arm’s length. “Where were you?”

              “At the meeting until like 8:30, 8:40? Then, somehow, they found out it was my birthday. So, we had drinks,” Sam started talking, hoping to make sense.

              “And your phone suddenly evaporated, or they took you to the one dead zone in a city of half a million people?” Emery nodded, biting back the snark enough to tease and not harm.

              “How much wine have you had?” Sam glanced behind Emery at the countertop, eyeing the abandoned blue glass bottle.

              “Enough! Hey, don’t change the subject.” She poked him in the sternum, hard enough for him to wince.

              “Ow! Well, you’re usually an adorable drunk. I was just asking!” Sam groaned, but couldn’t delay the inevitable anymore. “Cady took my phone. She noticed your texts during the meeting and decided to be a child and hold it hostage.”

              “Did she now?” Emery’s eyebrows hitched. “And?”

              “And, I’m sorry.” Sam conceded, not feeling the least bit guilty about using Cady as a fall guy. Just a tad guilty about the lying part, though.

              “No, not you Sam, what else did Cady do?” Emery knew things, somehow Sam forgot how intuitive she was.

              “She made a pass at me,” Sam mumbled.

              “I knew it! That little--,” Emery inhaled before the words came out. “Did anyone else see it? Is it going to be a big thing?”

              “No, once I told her, twice, she got the message,” Sam swallowed, taken aback at the faith she had in him, in their relationship.

              Emery tucked a strand of hair behind Sam’s ear. “Are you okay?”

              “’m fine, why?” Sam straightened, still playing with the fingers on her free hand.

              “A hot, younger woman tried to get you in bed, Sam. It’s not an easy situation to navigate, for anyone. I know this is still new, for you, this kind of life—”

              Sam huffed. “Trust me, putting Cady in her place was the easiest thing I did all day.”

              “Well okay then,” Emery draped her hands on the back of his neck. “Why don’t we get to bed, Birthday Boy? Wifey is tired.”

              “Me too,” Sam yawned just as Emery was about to kiss him again. Instead she attacked his cheek down to his neck. The warmth of the wine radiated from her skin as it brushed against his. Sam dipped and picked her up, stomping up to their bedroom in a shared bout of exhaustion tinted giggles. Sam slept soundly that night, not because he was in denial, but because he couldn’t deny how loved he felt with Emery. The lies were second nature to him, but he had told her the truths that he could at the time. He had been used before, he wasn’t letting his guard down, but a part of him needed her to be real.

^*^*^

              “It’s good to see you again, Jack,” Naomi held open the door to her office, ushering him inside the stark décor. He tried to smile back, but his better instincts allowed him a polite caution.

              Once she was sat behind her desk Jack spoke up, “I want to see Dean. If I am going to trust you are doing the right thing, I need to see proof of life.”

              “Proof of life? In Heaven?” Naomi replied tartly, not letting her amusement show. “Jack, I’d like to think you have a good understanding of the desperate circumstances we are in here. The lengths we have gone to, to keep the souls and this world, safe. We have entertained your visits and questions, but I can’t risk your presence setting Dean, or Michael off.”

              “How do I know he’s even here?! That you’re making progress. You won’t tell me where Sam is. Just let me see my--- Dean. I want to see Dean.” Jack hadn’t realized he had stood up with his outburst, his soul burning behind his eyes. A fact that Naomi didn’t miss, she tugged her jacket into place and sniffed at the petulant Nephil.

              “Please?” He added softly, sitting back down.

              Naomi stood up, looming over the desk like a disappointed principal. “Your persistence doesn’t change my responsibilities, Jack. Heaven cannot fall. You understand that, don’t you?”

              “Yes, I think so,” Jack nodded, something in his face shifting the fire in the angel’s eyes to something cooler, something closer to warmth. She walked around the desk and nodded toward the office door. Somehow, they were in a different hallway than the one that had led them to the office originally. It was still bright and stark, but narrower and twisting. Jack kept close to Naomi’s heels, feeling like the door-less walls were tightening every few yards.

              “You cannot tell anyone what you see here, Jack. I know you have kept your word so far, but I need to reiterate how important it is that this process won’t be disturbed. Can you promise me that this stays between us?” Naomi had stopped at the end of the hall, a T intersection with three doors surrounded them now.

              “Yes, I swear,” Jack nodded enthusiastically, hands heavy against his pockets as he wiped the sweat off.

              “I need you to remain quiet. Don’t try to touch him or reach him in any way. Can you do that?” Naomi watched Jack until, against her better judgement, she rounded the corner to the right and faced a fourth hidden door at the end of a much shorter corridor.

              “Wait here.” Naomi smiled sadly before disappearing behind the tempered glass door, her warped form fading from view as Jack watched earnestly.

              Jack cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot. He was trying to hold all that nervous excitement and fear inside himself.  He needed Naomi to trust him if he was going to be allowed further access. If he was going to save his family that he owed his life, twice over. He could do this. He would this. Just when his internal dialogue had reached thudding levels, the door clicked open, a dull metallic shimmer reflecting from the depth behind Naomi.

              “It’s okay, Jack. You can come in, just don’t touch anything,” she whispered tensely.

              Jack had gotten used to the solitary meetings with Naomi, occasionally he would see Dumah or one other angel he hadn’t been introduced to. Heaven was vast and they were stretched thin, with so few of their kind remaining. Jack knew his father had given them false hope for stability, he didn’t want to repeat those failures. Steeling himself, Jack walked past Naomi into a large space, it reminded him of a surgical bay from Dean’s favorite medical show. There were white machines and metal trays upon the matching counters, directly in the center of the room, approximately thirty feet from where Naomi and Jack stood, was Dean.

              He lay with a crown of rods laced through his skull, his mouth open and eyes closed. He wore the black tee shirt and jeans he had left the Bunker in, all those months before. Jack inhaled deeply, trying to keep his emotions at bay. Dean’s boots lay underneath the simple bed, as if he would kick his legs over the side and slip them on at any moment.

              Naomi watched the Nephil process the scene, knowing he would protest at any moment. This, like all their previous discussions, was a test. She was desperate to save Heaven, but she was not careless. This boy was a valuable resource, with the loyalty of a Winchester and the naivety of Castiel. She needed him to trust her and he was so willing to. His desire to prove himself shone through every squint or thoughtful pause. She tried to brush off the endearment she felt, as residual family connection.

              “Can he feel---” Jack started.

              “He’s not in any pain, Jack. No, Dean is kept separate from his body for now. As is his guest,” Naomi explained, unwilling to tempt fate and call the angel inside the hunter’s mind to the surface.

              “How much longer?” Jack turned to lock onto her piercing blue eyes.

              “We aren’t sure. We are doing everything we can for him,” Naomi reassured. Then turned back the way they came. Jack blinked against the tears in his eyes as he watched Dean’s chest rise and fall. He was alive and Jack could get to him if he really needed to. But Jack wasn’t dull enough to think that Dean was safe. As if on cue, once they reached the door a pained whimper escaped Dean’s lips, freezing them both in place.

^*^*^

              Castiel was surprised to find Sam and Emery’s home unwarded. He wasn’t breaking in, just casually observing as he roamed their neighborhood on foot. It had been a week since he had gotten through to Sam, the first chance he could make the trip back from the Bunker. Mary had called him in to help as they slowly pieced apart the remaining factions of Michael’s army. She knew Cas had his own agenda, but he hadn’t shared his progress with her. He didn’t want to give anyone’s hopes up. His own included.

              Sam spotted him as he loaded Mox and Sho into the backseat with Bandit, his annoyance shining through on a dark glare topped off with a subtle shake of his head. Cas sighed and kept walking, through the damp lawn of a small park and back to the quiet diner on a noisy street, where he had left his car. He came back just after dark, watching from across the street beside a seldom used alley. From what he could gather, Sam’s wife was human. Their life had been set up to thrive, a nice house and comfortable jobs out of harm’s way and far from prying eyes. He needed to unravel the layers of the spell before he could convince Sam of the best course of action.

              It was on the third day that Sam took Bandit for an extra walk, putting Emery’s distraction over finals’ preparation to good use. He found Cas camped out in his flamboyant car, nodding to Cas repeatedly before leading him down a side street, close, but not too close to their usual loop of the neighborhood.

              “Any news?” Cas challenged once they were a safe distance away.

              “Not really, no,” Sam sighed, watching Castiel crouch down to greet Bandit. “We have way more normal security on the house that I imagine necessary, but I haven’t found any hex bags or anything.”

              “What about her? Do you suspect she is under an angel’s control?” Castiel offered. Sam’s lips pursed and he started shaking his head.

“I don’t mean possession, at least not currently,” Castiel eased.

“Look, man. I know something is going on, but—”

“But what, Sam? You are out here in some contrived reality, intentionally separated from Dean, me, your mother AND Jack.”

Sam kneeled down and scratched Bandit around his collar, humility and guilt slamming into him. “You’re right, Cas,” Sam let out in a constricted whisper. “How’re they doing?”

Cas huffed, “Fine, considering. Jack has refocused on physical training and Mary is quite the dispatcher.”

Sam smiled, warm and worried. “And the new recruits?”

Cas had been hoping the conversation hadn’t circled back to the Bunker and its Apocalypse World inhabitants. His pause sent Sam’s defenses back up. “We’ve had some tough hunts. Maggie, and a few others, but—”

Sam inhaled sharply, the news, a bucket of cold water down his back. The hunting life a cacophony of loss, such a stark contrast to his months of sudden complacency.

“They need you back. We need you both back,” Cas finished firmly.

“I can’t leave, if I do something much worse will happen,” Sam practically mumbled, free hand dragging over his beard.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Cas stepped closer, conscious of the length of their public conversation. He nodded Sam around the next corner, continuing to talk as they walked. “What? What will happen if you break this deal?!”

Sam looked over his shoulder, instincts returning after being dulled for so long.

“I don’t know.” Elbows bowing out, hands firmly in his pockets. “I just know I’m not going to put Emery—or Dean—in danger.”

Cas’s jaw clenched; the air thickened impossibly around the old friends. He shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet he was. Winchester stubbornness and loyalty always blinded them in the end. Though Sam was usually easier to reason with, or so Castiel remembered.

“Alright, just be careful. I shouldn’t have to remind you, but don’t ingest anything you haven’t prepared yourself.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “The kitchen was stocked when I showed up, but we’ve done all our own shopping since,” he replied tersely.

“Perhaps you should take over cooking duties, exclusively?”

Sam glanced to Castiel, chagrin softening his features. As Castiel felt Sam’s acquiescence, he reeled in his own doggedness. He had been in Sam’s shoes, once upon a time, when human kindness had saved him from harsh truths. When he couldn’t face what he was or what he had done after swallowing half of Purgatory.

“I know you trust her, Sam. I don’t want to infringe on your--- relationship, but I think---”

“Got it, Cas. Stay diligent,” Sam cut him off. “Look, here’s my new number. I couldn’t get through to Mom or the number I tried to remember for you. Grab yourself a burner, we can keep in touch easier.”

“They’re thorough, I’ll give them that.” Cas shook Sam’s hand, taking the strip of paper, a smoother gesture than Sam expected.

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Sam muttered before crossing the street, heading back the way they came.

^*^*^

              Emery didn’t know where she was going or how she ended up in the backseat of some outdated boat of a car. She felt like she was five years old again, her granddad driving her to school while her mom worked the morning shift at the diner. The heavy metal seat belt, familiar and cool in her lap. But it wasn’t her granddad driving, it was some white guy, two of them, actually. As she watched in silent disbelief of her surroundings, it became apparent that the men were twins. Or perhaps the driver was a descendant of the passenger, their clothing at odds with each other.

              Suddenly, the one to her right turned to face her, a wave of nausea hitting her as a smug smile crept over his mystifying features.

              Emery woke with the taste of bile in her mouth. The surrealism of the dream hitting her with a second bout of panic as the possibility of what the encounter meant for her, for the human sat beside an angel in her vision, for Sam, and their entire deal. She raced from the bed and dry heaved into the toilet. The stretching cold crystallized across her overheated skin, overreaching in its unpleasantness. Carefully, she fell back onto her palms and ass, the tile edges biting into her, vibrations sputtering from her heart to every inch of flesh.

              The light snapped on, Sam hesitated in the doorway, waiting as she tried to pull the green from her features. Quickly, she flushed away what little came up.

              “Baby? Can I get you anything?” Sam’s voice cracked over his first words of the day. He couldn’t look directly at her, the disgust breaking through his usual cool. Emery chuckled, some tough guy he was.

              “Just leftovers from a nightmare,” Emery reassured, groaning, she pulled herself up.

              “You sure? Cuz we could stay home, just in case?” Sam offered, arms crossing over his chest while she marched back to bed.

              “Don’t have to twist my arm. No Church it is,” she grumbled, tugging the comforter to her chin.

              “Okay, rest up. I’ll be back up in a bit,” Sam squeezed her ankle, and pat the bed, earning a weak agreement from Emery.

              An hour and a half later, Sam gave up waiting for Emery to emerge from her cocoon. Instead, he piled breakfast onto a sterling silver platter he found in the china cabinet. He focused on the small motions that built the meal, piece by piece. Coffee, of course, alongside a glass of ginger ale tainted with a touch of holy water, scrambled eggs, with more salt than was necessary. In all, they gave him the trifecta of tests in an inconspicuous, single serving. His insides were too wound up to take any of the food for himself; reluctance and apprehension warring within.

              Along the far corner, Sam placed a single tulip from the yard atop an almond colored envelope. After placing the unbuttered toast beside the eggs, in case her stomach remained upset, Sam resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing left for him to prepare. No other item needed, no way to prevent the inevitable without giving up completely. Conflicted wasn’t a strong enough word for his state as Sam climbed the stairs. He knocked on the bedroom door with Bandit at his heels, whose eagerness to check on Emery refocused Sam’s attention.

              “Come in, but I’m not gettin’ up yet,” Emery’s warbled voice called through the carved wood. Sam balanced the tray and opened the door, letting Bandit in to get the first kisses. Emery giggle whined as she patted Bandit a spot beside her. He, instead, circled thrice before laying across her legs.

“Hey.” Sam stood sheepishly, while Emery sat up.

“What’s this? Breakfast in bed? Lucky me.” Emery smirked, holding her arms up as Sam settled the tray onto her lap. Sam hovered, eyes sparkling in anticipation, but the ornately engraved tray left her unblemished. She smelled the flower before setting it back down to read her card, the opening words gripped her chest and stole her breath away.

‘A mother is not defined by the number of children you see, but by the love she holds in her heart.’

“How—" her words caught in her throat, tears falling without her realizing they had formed.

Sam cleared his throat and pushed her breakfast over to his empty side of the bed. He took her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the grief.

“I guessed?” Words softening as he peered into her astounded eyes. “By the way you are with Trudy and the baby. By the way your body was molded into something beautiful, a testament to what it had carried,” Sam whispered, lips dancing over her forehead.

“Geez, maybe Hallmark should hire you,” Emery teased, trying to lighten the moment that was threatening to overwhelm her.

“Happy Mothers’ Day, Emery. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but I want you to know… that I know that part of you. I see you, and all that love in your heart, even if no one else does. Okay? And I’m sorry they’re not here with us now, ya know?” Sam pawed at her hair as her hands clamped over his wrists, holding him to her.

“Yeah, I know.” She breathed deeply, sticky and thick through the sobs. “Sam? I see you too. I might not get, all of it. But I know you’re so much more than this life.” A few ragged breaths later, she kissed him.

The kiss wasn’t earth shattering, but short and salted, yet filled with a deepening bond neither had seen coming. She left the card propped open on her bedside table as she ate. The final tests forgotten, but if Sam had been paying attention he would have noticed, her only reaction was a stifled grimace at the now cold, over-seasoned eggs.

^*^*^

              The sound pierced through the cavernous walls like an alarm, a long unnatural wail, sadder and more primal than any pitch they had heard before on the protected airwaves. Naomi’s mind raced at what or who could be in such anguish. Anyone with access was accounted for, where was this misery coming from? As quickly as it started, it cut off, leaving the dwindling angels murmuring in speculation.

              A week later, Naomi knew she had the right flat, simply by the demons lining the perimeter of the block. Slowly, she made her way through Hell’s foot soldiers, without so much as a misplaced strand of hair. She approached the third floor with caution, uncertain why the demons hadn’t stormed in and taken her for themselves. She reached the door at the top of the stairs, no landing beyond the final step on which Naomi shuffled her feet over the threadbare carpeting.

              Before she could knock a weak voice called out, “if you’re going to kill me, you can do it from there.”

              Naomi surprised at the timidity of the creature that somehow subverted both Heaven and Hell’s lines of communication. Naomi leaned in until she could hear shuffling footsteps beyond the hollow plywood door. “I’ve come to help you, Emery. Can I come in?”

              With very little ceremony the door opened to reveal a grief-stricken mother in such a state that Naomi would have felt indecent entering her home, had she, herself, been human.

“How can you help me?” Emery demanded.

              Naomi, confused by the spikes of energy the woman emitted as they each tried to read each other, stepped inside the repurposed attic. A dog lingered beside her, protective yet silent.

“I understand that you have lost your son recently. Now, I may not be able to remedy that situation, but I may be able to ease your conscience and help you towards some absolution.”

              Emery stiffened at the dangling carrot. “Why help me? Why not smite me like you did all those demons who were too chicken shit to come up here? I’m no better than they are.”

              Naomi tilted her head to the side and sighed. “You truly believe that, don’t you? That you’re no better than those that prey upon the weak?”

              Emery shrugged, folding her arms over her stomach as she looked into the angel’s piercing blue eyes. “Sooner or later, I’ll become exactly what they were.”

              “Emery, you’re not damned. There is still time for you,” Naomi started to see the guilt and anguish that had been piled over her grief. This woman could barely stand with the weight of her emotional pain. Emery let out a single mirthless chuckle, head shaking as she glared through glistening eyes.

              “I don’t deserve time or forgiveness. I’ve done the unspeakable,” Emery whispered, closing her eyes against her confession.

              “And yet, somehow an angel has come to you offering you a path toward salvation,” Naomi replied, kinder than she expected to sound.

              “I don’t want salvation. Not for myself,” Emery spat, anger surfacing at the selfishness implied by such an offer. Naomi considered what she meant, seeing everything standing in their way and without missing a beat, sold with everything she had.

              “Let us help you free your son,” Naomi went big.

              “Why would you--?” Emery gaped.

              “There are things happening all over the world, yet I came here today. For you. The Bible is filled with people who, at their lowest, were set on the path to righteousness. You are no different, Emery.” Naomi saw the instant her hope ignited, the flames of regret and loss dimming in comparison. This woman held immense psychic power and though it had only extrapolated after her recent tragedy, Naomi couldn’t let her uncover her true potential. There was so much more at risk if she remained unchecked, than a single immortal soul.

              “If not for yourself, do it for him. Come with me, let us free you from your burdens while you help protect us Heaven and Earth,” Naomi brushed Emery’s bangs from her forehead, like an older sister soothing a lost sibling. Emery gave into the whirlwind, faith and loss, guilt and new possibilities overwhelming her tired mind and weakened body. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept. Yet, here stood the most ethereal being she had ever seen, offering her hope beyond dreams. This is what her pastor meant that they’d be surprised with who they saw in Heaven, when their time came. Salvation wasn’t just offered to the pious, it was granted to those who sought it; who worked for it.

              And even though everything told Emery she wasn’t worthy of such an opportunity, she clung to it, the first solid steppingstone on the cracking path she climbed.

              “What do you need me to do?” Emery whispered, eyes closed and heart open.

^*^*^

              Emery knew Sam was telling her the truth, obvious, provable things had happened which lined up too perfectly to be coincidence. But it was so all encompassing that she had taken days to process his history. Oddly, Sam seemed more relaxed the more she knew about him. Perhaps it was the relief of knowing what had been happening between them and putting an end to its influence. Maybe it was just easier than living a lie. Either way, she took the tiny victory, grateful for the trust he gave her by sharing his and his brother’s lifelong struggle against evil.

              Sam mentioned that there were books floating on the internet, a new gospel, penned by God himself. Though he wasn’t eager to share the gory details, he told her if she needed more in-depth answers, they were available. Like a true academic, she did her research. She checked dates and locations and even weather reports. It was all there, just below the surface of the major headlines, but sprinkled throughout the trashy newspapers that had become bad chain emails or misguided social media panics along the way. Monsters had always been real for Emery, but apocalyptic destinies were beyond the scope of her time as a sunroom psychic and single mother. His perseverance floored her.

              Sam came home Wednesday night to the shrill wail of a newborn and two extra barking voices. Jason and Trudy were hovering at the front door, dropping off the baby (and dogs) for their first night out since becoming parents. Emery rocked pudgy Dylan against her shoulder, hand lightly cupping his tiny head when Sam stole over the dogs’ attention as he came in the back. Suddenly three excited boys hurdled over each other across the hardwood floors.

              “Hey, guys!” Sam waved from beyond the wall of fur. Amusingly, Jason was the one who was insistent on the baby’s schedule, lingering over his son as Trudy stood on the wide front porch rolling her eyes. When their neighbors were finally on their way to a quick dinner downtown, Sam started reheating leftovers for Emery and himself to eat around keeping their wards content. Within an hour, the dogs had settled, and Dylan was back asleep after a quick change.

              “You’re really good at that,” Sam admired, watching Emery settle the infant back into his carrier.

              “This is an easy stage, feed, change, rock, repeat,” Emery shrugged off the compliment, giggling when she saw the express disbelief on Sam’s face. “It’s just a baby, Sam.”

              “I know, he’s probably the smallest one I’ve ever seen,” Sam shrugged.

              “He’s actually really big for a month, but unsurprising with his genetics,” Emery sighed, dropping onto the couch close, but not too close to Sam.

              “How tall were your parents?” Emery asked, getting comfortable asking Sam about himself more and more.

              Sam tilted his head back, “Uh, Dad was six-one, six-two--- somewhere in there. Mom’s tiny in comparison, but she’s doesn’t seem like it. Too tough, you know?”

              “I forget your mom’s alive,” Emery apologized.

              “Yeah,” Sam chuckled. “Still confuses the hell out of people.”

              The mood settled into a subdued quiet, reflective, but comfortable. Emery thought about how brave Sam was to stick beside her, to keep up his end of the deal. She knew he loved his brother more than anyone or anything, and though she benefitted from that loyalty in unspecified terms, it warmed her heart to know that kind of fraternity still existed in the world. A world filled with more monsters than the supernatural kinds, and somehow, she had been granted a man who worked to stay human against all odds.

              “Sam?” Emery turned to face him; knees pulled to her chest. “I want you to know that I have been honest with you. And I’ll keep being honest with you. I know this hasn’t been easy, especially given everything you have gone through. And I appreciate you explaining yourself to me.”

              Sam nodded, though a constricting sort of anticipation burned along his neck and he scratched the lower reaches of his beard to try and keep from flinching away from her.

              “Do you--- do you think you could trust me again?” Emery exhaled the plea, rushing the words out of her mouth towards Sam, giving him their weight to handle. Sam swallowed against the strain, her eyes adding the undercurrent of intimate trust to the bundle of her words.

              “Honestly? I don’t know,” Sam replied, brow wrinkled in levels of consideration. “But I’m still here and you’re still here, and damnit, I really hope that’s enough for this thing to end well.”

              “So—” Emery inched forward. “What does that mean, for us?”

              Sam exhaled, drawing it out as his hands fell to his thighs, sweaty and twitching. “I am comfortable being in this—partnership, with you Emery. But I don’t think I can go back to being your husband, in that way.”

              God, she was good at putting on a mask when she needed to. Sam saw it flicker in her eyes, the rise and deliberate hiding of her pain. His rejection stung them both, but he needed to be sure. She deserved that clarification, his truth. He wasn’t going to be the drunk asshole he once was, but he wasn’t going to be falling into bed with her that night either.

              “Okay,” Emery shrugged.

              “Okay?” Sam countered.

              “Yeah, Sam. If that’s what you need--- I’m not going to--- that’s not how I work. Like I said, if I had known you weren’t actually interested I—”

              Sam cut her off, “hey, it’s not that. Alright? This is my shit to process, please, understand that. I need to be sure here. I can be your friend, Emery. Hell, I want to be—I just. Can we just do that? First? Or finally? Or whatever?”

              Emery nodded, biting both her lips to keep from saying too much. Sam felt like she was shrinking away, the couch enveloping her, a shield against his words that carved into the tendrils of hope that had sprouted from her new understanding of him. Their relationship never made sense, in definition or routine. Why did this turn feel like such an impasse?

^*^*^

^*^*^

               She probably should have eaten something or sipped rather than chugged the wine. Emery was flushed with more than the jets from the tub. Slowly she was able to let the day’s disappointments sink to the back of her mind and just be. No super professor mode, no chipper neighbor filter, no patient and dutiful wife efforts, she was just her. Which wasn’t something she got to do very often, in this life or the life she left behind. When Emery wasn’t working or being for someone else, it got very loud in her head. But tonight, though the thoughts were there, she decided to just push them back, to let them hold her up instead of weighing her down. Emery decided to float above the worries in the fuzzy heat of a drunken bath.

               This was ridiculous. There she lay, in a huge tub in a huge house in an overpriced neighborhood. She started to laugh at herself, at Sam, even at Bandit, wherever he had gotten to. She was a freakin’ professor at an amazing school. This was the dream. A dream she got out of nightmares. She didn’t deserve this place, she didn’t need it, it was too much. Suddenly she started to cry, tears leaked down her face, which only made her laugh harder. The absurdity of it all.

               Emery inhaled and sank beneath the few remaining bubbles, hovering in stasis until her lungs brought her surfacing. She exhaled. Letting her bangs fall as they may, she hid beneath the mask of heavy, wet reality. Gravity won in the end, and she crawled from the drained tub and burrowed into Sam’s oversized robe. It wasn’t overly soft like hers, though it was thick and comforting, but mostly it smelled like his aftershave. She started working the conditioner into her hair, twisting and pinning it for the night. She was half-assing it and she didn’t care. She swayed absently on the balls of her feet to a playlist as she finished putting her hair up. There, close enough; she had her scarf secured before she scampered downstairs, robe hem dragging behind her like a train.

               The haunting blue of the clock above the range glared at her, shuffling into her relaxation like an unsignaled merger. What was keeping Sam?

^*^*^

               “Is there somewhere we can talk? I don’t think this is the best place to do this,” Castiel suggested. Sam couldn’t help but agree, a public place would be safer. And much less creepy, as long as the guy didn’t slit his throat the second, he faced forward. Unconsciously, Sam started driving to the bar Cady had suggested, but stopped before the final turn.

He cleared his throat. “You hungry? Emery was going to bring home dinner, but I can just get a drink—if you want.”

“I don’t eat,” Castiel explained.

“Of course, you don’t,” Sam grumbled, pulling into the parking lot beside the chain bar and grill. Appetizers and a stiff drink sounded like manna from heaven at this point in his day. Sam didn’t know why he was hearing Castiel out, but he somehow knew to trust him. To listen, to wait until all the information was explained before deciding on his sanity. Call it instinct or something deeper, Sam wanted him to feel heard.

Once they were settled, drinks in hand, Sam decided to press back. “So, why don’t you eat?”

“This is just a vessel, my grace sustains me and this form,” Cas replied leadingly.

“Your grace?” Sam’s brow furrowed and a smirk played on his lips, despite the constant tension in his jaw.

“I’m an angel, Sam. Much like Naomi, the one who put you in this situation. And apparently buried your memories. Of me. Of Dean and what brought you to this town, away from your family and your calling,” Castiel prodded back, looking for any blip in Sam’s eyes, any wavering, any weakness.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “My family? I don’t have anyone, man. All I have is Emery and Bandit, and that’s more than I could ask for,” Sam explained. “My mom died when I was a baby, Dean when I was in college and Dad right after that. Why do you think you know anything about my family?!”

Castiel sighed. “I really am an angel, you know. I’m not saying these things to upset you, Sam. I am saying them to see where it started and try and pull back the curtain, as one would say. To reveal what they’ve been hiding from you. I need to search your thoughts and it would be much faster if I could just see what was there.”

“What? Dude. That’s just—” Sam froze, Castiel didn’t wait for an opening, he simply placed two fingers on Sam’s forehead. Suddenly the pain from looking at the self-proclaimed angel started to wane, as their surroundings became overwhelming. The sounds of the patrons and the smells of the food and the beer spattered floor grew too much. Sam hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes, but just as he was about to be sick, Castiel’s fingers spread wider and a deep penetrating chill fell down his back. The nausea disappeared as quickly as Sam opened his eyes.

Perhaps there was something in his drink or maybe he was more exhausted than he thought, but in truth, inevitability had started to creep through the wall of reason and spell work inside Sam Winchester’s mind.

^*^*^

It was fine. There were no problems. He was just going to be late. It was only an hour passed the latest he could have possibly been at work. Things came up. It being his birthday, shouldn’t cause her any more alarm or distress. They were going to be alright. They were safe. Sam would be home soon. Wouldn’t he?

Emery had torn into the bag of caramel corn they’d bought for movie night as she worked through the possibilities in her head. Shoveling handfuls of the tacky sweet kernels into her mouth between checking her phone and looking to Bandit for explanation. The dog, though concerned, had little rebuttal to her teetering train of thought. He did his part by cleaning up after his mama. He was a good boy after all, and she was having a day. She grabbed a fresh bottle from the rack and poured herself another glass. Standing around stewing wasn’t bringing him home any faster and she would not lower herself to be the nagging wife. He was just late.

They had left off in the middle of a season of the latest edgy, politically charged amalgamation of horror and drama on the easily affordable default streaming service. She didn’t want to have to re-watch it when he finally arrived. Which was why, Emery flipped, blazing through the slew of options, from trending to suggested, nothing seemed to hit her fancy. When ‘Touched By An Angel’ appeared from the recesses of heartwarming and nostalgia she dropped the remote and finished her latest glass, tongue worrying over the latest crumb wedged in the back of her gum. She didn’t even want to think that they could be involved.

^*^*^

Three months before

Dumah had her doubts about the whole thing. Naomi using Michael to fuel Heaven and keep the Winchesters apart and isolated, in attempts to keep them from them finding out. It was a knee jerk solution to a problem that was bigger than the few remaining angels could handle. So, she watched the newlyweds go about their days. Invisible, but ever present from their walks to their jobs and home again. She saw how miserable Sam was. How frustrated and untrusting he was of her kind. She also saw Emery, doing everything she could right. It was like the spark that had held them over from their vows never left her. That small dose of true love from the cupids had nestled inside the woman and held firm. Her faith and her determination only fueling the bond that had been formed.

Dumah almost felt bad for her, but she had a stake in the deal too. She had an endgame, or at least a shiny carrot on the end of her stick just as Sam did. Perhaps her naivety helped the disguise, or maybe her need was that much greater than Sam’s. Either way, the angel knew that Emery wasn’t backing down. If this ruse was going to fall apart and leave Heaven at risk, clearly it wasn’t from the wife’s side of things. No, for this to succeed for as long as possible, Sam Winchester needed to be kept in line.

She wasn’t ever there long; Heaven would have noticed her absences if she lingered. Instead Dumah made a game of the randomness of them: length, location, and target all varied. Occasionally it was just her and the dog, sitting in the winter afternoons. It was on the last week of their first month together that she had started hearing the prayers that Emery had been offering up to the Father that never listened.

‘Make this work. Mold us into what is needed for your good works. Let me be enough.’

In the early morning hours, Dumah entered the den and watched Sam toss and turn. He had continued to refuse his wife’s offers to share their bed again. It was there, in Sam’s dreams, the maladjusted angel started building the bridge in his mind, slowly and carefully. She left, just as secretly as she arrived, but not before leaving something upstairs, an innocuous physical aid to bolster the fledgling marriage before it imploded.

^*^*^

“How did you meet Emery, Sam?” Castiel changed the subject on a dime, causing Sam to gasp as he gathered his bearings.

“Uh, a co-worker introduced us,” Sam nodded, a tired smile barely registering on his face. “What does that have to do with anything? Did you see my thoughts or just shove some serious vertigo at me?”

Cas didn’t flinch. “How long did you date?”

“Not long, why?” Sam signaled the bartender for another drink, before realizing Castiel hadn’t touched his.

“Why did you move here? Isn’t it odd to leave one place and pick up somewhere completely different? Especially between terms.”

“Emery got offered a better position,” Sam shrugged. “Listen, I’m all for playing nice here, but you still haven’t convinced me of anything. How are we somehow being used by angels? I mean, you make them sound like the bad guys.”

Castiel didn’t answer right away, instead he grimaced and thought about how to approach Sam, now that he had no history with him. As if he was a stranger needed convincing for the sake of someone, he thought dead.

“You said Dean died while you were in school. Were you with him when it happened?”

“I was—” Sam broke off as his mind reeled, a broken heaving Dean sprawled out on the floor of a stranger’s house. Blood was everywhere, his clothes and his body beneath them, torn to shreds by some invisible force. He closed his eyes, trying to see the memory he thought he knew. Only to be met by another image of Dean, older than he ever could have been. Heavy with anguish and satisfaction, his handsome face mutilated when he looked into Sam’s eyes. A single phrase surfaced, like a fist working against a thick pane, ‘proud of us’ pummeled repeatedly, until it broke through the barrier in Sam’s mind.

The moment Sam was back, Castiel saw it. In his eyes, the set of his shoulders, the tension in his hands. Sam gasped, and gritted his teeth. “Is Dean gone?”

The need to know flooding past the grief and bewilderment.

“I don’t know,” Castiel answered. “That’s what we’ve got to figure out.”

^*^*^

              Sam started spinning his wedding band on the bar, getting lost in the reflection as it crossed through the glass of water he received with his burger. It wasn’t anything flashy, but the ring reminded him of his wedding night, the glimmering circle in Emery’s eyes. The promise and the pact. He slid the cooled metal back on to his hand, familiar now in weight and position. Somewhere between that night and now things got complicated and he had been duped. How could he be sure it wasn’t her fault? What better way to keep him in line than make him forget he made a deal in the first place? Make him forget who he was at all.

              “Somebody is awfully quiet over here,” Cady’s voice came out as a husky whisper, her hand perched on his seatback. Sam inhaled and smiled back sloppily.

              “Cady! Enjoying yourself?” Sam asked, eyes not quite open. “How were finals?”

              She squinted at him before biting back a huge grin. “Good, yeah. Sam?”

              “Hmm?” Sam replied, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. She plopped down and turned to face him, resting her cheek in her palm against the bar. Interest and mischief battled over her features.

              “Are you seriously drunk right now?” She smiled at the bartender who shared her summation.

              Sam gave her the side eye as air puffed out of his lips in disbelief. “Do I look drunk?”

              “Um, yeah, you’re totally sloshed. I like it. I don’t think I’ve seen you relax before,” Cady trailed off, eyes sparkling as his lips scrunched up against his nose.

              “That’s because you only see me at work. Not really the place to relax, or drink, for that matter,” Sam adds like it is some untold wisdom.

              “I suppose,” Cady chuckles. “But we’re not at work now.”

              “We—are not,” Sam agreed. “But don’t try hitting on me again. It wasn’t fun last time.”

              Cady giggled and rolled her eyes as the bartender pretended not to hear their conversation.

              “Yeah, that was pretty dumb of me, huh?” Cady leaned forward grabbing Sam’s left hand. “What with you being happily married and all.”

              Sam’s face crumbled for the briefest second, his brow and lips unsure what they wanted to convey. He watched her inspect his ring, pulling back when she tried to take it off.

              “Don’t be like that,” Sam said over a pointed finger. Cady held up her hands in surrender, laughing at his unintimidating tone.

              “What are you even doing here? Drinking to drink?” Cady continued to prod.

              Sam shrugged, draining the last drops of his beer. He didn’t want to move on to the water, not yet. Dejectedly he started picking at his fries, dragging the plate towards Cady as she hadn’t stopped eying him eat. She took one and chewed on in carefully.

              “Why are you drinking, Sam?” Cady tried again.

              “Do you ever think about how much we change food to make it taste good? How many things are done to a potato to make it into a fry? When the potato itself is food, but we have to peal it and slice into it and just scald it in oil to make it desirable?”

              “Can’t say that I have thought about it lately. Where are you going with this?” Cady took another fry and looked over to her friends.

              “You can go, you know. You’ll have more fun over there. I’m not close-the-bar kind of fun,” Sam lamented.

              “Oh, I bet you could be,” Cady reassured, but stood anyway.

              Sam gave her a sad smile and a gentle nod. “Be safe?”

              “You too. I’m not going anywhere, if you need a ride, okay?” Cady looked back to the bartender before giving Sam a one-armed hug. He pulled his face away from the embrace but patted her forearm all the same. He didn’t know how he felt anymore.

^*^*^

              Everything she touched crumbled in the end. Emery stood feeling utterly helpless as Sam walked out of the house. His phone remained on the charging dock attached to the Bluetooth speaker which they kept opposite the stovetop; she wouldn’t be able to find him if she tried. If he went after the angels, they were dead or as good as. She wasn’t sure what would happen if he simply left her there and returned to his old life. He needed something out of this arrangement just as she did, but was it enough to keep him there?

              Baffled, Emery tossed the remnants of Sam’s meal and started loading the dishwasher. Once the mess in front of her face was cleaned up, her mind started to spiral. She headed to put away her shoes, taking the stairs dejectedly. As she closed the door to her closet, their oversized bed silently mocked her. Her sudden domestic bliss wasn’t reverting to the bitter stalemate it had been, it was completely unraveling. And yet she couldn’t quite understand why she was taking it so personally, why this felt more like a rejection than a jumbled negotiation. Why Sam walking away to clear his head was immediately equated as a failure on her part.

^*^*^

              Dean felt many things behind the wheel of the phantom Baby with Michael at his side: fear, resolve, annoyance, and panic, just to name a few. What he felt that night, though it was perpetually night, was something new and it made him that much more alert. In a word, it was defeat. He glanced over to the smug bastard angel to see if he felt it as well, but Michael was the same as ever. Dean fixed his grip on the wheel and sank shallowly into the sensation, the need to find the source and the fear of what it meant steadying his descent.

              Suddenly, the rearview mirror flickered from the repetitive retreating streetlights onto a bedroom, big and bright, centered around a very inviting bed. Suddenly a woman appeared, followed by a mutt. She spread across the comforter and stroked the opposite pillow as the dog circled at the foot of the bed. Dean didn’t know how, but he knew her even to the point where her name was on the tip of his tongue. Trying to hold his reactions in check, he continued to watch her as she began to sniffle, love lost flowing to him from upon the silent screen.

              Suddenly, she sat up and dragged herself to her feet, a voice both faint and coaxing reached through the void. “Let’s go Banders, if Sam’s not coming back, we really do have the whole place to ourselves.”

              “Oh look, another dog,” Michael slipped in, unimpressed. Dean rolled his eyes and looked back to see her before she left the room, but the darkness behind them had returned across the mirror.

^*^*^

Sam was starting to feel the sofa in his bones, the nights he refused to sleep in the bed with Emery began to accumulate in his joints. Bedraggled he rolled down onto the floor where Bandit found him doing his morning push-ups. After going through his regular routine, Sam went upstairs to shower and change. He knocked on the door to the room he no longer claimed as his, though it was where all of his clothing was kept. As he opened the door, Sam was greeted with a considering smirk on his wife’s face. Emery’s hazel eyes seemed to sparkle with untold gratitude and the sheer pleasantness of her expression dazzled him.

She had always been beautiful, his original appraisal hadn’t changed with the waning of the wedding spell’s magic. But that morning Emery’s beauty radiated out like a fireplace, warm and inviting, comfort at last. Sam actually sighed as an awkward grin bent his lips and he gave her a small wave.

“Uh, sorry, I thought you were done,” Sam apologized and started backing away.

“No, it’s okay!” Emery blushed. “I didn’t say anything, because I was hoping to surprise you back.” She adjusted a glinting bottle on her dresser top before speaking again, Sam confused, waited to see what she meant.

“I can’t believe it has been a month already, can you?” Emery slipped into her shoes and glanced at Sam over her shoulder.

“I guess not,” Sam agreed, still slightly dumbfounded by the new aura she held. They looked at each other, in the eye, the first time in weeks without annoyance or trepidation and shared a shy smile.

“Anyway, I’m done, have at it.” Emery paused at the door, sounding hopeful. “See ya after work?”

Sam nodded casually. The closing door sent a waft of jasmine back to him.

^*^*^

              Cady whistled as she pulled up to the curb outside the obscenely well-lit corner house. Sam grunted in the backseat as Cady’s roommate shoved him back to his side of the bench seat.

              “Dude, we’re here,” an unfamiliar voice pulled Sam from the depths of sleep, with a jarringly familiar phrase.

              “Yeah, I’m up,” Sam muttered, wiping the drool from his beard. Looking up at the house from the sedan’s backseat made him feel nine years old, the two-story monstrosity looming above, like all those that waited until his dad could vanquish its past. Instead of ghosts or even ghouls, it held forgotten truths and guilt, the shame of his outburst and the distrust of months of affection. He didn’t remember asking them to take him home.

              “You okay from here, stud?” Cady called from the driver’s seat.

              Sam croaked out something close to a ‘who the hell knows,’ but recovered with a decisive throat clear. “Yep, thanks.”

Like a new foal, Sam pulled himself out of the tiny backseat, unfurling his limbs until his feet steadied underneath him. Slapping the roof with two quick pats, Sam was off, heading back to the place that he couldn’t seem to leave.

              The security system was armed, causing Sam to grab for a weapon that was not in his belt, before he staggered toward the keypad beside the front door, that they never used. He groaned in relief while the disabled chime rang out. He squinted in the dark, trying to gain his bearings in the silent house. If Sam had been closer to sober, he would have been surprised that Bandit hadn’t come to greet him, if not concerned that the alarm hadn’t woken Emery.

              He stumbled into the Den, not wanting to ascend the stairs or set down his pride just yet. After nearly whiffing on the two steps leading into the sunken room, Sam caught himself on the archway. A slight growl came from seemingly nowhere. Slowly, Sam focused on the sight before him, emotion burned deep into his chest, causing the breaths to heave as he tried to meter their intensity. Bandit was pinned to Emery’s side as she slept, but the dog’s tail wagged once he saw it was Sam. Ever the dutiful boy, Bandit let his snout fall back into the crook of Emery’s arm. Seeing them huddled together like that, almost like they had been waiting up for him, damn near broke Sam in half.

              He lowered himself down onto the stairs, elbows falling to his bent knees as he cried. He cried out of frustration of having a life so tangible and impractical, for wanting to keep it. He cried because he was drunk and when he wasn’t sappy happy; he got morose. But mostly he cried because he was so relieved that she stayed, but so terrified that he could no longer rely on his feelings to guide him. Sure, he was smart, but his instincts came from inside and without those, who was he?

^*^*^